Toil And Trouble

26

Toil And Trouble

    The phone rang around eight-thirty of a mild June evening, just when Colin and Penn, having had dessert first, were deciding they might get up and forage for food. John’s voice, all smiles, informed Colin that Rosie had had New Baby: a girl, going to be June, mother and daughter doing splendidly! He made all the appropriate noises, hung up, and went to find Penn.

    She was standing in the kitchen looking blankly at Terri’s casserole and Terri’s note that went with it. In the knickers that for once she had had on under the shorts, and the red vest, what a waste of a splendid view. Grinning, Colin gave her the good news and opened his mouth to tell her that was a waste of a splendid—

    Her jaw dropped and she clapped her hand to her tummy, looking up at him in horror.

    Er—sympathetic pains? “What’s up? John said it was pretty quick: same like last time, seems to pop fairly easily once it start—”

    “Not that!” she gasped, clutching the tummy with both hands and goggling at him.

    Round about this point in time Colin began to get an inkling of what might be wrong. He did frantic mental arithmetic but the answer was always Oh, Hell.

    “I completely forgot—I’ve been so busy!” she gasped.

    Allee same like him—right. It had only been the once, too: the very first time. An accident. That was, pushing her onto the motel bed and getting up her without a by your leave or, unfortunately, anything else, had resulted in his coming like a bloody rocket because she immediately shrieked and came like a bloody— But she’d sworn her period was almost due!

    “I forgot to ask,” he admitted. “And to count. Fuck.”

    “I think we’ve done that,” said Penn in a hollow voice.

    He swallowed. “I grew up with the Pill, but I realise that’s no excuse.”—The thing was, they hadn't managed to get together every day or anything like it. No excuse. A gent ought to track these things.—“When did you last have a period, Penn? Wasn’t it supposed to be due less than a week after that first time?”

    “Yes. I—I think I might have miscalculated,” said Penn in a trembling voice. “Um, I mean, I think I must’ve been a week out. Um, I can’t remember exactly when the last one was.”

    “No. Don’t mark it in your diary, anything like that?”

    “No,” she said blankly.

    “No, right. Well, uh, when was the motel?” He counted back but all he could come up with was about six weeks. Surely not: a month, surely? “Hang on, I’ll check my desk diary.”

    Penn accompanied him numbly into the main room, where he consulted the big dairy on the maroon desk. “I have never in my life seen anything so organised,” she croaked.

    “It’s only a diary,” he said mildly.

    “You’ve got everything in it,” she croaked.

    “I have to keep track of my appointments,” he said mildly.

    Right. He’d written “5:10, Penn” against today’s date, Jesus! “In case you forget, right,” she agreed grimly. She watched silently as he turned back. Yes, it was there in blue and white: “8:00, Y. Club d&d.” And a helpful note: “Cufflinks in top bureau d.” What? “I realise that a gentleman has to wear cufflinks—”

    “Don’t be like that,” he said miserably.

    “—but do you have to be so relentlessly anal as to put them in your DIARY?”

    “No. Um, I mean, usually they’re in the dressing-table drawer, haven’t got a dressing-table and I could only find the one pair when John inv—I’ve shut up,” he said miserably.

    Penn breathed heavily.

    “It was just under six weeks back.”

    “YES!”

    “Rosie’s late with New Ba—”

    “YES! All RIGHT!”

    Colin swallowed. “I think we can say that whenever your period might have been due, if you haven’t had one in six weeks, you’re pregnant. Unless you’re usually very irregular?”

    Penn’s jaw shook. “No,” she managed. “Very—very regular.” She’d never even used the word in this context before! Why did he have to be so—so clinical?

    “Look, the first thing is to see your doctor. Have you got a G.P. in Portsmouth? –No. Well, Rosie’s doc seems to be a pleasant chap, you’d better see him. John’ll know who—”

    “And when are you gonna tell the rest of the world?” she shouted.

    Oh, Hell. “Um, you could see my chap, he’s a nice fellow. But he’s ex-Army— No, right.”

    “I’ll go over to Hythe and see old Dr Maddern.”

    Colin sighed. “Very well, but at least let me drive you.”

    “No, I’ll take the boat.”

    “There are two of us in this, Penn.”

    “All right, you can drive me, but if you think you’re coming in with me, you can think again.”

    He stared at her. What was this, some sort of feminist thing? “He will know there’s some bloke in the offing, he’s not going to assume it’s a second immaculate conception.”

    Penn didn’t know why, but she had a vivid vision of him sitting in Dr Maddern’s front parlour that was used as the waiting-room in the creaky wooden villa that had been turned into the surgery, with the sun coming in through the bay window and the smell of dusty net curtains. Really, Dr Maddern was probably too old to practise: he had lovely old-fashioned manners and always showed you out, holding the door for you. And if you were under sixteen, letting you take a handful of jellybeans from his jellybean jar. Or sometimes if you were over. He would look out there and—and know. Her jaw shook.

    “All right, I won’t,” said Colin quickly. “We’ll do exactly what you want. And if you are pregnant—and I mean, when he confirms it—it’ll be whatever you want, Penn.”

    What she wanted, the stupid idiot, was to settle down with him in a little cottage with roses round its door—this cottage would do, it had the door—and raise a harum-scarum load of kids and just be happy together and shut the rest of the world out forever! Cousins with posh voices that went to Yacht Clubs as a matter of course included.

    “Oh, Hell: don’t cry, Penn!” He put his arm round her shoulders.

    Penn pulled away angrily. “I’m not crying! And it’s not your responsibility, it’s mine, and I’m a stupid idiot!”

    “It is my responsibility,” said Colin, very flushed.

    “It isn’t! This isn’t the nineteenth century!” she shouted.

    “Of course it’s my responsibility, Penn! I got up there without a condom, I came like a bloody rocket; and like a moron, I didn’t insist you take the morning-after pill! Not to mention not even checking up on you for six bloody weeks after that!”

    “Five and a bit,” she said, glaring. “And I did once miss a period, I remember now, in my last year at school. Before exams. Mum said I was all strung up and not to worry about it.”

    And had she been all strung up at the time of the infamous motel incident? Er… well, maybe the move, and, um… Perhaps she had been tense and strung up about him, and he, purblind male cretin that he was, hadn't realised it. Being too ruddy hot and excited to notice anything much. Not that he wasn’t bloody sure he was giving himself false hope, here.

    “I failed them all,” said Penn grimly.

    He twitched. “What?”

    “I failed all my exams in my last year at school. Mum didn’t really mind, she said the Walsinghams were either very bright and highly musical, like Uncle John and his kids and Aunty Susan, or tone-deaf and dumb, like her and Uncle Paul. But Dad was really upset: he’d dropped the Flower Power bit ages back, you see, and gone into organising protests and legal aid, and he’d decided I was gonna be a solicitor like him.”

    “And organise protests and do legal aid?” he said feebly.

    “Mm. I’d been helping him in the office in the holidays and it was quite easy. But he said if I couldn’t even pass my school exams I’d never be able to get my qualifications. He made me re-sit, even though Mum warned him it wouldn’t work.”

    “And did it?”

    “No. So he said I’d better clerk for him, so I did that for a while. Then there was a fête and I went. It was a church thing and Dad was rabid because he’s opposed to the oppression of the working classes by the fear-mongers of the Estab—Oh, help, sorry! I forgot your dad’s a vicar!” she gasped.

    “Oh, he’s opposed to the oppression of the working classes by the fear-mongers of the Established Church, too,” he assured her. “So you went to this church fête?”

