40
Sorting Out Hamish
In Polly’s experience, which was fairly wide, if you got some food and booze into a man with something on his mind and made sure he was warm and comfortable he pretty soon told you all about it. Unfortunately Hamish was a harder nut to crack than, say, Roger Browne, late of the Faculty of Languages and Linguistics, or Rod Jablonski.
She got him out onto the long terrace edging the big oblong pool, but then he refused a slug of rum with his pineapple juice. Poor Polly wasn’t to know that the suggestion had raised a vivid picture in his mind of that very first encounter with Mirry, three years ago, back on the patio at the old house. When she suggested lunch he said it was too early, and anyway he wasn’t hungry. When she offered him a whisky he said in a nasty voice that although he didn’t know what the Hell a yardarm was, he had a fair idea that the sun wasn’t over it, yet. Then he went down to the springboard, dived into the pool with a huge splash, and swam up and down for ages.
Polly watched for a while; then she went dispiritedly into the house and looked in the fridge. As she was doing so the intercom from the nursery emitted a wail, so she went upstairs and rescued Baby. Katie Maureen was hungry; Polly dithered a bit. Then she said loudly: “Blow him! He’s not gonna sneak off behind my back!” and, rapidly changing the baby, took her downstairs and out onto the patio.
He was still splashing up and down. “Hamish!” she said loudly. “Hamish! Come here!”
Hamish splashed over. “What?” he said, panting and scowling.
“Come up here and hold Baby a mo’ while I get into the swing.”
“Can’t you put her down for a minute?”
“No!” said Polly crossly.
Sighing, he heaved himself out of the pool. Before he could point out he was all wet she shoved a towel at him. When he’d dried himself perfunctorily she handed him the baby, and got into the big awninged swing. Watching her, Hamish got the point: she got right into the swing seat, with her legs up, and positioned some cushions at her back. She couldn’t possibly have done it holding the baby; as it was, the thing wobbled madly.
“Right; give her here.”
He hesitated. “Are you sure that thing’s stable enough?”
“Yes; it’s okay when you’re in it; and its nice awning’ll keep the sun off us, won’t it, Baby?”
Katie Maureen uttered a whimper.
“Come on, Hamish, she’s hungry.”
Flushing, her handed her the baby.
Polly was wearing a very fetching green two-piece sun-suit, which rather gave the appearance of being made from two not very large scarves. She removed a breast from the upper scarf. Hamish politely averted his eyes.
“You can look, I don’t mind.”
He found to his annoyance that this remark made it impossible not to look. He swallowed. “She’s very ginger, isn’t she?” he ventured.
Polly grinned. “Yes, her hair’s going to be as red as yours. I don’t think Jake’s too pleased about it!”
He laughed suddenly.
Encouraged, Polly continued: “I’ve told him red hair runs in the family: Aunty Kay’s was a really flaming red, when she was young; do you remember?”
“No-o... Oh, yes, I do: she was at some damned family wedding we went to when I was about fourteen—we hadn’t been out here long at all; aye, I remember, now. Come to think of it, hasn’t her Doreen got red hair, too?”
“No, Karen; but both of Doreen’s little girls have.”
“Is that right?” He smiled suddenly. Polly moved her feet aside and he sat down cautiously beside them, trying not to rock the swing. “I suppose you were at that wedding, too?”
“Well, if you were only fourteen I couldn’t have been more than four. I probably was, but I don’t remember it.”
“No, of course.”
They sat peacefully for a while, while Katie Maureen drank thirstily.
“Anyway,” said Polly, smiling, “Jake liked the red hair at first; then he remembered that yours is red, and started to get all huffy about it.”
“Good God.”
“Of course he’s really very proud of her; only he’d be a bit happier about the hair if yours was black, or something!”
“Aye...” He watched for a while. Polly was looking down at the baby. It was a very sweet sight. Suddenly she looked up and smiled at him.
Sourly he said: “I hope he doesna start to imagine she’s mine, because quite frankly I can’t cope with the idea of one red-haired daughter!” He bent forward and buried his head in his hands.
Polly gaped at him. “What did you say?” she said faintly at last.
“I didn’t mean to tell you,” he muttered.
“Well, you’d better go on, now you’ve started.”
“Aye...”
There was a long silence, except for the usual sounds produced by Katie Maureen.
“When did it happen?”
Hamish looked up. He gave a mad laugh. “Nineteen years ago next August holidays!”
Polly’s jaw dropped. “Nineteen—!”
“Aye,” he said grimly. “I’m dreading facing Mirry with it—the girl’s practically her own age.”
“She must be eighteen—no, not quite eighteen,” said Polly thoughtfully. “That’s a fair bit younger than Mirry.”
“Come off it, Polly!” he said bitterly.
There was quite a long silence. Polly unplugged the baby and burped her. She transferred her to the other breast. Hamish watched these operations with a lack-lustre eye.
“Who—who was the woman, Hamish?”
He clenched his hands together tightly. “You’re not going to believe this, Polly.”
“Short of it being the Queen, I’d believe anything,” said Polly calmly. “Go on.”
“It—it was Veronica’s sister.”
Polly looked thoughtfully at him. She recalled Veronica’s red-headed niece whom she’d met at the Institute’s barbecue. Suddenly she also remembered Elspeth saying something about “That big girl” and a mole like hers.
“I see; which one?”
“Becky—I called her Rebekah,” he said with difficulty.
“The one that was killed in that ghastly accident? I’m awfully sorry, Hamish.”
“Don’t be!” he said with another mad laugh. “I didn’t even know she was Rebekah!”
“What?” said Polly faintly.
Hamish told her all about it.
“I see,” she said at last. He was looking at her with an expression of pathetic hope. “It isn’t so bad, really,” she said gently.
“Tell that to Mirry!” he said bitterly.
“I will, if you like.”
He went scarlet and said in a strangled voice: “No; thank you, Polly; but it’s something I’ll have to do for ma’sel’.”
“Well, it would be better coming from you.” She hesitated. “I don’t think it’ll upset her as much as you seem to think, Hamish: she’s pretty liberal-minded, you know.”
“Aye—in theory,” he said grimly.
“She’ll understand it was just a—a biological accident.”
Hamish snorted.
“And I don’t want to be mean about Becky, but I must say she seems to have been very silly about it all.”
He made a wry face. “That’s what Veronica said—only rather more trenchantly!”
Polly smiled. “I can imagine! But honestly, Hamish, I think Mirry will see that it was Becky’s responsibility; I think most women would see it that way.”
He replied dully: “I told you that damned brother-in-law of Veronica’s gave Elspeth a bluidy toy rabbit, didn’t I?”
