Beatrice Page 5

  ‘We’ll go for a couple of weeks later in the year. We can stay at Marta’s.’

  ‘And then I had better go home to study the bog, and think about what I’m going to do.’

  ‘Don’t panic,’ he says. ‘You’ve loads of time. It’s not as if you’re making a huge installation, or a public art commission.’

  There it is. It slips out again. I had suspected but rejected the idea that Leo thinks what he does is more important than what I do.

  ‘Eithne, are you still there?’ he says, noting my silence. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing.’ There’s no point starting an argument on the phone.

  ‘Let’s go out for a few drinks, to celebrate, I’ll meet you in town.’

  By the time I meet Leo, I am too excited about the exhibition to be annoyed. We make a night of it, clubbing until three in the morning. And then we come home and pass out on the bed.

  It is the night before everything changes.

  SARAH

  Sarah was already beginning to show when she left the Voyle household. Over the previous couple of weeks Lady Voyle had begun to have suspicions, and had interrogated her housekeeper.

  ‘Rachel,’ she said, ‘have you noticed a change in Sarah? I think she might be pregnant, she has got quite large, don’t you think?’

  Rachel was in no doubt that Sarah was in trouble, and she had easily guessed who the father was, but Sarah had told Rachel that she was leaving in a couple of weeks to stay with family, and the housekeeper saw no point in humiliating the girl. She never broached the subject of why she was going to Sarah, although in private she sighed and shook her head at the pity of it all.

  ‘No, I don’t think so,’ she said to Lady Voyle. ‘She’s just put on a little weight. It’s impossible that she could be pregnant, she doesn’t go out at all, she’s here every single night.’

  Lady Voyle looked at her housekeeper. She thought for a second. A possibility flashed through her mind. She dispelled it.

  ‘Where is she going again?’

  ‘An elderly aunt in Clapham. There’s no one to look after her and she’s dying, so Sarah is doing her duty for her family.’

  ‘Things will be difficult for her financially,’ Lady Voyle said. ‘I must give her a little present.’

  And that was the last time Sarah was mentioned.

  Since that dreadful day in Oxford she had not seen Jonathan, who had studiously avoided coming down to London, much to the puzzlement of his mother.

  Anthony, on the other hand, had come home every weekend and, taking care not to be seen by anyone, had met her in local cafes to discuss her and the baby’s future. He was an honourable man and had insisted that she be taken care of. He accepted that going back to Southampton was not an option when she explained how she could not face her mother’s condemnation and her father’s shame. She wasn’t even sure that her mother would take her back, and so he had arranged a house for her and the baby. At first he had tentatively suggested that she might consider adoption, and that he could help her organize it all. But Sarah instinctively shook her head. For some reason the thought terrified her more than keeping the baby.

  As the weeks passed, and the weather grew milder, Sarah found she thought less and less about Jonathan. When he had first rejected her she felt she would die. She remembered when she had returned to London from Oxford, curling up like a ball on her bed, sobbing and ignoring Rachel’s knocks on the door. Now, strangely, she found she missed him less and less. Only at night, when she could feel the baby kicking, did she still get upset and panicked. Could she get him back? Was it really all over?

  At the weekend, when Anthony was around, things never seemed so bad. Sometimes, after talking over tea, they would go for a little walk on the Heath, and sit quietly under a tree chatting. When he relaxed, Anthony wasn’t as serious as he looked, in fact he could be really funny, doing impressions of some of his professors at college and some of the ‘snobs’, as he called them, on his course. It was good to laugh, and sometimes he had her in tears.

  One afternoon they were sitting by the pond, feeding the ducks, when Sarah asked, ‘What do you want to do, Anthony, when you finish college?’

  ‘Travel,’ he said immediately. ‘I want to go all over the world, ideally as an archaeologist. I’d love to go to Egypt and Jordan. They’re the two places I really want to visit.’

  Sarah flung some bread towards a handsome drake.

  ‘I’ve never been anywhere,’ she said, ‘apart from here of course, and where I grew up.’

  They were sitting a few inches apart, their fingertips almost touching.

