Love And Devotion Part 10

'What's with the grumpy sister act?'

'I'm not grumpy,' snapped Suzie.

Gemma snorted. 'Not much. So come on, what's bugging you? Better you get it off your chest before we arrive at Dad's and spoil the evening for him.' To Gemma's surprise, her sister turned very pale.

After a long silence, as though she had needed to compose herself, Suzie said, 'I just wish you wouldn't deliberately wind up Mum and Steve the way you do.'

Gemma rolled her eyes. 'Like I give a toss what they think.'

'Perhaps you should. You know perfectly well that when you play them off against Dad, it's Dad who comes off worse.'

'All I said was seeing as Dad had more s.p.a.ce in his new house, I wouldn't mind moving in with him.'

'But there was no need for you to say it so stroppily. You know they have a big enough downer on Dad without you adding to it.'

'Well, that's hardly my fault.'

'Nothing ever is!'

Gemma sank back into her seat and stared at the road ahead. She pursed her lips, annoyed. Something had rattled Suzie's cage and she couldn't for the life of her work out what it was. Still, it wasn't her problem. She dismissed her sister from her mind and thought of the letter she'd received that morning from Marcel. He'd written to say that he wanted to come and see her. Could he stay? The very idea of him under the same roof as Mum and Steve made her want to leave the country. Mum would have a fit if she clapped eyes on Marcel, with his s.h.a.ggy, shoulder-length hair, his pierced tongue and his goatee beard. And if she ever, ever, knew what they'd got up to in Paris ... well, it just wasn't worth considering. Gemma didn't object to a bit of boat-rocking, but she was smart enough to know that a capsize was counterproductive.

Suzie gripped the steering wheel, trying to keep calm. It wasn't easy. She was about to tell her father something no father wants to hear. She had deliberately engineered this whole evening, had rehea.r.s.ed herself till she was word-perfect. But now that she was minutes away from telling Dad, she was losing her nerve. Perhaps she would be better leaving it until she went back to university in a few weeks, when she could decide more objectively what she was going to do. But even that frightened her. She couldn't bear the thought of her friends - one friend in particular - knowing about it.

Usually daughters turned to their mothers when faced with a crisis, but Suzie had always turned to Dad when there was something she couldn't resolve on her own. She supposed it stemmed from those days when he'd chucked in being a lawyer and was at home with her and Gemma. Many a time they'd have the kitchen covered in glue, cardboard boxes, painted cotton reels and glitter when Mum came home from work. Often she would go mad because the place was a mess and Dad hadn't done the ironing. Other days he'd take them out after school - tea at Nana Ruby's, or a trip to the library, or maybe a walk in the park. They'd frequently lose track of the time and Mum would get cross and say he was ruining the structure of the day for them. Bedtimes had always been great. He'd read to them for ages. There was always time for another page, another chapter. And when he'd done that, he'd sing to them. She still liked 'Scarlet Ribbons' even now.

She knew Dad had been far from perfect - especially for Mum, who liked everything done a certain way - but from a child's perspective he'd been fun. He still was. It might not have been a conventional childhood, and her friends had thought it dead weird that her father wasn't working, but it was better than a lot of other people's family life.

She swallowed. Could she be as good a parent as her father? She chewed on her lip. Oh, G.o.d, how could she have been so stupid? How could she have slept with a friend's boyfriend and ended up pregnant?

Chapter Seventeen.

It was warm enough to eat in the garden so they'd carried the only table Will possessed - the kitchen table - outside. In the gathering darkness, listening to Gemma telling him and Suzie about something that had happened at school that day, Will thought of the birthday present they'd clubbed together to buy him: a pair of tickets to see Jools Holland at the Apollo in Manchester. Not exactly his first choice, but he appreciated it all the same. It was a marked improvement on all those years of Homer Simpson boxer shorts he'd had to endure.

'More to drink, anyone?' he asked when Gemma finally drew breath. Gemma held out her gla.s.s for some more wine, but knowing that Suzie was driving, he said, 'More orange juice? Or do you fancy something else?'

