Love Song Page 23

  They both laughed with relief at Hope’s joke, because in the circumstances, at that moment, anything was a relief.

  ‘Terminations always sound so – terminal, don’t they?’

  ‘If I may remind you, you have your other children to consider, and in the circumstances, as you have outlined them with your husband and you divorcing, you have to accept the fact that the child would be born into quite difficult conditions, really.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I know.’ Again there was a long silence, during which Hope could hear a patient murmuring in the next-door room, an ambulance siren stopping abruptly, the click of the gynaecologist’s pen as she pushed the biro top nervously in and out, in and out.

  It suddenly seemed so terrible to do away with a baby who, after all, when all was said and done, had a right to life, surely? To Hope whose whole life had been devoted to loving life for its own sake, every form of life had seemed so infinitely precious to her, always. And yet now she was contemplating doing away with the beginnings of a baby. Did she have a right over the baby, or the baby over her? For no reason Aunt Rosabel’s face came back to her. So serene! So enviably serene!

  Hope continued after the considerable silence, ‘Well, you’re right, because there’s more than that. There is the father. My lover.’ She looked across the desk at the gynaecologist, relieved that she was a woman.

  It sounded so strange saying that word ‘lover’, and yet exciting too, as if at long last Hope could be considered just like the rest of the world, flawed. No longer the upright woman who had never known a lover other than her husband, but a flawed human being, someone who could take, and had taken, a considered step towards her own personal happiness, away from the paths set by other people. Perhaps in some strange way she had, by her deception of Alexander, freed herself.

  ‘My lover,’ she said again. ‘The father of my child. He already has three children, and, well, I have four. So he won’t want any more, I don’t suppose. In fact I’m pretty sure that he doesn’t.’

  ‘Does your husband not know about your pregnancy, then, Mrs Merriott? Have you not told him yet?’

  ‘No. This baby could not be my husband’s baby, so there doesn’t seem much point in telling him something that is really none of his business, now. No, this is – this has to be my lover’s child.’

  There, it was out, and nothing to be done, but Hope was nevertheless grateful for the other woman’s composure. Hope and Jack had met and made love over Christmas, rapturously, alone at Keeper’s Cottage in the middle of sorting out all sorts of things, from how many new duvets the cottage needed to when to order the bottled gas.

  They had not meant to, it had just happened. And now, unbelievably, she was having his child.

  ‘Perhaps you ought to tell the father in that case? If you have a future together, you should perhaps tell your lover of your situation, Mrs Merriott? To be honest, in my experience it is usually much better, if I may say so, in these matters, to tell the father. Simply because if it should ever come out later, which it can – some moment of sadness revisited, too much drink, that sort of thing – well, then it can set up resentments, or worse, if these decisions have not been reached mutually. If the man and the woman haven’t taken the decision together.’

  Hope stood up. ‘You’re right,’ she agreed. ‘I must tell him. But I have to warn you, from what I know of him, if I do tell him I am quite sure that he will want me to keep it. He will see it as part of our planned future together. He – he’s very romantic.’

  ‘Well, then doubtless you will explain to him your medical situation. Or if you like you can come in here together, and I will explain it to him. At any rate – particularly since this baby, as I understand it, was not planned – I am sure he will see it as the wisest decision, given your medical records.’

  A little touch of desperation had started to creep into the gynaecologist’s voice and for a second Hope thought she could see the professional mask on the other side of the desk slipping, the doctor looking suddenly vulnerable as if she wished that she had not said anything about telling Jack after all. After some further minutes of discussion they both smiled and shook hands, but Hope felt the other woman watching her as she left the room. Her eyes had reflected such real anxiety for her patient as they shook hands that Hope almost felt sorry for her.

  But she realized suddenly, with a blinding certainty, that it was too late anyway. Nothing that either of them could say now would change Hope’s mind.

