Chapter Text
Dan’s mother, a nurse, took over as Dan stood, in a daze. James was given water and sugar, followed by sweet tea and scrambled eggs. Following a bath, during which Dan’s mother tumble-dried his wet clothes James was interrogated and questioned. All he would do was reiterate how Martha needed Dan. Dan’s mother, now not distracted by skinny, fainting young men, was hysterical, half-angry with Dan and half-protective. All James could do was listen and make soothing noises.
Four hours after he had arrived he and Dan were on their way back down South in Dan’s beaten up old, red VW Polo coupe, the back seats down, stuffed with all his stuff. While his Mum had ranted at James Dan and his father had packed the car as if he were leaving home for good, not the last half of one ten week semester.
For the first few hours both men were silent, Dan playing music from his teens really loudly and James, after he had dozed a while, staring blankly out of the window. He looked to Dan as if he was in a stupefied funk, but in reality James was contemplating all his options.
“I thought you were her cousin,” Dan said finally, switching off his car stereo.
“So did we,” James replied.
“Uh?”
“Long story. I don’t know it so don’t ask.”
“Why say it then?”
“It has to be done, doesn’t it?”
“Did she send you? She could have phoned. Texted. E-mailed. Written even. Or, I don’t know, just a wild idea – she could have talked to me in the last few weeks!” Dan voice shook a little, and he gripped the steering wheel a little too tightly.
“She should, I told her,” James agreed mildly. “She doesn’t know I came. I didn’t know what else to do.”
“And you hitched all the way?”
“No money.”
Dan switched on the car radio. They listened to the news and then Just A Minute. Dan switched it back off as The Archers began.
“Why on Earth didn’t she tell me in the first place?”
“She thought you’d be angry, blame her, hate...”
“Dump her?”
James shrugged.
“So she ignored me? Pretended that I didn’t exist?”
“Yup.”
“Or even that she wasn’t pregnant, knowing her.”
“She tried. I wouldn’t let her. Stopped her drinking coffee, got her vitamins and things.”
“Thank you. But that’s my job.”
“That’s why I came.”
“Did she really think that if she ignored it all it would go away?”
“Yup.”
“Well, that’s Martha, I suppose.”
There was a pause as Dan coped with a speeding lorry cutting him up on the inside lane.
“Bloody nutter!” he glanced at James and finally said what was on his mind. “But I saw you in bed with her.”
“Not like that!” James protested hotly.
“But you thought you were cousins?”
“Not. Like. That,” insisted James, his cheeks flushing hot and red, his voice rising with stress. “I’m not like that.”
“Are you the one training to be a priest?”
“I was.”
“Not anymore?”
“Nope.”
“Did you change your mind?”
“They asked me to leave.”
“Why?”
“It’s complicated.”
“But you jumped into bed with your cousin for comfort, yeah? Went wild?”
“Not like that! She was scared about the baby, I was... confused? Unhappy? Okay, scared too. We cuddled up together, like we did as children. Nothing happened. I’m not like that.”
“Like what James?”
“I don’t like girls. Not like that.”
“So you’re gay?”
“I’m not...! It’s difficult to explain.”
“If you don’t like girls then you like boys.”
“I’m celibate.”
“Sure. You were at a Seminary. Not now, though.”
“Still a sin. Still have to be celibate.”
“People sin, James. Look at me and Martha. Sex outside wedlock, right? And me a good Catholic boy. I’d have waited, but Martha... Martha... well, she’s persuasive, isn’t she?"
“What will you do?”
“Do James? Do? Stick by my girlfriend and our baby. Marry her, if she’ll have me. But you know Martha, she goes her own sweet way, head stuffed full of a dozen religions and myths and believes as she likes, picks and chooses.”
“And you don’t like that?”
“I love it! She’s exhilarating! Did they kick you out for being gay?”
“I said it was complicated.”
“Stupid! Priests are celibate. So how can it matter who you fancy if you do nothing.”
“Well, er...”
“Oh look. Services. I need a piss and a strong coffee. Bet you could do with a smoke.”
*
In the harsh glare of the service station Dan stared at James when he wasn’t looking. He had a haunted, pained, thoughtful expression. He looked like Martha, he really did. He had the same eyes, same cheekbones, the same impossible fairy blond hair. He could easily fancy him if he wasn’t already in love with Martha.
“You should grow your hair a bit. It’s a bit harsh, makes you look like you’ve been kicked out of the army, or prison even, not the priesthood.”