“Ye-es; oh, I see; yes, well, he obviously feels it wasn’t your fault, doesn’t he?”
“I thought that at first; now I think he just feels sorry for Elspeth.”
“P’raps it’s a bit of both.”
“Aye—mebbe.”
“You—you haven’t spoken to Carol, have you?”
“No; Peter and Weintraub thought I should wait for her to make the first move.”
“Mm.”
There was a long silence. The baby had gone to sleep. Polly kissed her head gently. Finally she murmured: “Have you said anything to Elspeth?”
“Good grief, no! I’d as soon tell the town-crier!”
She smiled. “Mm, she is a bit like that.”
“You don’t think I ought to tell her, do you?”
Polly rubbed her nose. “Not unless Carol wants you to,” she decided.
“Oh! E-er... yes; I see what you mean.”
Another silence.
Finally Hamish muttered: “Mirry’ll never want to set eyes on me again.”
“Rubbish! She loves you; it won’t make any difference to her! Look, what’s really upsetting Mirry, if you ask me, is all this stupid shilly-shallying of yours! I can see that you were afraid that Sylvie might make trouble, at first—but good Heavens, it’s been months, now! If she was going to make trouble she’d have done it right at the beginning, when she came back from Scotland!” Hamish opened his mouth to say that she had, but Polly swept on: “And as for wanting to keep Mirry out of it—well, I’ve told you what I think of that, haven’t I? You’re only humiliating her, Hamish!”
Suddenly he buried his face in his hands again. With difficulty he said: “You don’t understand how I feel about her, Polly.”
Polly sighed. She laid her cheek on Katie Maureen’s gingery head. “No, I don’t think I do.”
“She’s—she’s such a wee thing; I can’t bear to think of—of anything hurting her.” His voice cracked. He stopped.
Rather to his surprise his second cousin replied gently: “I see; you feel protective towards her.”
“Yes,” he said huskily.
“Well, she is little, of course: and young.”
“Aye.”
“Only I think you’d both be a lot happier if—if you could let her, well, share a bit more, Hamish.” Hamish was silent. “Take some of the responsibility off your shoulders.”
His head was still buried in his hands.
Finally she said in a small voice: “I don’t know what else to say, Hamish.”
“No,” he said painfully. “I’m sorry, Polly; I shouldn’t have burdened you.”
“What else are friends for?” said Polly simply.
He didn’t look up. After a while Polly realized he was crying. She waited a little, and then she said gently: “Hamish, I don’t want to go all psychological on you, but I think you ought to have a think about how much of this idea of—of having to give Mirry, up, or whatever—is tied up with your own guilt.” Hamish didn’t react. Swallowing nervously, Polly added: “The guilt goes right back, doesn’t it? Back to when you first met her. It’s all tied up with her age, of course—but it’s more than that, it’s—uh—the adultery thing.”
“Havers!” he muttered, not looking up.
“And now this Carol thing: are you sure you’re not making it an excuse not to look at the real issues?”
“What?” he cried indignantly, looking up at last.
She got up. “I’d better put Baby to bed.” She drifted over to the French doors. “Think about it,” she murmured, and vanished.
Hamish was quite incapable of thinking about it. He felt completely stunned. He just sat there leaning his chin in his hands, staring at the pool.
Some time later, when Polly came out again with her lower half now draped in a long green sarong that matched the sun-suit, he was still sitting there. “Come and have some lunch,” she said, trying to sound normal.
He sighed and got up. “Aye, I might as well.”
He didn’t refer to their discussion at all over lunch, so Polly didn’t, either. However, after coffee he suddenly said: “I’ve decided.”
“What?” croaked Polly.
“I’m going to ask Mirry to come back home straight away; I’m going to tell her everything—and—and let her make up her own mind!”
“Hurray!” cried Polly, lighting up like a Christmas tree. “I’m so glad!” She rushed round the table and kissed his cheek enthusiastically. “Ring her up now!” she cried.
He gave a tiny laugh. “Aye—if I may?”
“Use the phone in Jake’s study.”
He came back with an odd look on his face.
“Was she there?”
“No; I got that idiot friend of hers, Phil.”
“Oh,” said Polly, her face falling. “What did he say?”
He gave a mad laugh. “He said she left about an hour ago to catch a bus to come up here!”
The bus was very hot and stuffy. After about half an hour Mirry began to feel decidedly sick. Since her stomach was queasy anyway at the thought of facing Hamish she began to wonder if she was going to disgrace herself before the bus got to Puriri. Fortunately it stopped several times, so this gave her a few breathers, and she didn’t actually throw up.
“You don’t go on to Kowhai Bay, do you?” she said in a squeaky voice to the driver, as he drew up outside The Arcade and everyone else got out.
“No,” he agreed, “not in the weekends. I just go up as far as Sir John Marshall Avenue, and turn round.”
“Oh,” said Mirry dully. “I’ll get off there, then.”
She trudged slowly up the hill in the heat. At least there was a bit of a breeze... By the time she got to the top of the hill she was very sorry that she’d brought her pack with her. Not that it had much in it, but it seemed to get heavier with every step. She stopped for a breather. At least eight cars shot by her, all going very fast in the same direction as her. “Pigs!” she muttered. She began to wonder nervously how she was going to get across the highway. Shouldering the pack again, she trudged on. Soon a thumping headache was added to her other miseries.
Hamish had imagined several very romantic and/or dramatic scenarios. They didn't happen. He rushed to the front door when he heard her key in the lock and flung it wide.
“Mirry—” he said in a trembling voice.
“Let me in, I’m gonna be sick!” She rushed past him and threw herself into the downstairs lavatory, slamming the door after her. Hamish sat down limply on the stairs.
“Are you all right?” he said, scrambling up, when she eventually came out.
“I think so. I’ve got an awful headache. I think it was the bus, mainly, it was terribly bumpy.”
“You should have rung me; I’d have come and got you,” he said hoarsely, forgetting that he hadn’t been home to receive calls. Mirry avoided his eye. “Aye, well... You’d better come upstairs and have a wee lie-down; I’ll get you something for your head.”
“Ta,” she said dully, following him up the stairs.
“Oh,” she said on the landing. “My pack—”
“I’ll bring it up later, darling; come on, you look terrible.”
They went into the bedroom. Mirry sat on the edge of the bed. Hamish looked at her anxiously. Her cheeks were very red, but she looked terribly blue around the mouth. “Do you feel sick again?”
“Yes!” gasped Mirry. She bolted into the ensuite.
Hamish fidgeted. She was ages. He went over to the door. “Mirry? Are you all right?”
