A Little Love (31 page)

She sighed, rattling the phone in her hand, half hoping it would tumble out of her palm and shatter on the pavement below. She didn’t really want to have this conversation. Pru stared at the keypad, trying to find the courage, unsure how to start. She shuddered at the thought that Christopher might have shared her story with Isabel; God only knows what she would have made of that. She drew her shoulders back and took a deep breath. This wasn’t about her, it was about Meg and Lucas.

Pru pushed the call button and closed her eyes. It was picked up instantly. The voice at the other end sounded old and croaky. It was the kind of voice a pantomime witch might have, or a feared old crone; nothing about her tone or manner suggested it was the same woman who had chatted to Pru over the scrubbed kitchen table some three months earlier. That woman had been excited about her future, clapping as she held court and so energised that she practically sang. Pru had been intimidated and irritated in equal measure by her vitality and energy, and had laughed at her preoccupation with wedding bows and centrepieces. This woman sounded broken, unrecognisable. She had hoped that she might have healed a little since the funeral, but that didn’t appear to be the case.

‘Isabel? Hello, it’s Pru here, Bobby’s aunt.’ Pru closed her eyes.
Am I still Bobby’s aunt? How I miss her.

‘Hello, Pru.’ She sounded flat and unsurprised to be hearing from her, as if nothing could surprise or interest her ever again, not now that the very worst had happened.

‘How are you?’ Pru cringed. It was a question she asked automatically, but she knew how Isabel was and to make her search for the words felt cruel.

‘I’m, you know…’ Isabel offered.

Yes, Pru did know, which was precisely why she had shied away from calling before. She preferred to write a card and then a letter, penned from the safe distance of her office desk. It felt easier to write down what would otherwise have stuttered in her throat. Easier or more cowardly, she suddenly wasn’t so sure.

‘I am so sorry to disturb you, Isabel.’ She paused, giving Isabel the chance to say, ‘That’s okay’ or, ‘You are not disturbing me’. She offered neither. ‘This is a very difficult conversation to start and I would come and see you and talk to you in person. But, well, here it is—’

‘What’s happened? Is it Christopher?’ Her voice was again level, almost as if she expected something bad to befall her last bastion of support.

‘No! No, not Christopher.’ Pru paused, wishing that she
were
the person closest to him, the one that would call in an emergency, but quickly quashed the happy flicker at Isabel even thinking she might be. ‘There’s no easy way to tell you this and please forgive my being blunt, but as I said, I don’t really know where to begin.’

‘Go on.’ Isabel sounded uninterested and slightly impatient.

‘Just after William died, I met a young girl called Meg…’

Pru closed her eyes and told Isabel the full story, trying to make the situation sound positive, choosing words that painted William as hapless rather than duplicitous. She paused only when Isabel’s sob broke her rhythm.

‘And is she saying it is William’s?’

‘Yes. It is William’s. She gave birth a few hours ago to a little boy who she called Lucas William, your grandson.’

‘What utter rubbish! The girl is obviously after something, although what she thinks she can get out of it, God only knows!’

‘I understand why you might think that, but I can assure you it’s not the case. Meg is genuine and she has given birth to your grandson. I’ve seen photos of her and William, and letters.’

Her revelation was met by silence.

‘I thought I should call you to let you know of his existence, and to tell you that he will be here with us in Curzon Street, if you would like to come and meet him. You would of course be made very welcome. I know it’s an awful lot to take in, but it would be lovely to see you.’

‘Why are
you
involved with this girl? I don’t understand how she is connected to you.’ Isabel ignored the invite.

‘It’s a long story. I met her once and stepped in to help her; she was having a very hard time.’

Isabel made a noise that sounded like ‘Hmph’, reminding Pru that no one had had as hard a time as she had.

‘I can only imagine how this must sound, Isabel, and I know it’s a big shock. Believe me, it’s not easy being the one giving you this news.’

‘It’s not news,’ she interrupted, ‘it’s lies. William would not have done that, he wouldn’t. He loved Bobby. I know he did. He was so excited about the wedding. We had that party! You were here, it was a perfect day, absolutely perfect.’