“Why would I do that?”
Dan shrugged. “Make the best of yourself? To look good? Dunno.”
The services were crowded. At the next table were a family of two sets of parents, seven children, a screaming baby and a deaf grandmother who kept shouting the same thing over and over again. Behind them a group of young men dressed as builders or labourers of some kind. A coach party of noisy, happy Liverpudlian pensioners milled about, a so did another of Brummie Asian Muslims returning from Hajj, all of the men’s heads shaved, some shivering as they re-adjusted to England’s’ damp, chilly climate.
The noise and crowds pressed on James’ head. He gazed openly now at Dan. The photos Martha had shown him did not do him justice. Hazel eyes, square jaw and dark, curly hair gelled upwards in an upstanding quiff. His broad shoulders carried well the Rugby shirt and tartan quilted over-shirt. He hadn’t shaved for a few days and his chin was covered with the darkest of shadows, almost but not quite yet a beard. James tried to image a fusion of Dan’s ruggedly handsome and Martha’s delicate, beautiful features. Would it be a boy or a girl? Dark or fair?
“Have you finished your coffee?” Dan asked, unfazed by James’ staring. “Shall we go?”
*
Martha flung open the door to the ground floor flat. “James! Where have you been? I’ve been so worried!” she paused as saw a figure behind James, in the shadows. “D-Dan?”
“Hello Martha love,” Dan sad awkwardly, shyly, looking at his feet.
“Dan?”
“Martha?” he stepped forward and put a hand on her belly.
“You know?”
“James told me.”
“Is that where’s you’ve been?” Jon asked over the top of his daughter’s head.
“You don’t mind?” Martha said at the same time.
“Mind? Mind our baby! Are you crazy?” Dan demanded as James nodded mutely at his uncle... at his father, maybe?
Martha and Dan fell desperately into each other’s arms on the doorstep as Jon pushed past them. “Come on James, these two babies need some space. I’ll stand you a pint. And try to explain.”
“Yes. You do owe me an explanation,” agreed James forcefully, then adding, “and I’m starved.”
“I’ll get you some chips. Or a pie. Whatever you fancy. Come on Jamie baby.”
*
Once they were sat in a dark corner of a quiet pub, pints and food in front of them, Jon looked embarrassed.
“Where do I start?” he asked awkwardly.
“I want to know who betrayed whom? Who if the father? Which mother cheated? I’m guessing Chrissie and Dad - Joe because – no offence Uncle Jon, but Auntie Chrissie was a wild hippie and my Dad’s a total bastard but my Mum is so besotted – no obsessed! – with Dad. And you’re still in love with Chrissie, aren’t you? You’ve been alone for nearly ten years without ever dating, haven’t you?”
Jon looked stricken for a moment and James began to regret his words. Whatever had happened it was over twenty-two years ago, although yes, he supposed he did have a right to be angry. He was about to apologise when Jon took a deep breath and said, “No-one cheated on anyone.”
Now James gave into his bubbling anger and he snapped, “No! That’s just crazy! I know you guys were together for years before I was born, and so were Mum and Dad!”
“Okay James, baby, I’m going to tell you a story, okay? About how it all came about. But first, to put your mind at rest, let me tell you...” Jon started to laugh nervously, and then more than a little hysterically.
James glared angrily. This wasn’t funny form where he was sat. Jon caught the angry glean in James’ eye and calmed down enough to say,
“I can’t say it without sounding like Darth Vader. Believe me, I’m trying...”
James lips twitched in an upwards curve. “Don’t chop off my hand," he said, and then smirked. His Dad wasn’t his Dad. That bastard was nothing to do with him. But how? Jon said no one had cheated, but what did that mean?
“I’ll try to explain. And despite what Grandma and the family think, I’ve not gone over to the dark side – the psychedelic side maybe.” Jon grinned. “Let me explain baby.”
*
Rose and Joe had married young and moved to the Crevecoeur Hall Estate where, at first, Joe was assistant Games Keeper. Rose’s sister worked up at the house, and Rose began part-time in the kitchens. Meanwhile Chrissie and Jon had had enough of everything: family hypocrisy, Church, school, society itself. They ran away a few weeks before they were due to take their ‘A’ Levels and go to university. They both would have had been the first in their families. They ran away with an original 1960s hippie, staying with him in his caravan until through hard work fruit picking throughout the summer plus busking and labouring when they could find it, they bought an old, beaten up VW Camper Van and became independent.
