Women of a Dangerous Age. Fanny Blake
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prefer it if they’d waited till after they’d got married. Well, I would of course. The timing’s not perfect. But when’s the baby due? Are they bringing the marriage forward? My God!’ He crashed his fist onto the table, so his beer almost slopped over the edge of his glass. ‘A grandfather. That’s not something I ever expected to be so soon. What about you? Grandparents, eh? This calls for something stronger.’
Lou sat silent, unable to interrupt. Then, as he sat back, beaming with pleasure, she prepared herself to prick his balloon.
‘No, not Jamie and Rose.’ She took another sip.
‘Not Jamie and Rose.’ He repeated her words slowly as he absorbed their meaning. ‘Who then? Tom?’ He shook his head. ‘The little idiot. How many times have I warned him about not using condoms.’ He gave a little snort of laughter.
I bet you have, she thought. One of your specialist subjects, no doubt. There was an underlying pride in his voice at having a son who sowed his wild oats with abandon and virility. Every feminist bone in her body objected to his tone but she bit back any comment. This was not the time for personal recrimination. This was a moment when they should be pulling together. Let’s get this over with.
‘No,’ she said, her fingers stroking the stem of her glass. ‘Not Tom. Nic.’
As he stared at her, she thought his head might explode. His face grew a deeper and deeper shade of red until he let all his breath out in one convulsive rush. ‘Nic? No. She must have made a mistake.’
‘There’s no mistake.’ Keep calm, breathe deeply. If anyone’s going to make a scene, it’s not going to be you.
Hooker seemed genuinely flabbergasted at first, as if unable to believe such a thing of his beloved daughter. Watching his face, Lou saw his thought process: from shock, to confusion, to denial, to acceptance, to fury. With his anger came the return of his power of speech.
‘Who’s responsible?’
Pointing out that Nic inevitably bore fifty per cent of the responsibility would not help. Instead, Lou said, ‘Max, I think.’
‘You think? Why aren’t you sure? When I see him, I’ll …’ He stopped, unable to think of a sufficiently terrible threat.
The people on the next two tables had paused in the conversation and turned to see what was going on.
‘Shhh,’ Lou cautioned. ‘There’s no point getting worked up.’
‘Worked up? What the hell do you mean? I’ve every right to be worked up. You walk in here and tell me that my daughter’s having a baby and expect me to be calm.’ He lowered his head into his hands. ‘Oh, my God. A grandfather.’ His earlier pride had given way to despair. He angled his head so that he could see her. ‘I definitely need something stronger. A whisky.’
‘And you want me to get it?’ Lou bridled at being asked to go to the bar for him a second time. Nor did she relish the idea of a repeat encounter with Tess and her fashionista companions who she’d noticed looking in their direction.
‘No, no. I’ll get them. Same again?’ He picked up her empty wine glass as he edged out of the narrow space, his other hand already foraging for the change in his pocket.
She nodded, relieved to be left on her own for a moment.
By the time he returned, his expression was something approaching normal. Having finally accepted that a man had defiled his precious only daughter without his consent but with hers, he had moved on to a new tack.
‘Presumably you’ve persuaded her that the sensible way to deal with this is for her to have an abortion?’
Here we go.
‘No, I haven’t.’ She registered the taut straight line of his mouth. ‘This is Nic’s life and Nic’s decision. She wants to keep the baby and I only want to support her.’
‘For God’s sake, Lou. She’s far too young. Surely even you can see that.’ He was speaking to her as if she was irredeemably stupid. ‘A single mother. My daughter. No.’ He gave a heartfelt groan. If what they were talking about weren’t so serious, Lou would have laughed at the theatricality of his response.
‘Hooker, get a grip. Yes, she’s your daughter but she’s not the toddler you built sandcastles with every year any more. She’s not the thirteen-year-old whose pocket money you stopped when she threw her Bacardi Breezer bottles into the neighbours’ garden. She’s got her own life now and she doesn’t have to account to us for what she does any more. Whether you like it or not. Our job’s to give her all the help we can. That’s all we can do.’
‘But her career …’ His voice was muffled, as he nursed his whisky glass in front of his mouth.
‘Thousands of women have babies and return to work. That won’t be a problem because she’s already thought everything through.’ Echoing Nic’s words made Lou share her daughter’s confidence that everything would work out.
‘You say that …’
‘I know that,’ Lou said firmly. ‘She’s always loved looking after things so perhaps having a baby … Let’s see.’
‘Do you remember when she rescued that pigeon with a broken wing? She was always such a softie.’ Hooker smiled at the memory.
Lou’s recollection was less of the softie and more of the pigeon shit that had covered the living room when the bird had escaped its cardboard box. Nor had she forgotten the hours that it had taken to clear up the room to Hooker’s satisfaction, but without his help. Oddly, Nic too had found something urgent to do. But she was glad that Hooker’s mood was changing as the whisky took hold. ‘And Ripper, her hamster whose hair fell out.’ She smiled too, remembering how Nic had lavished affection and mite dust on the poor little wrinkled, bald creature until it had finally died.
As they began to swap reminiscences, their differences were put to one side. Whatever happened between them in the future, these memories would always be theirs alone. Their shared family experiences interested no one else in the world but them.
Once she leaned over and touched his arm. Still talking, he covered her hand with his just before she swiftly removed it. But one memory led on to the next and, as they travelled back in time, Lou began to recognise the Hooker she had once fallen for, the man who could make her laugh. She checked herself. Perhaps she should go home. But, memories and tongues loosened by alcohol, the two of them stayed where they were in the warmth of the fire, drinking and reminiscing, till the chairs were being put on the tables around them. By then she was aware of how pleasantly hazy the world seemed.
Reluctantly they dragged themselves out into the night air. Feeling definitely the worse for wear although triumph ant that Hooker had eventually taken on board and almost accepted Nic’s news, Lou stepped forward to give her ex an affectionate peck farewell. Slightly surprised at herself, she overbalanced, righting herself with one foot in the gutter, her hand on his chest. ‘Whoops. Shouldn’t have mixed my drinks. Sorry.’ She giggled and removed her hand as if it was burned.
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