Love Comes ( CH 6 )

                 **LOVE  COMES ** 

💞 Friday at last. This week had been a time-consuming-perpetual-meetings one and despite staff overtime there were still ends to tie up. As golf was expected to be wiling away his whole weekend, he needed everything - especially paperwork - out of the way.  Not wanting the latest contract to be decided without his stamp of approval, he had no choice but to burden himself with patience and takeaway food. By eight o'clock, he was already three drinks affiliated.

   Popping over to his vast book shelf, incessantly searching  for a certain one, he sighed in despair at a fair quantity of them being higgledy-piggledy and out of sequence. His rich Scottish accent always seemed to thicken when no ears were around to hear him curse, but he was in a native-lingo rant when the glass door swung open and almost caught his elbow.

   'Whoa!' 

   'Oh, I'm sorry, sir, didn't know you were still here!'  Valerie, his cleaner of ten years for both office and home was keen for the off, hoping he wouldn't ask her to hang around longer.  'Like me to do anything else before I get to you?'

   'No, it's fine Val, be as well calling it a night, I might be some time yet. Have a good weekend.'
   'You, too, sir.' The perpetually pleasant cleaner, skedaddled forty-five minutes earlier than usual, giving her the chance to make even more paper posies for the church fete tomorrow

   After locating the book, he topped up glass number four and sat back down again to finalise his desk work - that last full stop would make him feel gloriously free. Tapping the A4's  into neat structure, all it needed was a quick staple and he was outta there!  But the gun wasn't in its usual place, setting off  another annoyance. 'C'mon, c'mon... ' 
   Swiping drawers open and shut, faster and louder with each wrong guess, it had to be in the last damn lateral drawer to his left. With mighty quick movement, the drawer opened, sliding the stapler and the photo album Saskia handed to him those few weeks back to the front, stopping it dead.
   Neil, stared at it. It hadn't entirely been a case of, out of sight , out of mind, with the purple leathery thing, for it it caused a seed of disquiet to germinate inside him from the day he accepted it, but he never got quite to the point of wanting to take it home.  He grabbed the staple gun, used it, put it back in its particular place, and just as he was about to close the drawer, impulse decided to put its neb in.

   It felt weird in his hand, knowing what content lay inside. Jacqueline was the only other person who knew about it, and he trusted her implicitly to keep schtum. As much as she wanted to though, she never pushed for him to act upon it. The promise he made to the girl was that he would not throw it away. Let it gather dust (fat chance) if it must and even if it's never opened, she said she shall at least settle knowing that she tried. Wouldn't necessarily matter then if he had a look or not, she would never know anyway. 

   Under the rays of his desk lamp, now that evening had come calling, he flapped it open to the first plastic coated photo; one of her as a baby asleep in a cot and she'd put a paper tag in beside the snap letting him know that she was one year old. Despite knowing perfectly well what the album contained, that first glimpse still caught him unawares. As he flicked over each laminated sleeve, he saw that she'd arranged the photos in chronological order of age, and he gave a smile - knowing that's how he'd have organised it too. Something in common then?  She made the journey more interesting by adding in days of significance - Christmases, Easters, Halloweens, birthdays - and he found himself taking longer over each new photo revealed.  
   A succession of warmth, sadness, loss, pride and joy, streamed through him like coloured wiring all wrapped in one wax coating and switched on. The very last sleeve held a snap of her and her partner at her high school leaving prom. What an amazingly beautiful, young woman. The joy in her tuxedo-beau's face said it all.  Her looks certainly did come more from her mother's side, but in the close up's he noted an eye imbuement much similar to his own. All in all, he concluded from the snaps that Beverly had done a ruddy good job of raising her.  