  As she drove home Hope knew that an irrevocable decision had been taken. And it came to her that whatever was ahead did not matter now, and that whatever Jack had to say on the subject would not make any difference either, for in bringing herself to understand her own nature Hope had, come what may, determined that she should keep her baby, because she knew now that she loved Jack with all her heart, and that fact alone was enough to make her resist doing away with his child.

  And so it was, as the trees flashed past her car window and the inevitable rain splashed against her windscreen and she wondered at the dark brown of the mud on the roads, not to mention the starkness of the leafless trees, that Hope came to her own decision, not to tell Jack about anything, not her medical record, not the gynaecologist’s advice, nothing. And in realizing the risks that she was prepared to take for this new baby it came to her that when a woman loved a man as much as Hope now knew she loved Jack, more than anything in the world she wanted to have his child.

  However, telling her daughters about their mother’s new state would be anything but easy, and Hope was realistic enough to know it. Day after day she thought about it, and day after day she put it off. First she imagined writing to them, and then she imagined waiting until half-term to tell them all together.

  And, yet again, she found that she could not face either option. When it actually came down to it, she could not bear to come face to face with them and tell them of her new condition; and considering all the talks that they had had together – talks about the insuperable difficulties facing girls who had babies and brought them up without fathers, about the necessity for each baby, if possible, to have two parents – Hope’s embarrassment – for that essentially was what it was – was not really very surprising.

  It was not as if she had not asked so much of them already. She had had to move them all into the little cottage near the Mill House and tell them that they could only stay at their school until Easter – and then only because Jack had offered to help fund them.

  Despite the fact that they all loved Jack, and despite the fact that he was busy encouraging Melinda to ride his beloved ‘rescued’ mare, giving Claire piano lessons, and coaching Rose in her budding dramatic talent, telling them that this genial composer-philanthropist whom they all liked so much was also going to be the father of Hope’s new baby was proving to be more than a problem. It was proving to be impossible.

  ‘Don’t tell them, then.’

  Hope and Jack were out walking on the Downs, Letty running ahead, Jack’s dog running still further in front, and although it was still winter the day was sunny and bright. Perhaps because of this, somehow Hope felt only optimism about the future, reluctant though she was to admit her pregnancy to her daughters.

  ‘I must tell them sometime.’

  ‘Yes, tell them you are going to have a baby, but don’t tell them it is ours until afterwards. By that time they will have become used to the idea of us as a couple, and everything will be fine. You know how it is, with new babies, once they’re born everything’s all right and no-one really cares about who the father might be, least of all the baby!’

  Jack put his arm round Hope and they walked on up the hill, Jack laughing, Hope smiling. She had not told Jack just what a risk the pregnancy would be for her. As far as she was concerned she wanted this baby, and she knew now that he too wanted the baby, and the risk was as nothing compared to those two factors.

  Besides, Caesareans were growing ever less risky, and Alistair Macleod could well have be
en wrong about her.

  ‘What a joy!’ Jack sighed with delight at the thought of their future together. He picked up Letty and swung her round, putting her onto his broad shoulders and starting to trot ahead making ‘horsey’ noises. ‘Of course, you know you won’t get a look-in the moment he or she arrives? Not even a glance,’ he finished, breaking into a canter to make Letty laugh.

  Hope watched them going ahead of her, the wind blowing Letty’s hair back towards her, Jack’s strong form outlined against the skyline like a figure in a Stanley Spencer landscape, and as she did so she thought she could feel something. She did not quite know what it was, just a little kick, something that told her that what was happening inside her was just as important as what was happening outside.

  ‘God bless you, Jack,’ she murmured, trailing after him, her thoughts as always when she was with him turning to wondering, yet again, what would have happened to her had he not decided to call at Hatcombe that day. It seemed a hundred years ago now.

  Silently she offered up a prayer to Aunt Rosabel, who she was quite sure was in heaven looking down on them all. Look out for us all from up there, won’t you? she begged, and her eyes filled with tears as she remembered Aunt Rosabel entertaining the old soldiers who had known her poor dead son, her courage and gaiety with them, and it seemed to Hope that her situation was only lucky, and that she could never have been so brave or so resolute as Rosabel Fairfield who had lost so much, and yet retained herself.

