CHAPTER 81
Andy and Bev were back, tanned and happy, and of course with a shedload of pictures to show everyone, not just from the honeymoon, but also from the wedding itself.

Suzy wanted to see them, and to see them NOW. Andy was adamant.

“Sunday afternoon, the marital home, bring snacks and stuff, and we can make an evening and afternoon of it. As an ex-bachelor, I have the tools that lesser mortals merely dream of!”

Bev just sighed. “A bloody great plasma screen thing that takes up too much of the living room. It’s on the ‘to be sorted by mutual agreement’ list “

I laughed at that. “What happens if he doesn’t agree, Bev?”

“Then it goes onto the ‘because Bev says so’ list instead. The speakers in the bathroom can stay, though”

“Speakers? Bathroom?”

“Yes, he has his stereo piped through into the bathroom. It’s actually rather sweet; turn the lights off, a few candles, some nice music, a hot bath…”

Andy continued “Mug of tea, good book….ow!”

“I was about to say ‘snuggling back into my spouse’ but you had to spoil it!”

“OK, two mugs of tea then!”

Bev was showing well, now, and told me that she had already had a few scans that showed all was normal in the developing little bundle. There was an obvious question to ask, and Suzy beat me to it. Bev smiled.

“We don’t want to know the baby’s sex till, well, till I’m holding it, but we have already thought of the names for both. If it’s a boy, after his father and mine, Andrew Edward.”

I noticed Andy twitch at the mention of fathers, and remembered sharply his description of his own as having buggered off to Torquay with some woman other than his mum. Bev continued.

“As for a girl, we quite liked the name Rebecca, and, well, there is only one middle name possible, and that’s Alice of course”

My stomach lurched at the mention of Rebecca. If this world had held any justice, those two would have been fat and happy together, like my sisters, not reduced to a small plate in a chapel of remembrance and a collection of old photos. I cheered myself up by looking at Alice, who was blushing with gratification, the old trout. I realised what a huge step this represented for her, not only having made the change into accepted womanhood, but now having a baby girl that might be named after her. I gave Andy an enquiring look, and he just nodded. I pulled him to one side, and he whispered “We thought of fitting Alan in there, but he is dead and should remain so”

My lothario was really growing up. Bev was indeed a lucky girl; sod it, both were. She had seen right to his core, something that Suzy and I had never really managed till that day by the maze. It struck me that in all my attempts to help sort people out, I was nowhere near as understanding as I had thought, and I was grateful I hadn’t managed to totally fuck someone up. Our games with Anne…shit, the damage I could have done. Still, somehow she had come out of it, and the more I saw of Jon the more they seemed admirably suited for each other. If they had to god-bother, best they did it together, and they seemed to be coming to no harm.

That set off another train of thought, from that conversation with Anne. Pat was obviously another god-botherer, but everything he said made sense to me. That version of Occam was so obvious, and yet so rarely understood. Coming from a cleric of a church that routinely condemned so many women to avoidable suffering, it was astonishing. Looking at these two, and thinking back to Becky and Jo, there seemed hope still existed, and there was still a reason to bring new life into the world. I couldn’t, though, and despite Jim’s love I still ached for my own. Just like Andy had, but at least he was physically capable. Ah well, gwell hanner na dim.

I was still n an odd mood as I rode home, and I rode the Kwak on the powerband all the way back, the front end going light a few times as I nailed some gaps in the traffic and passed cars with an acceleration that kicked me hard in the spine. The lights at Husk let me redline the bike from a standstill up to eighty before I consciously reined myself in. I was edgy, moody, and the jog of memory with that name wasn’t enough to explain my angst. I made sure I kept it down through the edge of town, and after I put the bike into our garage I stood next to it listening to the engine ticking and wheezing as it started to cool down.

Our garage. Hang on to that thought, Sarah. Our home, our family, our bed, our lovemaking in the shower.

It didn’t work. It could never be ‘our son’, despite what he called me. I sat in my leathers in the garage and wept.

Jim found me, with the dog trotting beside him. He saw my tears, and came over to cuddle up to me.

“Why are you crying, Mum?”

How could I tell him? How exactly do you explain to your little boy that mummy is just a surgical construct, that she can never be a real mum? I just held him till I could get my tears under control, and then let him pull me to my feet and take me indoors. He made me a cup of tea, and stayed with me as I calmed.

“Mum, I don’t know what has made you sad, but if I can do anything to help just tell me. I’m a big boy now, big enough to help my Mum when she feels bad, and I don’t want you feeling bad. I don’t want to lose another Mum”

I pulled him up onto my lap and I just couldn’t help it, the tears came again, and he was holding me, it seemed.

He pushed himself back off me. “Can I cook tea tonight, Mum? I can do sausage, peas and mash if you want. You sit here for a minute”

He ran off upstairs, and I heard taps running, and then he was back in the kitchen.

“I’ve started a hot bath, Mum, and I’ve got one of your bomb things for it, and a big soft towel, and your dressing gown and slippers and stuff. You can have a long rest and I will have tea ready”

“OK, love, but you don’t start it till I am out of the bath, right?”

I got the little-boy version of a Paddington stare. “Mum, I do cookery at school”

“Yes, but with a teacher to supervise. Look, I get my soak, and then we do this together….you do this, and I watch and enjoy being pampered by my son, OK? Deal?”

“Deal, Mum”

So, I lay in the bath in a pink confection of smells and fizz, with that mug of tea that Andy had mentioned, till my thoughts were back on line and less self-destructive. Jim had laid out a long and soft cotton nighty as well as my big fluffy dressing gown, and after I was dry I wrapped myself in their comfort and went back down to the kitchen where Jim was already peeling potatoes. We set them on to boil, and as I slid the sausages into the oven I had a thought.

“Jim, fancy some toads?”

“Ooh, yeah!”

So, I removed the sausages again, and under my instructions he mixed up a bowl of batter as a roasting tin warmed up. I took the tin out of the oven, the fat smoking from the heat, and arranged the links. He poured the batter over, and I set the tin back in the heat.

“Want cheddar mash?”

“Yes please!”

So, when the toad was nearly ready, and the potatoes cooked, he worked with the masher as I dropped in a few chunks of butter and some crumbled cheese. I had to help push the masher down at first until the potatoes were broken up, and then we checked on the oven. Soon, we were sat down at the table with two plates steaming with mashed potatoes, peas, gravy and toad-in-the-hole, Pie salivating next to Jim’s chair.

That old proverb was right. Gwell hanner na dim, ond roedd e’n well na hanner gennyf.

Better half than none, but I had better than half. Much better.