   Flipping over to the very last page, Neil found no photo there, but an unexpected hand-written message from Saskia:

        'Well ... you made it to the last page!  By this point I'm guessing you're roughly on your third or fourth Jack Daniels?!  If not I hope you might still feel brave enough (or mad enough ) to give me a call.  I'll keep my fingers crossed and my hopes high. xxx.  Here's my number, just in case: 

   So - she seemed to have a good sense of humour, and she was uncannily right about the Jack Daniels.  That was either a really good guess or her mother had a good memory! The message kind of threw him by way of her making the extra effort.  All she asked for was a bit of contact - was that really so awful?  He just watched the growing up of his child in a matter of minutes, and asked himself if he was he happy to let any more years pass regardlessly by?  Logic told him that calling her may not be a good idea; she had been a snag in his head slowing down his mundane life by interfering with his thoughts, but would it really be that bad in her presence?  From the moment he unexpectedly met her, he carried a feeling of having nothing to offer her as a father (he wouldn't know where to start!) and he was certainly no substitute for her mum. If still married to Magrette, he knew she would encourage him to do the decent thing (under the circumstances) and at least call the girl. Ignoring her existence would not eradicate her from this world or from his head.

The nib of his pen was tapping off the desk in a rapid 'will I, won't I'  manner.  After one extra large slug of Jack Daniels he lifted up his phone, carefully punching out the numbers that may change the course of the rest of his life. 

   Ringing. One beep to two of his heart beats. A sudden disquietude swept over him, making him nervous enough to be digging his nails into the palm of the phone-free hand. Nothing yet. He would give it just a few more rings, then stop; he wasn't prepared for leaving a voicemail. Then he heard a bright hello. 

   'Uh, hi ... is this Saskia?'
   'Yup?'
   There was crowd noise in the background, so he hoped she'd hear okay. This call might potentially never take place again if not. 

   'It's ah ... Neil, here. Neil Balfour?' 

   'Oh!,' she sounded surprised. 'Wow!'
   'I've been thinking that I would like us to meet up some time ... can that be... '
   Before he got the chance to finish, a rather elated sounding Saskia cut him off.  'Really? Oh my God - that's ... brilliant!'
   The raucousness in the background was getting louder and before Neil got the chance to talk arrangements she rather loudly had to tell him: 'Oh, I'm really sorry, but that's the doors opening and we need to get to the front. Been here for hours! Can I get back to you on this number later ... tomorrow?'

   'Yes, yes, of course.'
   'This is rotten timing. I really am sorry, but I've gotta go...'
   'Um, okay. Bye then,' he said, but before he pressed end call, he caught her shouting to him:
   'I'm glad you called, Dad! Bye!' 
   He sat back in his chair, swiveled from side to side as far as his feet would allow. There. Two mad-rush minutes was all it took, and it felt sound and redeeming. Her call would most-likely come when he was on the green, but for now he at least had time to think about a meeting place. Pity he caught her while she was out with friends. To see some atrocious band, no doubt. Hark at himself.  Two minutes a father and he deemed himself ready-equipped to critique the young! 

   He grabbed the album and tucked it in his inside jacket pocket. It was going home with him this time. Whatever would become of tomorrow's call, she felt comfortable enough to already be calling him Dad. And with that in mind, instead of going straight home, he thought he'd pop in somewhere (albeit by himself ) to wet the baby's head. 

                          

Nothing Is Real But The Girl (CH 5)

   **NOTHING IS REAL BUT THE GIRL** 

👧 Taking the lift to the cafe in Blazes, Neil was awash with trepidation. How things were going to pan out he didn't know.  This time yesterday he was on a golf course, whacking any frustration or displeasure out on a little white ball and the promise of a good swallow afterwards. Now he was potentially going to have his life turned upside down in his dinner hour - food the last thing on his mind. 

   Stepping from the lift, he gazed around at those sitting at tables. The coffee bar looked pretty full, and he couldn't see her anywhere. He walked aimlessly around until a hand reached out and grabbed him at the wrist before he passed. A woman in a baggy, beige raincoat and a patterned blue headscarf looked up at him and gave a little smile.

   'Beverly?' he inquired, startled somewhat by her appearance.

   'Were you looking for the long auburn hair?' she said rather puckishly, knowing the bald head underneath tended to make people feel uncomfortable.

   'Something like that ... ' he smiled awkwardly back, sliding his legs under the table and sitting across from her. Both noted right away how much they had aged over the years.

   The stunned silence at seeing each other again after all this time lasted a short while, until the waitress come over to take their order, each only asking for hot beverages.

   'Cancer?' he asked, his business-like head pushed him straight to the point.