“Yes—I think so,” she said faintly. He heard the toilet flush. Then she ran a lot of water in the basin. Finally she came out.
Hamish looked at her worriedly. “Shall I give Bruce Smith a ring?”
“No; I’m okay,” said Mirry in the thread of a voice. She looked at the bed.
“Oh!” he said. He rushed forward and peeled back the covers. “Come on, darling, pop into bed.”
“I haven’t got a nightie,” she said, still in that tiny voice. “It’s in my pack.”
“There’s one here.” He rummaged in a drawer. “Aye—here it is!”
“Ta.” She began slowly to undress. Hamish looked at her doubtfully. He wanted to offer to help but didn’t dare. When she turned away politely to take her panties off and get into her nightie he nearly burst into tears. Shakily he hurried across to the far side of the room and drew the curtains. When he turned at last she was in bed.
“That’s right,” he said, coming hesitantly over to the bed. “Have a wee rest, eh?”
“Yes,” whispered Mirry. She swallowed. “Hamish—”
“Don’t talk, darling,” he croaked. “Just—just try and have a sleep. We can talk about everything later.”
“I’ve got to know!” she said loudly. “Do you want me to stay?”
“Yes.”
They stared at each other.
“I mean forever,” said Mirry with huge difficulty.
“So do I.” He was very pale; in the gloom of the greenish light coming through the bedroom curtains his freckles looked like blotches of mould.
Mirry swallowed. “I mean, can we get married?” she said faintly.
Hamish’s eyes filled with tears. He sat down abruptly on the edge of the bed. “We’ll get married the minute ma divorce from that bitch comes through.”
“Will that be a very long time?”
He pressed his lips tightly together. “About two years,” he said at last. “I’ve got ma lawyers working on it; and John Mackay’s on our side...”
“Good,” said Mirry faintly.
There was a pause.
“Anyway, it doesn’t matter a tinker’s damn!” he said loudly. “I love you, even if we can’t get married for a bit! It doesn’t make a scrap of difference!”
A tear trickled down Mirry’s cheek. “I know it shouldn’t make any difference... Only it does.”
“That’s what Polly said,” he muttered.
“Yes; she understands,” said Mirry faintly.
“And I don’t, I suppose!” he said bitterly.
“It’s because you’re so much older than me... “
His lower lip trembled. After a moment he said: “Don’t you trust me?”
“No, it isn’t that,” said Mirry in an exhausted voice. “Ask Polly—she felt the same when she thought Jake didn’t want to marry her.”
There was a considerable period of silence.
“But you do believe that I love you—surely?” he said hoarsely.
Another tear forced its way out. “I am trying to,” she said.
“Damn!” said Hamish loudly. He got up abruptly and strode over to the windows, where he stared blindly at the closed curtains. “How can I prove it to you?” he said dully at last.
“By letting me stay, of course,” said Mirry in a surprised voice.
He swung round. “Letting you! My God, it isn’t a question of— He hurried back to her. “It’s not a question of letting you!” he said loudly. “It’s a question of bluidy well begging you on ma bended knees to stay!”
Mirry had gone very red. “Did you think I wouldn’t?” she said in a strangled voice.
“Aye.” He sat down heavily again. “When you went off up North with those bluidy archaeological idiots—”
She swallowed loudly. “I only— It was because I couldn’t stand it down here, waiting for you to make up your mind.”
Suddenly Hamish gave a sob. He covered his face with his hand.
“Don’t,” she said. She touched his other hand timidly. In the midst of his anguish he registered that her hand was burning hot. He gave a loud sniff, and sat up. Gently he felt her forehead. Mirry looked up at him anxiously.
“You’re burning up,” he said. “Did you take anything for that heid?”
“No, I thought I might bring it up straight away.”
“I’ll get you something,” He strode into the bathroom. “Here.” He handed her two Panadol capsules and a glass of water. Mirry took the capsules obediently. “Drink all that water up, it’ll do you good.” She drank the water. “Now lie down; we’re not going to talk any more; we’ve got the rest of our lives to talk—okay?”
“Yes,” she said faintly, lying down.
He took her hand. “You’re so hot,” he muttered. Silently he decided that if she was still hot by dinnertime he’d ring Bruce Smith.
“Where’s Elspeth?” she said faintly.
“Gone to the zoo with Jake and the twins; now shut up, and go to sleep.”
“Mm.”
“Close your eyes.”
Mirry closed her eyes. Her hand clutched his tightly. Hamish was silent. He could hear his own heart thumping.
“Where’s Puppy?”
“Fast asleep under the washing-line.”
She went on clutching his hand. His eyes were used to the gloom, now, and he could see the delicate tracery of the black lashes on her flushed cheeks. A tear slid down his own cheek.
“Could you—?” she said in a faint voice.
He bent over her anxiously. “What?”
“Could you lie down, too?”
“Aye; if I won’t disturb you?”
“No; it’d be comforting.”
He got on the bed beside her. “Is this okay?”
“No,” she murmured. “You’re on the wrong side.”
Hamish gave a laugh that cracked. He got off the bed and came round to “his” side.
“That’s better,” she murmured.
“Mm.”
After some time her breathing changed and he realized with relief that she was asleep. He relaxed, sighing. Soon he was asleep, too.
If, somewhere at the back of his mind, Hamish’s male libido had prompted the not unnatural thought, before he drifted into sleep, that this scene might lead to a more directly romantic one, it was doomed to disappointment.
By four-fifteen Jake was very hot, very tired, and very sticky: Davey had spilt lemonade over his father’s slacks, and Johnny had smeared ice cream on his father’s tee-shirt. Even his handkerchief was revolting sticky, since he’d incautiously left the Wet Ones in the car. Elspeth hadn’t done anything overtly objectionable; but she had talked almost non-stop, except for the times when she was stuffing her face with ice cream, Coke, hotdogs, more ice cream, and more Coke.
“Come on,” he grunted, “that’s enough zoo; we’re going home.”
“Aw-wuh, Uncle Ja-ake!” cried Elspeth. “We haven’t seen the sealions being fed!”
“No, and you’re not gonna,” he grunted. “And for Pete’s sake grab Davey’s hand, or he’ll be feeding himself to the bloody sealions!”
Elspeth obeyed, but pointed out: “You said ‘bloody’.”
“I’ll do worse than that in a minute; come on!”
Elspeth came on.
… “Here y’are,” he grunted, a good hour and a half after a long delay on the Harbour Bridge—idiots going home from the two o’clock pictures, he should’ve thought of that.
“Thank you very much, Uncle Jake!” she hissed hoarsely—the twins were both asleep but, if anything less than a cannon going off in their ears could’ve woken them, the noise Elspeth fondly imagined to be a whisper would’ve been it.