    “Yes,” said Penn, nodding hard: “There was a blacksmith there, and most of them were just interested in watching him shoe the horses—it was interesting, of course—but I asked him how he did the other stuff and we got talking and he said I could be his apprentice if I liked. It was a genuine offer, it wasn’t because I was a girl. He was an art school graduate but he’d hated it, so he looked round for something more practical.”

    More practical. Blacksmithing in the last quarter of the twentieth century. “I see, darling,” he said, smiling at her. “I can see that that wouldn’t be a tense life—no exams.”

    Penn had gone very red. “Eh? Oh! No. Um, but I did a polytech course, later on. But it was really interesting: it wasn’t like school exams, so I didn’t get all worked up.”

    “No; knew your stuff, mm?” he said, smiling.

    “Yes,” said Penn, licking her lips and looking at him lamely. “Sorry, Colin, I didn’t mean to blah on.”

    “That’s all right! I’ve been wondering how you got started in blacksmithing,” he said with a nice smile. Penn goggled at him: then why hadn't he asked her? Not noticing anything, he said in a busy but nice voice—he was managing her, Jesus!—“Now, we should make an appointment for you. I wonder if this doctor of yours has evening surgery? Mm?”

    Penn had the strong feeling that if he said “Mm?” once more, she’d crown him. With that huge fucking diary, very likely. “Um, dunno, I hardly ever go. Um, well, I had a sore on my bottom, um, it was really sore and I was afraid it was going to turn into a boil, and I went to another doctor and he was horrible, he said: ‘That isn’t your bottom.’ So I got up and shouted that if it was down there it wasn’t the labia and if he thought he was gonna send me a bill for using that tone of voice to me he had a another think coming, and walked out.”

    Colin had to swallow. “I see. Um, wasn’t it on the National Health, though, darling?”

    Also if he called her darling once more she’d crown him! A person wasn’t suddenly a darling just because they’d accidentally got pregnant by him when he hadn't even meant to! “No: they said I wasn’t on their list and they were all booked up for the week, and I could see their waiting-room was full, so I tried this other creep—private. But then I found Dr Maddern, he was private, too. He called it my bottom off his own bat. And if ya wanna know, he gave me all the green jellybeans!”

    He gulped.

    “And some really good ointment,” said Penn, glaring. “He said it was a sample and I could have it free. See?”

    “He sounds like a good chap,” he managed. She just glared pugnaciously so he croaked: “Um, but does he have evening surgery, darling?”

    Penn took a very deep breath. “There’s three of them sharing the old house: I think the others do, I mean, there might be someone on deck to make appointments, but I don’t know the numb—”

    That was no problem: he got onto Directory Enquiries, blah, blah…

    “Ten o’clock tomorrow morning?” she croaked.

    “The sooner we know for sure, the better,” he said nicely.

    “I’ve got until the twelfth week to decide whether to have an abortion!” snarled the driven Penn.

    “Yes, but it’s safer earlier, isn’t it?” he said nicely.

    “Stop talking to me as if I was a moron,” she said grimly.

    Colin blinked. “What?”

    “I don’t suddenly need to be treated like a tender plant just because I’m up the spout.”

    “Er—no. Sorry. Didn’t know I was. Well, um, better heat up that casserole of Terri’s: get some food down you, okay?”

    “Don’t you eat?” replied Penn nastily.

    He blinked. “What? Penn, I know it’s been a shock, but we’ll work through it tog—”

    “We won’t work through it, or even get through it, because it’s MY body!” shouted Penn. “It’s me that’ll have to have a horrible operation, and I don’t want a horrible doctor scraping out my insides even if it is Dr Maddern! And if I don’t have it and I have it, it’s me that’ll be stuck with trying to feed and clothe it for the next eighteen years, and if you think that can be worked through, ask poor bloody Marion!”

    “Penn—”

    “It’s not your responsibility, it’s mine,” said Penn through trembling lips.

    “It’s our joint responsibility, then,” said Colin, his nostrils flaring.

    “And don’t come the Colonel with ME!” she bellowed.

    “What? I’m not!”

    “You are! Don’t tell me all those poor soldiers weren’t shit-scared when you did that, because I know they were!”

    “Did what? What did I do?” he croaked.

    “That thing with your FACE!”

    Colin felt his face numbly. What had he done? He hadn’t done anything!

    “I’m not hungry, I’m going home,” she said tightly.

    “Do you feel sick, darling?” he asked anxiously.

    “I’m not sick my more than I was half an hour ago when we didn’t know I was pregnant, you moron!” she shouted.

    “Penn, just calm down, darling, it’s been a shock, but we’ll—”

    “I’m not a darling just because you didn’t use a CONDOM!” shouted Penn. “I’m a person, and I don’t need to be darlinged and considered and—and all those mms!” She marched out, slamming the sitting-room door and then slamming the front door.

    Colin sank down onto his very non-ergonomic desk chair. Eh? All those what? Ums? Ems? Mims? …Oh, shit.

    There had been quite a lot of phone calls congratulating him on New Baby, of course, but John was rather surprised when he picked up the phone around eight-fifteen the following morning and it was Colin. “Everything all right, old man? The blackouts haven’t come back, have they? Or worse, old Cousin Matthew come back?” he said as lightly as he could.

    “No. I’m fine. Sorry, I know it’s a bit early, but I’ve got to get over to Hythe this morning, and I’d like your advice,” he said, swallowing.

    John raised his eyebrows. Colin had very, very rarely asked for his advice, and the last time had been… Golly. 1987? Not long after the divorce: it was when he’d been caught in flagrante with that French starlet who was married to an ancient general, and old Duff-Ross had managed to get him posted as an aide in Washington. He’d wanted to know whether to chuck in the Army, do something else. John’s advice had been to stick it out for a bit until things cooled down. Colin’s version of sticking it out had been to do some hot-eyed American congresswoman nearly twice his age, but then, that was Colin.

    He listened silently. Then he said: “I see.”

    “We’re seeing her doctor this morning, but I don’t think there’s any doubt,” said Colin tightly.

    “No. What did you want my advice about in particular, Colin?”

    He heard his cousin swallow. Then he said: “Not on what to do, John. I mean, that’s largely up to Penn. Though I’m damned if I know what she—” He broke off. Then he said bleakly: “At first I thought she was taking it really well.”

    “Mm-hm.”

    “Then she—I mean, she told me all about how she got into blacksmithing, I thought she was really—really starting to share a few things with me, at last!”

    John pursed his lips in a silent whistle. “Yes,” he said quickly as his cousin had stopped. “And was she?”

    “No. Ended up shouting it was her responsibility and—well, something about eighteen years and that cracked Marion female, and slamming out. That might sound as if she doesn’t want to have it, but she was equally wild at the idea of—of having her insides scraped out,” he said lamely. “Though she likes this bloody old quack in Hythe, she insisted on seeing him!”

    “Uh-huh.”

    “Um, well, I don’t want to pry but—but when Bunting was on the way, did Rosie accuse you of nameless crimes and coming the Colonel—um, Captain, in your case, I suppose?”

    “Oh, God, yes!” he said with a sudden laugh. “Mind you, there was no question she wanted the baby, but the silly cuckoo was convinced I didn’t!”

    “Why?” said Colin baldly.

    John replied tranquilly: “Absolutely nothing I had said or done, I can swear to that. In fact we hadn’t even got around to discussing the topic. Bunting was by haste out of overwhelming readiness, if you get my drift.”