After a couple of years on the road, Chrissie and Jon arrived with a group of old hippy and new punk misfits and dropouts to camp on the edges of the Crevecoeur Hall Estate. It was too early for these people to be labelled anything but layabouts and dropouts and weirdoes, the peace camps that gave birth to the Peace Convoy and the later phrase of New Age Travellers were still four years away.
After the first night the Estate Manager, Games Keeper and their underlings arrived with dogs and guns, demanding that these good-for-nothing bunch of gypoes, hippies and weirdoes moved on.
Several of the travellers stood facing the men, Jon in the front, speaking calmly to them, refusing to be intimidated. In every town and city they had ever stayed in Jon had spent hours in the local libraries, devouring among others, law books, and he quoted politely and nicely chapter and verse regarding their rights. He knew it would take months for a court order to be obtained, by which time they would be long gone.
The Estate Manager and Games Keeper conferred, the other men milling about, waiting, looking more bored and cold than menacing. Jon noticed one man, tall and blond, keeping his eyes down, stooped and shuffling his feet on wet leaves and moss, apart from the others, a gun crooked in one arm, three gun dogs on leads sat by him, looking around, tails waving merrily, at least some were happy, thought Jon, smiling at the dogs.
Jon felt uncomfortable though, he recognised the body language. He stared and stared until the young man looked up at him and met his gaze. It was his older brother. Jon chose not to say anything; he didn’t want to compromise Joe or his career.
It was decided to seek His Lordship’s advice regarding the law. They left, and as they did, Joe trailed behind. As he passed Jon he muttered which was his cottage and invited them over. Chrissie and Jon visited that evening.
For a few weeks everything was fine. The brothers were glad to see each other; their girlfriend and wife became great friends. Chrissie and several of the other women from the camp would go around in the daytime to use the bath and the washing machine. Rose seemed happy with the female companionship.
Then Joe persuaded Jon to allow him to invite their parents, Chrissie’s too, to Sunday lunch. It went badly. Chrissie’s parents refused to come, Jon and Joe’s came, but demanded Jon come back, and when he refused and dared argue theology and question his Mum’s faith and his upbringing, she told him he was no longer his son. She then turned her bile on Rose. He and Chrissie soon realised that this was her normal behaviour towards Rose – attack her for not being born Catholic, for not understanding what she had converting into, which they knew to be unfair as Rose had met Joe at church after she had converted, she had done it for love of God not love of Joe, and worst of all, Jon’s mother accused Rose of using contraceptives. They had, after all, been married over three years and there were still no babies. Rose was close to tears and Joe came to her defence, but she just accused Rose of deceiving her husband. Things grew more and more unpleasant when Jon and Chrissie felt obliged to speak and his mother turned on them again. Finally Joe demanded his parents leave, defending both wife and brother.
After they left, Rose burst into tears and Jon and Chrissie weren’t far behind. Joe hugged his younger brother tightly before taking his wife upstairs. Once Chrissie had composed herself she went upstairs to talk to Rose while Joe and Jon attacked the beer.
Later that night, sat outside their van around the fire Chrissie told Jon that Rose had been to the doctors and had all the tests possible and she was fine, it wasn’t her. The problem was probably with Joe, but he refused to acknowledge it, see a doctor to see if he could be helped.
The next night Rose and her friends, Tracey and Mary, sat in front of him. Mary built a spliff, Tracey made him tea and Chrissie handed him a plate of his favourite butterbean and mushroom stew with homemade bread from Rose.
Tracey explained, over a couple of pots of tea and a couple of spliffs, how they had gone over to Rose’s cottage to use the washing machine and while they were they had talked through Rose’s problem. Rose was desperate to have a baby, not to please her mother-in-law, but because she wanted one. Every woman had a right to be a mother, didn’t she?
Mary explained that their children, Tom and Lucy, who were days apart in age, shared the same father. He was a gay friend and he had provided the sperm – not sex or anything. He had... um, provided the semen which the girls had put into a turkey baster and then impregnated each other with. Did that sound like a good idea?
Rose was so lovely, added Chrissie, and so unhappy. Jon looked so much like his elder brother, didn’t he? Hadn’t he noticed that? How they might even be twins?
Jon hadn’t liked the way this conversation was going.
Of course, Chrissie went on, Joe must never know. “And we’ll be gone soon. You’ll be doing your brother a favour, that’s all; it’ll be his child, really. And of course,” Chrissie had added seductively, “I’ll help you with the... um production,” she giggled.