“That’s okay,” he grunted. “See ya!”
He drove off without its ever dawning on him that possibly the child would find herself locked out, blissfully unaware of the ear-bashing his wife would shortly give him on the subject.
Puppy knew Elspeth’s step; he pelted round the house and threw himself at her.
After some rapturous hugging and face-licking she rang the front doorbell. Nothing happened, so she leant on it.
Hamish woke slowly, feeling drugged. What the Hell? He got very cautiously off the bed, thankful that the noise didn’t seem to have woken Mirry, and hurried downstairs as quietly as he could.
“We—” she began loudly.
“Ssh!” he hissed. “Get down!” he hissed at Puppy, who was greeting him like a long-lost brother. “Mirry’s asleep!”
“Ooh, is she back?” hissed Elspeth hoarsely. “Goody! Come on, Puppy!” They made for the kitchen.
Hamish followed. He shut the kitchen door firmly after them. “What the Hell’s that muck on your face?”
“I don’t know; can I have an apple?”
“No. And for God’s sake wash your face and hands!”
Elspeth washed her face and hands at the sink. Hamish picked up a tea-towel. He dampened it under the tap and washed her face more thoroughly. Elspeth screwed her face up horribly but he got most of the muck off.
“You shoulda come to the zoo, Dad! It was great!”
“Mm.”
“We saw the lions being fed!” she said ecstatically.
“Oh, aye? Weren’t the Twinnies scared?”
“’Course not!” said Elspeth scornfully.
“Oh.” He began to make a pot of tea.
“They have huge bones!”
“What?”
“The lions!” she said impatiently. “They have huge bones; and they kind of screw up their faces—look, like this!” She screwed up her face horribly to one side, making gnawing motions as she did so. Hamish blenched.
“Uncle Jake reckons they eat about a tonne of meat each a week!”
“Oh, aye?”
“That’s a lot, isn’t it?” she said, suddenly sounding uncertain.
He laughed suddenly. “Aye, it is; even more than you eat in a week!”
“Hah, hah,” said Elspeth without animus. “Can I have a cup of tea?”
“Aye, I suppose so.”
“Good. I’ll just go to the toilet, first!” She bolted out. Hamish reflected that at least she hadn’t said “tawlet” like half the population.
When she came back she offered to take a mug up to Mirry.
Hamish hesitated. “I think we’d better let her have her sleep out,” he said finally. “She isn’t very well.”
There was silence: he looked down at her in surprise. Elspeth was looking a bit sick herself. She was very tanned, but the few freckles on her nose and cheeks looked very dark as the colour faded from under the tan.
“Is Mirry going to die?”
“Of course not!” he replied in astonishment. “What on earth gave you that idea?”
“I don’t know,” said Elspeth faintly.
“Well, it’s utter rubbish!” he said robustly. “She’s not even very sick—just a bit of an upset stomach.”
Elspeth replied dubiously: “Sometimes ladies get sick when they’re going to have a baby.”
“Aye, well, she isn’t!” he gasped.
“Aw,” she said in disappointment.
“Would you like that?” he said faintly.
“Aye; it would be my sister, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes; or your brother, if it was a boy.”
“Whetu said it wouldn’t be my sister because Mirry’s not my mother.”
“Whetu’s a wee idiot,” he replied tersely. “Strictly speaking, it’d be your half-sister.”
“I see! Half Mirry, and half you!”
“Yes,” said Hamish weakly.
“I hope it wouldn’t inherit his nose, that’s all,” said a third voice, from behind them.
Hamish gasped, and dropped a mug.
“Not if it was a girl, anyway,” added Mirry, coming into the kitchen and fending off a rapturous Puppy. “It’s a nice nose on a man, of course.”
“She’s up,” pointed out Elspeth to Hamish.
“Aye,” he agreed, groping for bits of mug.
“Don’t do that, Hamish, you’ll cut yourself,” said Mirry. “Elspeth, get the brush and pan.”
“The wee brush?”
“Yes, of course; hurry up!” She sat down at the kitchen table. Elspeth found the brush and pan and handed them to Hamish. She stared very hard at Mirry. “Aren’t you going to have a baby?” she said at last.
“No,” said Mirry.
Elspeth pouted. After a while she revealed sulkily: “Mrs Taylor’s going to have another baby.”
“Whetu’s mother? Is she really?”
“Yes; that’s why she’s stopped going to Jazzercize. She goes to something else instead. Whetu isn’t allowed to go.” She looked hopefully at Mirry.
“Ante-natal classes.”
“Yes,” said Elspeth gratefully.
“Polly went to those; do you remember?”
“’Course!” said Elspeth with scorn.—Mirry couldn’t tell whether or not it was a lie.—“Mr Taylor said it was an accident: what does that mean?”
Mirry gulped. “Um—ask Hamish,” she said faintly.
Hamish tipped the pieces of mug into the bin, and straightened. “Thanks very much,” he said drily.
“Dad, what does it mean?”
Mirry swallowed a snigger.
Hamish reddened. “It means they didn’t plan to have the baby.”
“Oh.” Elspeth investigated the teapot. “Can we have our tea now?”
“Yes,” said Hamish limply, sitting down at the kitchen table. As she poured the tea Elspeth said: “How can you plan to have a baby?”
Hamish went very red and looked helplessly at Mirry.
“Well, you know those pills I take?” said Mirry to Elspeth.
“Those funny little ones?”
“Yes; they’re my birth-control pills, I’ve told you about them, remember?”
“Aye; they stop you from having a baby,” agreed Elspeth.
“Well, if I didn’t take them—” Mirry stopped. She went very red.
“Then you’d have a baby! I see!”
Mirry swallowed. “Only if—if Daddy and I made love. I’ve told you about that, haven’t I?”
“Yes,” said Elspeth vaguely.
Mirry was quite sure she didn’t understand. She went redder than ever.
“There was a baby monkey at the zoo,” said Elspeth, plonking a mug of tea in front of Mirry.
Mirry looked frantically at Hamish.
“Jake took her and the twins to the zoo this afternoon,” he said.
“Oh, I see!”
“And a baby camel,” said Elspeth, plonking a mug of tea in front of Hamish.
“Oh, aye?”
“And in the Children’s Zoo,” said Elspeth, plonking her own tea on the table and pulling out a chair with an appalling scraping noise, “there was a baby llama, and it came right up to us!”
“They’re sweet, aren’t they?” said Mirry. “Very woolly.”
“Yes; quite tall, though.”
“Yes.”
Hamish looked doubtfully at Mirry but she appeared to be quite satisfied by this illogical conversation. He sipped his tea gingerly.