    “Jesus, it was that exactly,” said Colin numbly. “I mean, I just, uh—”

    “Yeah. Salutary, I suppose, after thirty-odd years of priding oneself on being in control. Well, as I say, Rosie was convinced I didn’t want the baby and I didn’t want to marry her and that if I offered it would be out of noblesse oblige. Or duty? Some such crap.”

     “I see…” he said slowly.

    “Yes. Um, well, something to do with basic insecurities, Colin? Maybe it’s cultural: women in our society are very definitely taught to feel that unplanned pregnancies are their fault, never mind what bloody century we’re in.”

    “Um, yes, I think she does feel it is,” he said dazedly.

    “Uh-huh.”

    “Jesus, John, I realise I must have said all the wrong things, but what are the right things?” he cried. “What with the Colonelling and the face thing—I still don’t have a clue what she meant by that, and I’m even supposed to have inflicted it on the chaps—and not wanting to be darlinged and—and shit! I thought I was being considerate!”

    John rubbed his chin. “Ye-ah. Think you probably were being considerate, old man, but to a woman that wanted to get rid of it.”

    The phone was silent.

    “I may be reading too much into it, and of course a man can’t really understand how a woman feels about it,” said John with his usual placidity, “and in a way it’s a damn’ cheek to even try. But that’s my reading of that amount of upset: she doesn’t want to get rid. Though I hardly know Penn—just going by Rosie, really,” he said with a smile in his voice. “Think you might have been accused of very specific crimes, like selfishness and not using a rubber, if she did want to terminate it. Nameless crimes—in your case darlings and Colonelling and so forth—is usually when they’re bloody upset over something that the cretinous and purblind male hasn’t grasped he’s done wrong.”

    “Oh, God,” said Colin numbly. “You’re right.”

    “Mm. In which case the only right thing you could have said was ‘I love you, let’s get married,’” said John flatly.

    Colin swallowed hard. “She is a modern woman, though, John!”

    “You asked what I thought: that’s it.”

    “Yes,” he said tightly.

    John swallowed a sigh. “Don’t do it if you can’t mean it. I know it’s too bloody soon in your relationship, but life’s like that.”

    “For some of us, apparently,” he said sourly. “You always seem to have it all cut and dried.”

    “For Christ’s sake, Colin! When I met Rosie I was all set to marry Kay Wadham-Smythe once the bitch had made up her mind to divorce the country estate, the huge townhouse, and the string of race horses!” he cried.

    Colin gulped. Mrs Wadham-Smythe had been pretty much John’s Camilla P.-B., though he’d never realised it had got that far. “Well, I’m glad you realise she’s a bitch,” he said feebly.

    “The scene when I asked for my keys back was more than enough to enlighten me,” said John very drily indeed. “Don’t mention her to Rosie, will you, Colin? As far as she’s concerned Kay was just the last in my long line of puce and magenta hags: she doesn’t know we discussed marriage.”

    “No, I won’t breathe a word. –Jesus, you had a lucky escape!” he said, shuddering.

    “Quite. I hope I can say the same of you and Aimée Mainwaring,” he said drily.

    “Not only have I not given her a thought for something like two years, she’s a large part of the hole in my memory, I told you that last week!” cried Colin indignantly.

    “Mm. Didn’t mean quite that.”

    “Uh—oh,” said Colin foolishly.

    “Yes. I realise you don’t want to be rushed into anything, but don’t mull it over too long, will you? There is the thought of being seventy when one’s kids reach their majority,” he said drily. “I’d better go: that’s the door phone, supposed to be eating bacon and eggs with Doris and Rupy this morning. Hardened arteries seem to be one of the rewards of fatherhood. Let me know how things go—and good luck, old man.”

    “Yes. Thanks, John,” said Colin numbly, hanging up.

    John hung up slowly. The door phone hadn’t buzzed: that had been a lie, though Doris was expecting him for breakfast. He looked in his address book. Then he dialled two numbers. The first was Francis Dorning’s home number: he arranged to have lunch with him. The second was Matthew Haworth’s. In spite of the high living his relatives accused him of, he was up and sounded entirely compos mentis. John refused the offers of luncheons and dinners and firmly made an appointment for mid-afternoon at his office. Then he took a deep breath, put on a happy face, and went downstairs to Doris’s in the persona of a thrilled father of a new baby. Well, he was thrilled. Unfortunately life didn’t always throw one thing at a time at you, did it?

    “Where were you last night?” said Euan angrily, as Terri and Kitchener arrived at Quince Tree Cottage, panting, to discover him packing the car.

    “Moulder’s—Way!” she gasped.

    “You weren’t: I rang Colin ten minutes ago!” he shouted, turning very red.

    Terri also turned very red, though on top of the redness induced by the hurry, this wasn’t all that evident. “I do not tell lies!”

    “Are you claiming you spent the night at Colin’s and he didn’t NOTICE?” he shouted.

    Terri and Kitchener had spent the night in Anna’s cottage: she had wanted to leave Colin and Penn some space, and Anna was up in town with Molly, so she’d rung her and asked if it would be all right. Which of course it was. “NO! I have stayed in Anna’s cottage and I do not tell LIES!”

    Realising he was in the wrong of course did not make Euan feel immediately better. “What? Why the Hell did ye no’ let me know?’

    “I do not think,” said Terri, refraining with a huge effort from panting, “that to know where I have spent the night is your business.” She gasped for breath.

    “Och, will ye no’ stop panting, woman, how out of condition are ye?” he snarled.

    “It’s not just me, Kitchener pants too!” she cried indignantly.

    Er—yes, so he was. Euan gave him a sour look. “I assume there’s no alarm clock at Anna’s?”

    “Yes, there is. What’s the matter?”

    Instead of admiring her use of the English vernacular, Euan replied angrily: “Matter? You’re bluidy late, that’s what, and I’m going to be late for my appointment in town: I’ve been hanging roon’ waiting for you for over half an hour!”

    Terri looked at her watch in bewilderment. “But it’s only half-past seven.”

    “It’s half-past EIGHT!” he shouted.

    “That cannot be right: I set my watch from Anna’s clock last night.”

    “Then the clock’s wrong!” he snarled.

    “But—but it ticks…” she said lamely “Sometimes my watch is wrong, so I set it from the clock.”

    “Then guess what?” he shouted furiously. “The bluidy woman’s never gone over to Summer Time! –YES!” he shouted furiously as Terri gaped at him. “Have ye no’ heard of British Summer Time?”

    “Then that is why the time of the BBC news changes,” she said dazedly.

    “The time of the BBC news does not change!” shouted Euan furiously, aware that further down the street Mr Granville Thinnes had come down his front path and was pretending to look for his paper. “The time of the BBC news is as fixed as the laws of the Medes and Persians!”

    “I meant in Spain. When one listens in Spain,” said Terri lamely.

    “Shut up. Get in the car,” he said grimly.

    “Perhaps I—I should not come after all,” she said in a trembling voice.

    “Look, I’ve loaded those bags you packed yesterday and I’m no’ unloading anything, will ye get in the CAR?” he bellowed.

    “Kitchener must go in his dog box,” she reminded him glumly.

    Euan had called it a “dog box” as a mild joke and had been delighted when she’d innocently taken the phrase up. Ignoring this completely, he said grimly: “Then put him in it.”

    “But I can’t do it!” she wailed. “He is too strong! I can’t hold the dog box with one hand and—and put him in it with the other!”