'Do you have any c.o.ke?'

'Yes. I'll get you some. You okay? You look tired.'

'It's nothing. I didn't sleep well last night, that's all.'

While she waited for her father to come back with her drink, Suzie prayed that Gemma wouldn't start up again with one of her long-drawn-out stories. It was a risk deciding to break the news in front of her sister, but she was doing it because she hoped Gemma would defuse the shock. But that would only happen if Gemma would shut up long enough for Suzie to get a word in edgeways.

'Here you go,' her father said when he returned. 'I brought the bottle as well.'

'Thanks,' she murmured when he'd filled her gla.s.s and the c.o.ke was fizzing loudly in the quiet. She waited for him to sit down and cleared her throat, ready at last.

'Hey, Dad, did you know that Steve's thinking about taking up golf?'

Suzie nearly screamed. What was it with Gemma and that great big mouth of hers?

'Really?' said Dad. 'How will they ever manage to measure his colossal handicap, I wonder? His handicap being his head.' Both he and Gemma laughed. Then Gemma was off again, something about that French guy she'd met in Paris and how he'd written to her. Suzie tuned out of the conversation and stared up at the darkening sky. Next thing she knew, Gemma was on her feet. 'Come on Suzie,' she was saying, 'time to bring on Dad's cake.'

Their father groaned when he saw it. 'That looks horribly like a forest fire of candles,' he said when Gemma placed it on the table. Suzie handed him the knife to cut it, but Gemma said, 'Not yet, we haven't sung to him. Happy birthday to you ...' she began.

Suzie did her best to join in but her heart wasn't in it. Get it over and done with, she told herself.

'Happy birthday to you ...'

What's the worst he could say?

'Happy birthday dear Dad ...'

You know he'll be okay. He always is.

'Happy birthday to y-o-u.'

'Go on, Dad,' urged Gemma, 'blow out the candles. Don't forget to make a wish!'

Suzie watched her father take a deep breath and just as he was about to lean forward, she said, 'Dad, I'm pregnant.'

Will's breath came out in one long exhalation; all but two of the candles spluttered and died.

It was Gemma who spoke first. 'b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l!'

Very slowly, Will wetted his thumb and middle finger and snuffed out the two remaining candles. He was giving himself time to think.

'Say something, Dad.'

He raised his glance and stared at Suzie. 'Are you sure?'

She nodded.

For the longest time the three of them sat round the table, their expressions blank.

'I'm sorry, Dad. And I'm sorry for spoiling your birthday. But I had to tell you.'

'Of course you did.' He swallowed, tried to keep the shock and disappointment from his face. 'Er ... Gemma, I wonder if you'd give us a moment? Maybe some coffee would be a good idea.'

When they were alone, Suzie said, 'Are you very cross with me?'

He shook his head. 'I don't know what to think. I'm too stunned. I'd never have thought ... I mean, you've always been ...' He broke off, knowing how absurd he was about to sound.

'You were going to say sensible, weren't you?'

He nodded, reminded of the conversation they'd had on the phone not so long ago: 'One of these days I'm going to shock you and not be the responsible daughter you've always taken me for.' Had she known then what she knew now?

From inside the house came the sound of Gemma rattling crockery. Distracted, he said, 'Let's go down to the end of the garden. It'll be easier to think in the quiet.'

While Suzie sat on the bench overlooking the slick, unmoving surface of the ca.n.a.l, he lit the storm lantern he'd rigged up in one of the trees; at once moths appeared from nowhere. He joined her on the bench. 'Who's the father?' he asked. 'You haven't mentioned a boyfriend in a long while.'

'The father has nothing to do with it.'

Will raised an eyebrow. 'I think you'll find he does.'

'It's not that straightforward. He's the boyfriend of a friend of mine at uni.'

Anger stirred inside Will. 'Then what the h.e.l.l was he doing with you? What kind of two-timing b.a.s.t.a.r.d is he?'