Mirry sipped her tea and said to Elspeth: “What else did you see at the zoo?”
“We saw the lions being fed!”
“That’s fun, isn’t it?”
“Aye; they make awful faces, don’t they?”
“Yes. I like the way each lion takes its bit of meat off to a corner, too.”
Elspeth chuckled pleasedly. “Aye; aren’t they funny?”
“What else?”
Elspeth embarked on a detailed account of everything they’d seen at the zoo. At the end of it she sighed heavily. “Do you know what I liked best?”
Before they could reply to this question, which unfortunately was not a rhetorical one, the phone rang.
Hamish got up. As he went out he heard Mirry suggest: “The lions being fed?”
“That was Polly,” he said, coming back.
“Oh!” cried Elspeth in disappointment. “Why didn’t you let me talk to her?”
Hamish ignored her. “She asked after you,” he said awkwardly to Mirry.
“Did she?” she replied in surprise.
“Aye; she said, if you’re feeling up to it, would we like to go up to Carter’s Inlet with them tomorrow, for a picnic lunch.”
“At the bach?” cried Elspeth ecstatically. “Ooh, super! Can we, Mirry?”
Mirry was rather pink. “Yes, that’d be nice.”
“If you’re feeling okay,” he murmured.
“You are, aren’t you, Mirry? You’re not sick now, are you?” cried Elspeth.
“No, I’m fine.”
“Goody! Then we can go!”
“I suppose so,” Hamish agreed. Elspeth volunteered eagerly to ring Aunty Polly and tell her. Limply Hamish let her. She rushed out.
“I’m sorry about all that,” he said. “I don’t know what the Hell put that nonsense into her head.”
“What? Oh!” Mirry laughed a little. “I think she’s jealous of Whetu.”
“Aye; by the sounds of it Whetu’s being thoroughly obnoxious over it—very superior!” He chuckled.
Mirry sipped tea. Drily she said: “Obviously Whetu doesn’t understand what an accident is.”
Hamish choked over his tea.
Elspeth came back. “I told her. –If you didn’t take those funny pills, then I could have a little sister!”
“Or a brother!” said Hamish crossly.
“Can’t you choose?”
“No!” they howled.
“Oh.” She went back to her chair and sat down heavily. “I thought Aunty Polly chose a girl because the Twinnies were both boys.”
“God!” said Hamish, clutching his head.
“Elspeth,” said Mirry with great determination, “I’ll get you a book from the Puriri Library that’ll tell you all about it.”
“And in the meantime,” said Hamish loudly, “you can take our word for it that no-one can choose the sex of their unborn infant!”
Looking sulky, Elspeth took her mug over to the bench.
“Christ, where do they get these ideas from?” he said to Mirry.
“Ssh. I bet you didn’t know half as much as she does, when you were her age.”
“See!” said Elspeth in a nasty voice.
“That’ll do, Elspeth,” said Mirry mildly. “Leave Daddy alone.”
“Well, will you?” demanded Elspeth sulkily.
“Will I what?” asked Mirry in surprise.
“Have a baby!” cried Elspeth, intensely irritated by her denseness.
“Elspeth!” said her father in a terrible voice. “That’s enough! If I hear one more word out of you on the subject, you can go straight to your bed!”
Elspeth pouted. She opened the dishwasher and put her mug into its empty interior.
Mirry said unsteadily: “You don’t suppose Mr and Mrs Taylor consulted Whetu before they decided to have a new baby, do you? Or before they decided to have Henare, come to that?”
Hamish bit his lip. Mirry put her hand over her mouth. Her shoulders shook. A snort escaped Hamish.
“Stop laughing! You’re mean!” cried Elspeth. “I want a little sister! And Aunty Polly’s got three babies and it isn’t fair!” She burst into tears and rushed out of the room. Puppy rushed after her.
When they’d finished laughing Hamish covered one of Mirry’s hands gently with his. “Welcome home,” he said, grinning.
She choked.
“Do you think Polly’d give us one of hers?” he suggested. “Just for a lend, mebbe: till Elspeth gets tired of it?”
“Stop it!” she gasped.
“Of course,” he said slyly, “there are pleasanter ways of going about it!”
Mirry went very red.
“Mm?” he said, raising his eyebrows.
“Yes,” she said crossly, “one minute’s pleasure for you, and nine months’ discomfort for me!”
Hamish’s jaw dropped. After a moment he said: “I’m not that quick, am I?”
Mirry’s mouth quivered. “Only in retrospect.” She giggled madly.
“Come over here,” he suggested.
“Why?”
“I thought we might get started.”
Mirry giggled madly again. She came and sat on his knee.
The phone rang.
“Damnation!” he said.
Mirry laughed. “Let Elspeth get it.”
“Will she?”
They listened. Above them Elspeth’s feet thundered down the upstairs passage towards Hamish’s study. “Good,” he said. “Where were we?”
Their tender embrace was interrupted by a hoarse panting and gasping. Mirry looked up quickly.
“’S Aunty—Vi!” gasped Elspeth. “She wants—speak—Dad!” She panted hoarsely.
“Is it urgent?” said Hamish in surprise.
“No!” gasped Elspeth.
“Well, don’t bust your boilers, then,” he returned, pushing Mirry gently off his knee.
Practically the minute his back had vanished from the kitchen doorway Elspeth said to Mirry: “Now are you going to have a baby?”
Mirry gave a high-pitched yelp of laughter. “Not even Hamish is that quick!” she gasped.
“Yes, but don’t you love him?”
Mirry drew a deep breath. “Yes, of course I do.”
“You don’t have to get married to have a baby,” pointed out Elspeth.
“No, I know,” said Mirry, turning puce.
“Well, why don’t you?”
“It isn’t as simple as that. There’s—there’s things to take into consideration.”
“What things?” said Elspeth sulkily.
“Well—well, my degree, and— Well, whether Hamish even wants to have any more children. He might not, you know.”
“Why not?” cried Elspeth angrily.
“Well, because—because some men don’t.” Elspeth glared at her. “And it won’t stay a baby, you know; it’ll be with us for the next eighteen years, or so.” Elspeth looked at her sulkily. Mirry was aware that children had no real grasp of time; she said desperately: “Well, look at Pam Anderson’s boys, for example!”
Elspeth looked sulkier than ever.
“I can’t explain it to you, Elspeth, it’s too complicated; but it’s not something to rush into; we’d have to talk it over thoroughly, first.”
“Well, let’s talk it over now!”
“I meant me and Hamish,” said Mirry weakly, going very red.
“You and Hamish what?” he said, coming up behind her and putting his hands heavily on her shoulders.
