According to YES (18 page)

Fresh out of the shower, dressed and smelling of lemons from the soap Glenn makes sure is in every bathroom, Kemble ambles down the corridor, past the well-displayed, well-edited gallery of pictures. He wishes he didn't have to live here, somehow he feels as if he's still in school every minute he spends in this apartment, and these photos only serve to compound those feelings. They are a brazen exhibit of only the best elements of this fractured family. Who is this show for? It's not as if his parents have an endless parade of a social life, people visiting who might want to peruse the photos on their way to the bathroom during a rowdy-but-fun dinner party. He remembers an element of that from his young childhood, but it hasn't happened for ages here. His mother, Miss Glenn Havisham, seems to have hermited herself away in this stifling place, and Thomas has toed the line, to keep the peace. Not that there's much peace today. His father rang through to his room on the internal phone and asked Kemble
to come to his study. So, here he is, feeling more like he is about to enter the headmaster's office than ever.

As Kemble pushes the door open, his father is framed in the morning light of the window, and Teddy is sitting in the big armchair. The atmosphere is pretty tense, and Kemble has a sense of foreboding. This ain't going to be easy.

‘Come in, son' says Thomas.

‘Oh no,' says Kemble.

‘Yes,' Thomas says, ‘We need to talk about the baby.'

Kemble even now rails against any suggestion his father makes, however benign or beneficial. It has become his habit to be surly and opposite as a matter of course. ‘Why exactly? I don't really want to.'

‘I don't particularly want to either, Kemble, but we should.'

Teddy pipes up, ‘Neither of you have to. I said I'd take care of it, OK?'

Thomas sighs. Kemble grunts sarcastically, ‘Holy cow, if you only knew how stupid that sounds. You are eighteen!'

Teddy stands up and faces his father, ‘Why don't you just butt out? Don't think you can go ‘Dad' on me now, after all this time for Chrissakes!'

Kemble laughs. An ugly, defensive laugh. ‘We're a farce. You, me and him. We're a punchline. No-one will believe this crap, I'm not sure I do.'

Teddy stands firm, ‘Neither of you had the right to do what you did. You're not free. Neither of you. Totally wrong.' He
stops to consider whether he should say what he wants to say next. He opens his mouth to speak, then doesn't quite manage it as he looks into his father's disappointed, judgmental eyes. Then, summoning his courage, he decides to go ahead anyway,

‘I've phoned college. I've deferred for a year.'

Kemble snorts some more disapproval and holds his hands in the air in surrender, ‘You crazy asshole.'

Thomas turns from the window, ‘That was a mistake, Teddy.'

Teddy is furious, ‘What?! Because I don't treat fatherhood like a joke? Is that what you mean? Because I'm prepared to take some fuckin' responsibility …?'

Thomas tries to mollify him, ‘Listen, you don't know you're the father.'

Teddy is utterly indignant, ‘That baby's mine. I so know it. I was the first …' he looks at his father and grandfather, gradually becoming less certain … ‘I bet I was the first … was I the first?'

‘Unless we look in our diaries, we won't know that,' says Thomas.

‘OK, OK, that's what we should do then,' says Teddy, fran­tically searching around for one.

Kemble cuts through with, ‘Well, if I'm honest, I don't want anything to do with it. I could fake some interest, but I'd rather be upfront. It's a huge mistake, whoever's it is, admit it.'

This is a step too far for Teddy, ‘Yeah, everything about you
being any kind of father is a mistake, that's for sure. She must be crazy to have gone anywhere near you. Did you drug her?'

Kemble laughs heartily. Too heartily. All of that landed on him like a blow.

Thomas, of course, has no idea what the idiotic laughter is covering up, so he looks disappointedly at Kemble, ‘You will have to take some responsibility, son. The baby is either your brother, your son or your grandson …'

Teddy interrupts, ‘or daughter …'

‘Yes, of course, or daughter. So, whether you like it or not Kemble, you are equally culpable. As for me, I will definitely be supporting Rosie and the child.'