  Once Hope finally did pluck up courage and tell the girls of her situation, far from being upset or difficult they appeared to understand. Even though they did not know that their own father was not the father of the expected baby, they bravely accepted their strange new circumstances, adapting not just to the cottage but to Jack’s place in their mother’s life as if they had known all along where the problems with Alexander had been, from his constant absences, from his diminishing interest in them over the past year, and even his waning involvement with Hatcombe.

  And, Hope realized, the truth might be that her daughters were all secretly relieved that their parents had at last accepted what they had already guessed; or perhaps it was just that they liked being with Jack and his family, and found that they could be much more relaxed at the Mill House than they had ever been with Alexander at home. Whatever the reason, after only a few months it seemed to Hope that they were all looking forward to a future that seemed to beckon only too brightly. Until Hope had a dream.

  Melinda was slowly coming to the conclusion that she and the grey mare, while suited to each other, needed someone besides Josh to help bring them on. As always, though, Josh seemed to be ahead of her.

  ‘Found an old body called Colonel Simpson. He won Badminton in the Ice Age, but he’s ready and willing if you are.’

  Melinda’s unspoken reaction was I can’t afford to pay for lessons, whereupon Josh, having seemed to hear it, replied, ‘It’s all right, Dad’s paying for everything, Mel, really. He’s in such a good mood at the moment, since you lot came to Keeper’s Cottage, I think he would buy your mum the world.’

  There was a long pause during which Melinda found herself colouring with relief at being paid for, and at the same time feeling very much the poor relation because she had to be paid for. Josh looked over to her.

  ‘It’s all right, Mel, really,’ he reiterated. ‘Dad makes a fortune from his evergreens – some of his songs are never off the radio, in case you haven’t noticed; and since your mum came into his life he’s – well, he’s a changed man. He really is. Not that he was ever nasty, or anything. He was just so worried all the time; and I mean really worried, what with me always behind at school, and our mother running off – well, you know the story. But since he met your mum and got his confidence back and went back out on tour, he’s much more together. It’s brilliant, it really is.’

  ‘I just wish that I could pay for myself.’

  ‘You are paying for yourself,’ Josh insisted. ‘You – are. You’re doing all the work, riding, mucking out – everything – for free, see? So you are paying your way, OK?’

  But when Colonel Simpson saw Melinda on Grey Goose, and had watched her showing off her paces for a few minutes, popping her over a practice fence, he said, ‘The mare’s got talent all right – or potential, anyway. Question is – have you?’

  Melinda’s expression dropped to the ground. She had worked her legs off on the Grey Goose the past few weeks, and had really felt they were both coming on in every area, particularly Goosey. And now it seemed there was a question mark not over the mare, but over Melinda herself.

  ‘Wrong position, wrong leg position, wrong everything. You’re holding her up, and unless you really pick yourself up and give yourself a shake you will continue to do so, and I shall have to advise Josh here that he would be better off getting another rider.’

  Melinda felt her cheeks burning with the humiliation of it all. Josh was listening intently, could hear every word, and would surely report back to his father. She looked down into Colonel Simpson’s hard, bright brown eyes. He had been in all sorts of ‘hot spots’ round the world, and had seen terrible things. It had made him hard, she could see that, just as she had been able to see, the moment she rode up to him, that he did not think her riding good enough and felt it would be better if she were jocked off in favour of some posh girl with a sponsor and a string of riding successes to her name.

  ‘I have not had much time to devote to the Grey Goose because I’ve been at boarding school until now, Colonel Simpson, but next time I come you will see I am not the same rider at all.’

  ‘No? Well, let’s hope not. Now. Let’s begin with your leg position, shall we? Old-fashioned and wrong. Don’t know who taught you, but my grandmother rode like that. That is not how we ride today. And although your hands are, shall we say, sensitive, you should hold them much higher. Like this. And your head, up, up – that’s better. Drop the chin, back straight. Well I never, Josh. Look. Thank you. Different shape, isn’t she? And so, you will not be surprised to see, is the mare.’