'Be fair, Dad, you could ask the same of me. What kind of friend was I?'

'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I'm probably saying all the wrong things. Making it worse for you. So ... how many weeks are you?'

'Four months.'

He tried to hide yet another level of shock. 'As much as that? When did you find out?'

'Last week. I did a test then went to the doctor and had it confirmed. And before you ask, I hadn't sussed before because I'm not that regular. I never have been.'

Will reached for her hand, remembering the day she'd started her periods. They'd been on holiday - just him and the girls - and he'd had to get up early and go to the nearest shop that was open to buy the necessaries. Thinking of that day, when he'd realised his eldest daughter was growing up fast, his mind snagged on the disappointment he couldn't help but feel. Surely she was intelligent enough to know better. He said, 's.e.x without precautions, Suzie, surely you knew the risks?'

'It was a mistake. A stupid, drunken mistake. We were at a party; Sinead wasn't there and, well - '

Suddenly squeamish, Will interrupted her: he didn't need to know any more; there were certain things a father shouldn't hear. 'It's okay, you don't have to give me the details. But are you sure you shouldn't be having this discussion with him?'

'No. It should never have happened between us. One bad decision on both our parts shouldn't mean his life is ruined. Or Sinead's; she's mad about him.' She hung her head. 'Oh, Dad, I feel so ashamed. I felt bad enough the day after, that I could go behind her back like that, but now ... now it's as if the baby is a way to punish me.'

He put his arm round her. 'Hey, beating yourself up with irrational talk like that won't get you anywhere. What does your mother say about it?' As if he needed to ask. She'd be breathing fire.

'I haven't told her. I wanted to talk to you first.'

Will was concerned. 'She's your mother, Suzie; she should know.'

'I'll tell her when I know what I'm going to do.'

This was the crux of the conversation, the all-important area to which Will had been reluctant to stray. 'You mean whether you'll keep the baby or have a termination? Or even have it, then give it up for adoption?'

Suzie nodded and turned away. But not before Will saw her eyes fill. His heart went out to her. He drew her close. 'It'll be okay. Whatever you decide to do, I'll be there for you. You're not to worry.' She began to cry, and he held her closer still, wanting her to know that he meant every word. He wouldn't let her go through this alone. He wished, though, that she'd spoken to Maxine. Keeping Maxine in the dark would only infuriate her.

They decided to stay the night with their father, but as tired as she was Suzie couldn't sleep. She hadn't slept a full night since she'd plucked up the courage to buy the pregnancy test kit and known the worst. Standing at the bedroom window that overlooked the front garden, she rested her elbows on the sill and looked at the houses opposite. They were ordinary houses with ordinary gardens and she imagined the ordinary people who lived inside them, living their safe, ordinary lives. How she envied them.

Staying the night at Dad's had been a last-minute arrangement; basically she couldn't face going home to Mum and Steve. She'd cried so much that Mum would have taken one look at her and known straight away that something was wrong. Dad had phoned Mum to say that there'd been a change of plan and was it okay if they stopped the night with him. Ridiculous really, that at their age he'd asked for permission. Surely they could do what they wanted. 'Just keeping the peace,' he'd said when Gemma had pointed this out. 'We don't want any unnecessary antagonism.'

They'd stayed up late talking about the coming weeks. Her father had agreed with Suzie that it might be best to hold off returning to uni until she knew exactly what she was going to do.

'Do you want the baby?' Gemma had asked with her typical frankness.

'I don't know,' she'd mumbled, through yet more tears.

As if to lighten the mood, Gemma had then said, 'Just think, Dad, if Suzie does go ahead and keeps the baby, I'll become an aunt and you'll be a grandfather. How awesomely unreal does that sound?'