   She gave a curt nod. 'Breast.'

   He nodded back in ascertainment, but didn't pass on any sympathy - not knowing quite what to say.

   'I wasn't too sure if you'd turn up - must have been a shock to say the least.'

   'Well, it's not the usual type of mail I receive,' he added, with a brief smile. 

   'I didn't have any other means of contact with you, it was a bit desperate, I know. I am sorry.'  He gave a terse nod of understanding and let her continue: 'I didn't come to this decision lightly, Neil, but when you're diagnosed with a life-threatening condition, all sorts of things run riot in your head. Terrified me, still does.'

   Another brief silence gripped them, and he felt lost again. He would have to let Beverly broach the subject as best she could, her being the news bearer.

   'I was five months pregnant before I found out for sure, too late to make any other choices.  Everything happened so quickly, the timing couldn't have been worse. My parents went nuts - especially my father, as you can imagine.'  Thirty years may have passed, but some memories of their time together should still surely be carried with him? They certainly were for her. 

   'So, why couldn't you have told me? I know we had our differences, but ... '

   Dropping her head for a few seconds under this complexity, she knew it all had to come out, no matter how grueling the manner.   

   'We had not long since split up and I thought how bad I was physically feeling was down to that; nausea, achy, tired and stuff, and before I knew it, I was too far on to do anything about it.'  Her eyes rose to meet his. 'You do remember that previous pregnancy scare we had?' Neil indicated he could by giving a small quantity of nods and a bite to his bottom lip. 'You more or less said you would drag me to the abortion clinic if I was.'

   True, he was appalled at the possibility of a baby, but he also recalled her reaction as being similar.  They were still fairly young, speaking of a future fresh with certain plans that didn't include being hampered by such responsibility. 

   'That was near the start of our relationship, Beverly, we hardly had been going out together.'

   'Yes, I know, and we were scared shitless as to how our father's would react.'

   'It really wouldn't have been up to them.'

   'Well, it shouldn't have but, come on ... it was never easy with those two. You and I would have been better off as just friends.'

   'Maybe, but they would had to have accepted our decision in the end.'

   Beverly gave a slight shake of the head. 'After the way things ended between them I doubt there would have been any happy endings - especially with a baby in the mix.'

   'I believe my father may have come round in the end.'

   'Neil,' she sighed, 'I don't mean to sound spiteful or anything, but your father left my father a broken man after he pilfered his share of the business from him.' 

   Neil cast his eyes downwards - he thought pilfer far too small a word. This was something his father hid remarkably well from him, and it wasn't until much later on in life that he found out just how bad it really was. Although Neil had no direct involvement in this, the money had set both father and son up for life, while Beverly's father legally could do nothing about it. His father was a crafty financier, with craftier friends who helped bilk thousands from right under his partner's nose when his partner refused to take on an iffy proposition, but one which fortuitously paid off in the end. 

   'But what's that got to do with you being pregnant if the baby was mine?' he asked, his voice rising up a notch.

   The waitress arrived with their order, noting the sudden hush from them both. It was amazing the stories she regularly overheard, and sensed this must be a biggie! They courteously thanked her and took a quiet pause while sorting their drinks, and waiting until she was out of earshot.

  Beverly sniffed and scratched the back of her neck with a finger, and put down her cup before she continued, knowing this may not go down too well with him. She still hated his father's guts, still felt  his cunning, sly composure, his double-tongued smoothness. Words would have to be chosen carefully, it was important she didn't flounder.

   'Once my dad got over the initial shock he changed, became wildly protective of us - felt he had let us all down. Took him a while to accept my pregnancy but he was pleased in the end, it gave him and Mum something to focus on, something good to come from it all.' She raised a fist to her mouth and paused, as if reluctant to let the words out. He knew this must be fairly daunting, but listened intently as the story unfolded. 

   'We agreed to raise the baby ourselves, and Dad made me promise not to ever let you know.  He was raw, devastated, determined not to let your father - or you ... ' she gave a quick, nervous grin, '... take anything else from us. Didn't trust your father at all after that and with their split up so acrimonious, he was genuinely scared you'd have a hold over his granddaughter, too. Mum died just a few years later and we were safeguarded even more.'  Beverly drew her eyes from him and took in a deep breath, releasing it slowly. There. She'd got through the worst bit.