  Later, there was a long silence as Josh drove the horse box back to the Mill House, and then Melinda said, ‘I was thinking – perhaps the colonel is right, Josh. If I were you, I think I should get another rider. Someone with more experience. I’ve been thinking—’

  ‘I thought I heard the wheels going round in your head and I thought that would be the next thing you said!’

  ‘Well, it would only be fair to Goosey.’

  ‘At the moment there is only one goose in this horse box, and I’m talking to her.’

  ‘OK. As long as you’re sure – I promise I’ll work.’ Melinda stared ahead grimly. She would work. She would work, and work and work. She would show Colonel Simpson that Melinda Merriott could be as good as anyone else on the circuit.

  ‘You’ve changed, Mel, since – you know.’

  ‘I know.’ Melinda nodded, still staring ahead. ‘You know’ meant her mother leaving her father, all of them having to cram into Keeper’s Cottage, Mums getting pregnant again. She had indeed changed. And no wonder, really, when she came to think about it.

  Who would not change if she suddenly found that her parents wanted to divorce, her mother had no money and was expecting yet another baby, and that she herself was secretly in love with the son of the man who now loved her mother? It was enough to change anyone, surely?

  ‘I know. I’ve become harder.’

  ‘No, not harder …’ Josh hesitated as Melinda still stared ahead, frowning. She felt harder. ‘No, more determined, I think that’s it.’ Josh nodded, obviously agreeing with himself. Melinda smiled and offered him a peppermint, and then they both shut up, thinking about different things, as they so often did, but not needing to talk.

  Melinda loved being in the horse box. To her just being in it was like a holiday. The sway of the cab, the smell of the horses behind, the knowledge of all the work ahead of or behind them – there was a sort of magic to it all.

 
And the slowness of it was good too because it allowed for concentration, and thinking. So now she turned to Josh and added, ‘You’re right. I’m not harder, just more determined. After all, I have to be now, don’t I? I mean, supposing my mother dies in childbirth? It will be up to me to bring up Letty, and the next one, whoever it might be.’

  ‘Your mother won’t die in childbirth. Women don’t die in childbirth any more, Mel. This is not the Victorian age. Your mother won’t die …’

  ‘Let’s hope not,’ Melinda agreed, after a pause during which she tried not to remember Hope’s account of her dream, and how she had suddenly clung to her eldest daughter after she had recounted it to her, and how frightened Melinda had felt, not wanting either to believe in the dream or to see how vulnerable her mother had become since the fall in their fortunes and her unexpected pregnancy.

  After another small silence Melinda continued, ‘But, none the less, Josh, it has to be faced. Should something happen to Mums now, it will be up to me to look after the rest of us, because Dads simply isn’t interested in us any more. I mean he couldn’t even remember my birthday. Nothing – not even a card. Nor Claire’s last birthday either. Claire cried her eyes out as soon as she realized, although I don’t know why really, except I do, but that’s how things are for us now, Josh. We are not hard so much as it is.’

  ‘I don’t understand why you are – not of any interest to him any more. I really don’t.’

  ‘Well, you wouldn’t, Josh, would you?’ Melinda laughed suddenly.

  ‘Why – why wouldn’t I?’ Josh looked quite as suddenly hurt at her laughter, as if she was mocking him.

  ‘You wouldn’t understand, Josh, because – you – are – a – boy. If any of us had been boys, just one out of the four of us, Mums told me, it seems our grandfather would have been willing to leave us all a fortune, or anyway leave Dads it, but with us all being girls and so not real Merriotts in his eyes it will all go to someone else, a male Merriott not a female Merriott. But now, well. Dads is so hopeless at business he’s had to run off with a rich widow who will let him have any number of posh cars and a private jet and who knows what else? I mean, maybe he’s right to leave us all, Josh. If private jets and expensive cars mean more to him than us, maybe he’s right to abandon ship – or take to a yacht!’ she ended, smiling ruefully.