Sisteria (18 page)

‘Yeah, there's nothing a baby likes better than spending a Saturday afternoon standing in the North Bank yelling, “Ginola is a tosser!” '

He laughed.

‘No, but you know what I mean. It would be fun to have a baby in the family.'

‘I know, Benny, I know,' she said kindly. ‘We will have a baby in the family, only he or she won't happen to live with us. We'll all get to visit. When it gets bigger, it can come to stay. I'm sure Naomi will be only too grateful for the break. Benny, please cheer up or you'll have me blubbing into the cold turkey. I mean, I've got to give birth to this little mite and then give it up. Think how that feels.'

‘I can imagine. Sorry,' he said.

‘It's OK, darling. Come on, I've just given you and your sister five hundred quid each to spend on anything you want. The sales start tomorrow. Why don't you go to Dixons or PC World and see how quickly you can blow it? Take your dad. He'd like that.'

‘No, he wouldn't,' Benny said in a sullen tone. ‘He's so miserable lately. What's his problem? I mean, we've got all this money now. Surely he should be happy?'

‘He will be, Benny,' she soothed. ‘I think the surrogacy idea has thrown him a bit, that's all.' She paused. Benny was sixteen. He deserved a proper explanation. So did Natalie. She would have to speak to her too.

‘It's just that he thought he could handle the idea of me carrying a child that wasn't his, but now he's not so sure.'

Benny nodded.

‘You mean, to him it feels like you've been sleeping with somebody else?'

Now she was embarrassed. She had no wish to discuss the intimate details of her marriage with her sixteen-year-old son.

‘Yes,' she said quietly, looking down into the container of turkey.

‘But he will come round?'

‘Just give him time.' She gave her son a half-smile.

‘I hope you're right,' he said thoughtfully, heading towards the door.

‘So do I,' she whispered as he disappeared. ‘So do I.'

‘Beverley, thanks for a lovely lunch, but I really have to go.'

Startled, she looked up. Tom was coming into the kitchen, his jacket over his arm.

‘I'm filming in Lyme Regis on the twenty-seventh - we're doing a new
French Lieutenant's Woman
- and I have to leave at the crack tomorrow morning. That way I'll get there in time to give the location the once-over while it's still light.'

‘Oh, it's a shame you have to go,' she said. ‘We didn't have much time for a chat.'

She stood up, walked to the sink and squirted washing-up liquid on to her greasy hands.

‘I know. I'm sorry,' he said. ‘We've only met twice and each time I've had to shoot off. But I'd like to make it up to you, if you'll let me. Before she passed out in front of the telly, Rochelle mentioned you've got your first scan the week after next. I was wondering... that is, if you wouldn't mind... whether I could come with you? I'd really like to be there. It would be nice if one of us came - and I'm pretty sure Naomi's busy right through January, making some documentary or other.'

Beverley looked at him in utter astonishment.

‘Unless of course you were thinking of taking somebody else,' he said.

She shook her head and reached for a towel.

‘No,' she said, starting to dry her hands, ‘I was planning to go alone.'

‘So, would it be OK if I came along, then?'

‘Sure.' She was feeling awkward all of a sudden and she wasn't sure why. She was also aware that her heart was going like the clappers. ‘It'll be nice to have some company.'

‘Great,' he said, pulling on his jacket. ‘See you in a couple of weeks, then.'

He bent down and gave her a peck on both cheeks. She detected the faintest hint of expensive aftershave.

‘OK, but don't worry if you change your mind,' she said. ‘I know how busy you are.'

‘Don't worry, I'll be there,' he smiled. Then he disappeared out of the door.

Chapter 16

There were a couple of elongated farting sounds as the middle-aged woman radiographer squirted cold gel on to Beverley's belly.

‘Right then,' she said chirpily, angling the monitor so that all three of them would have a decent view, ‘as soon as your husband gets back we'll take a look at how baby's coming along.'

The moment Beverley had climbed on to the couch, Tom had realized he needed an urgent pee and dashed to the loo.

‘Gosh,' the radiographer had chuckled the moment he left the room, ‘I feel quite flushed. I know I shouldn't be saying this, but your husband is dead good-looking. Liam Neeson came in once when Natasha Richardson was pregnant and I remember thinking I wouldn't kick him out of bed in a hurry, but just between you, me and the gatepost, he's got nothing on Mr Littlestone. And he's so attentive. He obviously thinks the world of you. I tell you, Mrs Littlestone, take my advice and hang on to him. You don't get many like that to the pound.'

‘Probably not,' Beverley said, smiling. She couldn't be bothered to explain about the surrogacy and how she and Tom weren't married. It would have taken too long.

‘I'm sorry Mr Pettifer isn't here,' the radiographer went on, referring to Beverley's obstetrician, whom she'd seen for the first time the previous week and who was costing Naomi an arm and several legs, ‘but he had to dash over to the Portland to do an emergency Caesarean. He promised to pop along if he finished in time, just to double-check everything's OK.'