    “I though I told you to practise?” returned Euan very grimly indeed. He had known this was going to happen: the bluidy pooch was going to be nothing but a nuisance, as he’d predicted all along!

    “Yes. It is because I have practised that I know I can’t do it,” said Terri glumly.

    At any other time Euan might have broken down in giggles at this one, but he was very, very nervous this morning. He’d got Terri to promise to come up to London with him to look after the flat and cook a lovely dinner for his friends the McIntyres and a few other guests, and doing so had taken a terrific lot of nervous energy. He’d deliberately done it without making any sort of sexual move, because he’d made up his mind he was going to take it really slowly: he wanted to be very sure, and he also wanted Terri to realise that he didn’t just see her as a convenient sex object-cum-cook. Unfortunately this restraint was making him terribly edgy—and all the more nervous because there was yet the big question of whether she would, when he did make a move. Very naturally he wasn’t consciously aware that this was the trouble. Nor was he consciously admitting that when she’d been so late he’d been terrified that she’d changed her mind. There was the additional point, too, that the appointment today was to discuss a film rôle he didn’t want to do but which would pay very well.

    “Very well, I will do it,” he said coldly. “Bring him in.” He strode into the cottage.

    Terri followed miserably. It had been a genuine mistake—in fact, she’d reset her watch by Anna’s clock because she’d been terribly over-anxious about the morning’s expedition. Why was he so angry? His appointment wasn’t even until two o’clock this afternoon! Did he not want her to come to London after all? No doubt he was afraid she’d let him down in front of his glamorous friends.

    Sensing his two humans’ disturbance, Kitchener then behaved very, very badly, up to and including rushing behind the dining-table and doing a puddle in the most inaccessible spot in the cottage. He didn’t actually bite, but he did snap at Euan. Euan thereupon smacked him. Not hard, but it was enough to make Terri burst into a storm of sobs, accusing him of nameless crimes. They finally got away—under the interested gaze of Mr Granville Thinnes, that really helped—at around nine-thirty. Very late—yes.

    Euan drove in silence as far as the main road’s junction with the complex of roads and motorways round Portsmouth. Then he pulled in.

    Terri hadn’t dared to utter until now. “Why are we stopped?” she said in a trembling voice.

    “‘Why have we stopped?’ would be the more usual English phrase,” he said grimly. “We’ve stopped because I don’t intend to drive all the way to London with the sun in my eyes listening to a deafening silence!”

    Terri swallowed. “At least he has stopped whining,” she said in a lowered voice.

    “Since you gave him a piece of Mars Bar? Huh!” he replied witheringly. “And by all means eat the rest of the damned thing, if you want to put on all that weight again!”

    Scowling horribly, Terri bit into the remains of the Mars Bar.

    Euan wouldn’t have minded a piece of Mars Bar himself: he’d been too nervous to eat anything at breakfast time. He fumbled in the glove box, frowning, found his good sunglasses and put them on his nose. Terri gaped at him.

    “Well?” he said unpleasantly.

    They were round-lensed, khaki things with a lighter khaki plastic frame and quite incredibly hideous. “Those—those sunglasses do not flatter you, Euan,” she croaked.

    “Aye, well, you’d know, since your sartorial standards are so high,” he sneered. “If you must know, they’re an exact reproduction of a German design from 1933.” He fumbled in the glove box again.

    “Hitler,” said Terri numbly.

    “So be it,” said Euan nastily. He retrieved a CD and put it in the player.

    Terri sat back, wincing, as Parsifal at concert pitch filled the car.

    Euan knew she didn’t like Wagner. He let the clutch in and drove on grimly.

    After some time Terri realised which road they were on. “Euan, is this the M27?” she gasped.

    “So?” he said grimly.

    “But this is the way to Southampton!” she gasped.

    Euan ignored this geographical effort.

    “But Euan, surely you do not intend to take the M3 to London?” she gasped.

    “So?” he said grimly.

    “But you hate the motorways!” she gasped.

    Ignoring her, he adjusted the sound balance of Parsifal fractionally.

    Terri sank back into her seat. Oh, dear, this was dreadful! Why had he asked her to come, if he was only going to snarl at her and be horrible to Kitchener? …All he wanted was a cook, that was very clear. A cook and a household slave! Well, if he thought she was going to put on her good black dress and pretend to be his hostess for his glamorous theatrical friends he was very much mistaken! She would stay in the kitchen where her place was! Her lips trembled but she stuck her jaw out defiantly and crossed her arms tightly across her chest.

    Colin sat in Dr Maddern’s waiting-room in the creaky wooden villa that was the surgery, amidst a strange smell of dusty net curtains mixed with the bubble-gum the little boy playing on the floor was chewing. The sun came in through the smeared bay window behind him and made a halo of his red-gold head.

    Dr Maddern opened his surgery door, smiling. “Have some green jellybeans, Penn,” he said cheerfully. “I’ll just have a word with your Colin.”

    “Ta,” said Penn limply, taking a few green jellybeans from the jar and looking limply at Colin in the window with his head a blaze of light. She had a very strong feeling that God and the other male Establishment figures were combining against her for her own good.

    “It’s Colonel Haworth, isn’t it?” said the elderly doctor, holding out his hand as Colin got up. “Would you like to come through?”

    “How do you do, Dr Maddern? Thank you,” he agreed. “Please call me Colin.”

    “Most of them do it without even asking you,” said Penn sourly.

    “Yes. They learn it at Medical School these days, I think,” said Dr Maddern placidly. “She's in splendid health, Colin, I’m glad to say. The baby’s due in February—”

    Colin listened numbly to all the good advice about diet, not keeping her in cottonwool but watch the heavy lifting, etcetera. Hadn't Penn even breathed the word “termination,” then? She hadn’t uttered on the way over here, and he hadn’t said anything one way or the other, because he didn’t want her to think he was trying to influence her decision. And also because he was still pretty stunned by what John had said to him.

    Dr Maddern then checked that he had been in the Gulf. Might he have a private word, then?

    “I said!” said Penn, going very red. “He got shot and his left leg’s been really bad and he broke his shoulder and hurt his head, but he hasn’t had any blackouts for ages and it hasn’t affected anything else!”

    “No, that’s right, Dr Maddern,” said Colin easily, smiling. “Spent most of last year sitting in the sun doing nothing: I’m fit as a flea again.”

    “Nevertheless, I would just like a word, if I may.”

    “Of course. Penn, darling, could you wait outside?”

    Penn got up, looking pugnacious. “Look, we’re only here because of the baby”—right, he registered drily, it was “the baby,” not her getting pregnant, that was certainly indicative—“but if you want a male peer group, have it!” She marched out.

    Colin swallowed. “I’m sorry, Doctor, she’s upset: it wasn’t planned.”

    “Yes, she’s told me all about it,” he said mildly. “Tell me what your duties were in the Gulf.”

    “Well, y’know, sir,” he said dazedly. “Following blindingly silly orders from the top brass, trying to get the job done whilst keeping the chaps out of trouble as much as was humanly possible.”

    “Combat?”

    “Uh, well, yes. Uh—not quite guerrilla warfare,” he said, scratching his beard, “but no pitched battles. Not for our boys. Blowing up bridges, swotting a few Iraqi tanks, trying to nab the snipers before they nabbed us.”

    “Mm. May I ask what you swotted these few Iraqi tanks with?”

    Was the old boy some kind of nutty pacifist, like Pa? He looked eminently sane, and Penn liked him, but— “Uh—anti-tank guns. Fairly heavy stuff.”

