The Way We Were_ A Novel - Marcia Willett [35]
Julia bites her lip. ‘I could drive you up.’ she says suddenly. ‘If you'd like that? Aunt Em would come over and baby-sit. It's too far for you to go in the van on your own …’
They stare at each other: now, nearly six months’ pregnant, Tiggy wall find it difficult to disguise her condition. She thinks about her father, imagines his expression when he realizes the truth; she remembers the strong, determined, invasive hands, the terrible, silent struggle and the blow that knocked her to the floor. She thinks about her baby and remembers her dream: supposing she were to have a little girl – Claerwen, Clare for short?
‘I don't want to see my father,’ she says strongly. ‘I don't want him to know about my baby. Not ever. Promise me, Julia, that you'll never say a word to anyone about who my father is. I know Pete and your mum know, but nobody else. Promise?’
‘OK,’ agrees Julia quickly. ‘I promise. I can understand that, given the way he behaved. And it's not as if he stays in touch, is it?’
‘I haven't heard directly from him for years. Not since I left school. I expect he wouldn't want me to meet Giselle again in case I told her a few unpalatable truths.’
‘But it'll be difficult, won't it? I expect you'd like to see your grandmother to … well, to say goodbye.’
Tiggy is silent, recalling their last meeting; her grandmother so anxious for her to take the little Merlin, the unexpectedly warm embrace.
‘I think we've already said goodbye,’ says Tiggy slowly. ‘I didn't realize at the time. I was taken aback by her giving me the Merlin. She was so keen for me to have it as a keepsake, really keen. It wasn't like her at all. Maybe it was Grandfather's and she wanted me to have something by which to remember them both and my holidays with them. I think she knew.’
‘When you get to that age I suppose you're used to imagining that something could happen at any moment. But does that mean you just won't go?’
‘I'll think about it. Perhaps in the morning I might have a different perspective:
But in the morning Mrs Hartley telephones to tell Tiggy that her grandmother has died in the night and that her father and his wife and child have arrived and are planning the funeral.
‘Has he mentioned me at all?’ she asks hesitantly. ‘You know? Whether I should come up or anything?’
‘No, Miss Tegan. He seems much more interested in your grandmother's will and what he plans to do with the house and its contents.’ A pause. ‘It might be sensible if I were to pack up some of your own things, Miss Tegan. Just for the present. The young boy, Jean-Paul, seems to think that everything up in the old nursery belongs to him, you see. All the old toys and the books, if you follow me …’
‘Well, so they do, Mrs Hartley’ says Tiggy sadly. Anything that was my father's or his father's naturally goes to Jean-Paul.’
‘But there are some things, Miss Tegan,’ insists the soft voice. ‘Things your grandmother bought for you’
Tiggy chuckles unexpectedly. ‘You're quite right. I can't see Jean-Paul wanting my Lorna Hill books. Or my collection of Georgette Heyers.’
‘I could pack them up, you see. Just quietly without any fuss. Along with a few things she had put by for you. She was always angry that your father disposed of your mother's things and you had nothing. She talked it over with me because she knew that matters might be tricky at the end …’
The soft voice trails away and Tiggy stands clasping the receiver, thinking.
‘I wouldn't want you to get into any kind of legal trouble, Mrs Hartley. My father is … you know, not stupid.’
‘No, no, Miss Tegan. I shan't underestimate him, you can be very sure of that. These things aren't part of the estate. They belonged to your grandmother's family. Only a few little pieces of jewellery. They're already tucked away. She was prepared.’
Tiggy's eyes fill with tears. Why hadn't she known that she would never see her grandmother again? She would have hugged her more tightly, told her she loved her.