‘Yes it was. And he did love her and she knew that. But I do believe he also loved Meg and—’

‘No. Stop it, Pru! Just stop right there! I don’t want to hear any more. It’s not true, he’s gone and I won’t have any grandchildren. That possibility died with my son.’ She sobbed. ‘To suggest otherwise is very cruel and more than I can bear to consider.’

‘But that’s just it, Isabel, that possibility didn’t die! Lucas is here and he’s wonderful, he—’

Pru stopped talking as Isabel clicked the phone into the receiver and was gone.

‘He could do with a link to his daddy.’ Pru looked skywards. ‘Oh, Billy-boy, the things I do for you!’

In the space of just a few days, Lucas, the newest resident of Curzon Street, had become the biggest time sponge Pru had ever encountered. All three women in his life spent hours watching him, bathing him, dressing him up and allowing him to sleep in their willing arms. It had sent all their normal routines into disarray.

So when Pru heard the doorbell ringing early one morning, she was still only half-dressed. She looked out of the window and saw a shiny fat silver Mercedes parked on the double yellows with its hazard lights on. Her heart soared as she recalled the last time someone had called for her at such an early hour, parked illegally and giving her ten minutes in which to get ready. She shoved her dressing gown on over her slip and ran down the stairs, brushing her hair with her fingers as she went.

She opened the door, trying to look casual and alluring at the same time. Her shoulders sank and her smile faded at the sight of Isabel clutching at her handbag and looking close to tears, but she quickly rallied and rushed forward.

‘Oh, Isabel, it’s so lovely to see you!’ She held her arms out to the woman who would have been Bobby’s mother-in-law and the two stood in a silent embrace. ‘I am so very glad you came.’ Pru stood back and held her hand, sincere.

There was a scuffling behind them and Meg appeared with Lucas in her arms.

Pru let go of Isabel’s hand and gestured to Meg – slight, pale, pretty Meg, who hovered in her jeans and a floral shirt. ‘This is Meg, who I told you about.’

Meg stood shaking, trying to contain all that she had been told and unsure of what to expect. She knew she was a million miles from everything that Bobby had been and was nervous about how she would measure up. ‘Hello,’ she said, extending her hand. Isabel ignored it and instead pulled her into a hug.

‘I’ve come to see the little boy,’ Isabel whispered, hardly daring to believe that it was true.

‘Your grandson,’ Meg said, lifting the sleepy Lucas up towards his grandma for closer scrutiny. He sighed and mimed feeding in his mother’s arms. His little tummy rose and fell and he placed his scrunched fist against his cheek, angelic.

Isabel nodded as tears filled her eyes. ‘Yes, my grandson.’

‘I was just taking him for his morning stroll in the park. Would you like to come with us?’

Isabel nodded. ‘I’d like that very much.’

The next morning, Meg was in the bath as Pru fed Lucas his bottle and watched as he lay with his eyes closed and his milk-filled tum rising and falling in rhythm with his sleep.

‘There we go, little man.’ She held the empty bottle up to the light. ‘You’ve guzzled that. Won’t be long till we get you on steak and chips or one of my lovely cakes, how about that, Lucas?’

His perfect pouty mouth was open and milk dribbled over his dimpled cheek as he smiled through his dream. Pru stroked his face and wondered what someone so new to this world dreamed about. Her stomach ached with love for this little helpless thing, who at that moment was lying with the posture of a drunk, sprawled with arms wide and head lolling against the cushion. A familiar voice broke the lull, and Pru looked up quickly, recognising the outline of the face on the TV screen. It was Christopher, addressing the House in his confident baritone. Pru’s tears came quickly, without invitation or consideration. She clutched Lucas against her chest and cried into his sweet-scented scalp.

Pru didn’t see Milly standing in the doorway and taking in the scene, a fierce anger burning in her eyes. Neither did she hear her slip out of the flat and jump in a taxi.

‘The Palace of Westminster, please. And be quick about it.’

It was unseasonably cold for July, but at least the sky was bright blue. Wisps of cloud floated by on a determined breeze and birds circled overhead. It was peaceful, far away from the city and the noise of traffic and people. The grass was well tended, with just the odd patch of gorse poking through. The grey and green landscape was broken up by clumps of wild ox-eye daisies that grew tightly packed in abundance, providing pockets of white and yellow that drew your eye. It was a good place to come and have a think, away from the hustle and bustle and a useful reminder of the fragility of life. Meg liked it there.