    “Quite,” said old Dr Maddern on a grim note. “We’ve got two unfortunates in the town who were out there. So-called Gulf Syndrome. They came to me because their own doctors hadn't found anything specific and prescribed tranquillisers and platitudes. Possibly they didn’t know where to look—though I’m not claiming that there is anything to prescribe. Did your anti-tank guns use D.U. ammunition, or did you clear away tanks and so forth that had been blown up with it?”

    Colin had gone very red.

    “Never mind if the damned government isn’t admitting the stuff exists, Colonel Haworth, this may affect your baby’s health!” he said angrily.

    “Yes. Hell. Uh—I’m not at liberty to say. But I can say that I’ve never handled the stuff or been involved in clearing up messes where it might have been used. My chaps were usually more involved, in, uh, well, front-line sort of stuff. How the Hell did you get to hear about it?”

    “Largely by keeping my eyes and ears open. A lot of the research has been published in German—do you read it?”

    “Uh—fair bit, yes: stationed over there for some time.”

    The doctor got up, and looked in a filing cabinet. “Here.”

    Colin looked at the article numbly. “Yes. Quite.”

    “Frankly, I’m unable to see how it can possibly be denied. We’ve known the effects of uranium on the human reproductive system since Hiroshima. However. If you weren’t heavily exposed you’re probably all right. I’d like to have your DNA tested—if you look further on you’ll see what the stuff does to human chromosomes—right, those diagrams,” he said as Colin turned over numbly. “It will cost, of course. I doubt that Her Majesty’s National Health Service will be up for bearing it—though you could try your own doctor, if you prefer.”

    “No, I’m private anyway,” said Colin numbly. “Look, I had innumerable tests in London! Surely somebody would have picked it up?”

    “Not if they weren’t looking. Those tests would have been directly related to your injuries.”

    “I suppose so. Well, yes, please do have a DNA test done, Doctor, I’m not objecting, I’m just... stunned,” he admitted, gnawing on his lip.

    “Mm. I’ll just take a swab, then.”

    He took a mouth swab, enclosed it in a small screw-topped jar and disappeared out his back door with it. Colin turned over the pages of the German article numbly. Jesus!

    “What regiment were these two poor chaps with?” he said without preamble as the doctor returned.

    “I can’t remember: I’ll have to look it up. What was your regiment?” Colin told him. He nodded and looked up his computer. “No. Different regiment, Colonel Haworth. They were friends, poor fellows; signed up together.”

    “May I know how it’s affected them?”

    “Well, without breaking patient confidentiality,” said the old doctor on a terrifically dry note, “Bert’s suffering from general lethargy and is spitting up blood from causes which his previous doctor classed as undetermined.”

    “What?”

    “There’s another article on the effect of depleted uranium and plutonium residues on lung tissue in that drawer,” he said on a sour note. “Ron doesn’t present specific symptoms but he’s had a lot of headaches and the lethargy, again. Bert’s wife’s had two stillbirths, both very deformed, and Ron’s little girl has a club foot. All of the deformities present as remarkably similar to those reported in the literature after Chernobyl and to those of other so-called Gulf Syndrome sufferers’ children. I don’t know how much you know about chromosomal abnormalities, but you do need to be aware that the damage is both irreversible and transmissible. Ron and his little girl have”—he leaned over and turned the article back to the diagrams of the altered chromosomes—“this.” He sat back in his chair and said sourly: “It has been suggested that the genetic make-up of Britain will be slowly changed to something less than human as the Gulf Syndrome’s sufferers’ descendants’ genes enter the gene pool, and I don’t know that I’d argue with the suggestion.”

    Colin was very white. “I see.”

    “Don’t tell that lovely Penn of yours until we have the result of the test. And if it’s negative, my advice would be, don’t tell her at all.”

    “How long will it take?” he said tightly.

    “It depends how busy the lab is. Around three weeks, I’d say. I will let them know we need it through as soon as possible.”

    “Yes. Thank you, Dr Maddern.”

    “As I say, I think very possibly you’re clear. However, every man has a right to know that his children may be headless vegetables.”

    “Shit!” said Colin, very loudly indeed.

    “Yes. Just wait here.” He went out through the back door again.

    Colin sat there blinking back tears.

    “Here,” said Dr Maddern, handing him a glass of brandy.

    Colin knocked it back, and sighed. “Thanks. No hope of getting those two poor chaps’ names and addresses, I suppose?”

    “No. If you were their colonel, I’d accidentally print out their details and wander off in my doddery elderly way, leaving them on my desk.”

    “Right,” he said wryly, getting up and holding out his hand. “Thanks.”

    “I’ll be in touch,” said Dr Maddern mildly, shaking hands. “Have a pink jellybean: never tasted anything like them, strong enough to disguise a week’s bender, let alone a mere slug of the hard stuff.”

    Feebly Colin took a pink jellybean. Ugh! God!

    Looking wry, the old doctor opened the door for him.

    Penn was sitting in the window seat, holding the little boy. His mother had disappeared.

    “Guess what!” she beamed. “This is another Colin!”

    “I’m Colin Maguire!” he piped. “I’ve got a gray’ big crocodile in my guts! It’s gotta have an operation!”

    Colin looked at Penn in horror: did the poor little chap have cancer? But she said placidly: “It’s a menagerie crocodile. He’s had measles, haven’t you, Colin?”

    “I had millions of spots!” he shouted, scrambling off her knee and hauling his tee-shirt up. “See?”

    “Yes, there’s still some left,” agreed Colin feebly.

    “Yeah! Is your name Colin, too?”

    “That’s right. Two Colins, eh?”

    “Yeah! Dr Maddern, can you do my operation now?” he begged.

    “Well, let’s see how serious it is,” replied the doctor, prodding the chest with his stethoscope. “It’s in there, all right. It’ll have to come out,” he said, shaking his head.

    “Yeah! It’s in my guts!” His eyes shone.

    “I’ll get the big nippers,” said the doctor. He retreated to the surgery, to return with what Colin was pretty sure was a pair of obstetrical forceps. He avoided Penn’s eye, as these were snapped in front of the guts and with terrific grimacing and gasping on the part of the doctor and broad grins on the part of the patient, nothing at all was hauled out of Colin Maguire. The doctor shook the forceps fiercely, as of one throwing a thrashing crocodile around. “Got him!”

    “What a beauty, eh?” said Colin Haworth feebly.

    “He’s horrible!” shouted the patient gleefully.

    “Yes. Now, just in case there’s more of them around, you’d better take the black medicine,” said the doctor. This couldn’t have been too nasty, because little Colin giggled and jigged. And sure enough, the jellybean jar was produced and he took two black ones.

    “Ugh, I hate the black ones!” said Penn, recoiling.

    The pink ones were pretty awful, too, big Colin could attest to that.

    “Come on, Colin, you can come in and we’ll listen to your chest,” said the doctor, taking his hand.

    “C’n I see the big eye?”

    “Yes, of course. –I’ll see you soon, Penn. Nancy will make an appointment for you,” he said, smiling. “Goodbye, Colin; good to meet you.”

    “Thanks, Dr Maddern,” said Colin feebly as the door closed after doctor and patient. There was no sign of the receptionist. “Where is this Nancy?”

    “She’s just popped out to buy her lunch,” said Penn placidly.

    “Right. Was this before or after little Colin’s mother popped out to the loo?” he said feebly.

    “Does it matter? Sit down, she won’t be long.”