“Nothing!” said Elspeth loudly. She looked pleadingly at Mirry.
“Have you been on about babies again?” he said dangerously.
“No!” cried Elspeth, turning purple. She rushed out.
Mirry was shaking with laughter. “She’s not going to let it drop, you know!”
“Aye, well; mebbe we’d better do something about it,” he said into her neck. “We’ll start tonight, eh?”
“Don’t be silly,” said Mirry weakly.
“Just a practice,” he suggested.
“What did Aunty Vi want?” she said weakly.
“Mm? Oh—only an invitation to afternoon tea, next Sunday.” His hands crept round and fondled her breasts. “I wouldn’t mind starting now, to tell you the truth.”
“Mm-mm.”
The phone rang again.
“Bluidy Hell!”
“Let it ring.” They waited.
“Damn it!” he muttered. “It might be important—” He rushed out.
Mirry collapsed in helpless giggles. Hamish didn’t reappear. After a little Puppy came in. He poked his wet nose into her hand, and looked up at her with soulful eyes. “You’re right,” agreed Mirry unsteadily. “I suppose I had better do something about tea!”
It did get better, later that night—though first they had to have tea, Elspeth, whatever she might have consumed at the zoo, making an enormous meal, and even Hamish and Mirry, both of whom had privately thought they wouldn’t be able to swallow a morsel, eventually managing a considerable amount. And then Elspeth had to watch the boring American teenage cops and robbers show which had taken the time-slot formerly occupied by MacGyver. She could just as well have taken the television, which was still in the master bedroom, into her room and watched it in there, but when she got tearful and pouty at the mere suggestion neither Hamish nor Mirry had the heart to insist. And then Elspeth had to be forced to take a shower and go to bed; and Puppy had to be let out; and after that Elspeth had to be told to stop reading and put her light out; and after that Puppy had to be let in again. But finally everything was done and they were alone.
It didn’t immediately get better: for one thing, they were both very nervous. Hamish took so long having his shower that Mirry had to rush off to pee the moment he’d finished.
“Are you all right?” he said when she came back.
“Yes,” said Mirry, getting hurriedly into bed.
Hamish undid his dressing-gown slowly. He wished to God she’d put the lights out, he felt so damned self-conscious.
“Hamish,” she squeaked.
“What?” he growled, holding his dressing-gown closed.
“I—I should have said... I went off the Pill.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry; I should have said earlier…”
“Why the Hell didn’t you?” he cried, turning scarlet with rage and disappointment.
“I don’t know,” she said in a squashed voice. “I s’pose I felt shy, or something.”
“Och, not you, too!” said Hamish loudly.
There was a short silence.
“What do you mean?” squeaked Mirry, sounding scared.
Loudly and angrily he replied: “Nineteen years ago next August I went to bed with a girl who felt shy about telling me she wasn’t on the Pill, and as I’ve recently been informed, the upshot of that little adventure was, I’ve got a daughter of nearly eighteen that I never knew existed!”
“Help!” she gasped. “It must have been an awful shock, Hamish!”
Hamish looked at her in dull surprise. She was very pink and her dark eyes had filled with tears. He licked his lips nervously. “Mirry—”
“Poor darling,” said Mirry in a trembling voice.
“God!” he said, covering his face with his hands.
“Don’t,” said Mirry, encircling his shoulders and hugging as much of him as she could reach. She kissed his ear. “Ssh; don’t cry; it doesn’t matter; it’s all right.”
Instead of telling her that it did matter and that it was by no means all right he turned in her arms and buried his face desperately in her neck.
“God, I feel so...”
“Ssh; it’s all right.”
Hamish clutched her tightly. After a while he muttered: “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to just come out with it—”
“That’s okay.”
“Can you forgive me?” he said hoarsely.
Mirry couldn’t see that, since he hadn’t even known her then, and she must have been about four years old at the time anyway, she had anything to forgive him for. However, she was pretty well acquainted with Hamish’s conscience by now, so she just hugged him tightly and said: “Of course I forgive you.”
“I honestly thought she was on the Pill,” he said.
“Yes,” she agreed calmly, not caring in the least how it had really happened.
“You see, she—she said she was when she wasn’t!” he gulped.
“I see: she felt shy about telling you.”
“Yes,” he said gratefully. “She did go on it, but—but it was too late.”
“I see.”
Hamish looked into her face. “I swear I never knew she was pregnant, Mirry!”
“No.”
“She never told me—I never dreamed—! And then I went back to Scotland, you see, so I never knew anything about it until—until Peter told me, just a—a little while ago!”
None of this made sense to Mirry, let alone the reference to Peter, but all she said was: “I see.”
“Veronica’s known for ages... I thought she’d despise me.”
“She’s got too much sense.”
“Aye,” he sighed.
There was quite a long silence. Mirry stroked his back gently. Hamish sighed a few times.
Finally he muttered: “I haven’t explained it very well.”
“Never mind.” She remembered what he’d said to her earlier. Flushing a little, she added: “You can tell me later; we’ve got all our lives for you to tell me, haven’t we?”
He began to weep softly into her neck. After a little, still weeping, he moved his head down and cried into her bosom.
Mirry began to feel extremely excited by this. He eventually stopped crying, but his face was still down there.
“Hamish,” she said in a strangled voice: “you couldn’t pop down to the urgent chemist in Puriri, could you?”
He was very still against her. “When’s your period due?” he croaked.
“Um, well, I’ve kind of lost track, what with going up North,” she admitted sheepishly. “But I think it’s probably due at the end of next week.”
“Oh,” he said in a hopeful tone.
“Or maybe the week after that.”
“Oh.”
“I could go,” she offered.
Hamish sat up abruptly. “You will not! I’ll go!” He stood up quickly. “Where are ma slacks?” he muttered.
“You must’ve left them in the bathroom.”
“Oh, aye, I did.” He hurried into the ensuite.
“Is there anything else we need, while I’m there?” he said, coming back with his slacks and shirt on.
Mirry knew he hated having to just ask for condoms. She thought desperately. “Yes; we could do with some more Panadol... And I tell you what, you could get some nice soap: that stuff you’ve got in there’s—” She broke off, looking nervous.
“I’ll get you some lovely scented soap, darling!” he said eagerly. “What would you like?” He transferred his wallet and keys from the dressing-table to his pants pocket.
Mirry went red. “Anything,” she muttered.
“I’ll see if they’ve got any of those lovely English soaps that you like, shall I?”
“Yes,” said Mirry in a small voice. “That’d be nice.”
“What’s that one you had before—didn’t you say Aunty Vi gave it to you for your birthday?” He retrieved his watch from the bedside table and strapped it on.