‘How?!' Teddy shouts, incredulous, ‘OK, you've got the money, yeah I get that, but you're too ancient, Granpops. You will be dead soon, and come on, surely it won't have been you anyway. Not from a one-night stand. Not with your worn-out old jizz.'

At the mention of a one-night stand, Thomas freezes.

They all stop and check each other's faces. After such injurious remarks, Thomas can't help allowing himself a little triumphant smile.

Unfortunately, Kemble who has always been forensic when it comes to rows, notices that giveaway smirk, ‘Ah. I see. So Dad was a
regular
caller. He was her fuck buddy. This just gets better …'

Teddy explodes, ‘Don't you dare call her that! Rosie is wonderful, you know she is. She's a person!'

‘Yeah' replies Kemble, ‘A person who puts out plenty, plenty, dude.'

This is just too much for the sensitive Teddy, who lunges at his crude father. Thomas has to wade in to try and stop the attack. Quick as a wink, Thomas shoves Teddy to the floor, and with a couple of swift manoeuvres, he niftily pins him to the carpet in a side control hold, which try as he might, Teddy cannot wriggle out of. Thomas has done it. Instinctively, he has grappled a young man to submission in the scarf hold called Osaekomi-waze. It worked. The old judo worked.

‘OK! OK!' comes the strangulated cry of the choking Teddy, ‘get off, Granpop!'

Thomas releases his hold and rolls off the lad, breathing heavily. Kemble helps his father to stand up and says, ‘Steady there, pops. Wow, still got some of the judo juice from way back when, eh?'

Thomas huffs through his breathlessness, ‘Not strength, not age. Skill. Think the last time I seriously did that was with you when you were about … what? …'

‘Sixteen. In Martha's Vineyard. I cheeked, Mom.'

‘You did.'

‘I didn't do it again.'

‘No. Not til now.'

Thomas leaves that sting in the air and stands with his
hands on his hips. He looks at his grandson, ‘Get up, Teddy, it's just pride keeping you on the floor. That's done now. We've got more important things to consider …'

Kemble says, ‘Where is Mom?'

Thomas replies, ‘Gone.'

The three men stand in a triangle, silently and awkwardly acknowledging how very lost they all are.

Rosie and the twins are on the 6 train heading south to Grand Central Terminal at 42nd Street. The boys sit opposite her, happily chuntering away, looking at little toys from their pockets. Rosie's eye is taken by a beautiful dark-skinned young woman further up the carriage who is clearly, proudly pregnant. Various people including the twins have offered their seats to her, but she has politely declined. Why, Rosie wonders? Perhaps she wants to stretch her back? Rosie can't take her eyes from the woman's lovely round belly which protrudes from her coat. As the train rocks along, Rosie imagines that baby also being rocked in its watery hammock, and while she pictures it, she has a wave of realization that there's a baby, albeit much smaller, in her belly too. Also being rocked along in the subway. It occurs to her that she is responsible for three young lives today, not just the boys, and in a few months' time, her belly will be big like that too. Not that it isn't always big, but it will be big in a different way from now on.

She tries to envisage how her baby looks right this second. She's not exactly sure how pregnant she is, but she thinks it must be about six weeks or so. What is a six-week foetus like? A fish? A snail? A scary hobgoblin? How big is it? The size of a dime? A humbug? A lentil? Does it have a head, or legs or arms yet? Or is it more tadpoley? Does it have webbed extremities, waiting to turn into limbs? What if it doesn't grow properly? What if the webbed stumps stay that way? What if it's eyes never materialize? Or its brain grows on the outside? Or if it's not a baby but something altogether strange, like a sea creature, a bottom feeder, as yet undiscovered, with pale waxy skin and fins and gills where the nose and mouth should be? What if it has eight rows of backward-facing teeth and decides to eat its way out of her … ?!

It's at this heightened moment of inner terror that Rosie is brought straight back down to earth by a sound she knows well and is currently living to regret.