‘OK, that's fine,' Beverley said, doing her best to sound cheerful when deep down she felt distinctly lacklustre. She'd been dreading this moment for days. Having a scan meant seeing and confronting the living, breathing proof of her pregnancy. It meant she would be forced to look at the baby, her baby - the baby she was planning to give up.

She was lying on the couch, her hands under her head, doing her best to convince herself that she was about to undergo some minor medical procedure completely unconnected with pregnancy, when Tom reappeared. She could see the nervous excitement on his face.

‘Oh, you're back. Brilliant,' the radiographer said, gaping at Tom, her turkey neck colouring up.

It was only as she squeezed hard on the bottle of gel she was still holding and a good deal of it shot out of the spout and dribbled down the sides that the woman came back to earth.

‘Right,' she said, reaching for a tissue and wiping the bottle, ‘if you sit yourself down next to your wife, we can start.'

‘Wife?' Tom mouthed to Beverley.

Beverley shrugged.

As Tom sat down, the radiographer began running the hand scanner over Beverley's stomach. Past experience had taught her that because she was only nine or ten weeks into her pregnancy, the pictures on the monitor would be incomprehensible to an untrained eye. They would look more like underwater sonar images than anything remotely human. Past experience had also taught her that the moment she so much as glanced at the screen, her heart would go out to the tiny scrap growing inside her.

‘Come on, Mrs Littlestone, take a look. You're missing the main feature,' the radiographer said. ‘I know there's not a great deal to look at, but if you hang on I'll see if I can locate the heart and you'll be able to see it beating.'

As Beverley continued to stare at the wall, she felt the scanner glide across her tummy in smooth circular motions. Occasionally a button choked as the radiographer changed the image on the screen.

Tom glanced down at her, his face etched with concern. She could feel him looking at her, but she refused to make eye contact.

‘It's OK,' he whispered. ‘You don't have to look.'

Gently, he pulled her hand from behind her head and held it in his. She could feel tears streaking her face. At that moment she would have sold her soul to the devil if it meant she could keep her baby.

‘Oooh, look. There you are,' the radiographer piped up merrily, her finger hovering next to the screen.

‘That's it... that faint black blob just there. You can just about see it beating. And very healthy it looks too. Have you got it, Mr Littlestone?'

‘Yes,' Tom said excitedly, ‘I can see it. Wow, that is truly amazing. I can hardly believe it. That's my child's heart pumping away.'

He turned to look at Beverley, who was still crying.

‘I don't know whether this is the right time to say this,' he said, grinning, and patting her tummy playfully, ‘but my mum's always had this mass of natural tight blonde curls. I mean, with her hair and your Jewish looks, we could have Harpo Marx in there.'

Beverley immediately burst out laughing. Then she wiped her face and turned her head towards the monitor. In the murkiness, among the shades of grey, she found it, the faint rapid flicker of her baby's heart.

***

Twenty minutes later, Mr Pettifer having eventually turned up, looked at her over his pince-nez and confirmed the baby was developing ‘Splendidly, Mrs Littlestone, absolutely splendidly,' Beverley and Tom were standing in Harley Street saying their goodbyes.

‘I'm sorry it was such a strain for you in there,' he said. ‘It didn't occur to me how difficult it would be for you to see the baby. Will you be OK?'

‘Yeah, I'll be fine,' Beverley said, doing her level best to sound upbeat. ‘I'm off to John Lewis to spend some more of Naomi's money. I plan to drown my sorrows in a vacuum cleaner and one of those giant American fridges with an ice dispenser.'

He smiled.

‘Look, I can see you're not fine. Your eyes are all puffy from crying. Come on, let's go and get a cup of coffee and talk for a bit.'

‘No, really. The walk to John Lewis will do me good. You get back to work.'

She smiled a weak smile. Then he took off his large black shoulder bag and stood it on the pavement. The next moment he was giving her a big, friendly bear hug.

‘I'm sorry you've got to go through all this,' he whispered.

Taken aback by this sudden show of affection from her sister's boyfriend, she stood rigid and tense in his arms. He simply carried on holding her. Slowly she felt herself relax against him. Then, suddenly realizing just how much she was enjoying him holding her, she pulled away. Despite the bitter cold, her cheeks were burning.

‘Come on,' she said firmly, ‘you have to get back and I have a date with a vacuum cleaner.'

‘Sorry,' he said, sensing her embarrassment. ‘I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable. You just looked tike you could do with a cuddle, that's all.'

‘I know. And thanks. I appreciate it. But I'm feeling much better, honest.' She reached up and gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

‘Bye, Tom,' she said. Then she turned away and began walking briskly down Harley Street.

***

As she continued walking towards Cavendish Square, drops of freezing January rain started falling on her face. She tightened the belt on her new three-quarter-length black PVC coat (another Natalie-inspired purchase), pulled up the collar and cursed herself for having come out without a brolly. For the best part of a minute, she managed to keep her mind occupied with vacuum cleaners. Should she buy a cylinder model or an upright? An upright was easier to manoeuvre, but the wisdom according to Rochelle was that a cylinder picked up better. Then again, what did she know, the au pair did all her hoovering. Rochelle said she'd never use a vacuum cleaner until they invented one you could sit down in.