“Rose Geranium,” said Mirry. “It’s too dear.”
“Rubbish!” He paused in the doorway. “What brand was that?”
“Bronnley,” she said reluctantly.
“Right; and if they haven’t got that I’ll get another good English brand—or French!” He vanished.
French soap was even more astronomically dear in New Zealand than English; “Help,” said Mirry limply.
He was back in just under twenty minutes; although it was a long, hot trudge up the hill from Puriri to Kowhai Bay the trip took only a few minutes in the car.
Mirry looked weakly at the packages he spilled onto the bed. “What’s this?” she said weakly, looking at a good-sized, gift-wrapped box.
“That’s the nice Bronnley soap, I think—yes,” he said as she opened it. “They had the powder to match, and the wee packets of bath salts, see? And a pretty flannel, too; yours is getting a bit tired, isn’t it?”
Not unnaturally, since the Rose Geranium soap was pink, the flannel was pink, too. Their ensuite, thanks to Mrs Beckinsale’s idea of interior decoration, was shiny white, like most of the house, with a large, old-fashioned tub, sporting a black enamel exterior with gold claw-legs, and a scarlet enamel interior. “Yes,” she said weakly.
“That was the last of the line, the man said,” Hamish reported, unwrapping another package, “so I thought I’d better get this; he said if you liked the Rose Geranium you’d like the Lemon Verbena, too.”
“Yes; I love it,” said Mirry faintly. This package contained two boxes: one had three tablets of yellow soap, the other had a bottle of yellow bath salts, a tin of powder, a yellow flannel, and another tablet of yellow soap. This box’s see-through plastic top was ornamented with a bow of pale yellow ribbon, so was the soap, and the face flannel was encircled by a ribbon. He was looking at her anxiously. “Thank you, these are super.”
Hamish smiled with relief.
Mirry unwrapped the other packages. Two of them contained enough prophylactics for a regiment, whilst the others turned out to be a large sponge and, for a change, a box of French soap. Hamish explained anxiously that it was a natural sponge, and that “muguet” meant “lily of the valley”.
“Lovely!” said Mirry valiantly, wondering what lilies of the valley were, and what on earth they smelled like.
“Have I been too extravagant?”
“No; that sponge’ll be lovely in the bath.”
“Aye!”
“We could share it, if you like,” she suggested cautiously: he hated sharing personal things.
“That’d be lovely. It’s got a wee label here that tells you how to take care of it properly—see?”
“Yes.” Mirry had seen similar sponges, only without the fancy labelling and packaging, at a price about the tenth of the one that was emblazoned on this, but she refrained from mentioning this.
“I’ll just—” he said hoarsely, standing up and unbuckling his belt. With his back to her he said: “Shall we have the lights out, darling?”
“All right,” she croaked, turning the bedside lights out.
Hamish got into bed. “Come here, dar— Ow! What the Hell’s this?” He switched his bedside lamp on again and removed several boxes from the bed in silence.
Mirry tried not to laugh. She swallowed convulsively and didn’t dare look at him.
He switched the light out again. “Come here—”
“Argh!” cried Mirry, shuddering. “Something touched me!”
“Well, it wasn’t me,” said Hamish crossly. He turned his light on again. Mirry was crouched in a shuddering heap up by her pillow. He groped in the bed, and retrieved the sponge.
“Oh,” she said. She looked at him in sheepish apology. “It felt awful: like something dead.”
“It is something dead,” he replied. “It’s a dead sponge.”
“I’ve gone all creepy!”
“I can see that; I’ve gone like something dead.”
“I’m sorry,” she muttered.
Hamish sighed. “This isn’t working, is it?”
“We’re just a bit nervous.”
“Aye; come here.”
Mirry wriggled closer. She looked up at him doubtfully. “I’m useless,” he muttered, scowling.
“P’raps if we turned the light out?”
“And let something dead attack you again?” he said sourly.
Suddenly Mirry giggled. “Maybe I could try to revive it a bit first!”
Hamish went very red and said loudly: “No, I’m deid as mutton down there!”
Mirry’s lips trembled. “If you won’t let me help you—” she said, very low.
“I shouldn’t bluidy well need ‘helping’, at my age!” he said loudly and bitterly. “ I’m a useless eunuch!”
“No, you’re not, you’ve got beautiful balls!”
Hamish was extremely taken aback. After a moment he muttered: “Mebbe, but they’re not doin’ a bluidy thing for me, are they?”
“You’re just too tired; shall we just go to sleep?”
“I’m not bluidy tired; I’m just bluidy useless!” he cried angrily.
“Hamish, if you won’t even let me try to do anything for you, what do you expect?” cried Mirry, also getting very worked up. “Why do you insist on trying to do it all by yourself? Sex is a two-way thing, you know!”
Hamish gulped. “Aye—I suppose it is,” he muttered. Mirry didn’t reply. “Go on, then you can try—but it won’t work!”
Mirry didn’t reply, just burrowed down in the bed. She wasn’t counting, but it felt like about two minutes before he hurled back the bedclothes and panted: “For God’s sake, let me look at you—where’s that damned light switch?” He fumbled for it, and switched the lamp on.
She looked up and him and smiled, squinting a little. “Shall I go on?”
“Aye—no—take that bluidy nightie off, first.”
Mirry removed her nightie, and knelt again.
“Do it, darling!” he said hoarsely.
With a tiny smile, Mirry obeyed.
Soon he gasped: “No—stop!”
She stopped; Hamish said shakily: “I’m just about coming.”
“I know.” She smiled at him. “It worked, didn’t it?”
“Aye,” he said groggily. “Where the Hell—”
“Here,” said Mirry, handing him a packet of condoms.
He fumbled one on, his hands shaking. “Come here.” He kissed her hungrily, fondled her breasts, and rolled on top of her. “I’ll have to—” he croaked.
Mirry was breathing heavily. “You’d jolly well better, or I’ll burst!” she said loudly.
“What?”
“Hurry up, Hamish, I’m dying for you!”
“Oh, darling!” he croaked.
Mirry screamed his name when he entered her, and clawed his back fiercely. Her legs came up and she thrust herself fiercely onto him. “Do it!” she shrieked.
“God!” he cried. “Oh, Mirry—!”
That was the bit that was a lot better—in fact, perfectly all right.
In the morning he told her all about Becky and Carol, in great detail. Mirry listened without saying very much, except for a few encouraging murmurs at points where he’d got stuck.
“What do you think?” he said at last.
“It’s a bit like in one of those Greek plays,” she replied thoughtfully. Hamish goggled at her. “You know—all these things come down on your head, and you haven’t really done anything. Like Oedipus.”