    Limply he subsided onto the window-seat beside her.

    “Were you shouting?” asked Penn cautiously,

    “What? Oh. Possibly I did shout, yes. That old boy’s the hardest case I’ve met in many a long year!” he said with feeling. “And bright—Hell!”

    “I like him,” said Penn uncertainly.

    “So do I, but—Never mind.” With a great effort he smiled at her and said: “So he thinks you’re perfectly fit, does he? That’s good!”

    “Yes. I hardly ever get a cold, even. What did he ask you?”

    “Mm? Oh—nothing much. Family medical history,” he said with an effort as Colin Maguire’s mother hurried back in.

    “Sorry, Penn!” she gasped. “I got talking!”

    “That’s okay. He’s got Colin in with him. Oh, and the crocodile’s out of the guts!” she said with a twinkle.

    “It’s that Shane Simpson: every second word that come out of his mouth is guts! Oh—sorry! Congratulations, Colin!” she added, going very pink but smiling eagerly.

    “Thanks,” he said feebly.

    “Delia,” prompted Penn.

    “Thanks, Delia,” he said feebly.

    “Did he mention the eye?” asked Delia fearfully of Penn.

    She nodded, grinning.

    “Oh, help, we’ll be here for hours, poor Dr Maddern! I’d better go in and rescue him. Nice to meet you, Colin. I expect we’ll meet again, Penn! Don’t forget, the Tuesday ante-natal classes are the nice ones!”

    “Yes. Thanks. See you, Delia,” said Penn, very, very pink, as Delia tapped and went into the surgery at the doctor’s cry of: “Come in, Delia! It’s quite safe: no crocodiles!”

    There was silence in the waiting-room.

    “Ante-natal classes?” said Colin, his shoulders shaking in spite of everything.

    “They both just seemed to assume— I mean, he does a lot of babies! She’s having another!” gasped Penn.

    On the whole he could have guessed that, though she wasn’t showing yet. “Mm.”

    “I—I think do want it,” said Penn in a voice that shook. “I have tried thinking about it, but I don’t seem to be able to. I just feel that I don’t want to have an abortion. It’s all right, you don’t need to be involved.”

    “I want to be involved,” said Colin grimly. “It’s my baby, too.”

    “Um, yes,” said Penn uncertainly.

    He looked uneasily at the door but there was no sign of the mad-haired Nancy. Aged all of fifteen, to look at her. “Penn, I don’t want to—to talk you into anything against your will, but I think we should get married. Whatever happens.”

    After a moment Penn said dubiously: “How do you mean, whatever happens?”

    Colin swallowed hard. “If by any frightful chance you should lose the baby.”

    “I—I thought you wanted that,” she said in a tiny voice.

    He put his hand over hers and squeezed hard. “No. I feel like you, I think: shit-scared, and not too certain I can do it—but I do know I don’t want you to have a termination.”

    “Oh, yes, that’s the polite word, I couldn’t think if it. It—it’s too soon to get married,” she croaked, licking her lips.

    Colin sighed. “We’ve been together for six weeks. I worked out earlier that John and Rosie had only had six months, most of which he’d spent on a posting abroad. –Little Bunting wasn’t planned, either,” he explained.

    “I sort of imagined they’d known each other for ages.”

    “No. But I agree, they seem ideally suited: it’s working out very well. Six weeks, six months or six years—it doesn’t seem to me it makes much difference to the way most marriages work out.”

    “No. I don’t think I could cope with a divorce,” said Penn, swallowing.

    “I’m damn’ sure I couldn’t cope with another one!” he said grimly. She looked at him in surprise and he said sourly: “Yes: it doesn’t necessarily represent wonderful freedom and pastures new to the male. For one thing, it’s a terrible knock to the bloody ego.”

    “Mm. –Most people think I’m mad,” said Penn glumly.

     Er… “I don’t,” he said cautiously.

    “I suppose you have seen women taking traditional male rôles, in the modern Army,” she conceded.

    Right, his macho lady brigadier! Colin had to restrain a grin. But at least she only seemed to be on about the blacksmithing. “Pretty much, yes. Um, how do you think your family might take it, darling?” Blast! He’d darlinged her again, but this time, thank Christ, she didn’t seem to notice.

    “I’ve been sort of thinking about that. Dad’ll be hopping mad that you were in the Army. But at the same time I think he’ll be really pleased because of your father, in fact the more I think about it, the more I think he might actually know him.”

    Concealing his tremendous relief that she had actually been thinking about the possibility of marrying him, he replied: “More than likely. Especially if he’s into protesting about the world’s treatment of underprivileged gay whales!”

    “Don’t say that, you clot,” she said, biting her lip. “Um, well, yeah, of course he is. They went to a big demo against the Norwegian whaling industry not all that long ago.”

    “There you are, then!”

    “Mum’ll be relieved, she thinks I’m peculiar. She thinks she’s liberated but of course she’s not. Her and Dad didn’t get married until Pete was three, but personally I can’t see what was liberated about that: merely silly.”

    “It was very much in the air at the time,” he said, squeezing her hand.

    “Yes. They can’t see that they’re as much conformists, in their way, as the vicar that ran that church fête was in his,” said Penn with a sigh.

    “No, quite. Pa’s exactly the same, becomes totally rabid if one tries to tell him he’s thinking in clichés.”

    “Yes. Will he be wild?” she asked fearfully.

    “Bit mixed, too, I think! Very pleased that your dad’s a supporter of the underprivileged gay whales, disappointed that you’re not out there on the demos with him.”

    “I see. I have been on some. Mostly when I was younger. Marion tried to drag me on that anti-nuclear one down at Portsmouth,” she revealed abruptly, going red.

    “Oh?” said Colin, very cautiously indeed.

    Penn explained why she hadn't gone.

    “Yes,” he said, squeezing her hand hard. “I’m glad you think like that, darling. That’s pretty much why I went into the Army. Pa refused to listen to as much as a syllable, kept shouting I was only doing it because my grandfather wanted it. Which he did—well, both grandfathers—but that didn’t mean it was wasn’t a reasoned decision on my part.”

    Penn nodded hard.

    “Ma’ll kick up at first because, though she claims not to, she’s always wanted me to marry something floral-frocked and conventional. But she’ll like you once she gets to know you.”

    Penn sort of had an idea that sons always thought that. “Mm,” she murmured.

    “Ah—progress,” he said as the very young receptionist with the wild, pink-splodged yellow hair dashed in carrying several greasy paper bags.

    “Ooh, that smells good, Nancy!” beamed Penn, getting up.

    “Yes, straight out of the oven!” gasped Nancy. “Had to wait for them! Sorry, Penn: nobody’s rung, have they?”

    “No. Delia and Colin are in with the doctor.”

    “Good!” Nancy sat down behind the receptionist’s desk.

    “He said could you make an appointment for me,” said Penn, going red.

    “Yes, of course: hang on!” Nancy got her computer screen up. “Congratulations, Colin! –I’ll give you the pamphlets, too, Penn.”

    After quite some time Colin and Penn were able to escape from the clutches of the pink-splodged Nancy, with explicit directions to the baker and an armful of pamphlets.

    “It’s this way!” said Penn eagerly.

    “Mm… Isn’t it a bit early to be thinking of breast-feeding?” he croaked, looking at the picture on the thing and wondering why they’d thought it necessary to make it that coyly modest.

    “Not to the mad-keen enthusiasts!” said Penn with a grin. “It’s never too soon to start indoctrinating! Of course, those that just do it as a matter of course don’t know what the fuck they’re on about!”