Three has decided to issue a challenge by saying the word ‘Penis' louder than he ever should. Rosie started the game weeks ago when the three of them were forced to go to a dull exhibition of medieval art, curated by an acquaintance of Glenn's. Glenn of course, didn't want to go, but sent the twins with Rosie, assuring them it would be culturally interesting. It might well have been, but it truly wasn't. Once the boys had identified a few swords and dogs and dragons, it was all over. It took fifteen minutes for them to lose interest, but the private
viewing was a couple of hours, so to try and beat the tedium, Rosie invented this game that Three is starting again now. The idea is to exclaim a rude word, until the loudest and bravest is the winner. The boys elected to use the word ‘penis'. Rosie agreed it was an excellent choice since the likelihood of embarrassment was huge. It amused the three of them greatly at the exhibition, and now Three resumes the fun, this time on a crowded train.

‘Penis,' he says, clearly but not too loud. This is the point at which Rosie judders out of her tortured baby imaginings. Oh Lord, she is going to have to pick up the gauntlet. She waits a few seconds. Only the man next to Three really heard him, and he quite possibly believes Three has some kind of verbal tick.

Now it's her turn, here goes, ‘Penis!' she exclaims, and a couple of people nearby look up to see whether they really heard what they thought they did. The middle-aged man next to her definitely
did
hear, so he gets up and moves away. Rosie looks around, unperturbed, as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, as if that so wasn't her. Blameless. Red and Three are creased up with laughter, especially at her supreme nonchalance. Now it's Red's turn, and Red is a boy who won't be beaten. He gathers himself. He waits until the atmosphere has settled, a minute or so. Rosie watches him closely, all the while attempting not to be caught watching. It's crucial for the game that they aren't linked. She sees him gather his nerve, lose it, gather it again. The battle seems endless and difficult, as he struggles to muster
his courage. He really wants to do it, but he is quite shy. Will he? Won't he? Eventually, Rosie sees the tipping point – a change happens in his eyes as he decides to dare, he takes a deep breath and valiantly, he shouts at the top of his voice,

‘Penis!'

Now the whole carriage take notice, and Red can't hide his crimson-faced guilt. Luckily, this is just the moment they have to disembark, so all three run for the door amid plenty of tuts and disapproval. Rosie looks back over her shoulder, and is delighted to see the pregnant lady laughing her head off. Good, thinks Rosie, she's one of us, she'll make a great mum.

As they run and run, all three of them are holding hands and guffawing loudly. Something about the silly game tickles them all equally. The freedom to be utterly reckless and puerile is lovely. They live with so many rules and restrictions at home, they live with Glenn, for God's sake. At least, they did …

‘Good work, Red, you're a lionheart sir!' cries Rosie.

She leads the boys through the magnificent huge central concourse of the station. It's bustling and loud. She knows exactly where she's heading and the happy lads follow her down a wide ramp towards the frontage of an Oyster Bar and Restaurant at the bottom. When they get there they are standing in a low vaulted area which is entirely tiled. The wide, parabolic sweep of the shiny curved ceiling gives them the feeling of being in a marble crypt, fairly oppressive, but very beautiful. The multitude of tiny tiles are small and either
green or stone-coloured and there are broad arches indicating various exits, and the way to the toilets. The boys are confused.

Red – ‘Are we going to eat in there?'

Three – ‘I don't think I like oysters, sorry'.

Rosie assures them, ‘Nope, we aren't eating there, I just wanted you to stand here for a moment, and listen. What do you hear?'

Three – ‘Just people. On phones n' stuff …'

Red – ‘And shoes … feet … walking.'

Rosie – ‘Yep. Good. But there's more to hear, so Red, you go over to that corner column over there, Three, you stay at this one, and I will go to that one. We'll be at three corners of this same roof, OK? Only a few metres apart, so don't worry. I want you to turn in toward the wall, where the corners meet, backs to me, OK?'

Red – ‘Er.'

Three – ‘OK.'

Red – ‘OK. Why?'

Rosie – ‘You'll see … go on.'