   Neil sat, obfuscated, not quite sure where to go next, what to say. Should he be sad? Relieved?Angry? But an ill woman sat across from him, and wherever the conversation had to go, he had to keep that in mind. All he could pull out of the pot for a few moments was a nod of the head and a rather quiet okay.  

   'Is your father still around?' He felt he had to ask.

   Beverly closed her eyes and shook her head. 'Died just over a year ago. Yours?'

   'Both away.'  

   The pair of them seemed reluctant to elaborate on the causes, but Neil knew that grief from their fathers' deaths would have hit her far more intensely than his, she was always very much a daddy's girl. Her account of things, as unjust as it still might sound to some, started to make relative sense, if not totally understood.

   'Neil, my mum died of cancer fairly young - younger than I am now. That's what triggered my decision to contact you.'

   'How is your treatment going?'

   'Awful!' she grimaced, 'I'll probably go home and be violently sick in a few hours, but I have to put my faith in what's ahead. The backup is amazing - nurses and doctors, group support. I've always someone at the end of a phone. It's that bit easier knowing others going through the same.'  Beverly stared down into her tea cup, unblinking, and Neil was afraid she might cry. Tears were something he was not good company with. 'If I die, she'll have no-one, no family at all ... well, just my useless sister, but she buggered off to Spain years ago and hasn't showed face since - not even for her own father's funeral.'

   'That's not so good,' he said, not feeling concerned with the fact, but felt obliged to react.

   'She'll have no-one if I die, and Saskia's a good kid ... well, grown woman now, really.'

   'Saskia ... is that her name?'

   'Yes,' she smiled fondly, 'took us a while to decide, but it was fairly new and fresh back then. Dad didn't like it at first, often call her 'Sassy' to wind her up.'

   'Have you a photo of her?'

   Things were now going in the direction she had hoped, some interest building up. 'Yes, of course.' Beverly tapped through her phone and handed it to him. 'That was taken last week in the little cafe we run together.'

   He reached for it slowly, and she never blinked as she kept her eyes on him. The reaction he'd give to such a disclosing moment could go conversely, but a smile crossed his face almost immediately.

   'Pretty. Looks more like you, though.'  He stared for a few seconds longer and felt his tummy churn and a warmth rise in his chest, unsure if it was over the vision in the picture, or attestation hitting home that the girl must be real. He handed the phone back, where Beverly continued to admire her. 

   'Yes, she does quite, although a lot of people think she's more like Mum. She's kept your eye colour, mind you, that speckled green and not boring brown like mine. And that platinum blonde hair in the picture she's had for a while now, but she's had it all colours; pinks, blues, red!'  Beverly stared proudly at the picture a bit longer, before dropping the phone back in her bag.

   'So ... ' he had to ask,  'what has Saskia made of this all, I presume you've told her?'

   She raised her eyebrows. 'Went crazy, as was expected. Tried to tell her what I've just told you in the most sensitive way I could, but she was still gutted and I can't blame her. Of course, she felt cheated, lied to, angry that she hadn't the chance to know you. Hardly left her room for two days - not even for work.'

   'And how did you explain my absence? She must have asked about me at one time?'

   'She did as she got older. I told her we had been dating just for a few weeks and you left for work abroad ... we lost contact. To be honest, she accepted it more easily than I dreaded, but there were other single-parent friends of hers at school, so it helped knowing she wasn't the only one.'

   'Did you ever tell her my name?'  The questions from Neil were flowing fairly easily, despite not having had time enough to prepare himself for this. But if this was the only chance he had, he would need to pepper her with as many as possible.  

   'Not your real one. Dad decided against it, too scared she might hunt you down in later life.'

   'And the birth certificate? What went on that?'

   Beverly cringed. 'God, that wasn't pleasant. I had to say that I didn't know who her father was, so a section is left open for any future declaration of parenthood on the father's side.  Basically, you were classed a one-night-stand circumstance.  I can still hear the loud sigh of disdain from the registrar yet, as if saying, yet another one! '

  'Yes, I can imagine,' he said. Of which he really couldn't, but he was more gearing himself up for his next question. So far she hadn't mentioned any partner or other siblings, but he still would like to know.  'Is there a father figure in her life at all now? I don't mean to pry, I just ...'