    “No. Quite,” he said feebly. “Wasn’t it down this street, darling?”

    “No,” she said definitely, not even noticing the “darling” this time: “past this street and down the next one! Come on!”

    Limply he tottered in her wake to the very special bakery that did the pies.

    There was a huge queue when they got there but the little clutch of tables at the side of the shop wasn’t occupied, and looking at his watch, Colin realised why. The visit to Dr Maddern had seemed like an aeon, but it wasn’t yet noon. He eyed Penn uneasily but she didn’t look tired. Well, he could suggest she sit down, tell her to bag a table, but— Cautiously he took her hand. She didn’t pull it away. So they just stood together, happily sniffing the scent of fresh-baked bread and hot pies…

    Penn sat back in her seat with a deep sigh. “Gosh, that was good!”

    “I’ll say. Real meat,” he agreed dazedly.

    “Yes, and real pastry!”

    It was that, all right. “Yes. –Hell, should have been thinking about my cholesterol count, I suppose,” he said, looking guiltily at the smears on his plate where the pie had been.

    “I think those bean casseroles Terri’s left you may take care of that,” she said comfortably.

    “And that muesli that’s mysteriously appeared in my cupboard—yes,” he admitted glumly. “Oy, that wasn’t your baleful influence, was it?”

    Penn was cautiously investigating the inside of her giant cream donut. “Mm? No-o… What? Oh. No: wouldn’t dare. No, think it might have been Euan making sure she left you something healthy before he took her away to London. –Want a refill?”

    “Yes, please.” It was a real old-fashioned café tea-set. Weighty steel, the sort that burned your hand if you didn’t grab the handle of the teapot and hot water jug with a folded paper napkin, but to his relief Penn was onto that one. “I’m surprised you haven’t been here before,” he murmured.

    “Bit out of my area. Miser Watson’s dumps are back the other way.”

    “Mm. And the place where you had the forge?”

    “Dow’ ’ear boa’sheb,” said Penn indistinctly through the donut.

    “Right.” Colin eyed his Eccles cake dubiously. Should he? Not that he wasn’t hungry. But it looked fattening. Added to which, it’d probably taste nothing like the real Eccles cakes he, Michael, Viola and Doddsy, and frequently her great-nephew Ern and great-niece Marilyn as well, used to—

    “Go on, eat it,” said Penn, swallowing donut and licking cream off her top lip.

    “In for a penny, in for a pound,” he agreed, tasting it cautiously. Gosh!

    “Good?”

    “Shuper-goob!” he replied through it.

    Penn looked at his shining eyes and suddenly felt very fond of him. Nothing to do with sex and, really, unrelated to the ideas of having a baby by him or marrying him. Just very fond of him. She waited until he’d swallowed and then said: “I really like you. That’s a start, isn’t it?”

    Colin beamed at her. “It most certainly is! I really like you, too! –As a matter of fact,” he said, sipping tea slowly, “it’s hard to remember the last girlfriend I really liked. Well, Brigitte was a very pleasant woman—the German divorcée, think I mentioned her—but, um, well, it was more thinking I ought to like her than honestly doing so,” he admitted with a grimace.

    “What about the blonde actress lady? She was German, too,” she prompted him.

    “Oh, yes: previous tour.” There was one cake left. Pink icing. Looked like something Rupy would choose. Ceremoniously he sliced it in two and offered her half.

    “Ta,” said Penn comfortably.

    Colin picked up the other half. “Liselotte. She loathed being called Lotte. –No. Admired her: she was a very competent and business-like woman. Can’t say I liked her, though.” He bit into the cake and chewed thoughtfully. “Mm, this is nice!” he said in surprise, smiling at her.

    “Yes, real strawberry-flavoured icing,” said Penn contentedly.

    She meant real ersatz strawberry flavouring. “Mm. Yum! –Christ, the last one I actually liked was dear old Ramona!” He laughed.

    This was a new name: Penn experienced a certain sinking feeling. “Who?” she croaked.

    Grinning, Colin told her a good deal about Ramona. Omitting the word “rambunctious” and the reference to a bucking bronco. “I’d’ve been about thirty-one. She was fifty-two, though she certainly didn’t look it.” He shook his head, grinning. “Good old Ramona!”

    Penn was attempting the arithmetic. She gulped. “When was this?”

    “Like I said, darling: when they’d shunted me off to Washington out of harm’s way.”

    “They thought,” she said drily. “No, what year?”

    “Uh—1987, thereabouts?”

    “But—”

    “I suppose Ramona would be seventy,” he admitted, wiping his mouth on a paper napkin. He sat back in his chair and smiled. “My bet’d be she’s still at it, though!”

    “Still congressing? I mean, being in politics?”

    “That, too! I’d say it’s a wonder she isn’t President, but she’s the sort that says what she thinks and refuses to kiss anybody’s arse.”

    “I see,” said Penn feebly. “I’m glad you liked her, Colin. Um, what went wrong?”

    “Nothing went wrong as such. I was posted back to the regiment, and Ramona told me very firmly it was where I belonged, and packed me off with a pat on the cheek.” He sighed a little. “She was full of common sense with it.”

    “I’d really like to have known her.”

    He smiled a little. “I think you still could. Well—quick honeymoon in the Southwest? When does Congress rise for the summer, again? Well, yes! August?”

    “Don’t you have to be on deck? What about your tour buses and stuff?” said Penn dazedly.

    “Robert can handle that—in fact he is handling it. Magnificently, I might add. And a man’s entitled to a honeymoon. You’d love the Southwest, Penn! Desert, extraordinary architecture, Pueblo pots, unrelieved air conditioning, lovely gen-yew-wine oil paintings of the real old Southwest! No, well, I think the mixture of modern Americana and real history adds to the fascination! There’s wonderful silverwork, too: the Indian crafts of that area are terrific!”

    “I see, you went there with Ramona.”

    “Mm. Look, she’ll be at least on the fourth husband by this time! I think she’d welcome us with open arms, but if you don’t want to meet her, we could just go anyway!”

    Was he trying to relive his youth, sort of thing? Though Penn would really like to go. “Um, but I haven’t got a passport or—or anything. Um, and I haven’t got any money, really, Colin,” she said, swallowing.

    “I’m not marrying you for your fortune, you ass!” he said with a laugh.

    “No,” agreed Penn numbly. It seemed to be definite he was marrying her, but she didn’t think she’d said yes.

    Not noticing, he said gaily: “I tell you what: if we can get it through Customs we’ll take Ramona one of your candlesticks—she was into that sort of thing, her ranch house was hung round with old iron and waggon wheels—and that can be your contribution!”

    “Um, yes, that sounds fair,” said Penn limply. “Do you really mean it, Colin?”

    “Yes; I’ve wanted to go back to that part of the world for years, but never had anyone to share it with that’d appreciate it. Is it agreed?”

    Did this mean that if she agreed to the trip she was agreeing to marry him? Penn didn’t have the guts to ask him to make it clear. “Um, yes. Agreed,” she said in a small voice.

    “Hurray!” he said, leaning across the table and putting both his hands tightly over hers. “Let’s go back to Emerald so as I can kiss you!”

    “Um, yes,” said Penn weakly. They didn’t seem to have discussed anything rationally, or—or anything!