The small, simple gravestone stood under a sprawling oak tree. The spot had been chosen deliberately for the sense of protection it offered. Meg used one hand to gather her coat closely around her neck and hesitated before dropping to her knees, not caring about the sap and damp soil that clung to her legs and stained her tights. She didn’t care about much as she sank down, staring at the arc of granite before bowing her head. She ran her hand over the simply styled young stone, touching her fingers lightly against the words that were so beautifully inscribed:
Much loved, always missed.
It was perfect.

‘I miss you, you know. I miss you every day. I know we didn’t get a lifetime together, but what we did have changed my life and you changed me. You were the best thing that ever happened to me. Ever. I want you to know that. I love you. I love you now and I’ll love you always.’ She swiped at the tears that trickled down her cheeks. The sound of footsteps snapping a branch underfoot made her look up.

Isabel approached and squatted down next to Meg. ‘It’s a lovely spot, isn’t it?’ She patted Meg’s back.

Meg nodded. ‘Yes it is. I’m really glad you chose this place.’

‘It brings me peace, coming here.’ Isabel gave a small sad sigh.

‘I can see why.’

‘They’re all waiting, if you’re ready?’

Meg stood up and brushed the dirt from her coat and palms, then ran her fingers through her hair. ‘I’m a bit nervous. How do I look?’

‘You look lovely, like the mother of a little boy about to get christened.’

Meg cocked her head. ‘Poor little sod. I can’t believe you talked me into letting him wear Bill’s old christening gown – he looks like a girl!’

‘He doesn’t! He looks absolutely beautiful.’

‘I think you might be a little biased.’ Meg laughed. ‘It’s amazing you arranged all this so quickly!’

Isabel allowed herself a smile. She had thrown herself into organising the christening with almost the same gusto she’d lavished on the engagement party. It had dusted off her old spirit, given her a jolt. She had been relieved to find her old self emerging through the fog of sadness and confusion. She doubted she would ever be free of grieving for William, but Lucas was a wonderful little bonus that she could never have imagined. She turned and flicked her head in the direction of the church. ‘See you in there.’

Meg knelt down again, kissed her fingers and touched them against William and Bobby’s gravestone. ‘I don’t ’arf miss you. Especially today. Oh, Bill, if you could see that boy of ours, you’d be so proud. But you’re always with us, aren’t you, watching over our shoulders. Milly told me that. And I know your dad was always with you, wasn’t he, Bobby? Anyway, I’ve got to go. Wish me luck.’

She turned and walked towards the little church, smiling as she made her way through the heavy door and up the aisle to where Lucas was wriggling in his Aunty Milly’s arms. Milly was cooing back at him. Meg’s cousin Liam and his flatmate Rocky stood beside them, looking dapper in bow ties and snug suit jackets over their jeans.

The vicar nodded at the little group and began the service. Just as he spoke the words, ‘This baptism is recognition of the inherent divinity of this child, and our commitment to love him,’ the door creaked and in hurried Pru. She mouthed ‘Sorry!’, flustered that her meeting had overrun, leaving her transport plans in disarray. She slotted in next to Milly and blew a kiss at Lucas, who was dressed in a rather ornate white lace nightie. He looked beautiful.

After the church ceremony, the little crowd gathered in Isabel’s kitchen at Mountfield, sipping champagne and devouring the cakes that Plum Patisserie had created to celebrate the day. There were mini doughnuts filled with crème anglaise and dusted with powdered sugar, individual ginger and rhubarb cheesecakes topped with elaborate baskets of gold sugarwork, and, of course, the christening cake. The large square fruitcake was covered in white royal icing and decorated with piped ropes of icing along the edges. Across the top, in a fine rolling script of the palest blue, was written
Lucas William Fellsley
and in the top right corner there was a single gold star, to represent his daddy.

Milly rocked Lucas on her hip and looked out of the window.

‘Hello there, godmother!’ Meg approached with a glass of fizz in her hand.

‘Ah, hello, we were just having a chat.’

‘Oh yeah? What are you chatting about?’

‘About my godmotherly duties. The first one being to make sure his mummy doesn’t get so pissed that she throws up in the car on the way home – that kind of thing!’

‘Ha ha! I’ve only had one!’ Meg raised her glass.