They are wary, but the little lads do as they are directed, go to the allotted stations, and turn their noses to the wall like obedient dunces.

Rosie whispers into her corner, ‘Hello men of the Wilder-Bingham tribe.'

She turns around to see their reactions. Both whip their
heads around, mouths agog, they are amazed how clearly they heard her. This is a perfect whispering gallery, the architecture and the ceramics possess the most remarkable acoustic property, and they can hear her as clear as a bell, even though they are at some distance. Her whispers have miraculously followed the curve of the low domed ceiling, straight to their ears. They turn their faces back to the wall and respond.

Red whispers, ‘Hello, Rosie.'

Three whispers, ‘Three to Rosie. Wow, this is, like, so amazing!'

Rosie whispers, ‘Isn't it? Listen carefully. I want to say sorry to you both. I've been a bit of a twit because I let this baby happen, just when I should have been looking after you two.'

Red – ‘Dad said you kissed everyone, even him. Is that true?'

Rosie – ‘Yes. It is. I was stupid.'

Three – ‘Not everyone. Not Iva or Granma, or us …'

Rosie – ‘No.'

Red – ‘Who was the best kisser?'

Three – ‘Shuttup Red! Can we meet the baby when it pops out? It can help with the garden … are you staying to finish the garden …?' he asks, tentatively, with a little wobble in his hushed voice.

Before Rosie can answer, another voice from the fourth, remaining, corner joins the party line of whisperers, ‘Time to come home, my little men …'

The boys know instantly. It's Natalie. It's their mom! They turn simultaneously, spot her and run to her.

Rosie hangs back to let the three of them have their happy reunion.

‘We're going home with Mom!'

‘It's Mom!'

The boys shout to Rosie, beckoning her over. Rosie walks towards the excited group, and Natalie reaches out to embrace her too, which takes Rosie by surprise. She is so intensely embarrassed by what a fool she's been, she expects plenty of negative judgement, but this is not the case with Natalie, who murmurs in her ear as they hug, ‘I'm not going to pretend this isn't a weird situation. After all, I may be directly related to … this new little person … Christ! …
Quel scandale
! But look, it's happened, and now you need to take care of yourself, OK?'

‘Thanks, Natalie.' Rosie feels herself welling up.

‘No,' Natalie replies, ‘thank you for looking after my gorgeous boys, although, maybe you looked after Teds a bit … too well?!'

Oh God. I … don't know … what …' Rosie says, turning red.

‘Doesn't matter. Truly. Doesn't. He adores you. Just … wants you to be OK, y'know,' says Natalie.

Red interrupts, ‘Our stuff is still at Granma's' and Three adds, ‘Granma's not there!' which is clearly news to Natalie, who glances to Rosie for confirmation.

‘Yep. Gone. Not sure where. Lots to sort out' says Rosie, telling Natalie in adult code as much as she can in front of the
twins, and then she turns to them. ‘I will pack up your stuff and get it all to your mum's, don't worry. You guys go home, have a lovely time, and don't kill each other.'

‘Can we come and do the garden still?' asks Three, genuinely concerned.

‘Yes! There's heaps to do.'

‘Of course,' Rosie reassures them once she gets the nod from Natalie that it's fine, ‘C'mere and give us a hug, you hooligans!'

The three of them go into a huddle, and Red says emphatically, ‘No kissing, OK?'

‘OK, gotcha,' agrees Rosie.

‘Tell Dad bye,' says Three.

‘OK,' says Rosie.

‘Tell him see you soon'

‘OK.
Au revoir
.'

As Red and Three walk off towards a different exit with their mother, Rosie watches feeling equally sad and happy. It's right that Natalie has them back with her, especially now that Glenn is no longer around to enforce the cruel separation, but she knows she will miss them very very much. Just as they dip out of sight and disappear into the crowd, she hears a distant cry of,

‘Penis!'

She may have some explaining to do to Natalie.

Rosie turns and heads for a home with an increasingly diminishing number of folk in it.