The obvious thing to do was to have a termination. Four months ago and she'd have advised any of her friends in this situation to do exactly that. Four months ago, she thought dryly, she should have taken a morning-after pill, but it hadn't crossed her mind. Well, she was paying the price now, wasn't she? Every time she thought that a termination would solve everything, she remembered the girl at university who had given such an impa.s.sioned speech at the debating society last term. An earnest pro-lifer, the girl had held the audience spellbound as she'd calmly laid out the facts. How the foetus was totally recognisable as a human form, how it was receptive to light and sound. 'And yet this fragile form of human life, this baby, yes,' the girl had said fervently, 'let's call it what it is, a baby, can be legally murdered. What kind of a society are we that allows this to happen? And what kind of woman,' the girl had said, her voice dropping for added emphasis, 'would willingly violate the sanct.i.ty of human life?'

A frightened woman, thought Suzie.

Chapter Eighteen.

Marty had never forgiven Will for not confiding in him when his career and marriage hit the skids. He'd been horrified when he discovered how bad things were. 'Why didn't you tell me?' he'd said. 'I thought we were friends.'

'I was too screwed up,' was all Will could say.

It was with this in mind that Will, once he'd opened the shop next morning, phoned Marty. He had promised Suzie at breakfast that he wouldn't say a word to Maxine, and he'd stick to that, but Marty was a different matter.

'You sound serious. Everything's okay, isn't it?' his friend asked when Will enquired if he was free for lunch, because there was something he wanted to discuss. 'You're not about to pop your clogs, are you?'

'No. Nothing like that. So you can put your professional zeal back in its box. I'm not in need of a new will.'

'You're getting married and want a pre-nup, is that it?'

'When h.e.l.l starts flogging ice-cream, that's the day I'll marry again and need a pre-nup.'

'Well, just you make sure you count me in on that deal too. Usual time and place?'

The shop was busy that morning, mostly with people who had no intention of putting a hand in their pocket. They were the time-wasters who said unimaginative things like: 'Oh, would you look at this! I remember having one of these when I was a girl.' Or, 'Twenty quid for this, my granny had a dozen of them! Talk about money for old rope.' Will knew a dealer down in Ludlow who had a sign in his shop that said: 'The only person interested in what your grandmother had is your granddad!' In contrast, the serious punters came in knowing exactly what they wanted and were prepared to pay the going rate, understanding that dealers had a living to make. It was extraordinary how many people genuinely resented dealers for earning an honest crust.

At ten to one, leaving Jarvis in charge, Will set off to meet Marty. It was market day, which meant the town had a.s.sumed a jaunty two-for-a-pound air. It also meant that the main car park was home to an eclectic mix of stallholders selling their wares, most of which had been made in the Far East. The original cobbled marketplace had long since been considered too small to be of use, and was now only used on May Day bank holiday and the Sat.u.r.day before Christmas, when wooden Hansel and Gretel chalets were erected on it and the air was fragrant with the smell of Gluwein and German sausages.

Will and Marty's 'usual place' was a burger van on the edge of the market stalls. Brian, a Gulf War veteran, presided over his griddles and hotplates with regimented efficiency. Given that this was where Will and Marty often came to chat and clog up their arteries, they had nicknamed the burger van Chewing The Fat.

Marty was already there when Will worked his way through the crowds of shoppers picking over the spoils of pirate DVDs, Hoover attachments and cheap bedlinen. 'I've already put our order in,' Marty said, looking wildly out of place in his pinstripe suit, polished brogues and fob watch and chain. As a small-town solicitor in nearby Nantwich, he liked to dress the part. He reminded Will of an Agatha Christie character; the ever-loyal family solicitor. The fact that he was a resigned bachelor - the right woman had never come along - added to the illusion.

Brian gave Will a salute with his spatula. 'It'll be ready in a tick,' he said, scooping up an onion ring that had flown off the spatula and landed in a tub of margarine a foot square. True to his word, within seconds Will and Marty were clutching their cheeseburgers and polystyrene cups of coffee and commandeering the one and only table Brian provided for his customers. Once they were settled, Marty said, 'Come on then, what's the mystery?'

Straight to the point, Will said, 'It's Suzie. She told me last night that she's pregnant.'

Marty's eyes opened wide. 'Suzie?'