    In the car he seemed as keen as ever, no, keener. Did he realise what it was all going to entail? The changes he’d have to make in his way of life? Not that she wanted a shiny suburban box with all mod cons and wall-to-wall carpets, but heck, he’d at least need a washing-machine and drier! And she knew he was apt to wander up to the Workingmen’s Club whenever he felt like it—and now that Terence had reopened the pub, that as well. You couldn’t just do that with a baby in the house! Or did he intend leaving her at home with it?

    “Colin,” she said in a small voice as he drove one-handed to Portsmouth, the other hand on her thigh.

    “Mm-mm?”

    “You have thought about it, have you? I mean a baby’s a—a tie.”

    “Mm.” He squeezed her thigh hard. “We have got until the end of February to get used to the idea: talk it all over, buy any stuff we need.”

    “Yes. It’s not just stuff. I mean, if we’re both working, who’s gonna look after the baby?”

    “Take him down to the Green? The smithy’s nice and warm. I’ll have my office just along the way, and we can each have him for half the day!”

    “That sounds reasonable,” said Penn dubiously. “Though babies can be very noisy and disruptive. Um, it might not be a boy.”

    “Girls are lovely, too!” He hesitated. Then he said in a low voice: “Penn, I meant what I said before.”

    “Um, what?” said Penn in a voice that shook in spite of her best endeavours.

    “I want to marry you whatever happens.”

    “Um, if I have a miscarriage? Dr Maddern said I’m as strong as a horse. Um, well, then you wouldn’t have to.”

    “I’d still want to. Wouldn’t you?” he said, swallowing hard.

    Penn licked her lips. “Um, yes, but I don’t want to, um, hold you to it. You might feel differently.”

    “If I did, I’d tell you, I’m not a moron,” he said, frowning. “But I— Well, I suppose I’ve been contrasting the possibility of life with Penn with life without Penn, and I’m bloody sure which one I want!”

    “Oh.”

    “Look, can you stand me, or NOT?” he said very loudly, braking savagely.

    Penn gasped, and grabbed the door. “Yes,” she said weakly. “I think there’s more to it, though.”

    “I know that cottage is a dump—”

    “No! I like it!”

    “That’s good, because I’ve sunk almost every penny of my capital in the crafts enterprise. Well, there’s a few shares my broker had a conniption at the idea of selling, so I’m hanging on to those for the income, but I can’t afford a house, at this juncture.”

    “I don’t want a house. But I’m not sure you’re the sort of person that can live permanently without a fancy house,” she admitted.

    “Uh-huh. Right. So that’s the problem, is it?”

    “Mm. Well, it’s symptomatic, yeah.”

    “I’ve never actually owned a fancy house. Lived in Army houses. Owned a very fancy flat back when I was married—well, me and the bank. I loathed it.”

    Penn sighed. He thought he loathed it because he associated it with his failed marriage.

    “I suppose,” said Colin, rumpling his curls, “there are no bloody guarantees in life, Penn. None at all. Anything can happen,” he said grimly. “But if I’d wanted a fancy lifestyle I’d have rushed off to see Uncle Matthew when I resigned my commission, wouldn’t I? Never mind what I might have remembered or forgotten: wouldn’t I?”

    “I suppose you would,” said Penn slowly.

    “Yes. All I can say is, I’m prepared to really work at it and I—I want to marry you, Penn.”

    “So do I,” admitted Penn, a tear dripping down her cheek.

    “Well! That’s all right, then!” he said with a laugh. “Come here!” He hugged her tight. Penn bawled all over his chest.

    “No guarantees, okay?” he said, mopping her face.

    “Mm,” agreed Penn, sniffing.

    “Just two frail pieces of humanity clinging together on our little raft in Bellingford, okay?”

    “Mm. Good.”

    “And if we’re very, very lucky and this pregnancy goes okay, there’ll be three.”

    “Mm. Like Rosie and John and Baby Bunting.”

    “Uh-huh. Birds in their little nest!” he said with a laugh. “Though it’s actually four, now, but who’s counting?”

    “Oh, yes: New Baby!” she gasped. “Help, I’d better send them a card!”

    “We shall send them a card,” corrected Colin, grinning. “And a bunch of flahs, I think. ‘From Penn and Colin.’ What do you think?”

    To his amazement she just nodded and smiled.

    “Yes,” said Colin dazedly, starting Emerald up again. “Good show.”

    “Are you mad?” shouted Marion, turning puce. “You don’t even know the man!”

    “No, but at our ages we’d rather spend the next few years getting to know each other as a couple instead of carrying on seeing each other at odd moments like a pair of stupid schoolkids.”

    “Stupid schoolkids!” she shouted. “Having an unplanned kid by a man like him isn’t the act of a stupid schoolkid?”

    Penn sighed. “Marion, how many times do I have to say it? He’s only ever been nice to you. You’ve got no proof he’s this monster that you’ve turned him into—”

    “No PROOF? I’ve seen him with my own eyes leching after that ghastly Carole woman!”

    “Rubbish. Just because she goes pink whenever she sees hi—”

    “Her?” she shouted terribly. “What about him? It’s more than pink whenever he sees her, I can tell you!”

    Penn bit her lip. “Um, Marion, a man can’t help a physiological—”

    “He can help sleeping with the woman, though!” she said viciously.

    Penn went very red. “That isn’t true!”

    “Of course it’s true, he was sniggering about it with those horrible Army men!”

    “He’s not sleeping with her now, her and one of those horrible Army men are an item,” said Penn very drily indeed—Rob had fallen with a thump for Carole and she gave every evidence of reciprocating. “So when was this?”

    Marion looked defiant. “How should I know? Last year, I suppose.”

    “Before I met him,” said Penn pointedly. “I’m quite sure that whatever was between him and Carole, it’s over long since.”

    “Sex was between him and Carole, because he can’t keep it in his pants!” she shouted.

    “At his age, there’d be something wrong with him if he was a blushing virgin,” said Penn drily.

    “Penn, you’ve gone mad! Look, you could have an abortion, and there’s no need to think you’d have to go through it alone, because of course I’d come with you! But it’s a woman’s right to choose, of course”—she’d never chosen in her life: Penn just managed not to point this out—“and if you really want to have the baby, I’ll stick by you!” Her eyes gleamed. “And there’s the Group, we’d all rally round!”

    The Group was composed of middle-aged, middle-class women very like Marion, all man-haters, most of them with very good reason, and all rabid feminists, most of them with completely slavish relationships with men in their past, apart from a couple who were Lesbians and whom, though she knew she was being unfair, Penn found a lot easier to take than the divorced hetero ones. The Group was very, very supportive both of its members and of any woman who needed support, but in spite of their excellent intentions and the genuine good work they did Penn couldn’t actually imagine anything much worse than their whole-hearted support.

    “It’s very kind of you, Marion, and I know I can rely on the Group if I need help, but I want to marry Colin. And—and please don’t say bad things about him any more.”

    “But they’re TRUE!” she shouted.

    “Yes,” said Penn through trembling lips. “I suppose they are. But—but the other side of his character is true, too. I’m just—I’m just going for a walk.”

    Marion’s flat chest heaved as her friend walked steadily out of the smithy. After a moment she rushed over to the doorway and shouted: “What about your WORK?”

    Penn turned round. “I’m still doing it.”

    “HUH! I’ll believe that when I see it!” she cried.

    Penn turned and headed off towards George Street.

    “Penn, men are SHITS!” shouted Marion. “You KNOW that! Have you forgotten all about that bastard Julian Border?”

    Penn didn’t turn round. “He isn’t,” she said under her breath. A tear slipped down her cheek but she ignored it and walked on steadily.