   Beverly sat up a bit straighter, waving any uncomfortable intent away with her hand. 'Not at all, it's okay to ask, but no. The closest we got to that was when I was engaged for seven years, but we split up when she was fourteen. Terry was a great step-father, they got on really well, she was fond of him. Marriage didn't come about though, we always seemed to be putting it off until next year. He was always just Terry to her, I never pressed her to call him Dad or anything. Despite how things stood, I always knew something like that wouldn't be right.'

   For a reason he himself was unsure of, he felt a mild sense of relief knowing this. 

   'And if you don't mind me asking, Neil ... has Saskia any half-brother or sisters?'

   'No,' he smiled, feeling she may have already guessed that, 'but ironically I was married for seven years, but that was as far as it went. No children.'

   'Really?' Beverly took the liberty of drawing them into a bond of coincidental humour;  'What's that they say about the seven year itch ... ?' 

   Neil let himself wonder how things may have turned out had he helped raise his child, but he knew that even if he had done the decent thing, there would have been no marriage for them. 'I did have a couple of step-sons during that period. One still works in my company building, although we don't seem to meet much, and the other returned to Italy to be with his Dad. Sadly, we've lost touch now too.'

   'Ah ... distance and time. Something I never really gave any relevance to till now.'  Beverly said wistfully, while Neil realised he'd just given her more information than necessary. So there was, at the very least, a sort of equal respect unfolding.

   Neil's phone went off and he had to excuse himself to take the call.  After fifteen minutes, he hadn't returned, so Beverly ordered another tea. Thinking that this might have been a chance for him to split, she was relieved to see him return from around the corner. It looked like he was going to see this one through.          

   'Sorry about that, I really should have switched it off.'

   'That's okay,' she said, bemused a little. 'Still a busy man, I see! If you need to leave, I'll ... '

   'No, no, they'll manage till I'm back.'

   'Well, I shan't keep you much longer, anyhow, I usually need to rest after the chemo.'

   It was undeniably unpleasant to hear her say that, and he respected how arduous going through cancer must be, so he decided it may be a good idea to wrap things up anyhow.  'Have you any thoughts on where things go from here? Any expectations?' he asked.

   'You showed up, Neil, I have to credit you for that at least.' 

   'So ... ?' he pressed her. 

   'Look,' Beverly sighed, spreading her fingers and flattening her palms out on the table in readiness for her declaration. She'd been waiting for this bit with prior thought, wanting to give him a realistic perspective. 'I think she would like to meet you some day, I guess it's only natural to want know where you came from. But she understands, too, that might not happen - even with you having turned up today. Saskia's rarely on the negative side, but I think now she's prepared even for that. And just in case ... ' She hauled her bag onto her knee from beside her and brought out from it a small photo album, sliding it across the table to him.

   On the cover it read;  For Dad.

   Neil simply stared at the leather covered memento, as Beverly explained:

   'She's filled it with photos of her from a baby upwards, to more or less the present day. Bit of a warning though, there might be a few with me in it too. More than anything, she wants you to have it -  just to know that you know of her.  She's aware that this might be as far as things go, but I promised I'd offer it to you, and I at least owe her that.'

   Neil didn't lift it.  A whole part of his life he'd had no control over, no choice in, was contained in these pages and that scared him. He was struggling to process the enormity of it all, and he felt lifting it might be seen as his form of acceptance. There was admiration there with her laying bare her soul as such an illness tore her apart, but it didn't alter the fact that this girl would have most likely never have known of him on any account.  Even with the revelation out in the open, it made little difference to the here and now.  

   'Beverly,' he said, deciding to be brutally honest, 'Don't you think it's a bit too late now?  We don't know a single thing about each other.' 

   'Oh, I've said this to her, and myself time and again. I'm in the wrong, and that's unfair to you both. It's just a pity that it's taken something like this to bring out the past. You know now at least.'