“Oedipus was considerably more guiltless than me!” he said crossly.
“Not really. It was her fault, for not telling you she wasn’t on the Pill, and then never getting in touch with you afterwards. And nobody’s suffered for it.” Hamish was silent. Mirry felt quite pleased, she thought she’d made a very good point. “Have they?” she said after a while.
“No-o; no, I suppose you’re right, there... What must the poor wee girl be feeling, though?”
“Well, it’d be a bit of a shock, of course; but at least you’re—you’re normal.”
“What?” he said faintly.
“I mean, you’re not a criminal, or anything; and you’re not gay.”
“What?”
Mirry replied firmly: “Look at poor little Danny Webber: his father’s gay; that’d be miles worse than finding out you were illegitimate.”
“His father’s gay?” said Hamish incredulously.
“Yes; didn’t you know?”
“No. Who on earth told you? Caro?”
“No, Danny did; it was—uh—last November, I think. Yes, that’s right, we were down on the beach—me and Elspeth, you were at work—and Charlie and Danny were there, and we got talking about gays—I can’t remember why—and Danny just told me.”
“Was Elspeth—did he say it in front of her?”
“No, her and Charlie had gone off round the rocks.”
“I see,” he said limply.
Mirry squeezed his arm. “Don’t tell anybody, will you?”
“Christ, no!” he shuddered. “The puir wee devil... Aye, you’re right, sweetheart, that’d be much worse!”
Mirry didn’t know that she really thought so, but she was pleased that her assumption that Hamish would had been correct. “Kiss me?” she suggested.
Hamish kissed her very gently. “What do you think I should do?” he murmured.
“Nothing; leave it up to Carol, like Peter said.”
“Aye,” he sighed. “That’s what Polly said.”
There was a short silence.
“Did you tell her?” she said in a small voice.
Hamish looked down at her. Her face was very red and she wouldn’t meet his eye.
“Aye; but only because I wanted to—to see whether she thought telling you would—would make you hate me forever.”
She looked up at him, her eyes full of sudden tears. “That was silly.”
“Kiss me again,” he said thickly.
Mirry did.
“Darling,” he whispered. “I love you; let me love you again?”
They’d already done that, first thing: in spite of his nagging conscience he hadn’t been able to wait—certainly not with the encouragement Mirry had given him.
“Can you?”
“Aye!” he said proudly, putting her hand down there.
What happened next was a trifle unfortunate.
Mirry had got on top of him. Hamish felt he ought to be revolted by her description of this attitude, which was “playing horsey”, only he never could get revolted, in fact she only had to say it for him to get terribly excited. She was giggling and saying “Gee-up!” and he was groaning a bit and wondering if he could gee-up without exploding into her, when there was a thunderous knock on the bedroom door. Hamish leapt inside her.
“Come ON!” roared Elspeth. “It’s the PICNIC! Get UP!”
At the same time Mirry shrieked and climaxed convulsively, whereupon Hamish came with a roar, himself.
“Do you think she heard?” whispered Mirry a little later.
Hamish thought the whole street had probably heard. “I don’t know,” he replied grimly, “but I’ll tell you what: I’m going to arrange for her to spent part of her time with her mother and grandfather, in future; I’m fed up with having our privacy disturbed like that!”
Mirry was very pink. “At least she didn’t come in.”
“No, but you realize I did?”
Mirry gasped in horror. Her hand went to her mouth.
Very red, he said: “I had absolutely no intention of coming at that point.”
“Nor did I,” she said in an effort at consolation.
“Look, I’m sorry, darling; should we— Shall I ring Bruce Smith?”
“I think you’d better,” said Mirry, turning puce. “It—it would be nice to have a baby at—at some stage, if you’d like to, only—only I do want to finish my degree.”
“I know.” He got out of bed, and swathed himself in his dressing-gown in a determined manner. Mirry watched him gratefully.
Hamish got as far as the bedroom door. He stopped. He turned round. He looked at her sheepishly. “What shall I say?” he muttered.
Mirry got out of bed and put on her yellow silk brocade dressing-gown. “Say I need the morning-after pill; come on, we’ll do it together.”
They went down the passage, and up the short flight of stairs to his study.
Hamish picked up the receiver.
Elspeth came panting in. “We’ll be late for the picnic, what are you doing?”
“Go AWAY!” he roared.
Mirry giggled. “We’ve decided not to have a baby just yet, and we’re ringing the doctor about it!”
“Satisfied?” said Hamish in a nasty voice. “Now GO AWAY!” Pouting, Elspeth went.
Hamish dialled bravely.
Someone answered. He put his hand over the receiver. “It’s the nurse!” he hissed frantically.
“Of course it is, you idiot! Give it here.” Mirry took the receiver. “Hullo,” she said calmly. “This is Mirry Field. –Fine, thanks, Stacy, how are you? –Good. Listen, what I was ringing about: I need the morning-after pill; could Bruce give me that? –Great. Yes, we’ll come round straight away. –See?” she said, when she’d hung up. “Easy, wasn’t it?”
Before he could answer, Elspeth came in again, scowling. “Aren’t you going to have a baby at all?”
Mirry opened her mouth, but before she could say anything Hamish, putting his arm round her, said firmly: “We’re going to have a baby as soon as Mirry finishes her degree; all right?”
“How soon will that be?”
The two pairs of grey-green eyes looked anxiously at Mirry. “We-ell; if I work really hard, I suppose I could finish it this year.”
“Good!” cried Elspeth.
“Darling, that’ll be too much for you, what with your thesis, and all the papers—”
“Only two papers; Professor Corey’s letting me cross-credit the rest from last year.”
“What?”
“Didn’t I tell you? No, I s’pose I didn’t; well, he is.”
Hamish goggled at her. Elspeth wasn’t listening; she said, hopping up and down happily: “Hah, hah! Sucks to rotten ole Whetu! Her mother’s not even having her baby till October; ours’ll only be a bit younger!” She danced out.
Hamish and Mirry stared at each other.
“Did she mean what I thought she meant?” he said faintly.
“I hope not— ELSPETH!” She rushed out.
Hamish followed more slowly, grinning.
Mirry was leaning over the banister-rail at the head of the stairs. “Elspeth!” she was yelling.
“What?” came Elspeth’s voice from below.
“It takes nine MONTHS to make a baby!” roared Mirry.
Hamish came swiftly up behind that tempting yellow dressing-gown. He grabbed her by the waist, and squashed his genitals blissfully against her.
“No, it doesn’t,” he said, grinning. “It only takes a minute!”
Next chapter:
https://themembersoftheinstitute.blogspot.com/2023/01/much-better.html
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