Despite her best efforts, she soon found herself replaying the moment during the scan when Tom had reached out and taken her hand. This threw her for a moment, but almost at once her mind was back on track. Did she want a model that used bags or one where the dirt went straight into the machine? She suspected old-fashioned bags would be less messy. Even when she remembered the way he'd looked at her just now when he realized how upset she was, her mind went back to crevice tools almost at once. It was only when she relived the moment of the hug and remembered how gloriously sexy it had felt to be held by Tom Jago that she gave in.

She fancied him. She fancied him something rotten. It wasn't simply his good looks which had caused her entrails to loop the loop as she'd stood there in his arms. It was more. He was kind. He was gentle. He made her laugh. He was also extraordinarily perceptive. It had taken all her emotional strength to refuse to have coffee with him. If she was honest, she'd felt drawn towards him from the moment they met under the desk in Naomi's office. She was desperate to get to know him.

She felt far too unsettled to go shopping. Instead she went straight home.

Try as she might, she couldn't get Tom out of her mind. For the next couple of days she went round in a virtual trance. This was partly due to the extreme tiredness she always experienced in early pregnancy. But for the most part it was thanks to her mind being full of thoughts involving Tom Jago tying her naked to a bed, massaging her with exotic oils and slowly, oh so slowly, bringing her to the most seismic of orgasms. Her concentration on mundane matters lapsed to such an extent that moments after imagining herself going down on Tom, she phoned a posh West End hairdresser (recommended by Rochelle) to make an appointment and asked the receptionist how much they charged for a cut and blow job. Then, a few hours later, when the milkman knocked at the door to be paid and remarked on how tired she was looking, she'd smiled vacantly and announced, ‘Do you know, I'm so exhausted these days, I can barely keep my legs open.'

Along with the lust, she was, of course, overwhelmed by feelings of guilt. What sort of woman had warped, depraved thoughts about being licked out by her sister's boyfriend? For Christ's sake, Naomi and Tom adored each other. They were about to have a baby - the one she'd agreed to carry for them. To have the hots for Tom was unforgivable. She wondered how long it would take God to process the retribution paperwork. And would He go easy on her, sentencing-wise, if she asked for all her other offences to be taken into consideration? After all, in the last three months she'd agreed to make a baby with a man who wasn't her husband and give it away in return for money, and in so doing had caused her husband no end of misery. If there were such a thing as reincarnation, she thought, God would send her back as athlete's foot.

***

Her attempts to get the better of her feelings for Tom weren't helped by him phoning her three days after the scan. As soon as she heard his voice her insides turned to instant liquid mush.

‘I just wanted to check you were OK after the other day,' he said, his tone distinctly awkward. She suspected he was still embarrassed about the hugging incident.

‘Oh, that's sweet of you,' she said brightly. ‘I'm fine now.'

‘Great.'

‘Yeah.'

There was an awkward pause.

‘So,' he said eventually, ‘did you get what you wanted in John Lewis?'

‘No. I was feeling so tired that I decided to go straight home.'

‘I can imagine. It had been quite a morning.'

‘Yeah.'

She was trying to keep her replies as short as possible because she wanted to get him off the phone. Talking to Tom was throwing her distinctly off balance.

‘Oh, I nearly forgot why I called,' he said. ‘I mentioned Queenie's story to Naomi. She seemed pretty keen. Said to tell your mother she'll be in touch as soon as she gets back from Cornwall... I take it Naomi's told you all about this series she's making with mad Fallopia?'

‘Oh yes,' Beverley laughed, ‘in detail. Several times. OK, Tom, that's great. I'll tell Mum. She'll be over the moon.'

There was another pause.

‘Beverley?'

‘Yes?'

‘Look, I was wondering... I mean, say no if you feel uncomfortable with the idea, but I was thinking that maybe it would help you if the two of us sat down and talked about this whole surrogacy thing. Perhaps I could explain to you just how much it means to me and how much Naomi and I appreciate what you're doing. Might make you feel a bit better about it all...'

His voice trailed off.

‘Look, Tom,' she said firmly, ‘that's a really kind thought and I can't tell you how much I appreciate it, but I know the two of you are grateful... and despite the other day, I really am coping extremely well. Plus, if I feel a bit low, I've always got Rochelle.'

‘Of course,' Tom said. ‘I forgot.' He sounded disappointed - as if he'd truly wanted to see her again.

‘Bye then,' he said.

‘Yeah. See you. Love to Nay.'

Beverley put the phone down. Was it even remotely possible, she thought to herself, that he had feelings for her which went beyond indebtedness and affection?

‘What?' she said out loud. ‘Mr Superstar Film Director has feelings for a forty-two-year-old Finchley housewife. Yeah, right.'

Nevertheless she couldn't stop her thoughts turning to Tom handcuffing her ankles to a table and taking her from behind. Then she started to feel guilty all over again.