  ‘It’ll be all right.’ Anthony turned to look at her. ‘One day you’ll see the world, I’m sure.’

  How could he say that? thought Sarah. All she could see was what was happening in the present, that she was pregnant, going nowhere.

  ‘I won’t let you down, Sarah,’ Anthony was saying. ‘I’ll always make sure that you and the baby are all right.’

  But in the back of her mind Sarah knew that she was living on borrowed time. She could not depend on Anthony’s charity for the rest of her life. She had her pride. She would have to sort something out.

  Still, for the moment she was not going to worry. All she was going to think about was having the baby. The idea of giving birth terrified her, yet the fact that there was a little person inside her waiting to come out thrilled her. She would never be alone again.

  *

  Sarah moved out of her Hampstead home one wet Monday in early June. She was tired so she splashed out on a taxi. Besides, she seemed to have accumulated a lot of things over the past year. When she arrived in Clapham she did not expect anyone to be there; Anthony had given her a key and explained that he would be round at the weekend.

  The taxi pulled up outside her new home. The driver got out and carried her bags up the path. She thanked him and paid him, and was just getting her key out when the door opened. It was Anthony.

  ‘Surprise!’ he said, picking up her bags and leading the way. ‘In the end, I thought I should be here to give you the grand tour.’

  The house was small, but it was all Sarah needed. Thent room had a sofa and a couple of pictures on the wall. A narrow corridor led to the bathroom and a tiny kitchen.

  He already had the kettle on.

  ‘Follow me,’ he said.

  Upstairs there were two bedrooms.

  ‘I thought you might like this room,’ he said. It was the back bedroom which had a view of a garden. He had made the bed.

  ‘The front bedroom you can use for guests.’

  Sarah laughed. ‘What guests?’

  ‘Maybe me sometimes, if that’s all right. At the beginning, you might want some company.’

  Sarah blushed, then she saw a narrow doorway on the landing.

  ‘What’s this?’ she asked. She opened the third door. It led to a tiny bedroom, which was bare apart from a cradle in the centre of the room.

  ‘It was already here,’ said Anthony. ‘I couldn’t believe it.’

  Sarah walked into the room and placed her hand on the cradle. It rocked.

  ‘Oh my God,’ she said.

  ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’ asked Anthony.

  ‘This is like a dream come true.’

  Sarah felt safe in the house in Clapham during her pregnancy. Although Anthony stayed in the spare room on the odd occasion, she was mostly on her own. He bought her a dog for company; a cocker spaniel. ‘The best dogs to have around children,’ he said. Sarah called the dog Beth.

  There was no telephone in the house and Sarah did not write letters, so Anthony was the only person she had any contact with. She walked Beth every day on Clapham Common. The exercise was good for her as she grew and grew. Every Friday she walked into Clapham village to do some shopping. On the way, on the right, there were some building sites and each week one of the men always whistled at her even though she was obviously pregnant.

  He had black curly hair and shou
ted, ‘Hello, beauty,’ with an Irish accent.

  Sarah had never before had so much time to herself. In the evening, she knitted for the baby or else she painted – hesitant still lives of a bunch of flowers bought in the market that day or a milk jug on the table. During the day she gardened out the back.

  Sarah’s pregnancy was a normal one. She went to the hospital once every four weeks for a check-up. As she got closer to her time, she started going every week. Anthony had given her a simple wedding band to make things easier for her. The doctor called her Mrs Quigley and treated her with a certain amount of respect, which other young, unmarried girls did not get.

  ‘Will your husband be bringing you in?’ the doctor asked Sarah one week.

  ‘Oh, well, he will probably be away working,’ she said. ‘He is always away.’

  ‘What does he do?’ asked the doctor.

  ‘He’s a builder,’ Sarah said quickly, thinking of the curly-haired Irishman. ‘He is working on a site up north.’

  ‘That’s a shame, seeing as there is so much building work in London at the moment.’

  ‘He is hoping to move down here once the baby is born,’ she said.

