‘I’ve told her I’ll be best man,’ William says eventually over a fierce chirruping in the swaying hedge. Ray’s shoes graze the pavement as he stops suddenly.
‘Thank God for that. Pity you couldn’t have said that a week ago and saved Gloria all that upset.’
‘She said none of your family are coming.’ William walks on.
‘Shotgun weddings aren’t their style.’
‘But eventually they’ll want to see their grandchild, won’t they?’
They’ve reached the college’s grey edifice. Ray looks at his watch then leans against the wall. William does the same. ‘Their grandchild, is the fruit of our sin. Don’t worry, I’m not depriving our child of anything.’
‘That’s tough.’
‘They’re the least of my worries. I’ve just got to get married, pass my exams, and be a father. That’s enough for now.’
Following Ray up the steps, William thinks, not for the first time, if he was going to spend the rest of his life with Gloria, and her luscious body was the home for his baby, he’d happily run over hot coals to college every morning and still have a smile on his face.
42
He’s with her when it happens.
‘Come on you, let’s have a last cocoa together, for old times’ sake,’ she says when he meets her in the kitchen. ‘You’ll be gone in a couple of days!’ She puts her head on one side and beams her warmth at him. ‘What do you say?’
William has found a room just round the corner from college. His landlady is ancient but pleasant. It’ll only be for two months and then he’ll be back in Sutton with Uncle Robert and Howard. He’s got used to the ache in his heart, and to make life as easy as possible for Gloria he’s acted cheerful and normal, and they are almost back to how they were before Ray turned up. Mr and Mrs Finch are in the sitting room watching Armchair Theatre, just as they were on his first night back in September. Ray is upstairs.
‘All right.’ He smiles and sits himself on the counter next to the kettle. It’s worth the effort to hide his feelings to draw that smile from her. She turns and bends down to lift the milk bottle from the fridge. William’s heart kicks and he feels the jump of blood rush straight to his face. A huge crimson flower is blossoming across the back of Gloria’s skirt.
‘Gloria!’ he shouts instinctively. ‘You’re bleeding!’
The milk bottle clatters into the sink and Gloria twists round to look. ‘Oh God!’ She looks at him, her face creased and helpless.
Mrs Finch is there already, taking Gloria by both arms. ‘Let’s get you to the loo. Reg! Get the car ready, we’re going to the hospital.’
They all go, except William. Ray carried Gloria back down the stairs without his shirt on, so William took off his and gave it to Mrs Finch for him.
The sudden silence thunders through the hallway after Mrs Finch snaps the door shut behind them, even though he was there ready to do it for her. He turns and sees the heavy, gummy drops of blood on every stair tread. He goes to the sink and puts cold water in the bowl, takes a knife from the cutlery drawer and a Tupperware box from the cupboard. He gets the worst of it off with the knife. The smell doesn’t bother him – he’s used to far worse. He gets his own nail brush and, with salt and cold water, scrubs at each crimson spot. Concentrating on what he’s doing, he can manage. Just get this beige carpet clean before they come home. That’s all. He knows nothing about miscarriages, but hopes because they got to the hospital quickly, she’ll be all right.
Staring intently at successive small patches of carpet, he doesn’t notice the failing of the light until he’s reached the top. He flicks the bulbous switch and doesn’t see any red or rose blush on the stair carpet. He gathers the damp toilet paper he’s used to soak up the water and turns towards the bathroom to flush them away, glad he’s saved them from this, at least. But there’s more blood on the landing and he chides himself for not anticipating that. Finally, after more scraping, dousing, scrubbing and blotting, it’s done. With tight shoulders and aching head, he wishes that someone could at least have called him from the hospital to say what’s happening. Hands full of soggy, stained loo roll, William pushes open the door to the small toilet.
A sharp cry punches out of his mouth. In spite of his ignorance, he’s pretty sure the gaudy mess in the toilet bowl means Gloria and Ray are no longer expecting a baby. He stares at the scarlet muddle for a few moments, then, with goose bumps on his bare arms, William grips the Bakelite handle and pulls the chain.
43
‘Isn’t she beautiful?’ William says.
Gloria still has her arm hooked through his, even though the walk is over.
‘Mmm,’ Gloria says, tilting her head at Ophelia, at the upturned hands and the half-open mouth.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so lovely,’ William says, smiling from the painting to Gloria and back to the painting again. ‘Look at that tree trunk! I could reach out and stroke it – and those flowers on the water – and how real her hands look!’
‘Mmm.’
‘You don’t sound impressed.’
‘I am, it’s just a pity she’s dead!’
‘I’m used to that, aren’t I?’
She takes her arm from his and slaps his shoulder. ‘You nutter,’ she says, and starts to giggle. An older couple come to stand next to them. They turn from the painting to Gloria as she continues to laugh, and a small tut-tut can be heard as they focus on the canvas. Gloria looks at William and opens her eyes wide. Now she really can’t stop.
William doesn’t care about the couple. He doesn’t care about the security staff noticing them. He wants to run to the nearest phone box so he can tell Mr and Mrs Finch, I’ve made her laugh – she’s laughing!
‘What are you up to this morning, William?’ Mrs Finch politely asked when William joined them for breakfast that day.
‘I’m off to the Tate.’ He glanced at the piece of paper in Gloria’s hand, and the sight of the familiar slanted handwriting flung a pulse against his throat. ‘Everything all right?’