   It pained him to see the ravaged woman sitting across from him - the Beverly from his youth - looking pale, bald and emotionally torn, and he struggled to find any comforting words or solution to her situation. All he felt he could do was wish her well and leave her believing that he would at least think things over. But he had no time to do so, for there and then, his decision was final.

   From over Beverly's shoulder,  Saskia, who had been waiting in the basement car park, appeared from the lift just up from them, and quickly scanned the faces for her mum. She made eye contact with Neil and the second he realised who was heading towards them, he wriggled free from the table, taking no second look at his daughter. 

   'I'm sorry, Beverly, I can't do this ...'

   It took her a moment to work out his hasty reaction. She twisted round, watching him go. 'Can't you just say hello, Neil!' she called after him, but he quickly entered the lift.  'You bloody, idiot!' she near-shouted at Saskia. 'I told you to stay in the car!'

   'I was getting worried about you!'

   Snatching the photo album he'd left behind - purposefully or not -  Saskia headed for the stairs. With any luck she could catch him in the underground car-park, if indeed, he was parked there. No guarantees, though, she couldn't recall seeing him while she had been there.

   The young, messy, browned haired waitress felt rather smug at predicting possible chaos, nudged her and said to her friend. 'Biggie ... told ya!'

He was aware of running footsteps behind him as he neared his car, and just as he reached down to open the door, she called from a few yards away.

   'She sprung all this on me too, you know!' Her words rooted him to the spot as she, quite out of puff, paced more towards him, 'but believe me ... she's been punished enough. Please don't blame her.'

   Neil drew his hand back, straightening himself up and looked in more detail at this young girl.  A quirky little thing, wearing a short jacket, bovver boots and a skirt hardly covering her grace. Her black beret was struggling to hold up a huge sunflower at the front.  Her heart-shaped face was blessed with neater features than his own, cheeks taking on a mild blush after panning down those eight flights of stairs. From the short distance away she was smelling sweet and delectable. Despite the apparent blood-tie to him, she still had the aura of a stranger, no different from any girl who passed him in the street, or served him in a shop. For the first time in his life, he felt lost and incapable with her standing there in the flesh. But he had to reach inside and handle things with honesty.

   'I can respect what your mum's going through, I really can, but I don't think we would work. You look and sound a really nice girl too, but I'm sorry.'

   Saskia hung her nodding head, and he hoped that her mother really had prepared her for this. 

   'Okay.' She smiled up at him. 'That's okay. I can imagine how you must be feeling, it did my head in for days!'

   'I hope you don't feel too disappointed. I truly am sorry.'

   She whipped her head back up to smile at him. 'Hey ho - that's a bit of a pity. When mum told me about you, I thought I'd found someone who may actually approve of my music, and my hair, and my driving. I don't cause much bother these days, either - well past shitty-nappy stage and  the teenage tantrums, oh, and I calculated you owe me around twelve years back pocket money ...'

   He couldn't help but react to her humour and gave her back a grin, while she gave an antsy sway, surmising that the humour was a cover, a way of her withstanding rejection. 

   'Can you please just do me one favour?' She handed out the little album book that he left behind as he fled. 'Take it with you?'

   That he did, saying nothing in return. In the few second's silence she stuffed her hands in her pockets and started to take steps backwards, signalling retreat. It was sad, but Neil felt relieved when she turned completely to go. After a few steps she swung round one final time; 

   'You don't even need to look through it, I'm happy with the thought that one day you might. Bye then.'  The gutsiness in the girl had to be admired as despite her cheery exterior, he intuitively could tell that she must be hurting.  'Oh, and if I ever forget what you looked like - I'll Google you!'

   A last nod, and he was finally in his car, angry at himself for not leaving things for another week as was Jacqueline's advice. What difference would an extra seven days have really made in the twenty seven years he'd never known her?  It might have given him a chance to prepare and ascertain better handling of it, or completely decide against it, instead of now feeling like shit. But it wasn't exactly a contractual matter, (where he was an expert) it was to do with morals of flesh, blood and emotion.  Even so, he was pretty sure the outcome would have been the same.

'Well?' Jacqueline asked, as soon as he closed the greenhouse door on his return. A simple small shake of the head said it all, and she sighed, wishing now she had made that weekend call to him.

  

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