  It was Anthony who gave Sarah her blue scarf. It was not silk but chiffon. It was not as long as Beatrice’s and it did not have a fringe on either end. It was also a different shade of blue, duck-egg blue. Anthony Voyle gave Sarah a pale blue chiffon scarf on her seventeeth birthday. The baby was due in a week.

  Over the past three months Anthony and Sarah had become good friends. He had taken care of his brother’s problem without the other’s knowledge, at Sarah’s request. As far as Jonathan was concerned, Sarah was staying with a friend in Clapham Common. He never came to see her, so it would be very unlikely that he would ever learn of his brother’s visits to the house he had rented for Sarah. Anthony had dug into his own personal savings to pay for the house. He felt it was the least his family could do for her. He had been tempted to tell his parents; they were decent people and would want Jonathan to marry Sarah, no matter what her background was. However, it was not only Sarah’s insistence that nobody should know, but also his growing feelings for her, which made him want to protect her from Jonathan. If she married his brother she would have a miserable life, he knew that for sure.

  Anthony had not been surprised by his twin’s bad behaviour. He had seen the way Jonathan had begun carrying on as soon as they had moved to Oxford. He was just sorry that someone like Sarah was paying for it.

  He had been drawn to her immediately, from the first day he had been introduced to her. He couldn’t stop looking at her eyes. They were incredibly dark, with long black lashes. He had felt something when he looked at her eyes. Something, which connected them. Just in that look . . . that one look. She was small, with creamy brown skin, and curly auburn hair. Her smile was wide, and she had tiny pearly teeth. He thought she was the prettiest girl he had ever laid eyes on. Of course, he had dismissed his attraction, concluding that their worlds were miles apart, but he couldn’t help noticing the spell his brother had cast over her, and Jon’s ensuing infatuation. He had worried about the consequences.

  ‘Your birthday present is in keeping with today’s events,’ he said as she opened his gift.

  ‘I can’t have you riding in my car with dishevelled locks.’

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ Sarah said when she saw the scarf.

  ‘Here, let me help you put it on.’

  She put it over her hair and he tied it at the chin.

  ‘Happy birthday,’ he said.

  ‘How did you know?’ she asked.

  ‘Well, I was rather sneaky. My mother has all your details in her desk drawer. It wasn’t hard to find out.’

  ‘You are incredible,’ she said.

  ‘I aim to please.’

  They got into the car, a red MG. Beth sat in the back. The roof was down. It was a perfect summer’s day.

  ‘I am going to take you to one of my favourite places,’ said Anthony.

  They headed west out of London. After about an hour they turned off the main road and went through a town called Maidenhead. They took another turn and drove by the river and across a common, until they came into a village called Cookhamon-Thames.

  ‘We used to come here a lot as a child. My father is a member of the local country club.’

  They turned off the main road and up a drive, parking in front of a grand ivy-covered house with baby turrets.

  ‘Here we are,’ he said. ‘How about a spot of lunch?’

  They went inside the house. The receptionist greeted them.

  ‘I booked a table for two. Voyle,’ Anthony said.

  This had never happened to her before; Sarah had never been taken out for a meal.

  She had the works. Roast beef, roast potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, carrots and horseradish sauce followed by sherry trifle and coffee. Then they walked down to the river.

  They went punting on the Thames. Sarah lay back, closed her eyes and trailed her hand in the water, as Anthony pushed them down the river. The sun kissed her face. Although the baby was kicking continually and she had terrible heartburn, that just didn’t matter.

  ‘Thank you, Anthony,’ she said. ‘This is the best birthday I have ever had in my life.’

  She looked up at him, but the sun was in her eyes and she could only see his silhouette against the sky. He said nothing, and she had no idea what he could be thinking.

  Suddenly she felt like a beached whale lying on the cushions in the boat. How could she have thought even for a second that he would be interested in her? He was just doing his duty. He was doing what his brother should have been doing and that was all there was to it.

  ‘Can we go home, please,’ she said suddenly. ‘I’m tired.’

  EITHNE

  Shauna, Leo’s daughter, arrives at nine, bright as a button. Clara, her mother, looks at the two of us.

  ‘What a couple of wrecks!’ She shakes her head, smiling. ‘Are you sure you can manage?’

  ‘He’s off the hook.’ I grimace. ‘He’s sloping off to one of his art debates.’

  ‘I’d rather be here, suffering with you, honey,’ says Leo, as he attempts to eat his breakfast.

  ‘Here,’ says Clara, ‘Solpadeine. I never go anywhere without them.’

  ‘Cheers,’ I say.

  ‘You’ll be grand,’ she says. ‘Just do the wicked step-mother act if she gets too much.’

  ‘Daddy,’ says Shauna, ‘can we go to the cinema? Please, pretty please.’

  ‘Maybe,’ he says trying to get himself together. ‘If you’re good for Eithne, we might take you.’

  ‘Yes, yes, yes!’ Shauna goes flying off into the other room.

  ‘Good luck,’ says Clara, and she’s gone.

  Leo leaves a few minutes later. I put some music on, and Shauna tries to get me to dance with her, but I can hardly move.

  ‘Come on, let’s paint.’

  It seems the quietest option. I get out brushes, paper and paints and Shauna begins to splosh around. I really don’t care how much mess we make.

  The telephone rings.

  ‘Hello?’ No reply. ‘Hello?’ The phone goes dead.

  ‘Who was that?’ Shauna asks.

  ‘No one,’ I say.

  ‘Maybe it was the bogeyman,’ she says. Recently Shauna has become obsessed with ghost stories.

  The phone rings again. Shauna looks up expectantly. Her eyes wide open.

  ‘I don’t think it’s the bogeyman. Probably your dad in a ropey phonebox.’

  ‘Hello . . . hello.’

  ‘Is that Eithne Kelly?’ says a woman’s voice with an English accent.

  ‘Who’s that?’ I ask.

  ‘Hi – I didn’t know whether I should just come round or whether I should ring you first. I’m Lisa Hayes.’

  Lisa Hayes. Lisa Hayes. The name does not ring a bell. Was she someone I had met in London last year when I was over with Leo? Some of his family is in England. Maybe she’s
a relative. But I really could not place this voice.

  ‘Lisa, hello,’ I say. ‘I’m really sorry, I can’t remember where I met you. Are you a cousin of Leo’s?’

  ‘Leo?’

  ‘Leo Zwalf, my husband. I am so sorry I’m terrible with names – did we meet in London?’

  Another art student over in Dublin, bumming a bed.

  ‘No,’ she says. ‘We’ve never met. Don’t you know about me?’

  ‘Sorry . . . I think you must have made a mistake.’

  ‘You are Eithne Kelly, aren’t you? You are from Crossakiel in County Meath and you have a sister called Beatrice Kelly?’

  ‘My sister is dead,’ I say flatly.

  ‘Fuck. She’s dead? Fuck, fuck.’ Pause. I can hear her take a drag on a cigarette. I don’t know why I do not put the phone down, but something stops me.

  ‘When did she die?’ the girl asks.

  ‘Nearly nineteen years ago,’ I say.

  ‘But that’s impossible,’ says Lisa.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’m her daughter – and I’m eighteen. She gave me up for adoption. I’ve come to find her . . .’

  I slam the phone down, run into the bathroom and throw up in the sink.

  ‘Eithne! Eithne!’ calls Shauna, ‘it was the bogeyman, wasn’t it?’

  SARAH

  The way in which Beatrice was born surprised Sarah. Her doctor had told her that there was no point coming into hospital until the contractions were at the most ten minutes apart and had been so regularly for an hour or more, otherwise she was not considered, strictly speaking, to be in labour and would be sent home. Sarah wanted to get things right, so she remained where she was when the pain started. She had been cleaning the house when she felt the first contractions. They were infrequent so she did not worry. Anyhow, she was busy nesting. The pains went away, and came back two hours later. Then they went away again. This went on for two days. Sarah got tired of looking at her watch and trying to time the contractions. They came. They went. They certainly were not regular. On the third day, Sarah decided to go for a walk with Beth. The exercise would hopefully bring on labour, she was fed up waiting.