Stoned, full of favourite food, hot tea and warm bread, sitting in a clearing of a beautiful beech wood, a warm fire and a blanket around his shoulders, happy and warm and contented, despite the frost on the ground, Jon found himself agreeing.
They waited for Rose’s cycle to become at the right time, as it were. They did it for three days in a row, to be sure. Chrissie and Jon in the spare bedroom, to then hand Tracey and Mary the necessary. They then took it to Rose it the bedroom. Rose then had to make sure she and Joe had a... romantic, fun night for those three nights.
Two days after that, his Lordship arrived with his men, guns, dogs and Land Rovers and moved them on. The police looked the other way as several windows were smashed and belongings strewn across the clearing and the hippies not allowed to pick them up. So, forced to leave, Jon never knew if their little ‘experiment’ had been successful, but he knew that it had got him and Chrissie thinking. It took more than a year for them before Chrissie fell with Martha; so all in all, they doubted that Rose had got pregnant. They travelled to Wales after that, then the West Country, and a few weeks after Martha’s birth, they left the country for five or so years.
*
Jon looked up, he’d been staring into his beer glass the whole time he’d related the story, “you were nearly eight, something like that, the first time I saw you,” he said. “Do you remember? At our wedding?”
James frowned, he’d been trying and failing to take on all he had been told; shocked and confused and touched in equal measure, he was grateful for a distraction.
“Wasn’t it in Wantage? The Town Hall and then the back room of a pub?”
“Yeah, a mate ran that pub. We had a wild time, friends from different bands and that played music. Everyone did something. Chrissie’s best friend Suze made the cake.”
“Folk,” said James. “And punk. You wore a top hat. Yeah, I remember, black frock coat and top hat over a silk purple shirt and striped trousers. You had your hair in a plait and had eyeliner. Chrissie wore this purple thing, too, tight bodice, sort of fringes or frills and the end of her skirts – they were layered up, weren’t they? And you could see her purple Doc Martins. Even her hair was purple. It wasn’t dreaded, then, was it? All loose and wild and purple. I remember thinking I’d never, ever seen anyone dressed like either of you and it was amazing. Like something from a fantasy book or fairy tale. I loved it. I was what, seven?”
“Eight, I think.”
“Chrissie walked down the aisle with a stick.”
“Yes, yes she did. She was already... sick. We knew then, she was going to... you know, but we kept it a secret, how serious it was. It was why we married. The way the law was back then, when she... went... they couldn’t have taken Martha into care if we weren’t married.”
“That’s crazy! Stupid! You’re her Dad and...”
“It’s alright baby. S’sh. I don’t think the law’s like that now. I remember that day for you as much as for me and Chrissie. As we walked back down the aisle together, man and wife, which, you know, didn’t feel a whole lot different, you know? I loved her before and after, now she had my name made no difference. Made a difference to the family, to the stuck up snooty cows at the school Martha had started, but...me? I loved her the same. Anyway, as we walked down she whispered to me, ‘that must be him. We gave them a son. We did good, don’t you think?’”
*
Jon, in all honesty, had forgotten what he’d agreed to all those years ago. After all, what had he done apart from get a bit dirty with Chrissie in his brother’s back bedroom for three days in a row? He’d not been a party to anything that had followed. But now Chrissie had pointed the boy out, he couldn’t keep his eyes off him. He was tall for his age, skinny as a rake, with a solemn, serious expression in an angelic face – his eyes were like Martha’s, as was the bone structure of his pretty face. And he was pretty, like Martha. It scared him, how alike they were.
However, the only family that were there were Rose and Joe, and a sister of Chrissie’s, the rest of the family had either refused or the couple had already been so hurt they didn’t bother sending the invites. The family had been ignoring the runaways since their return to Oxfordshire. There had been no fatted calf for the prodigals, and nor would they have wanted one, vegans as they were.
When Joe slapped him on the back and said heartily, “You can tell they’re cousins, eh?” and nodded drunkenly towards where Martha and some children of their friends were trying to encourage James from under the table where he had made his den and onto the dance floor to pogo with them to Spike’s crazy guitar rhythms. Little James was having none of it. Jon had breathed a sigh of relief at his brother’s obvious lack of suspicion but almost thumped him as if they were still eight when Joe added, “Stuck up little shit, my boy.”
*
“You spent all night sat under a table, reading. Even Martha got bored and left you alone eventually.”
James smiled, “Actually, I did venture out occasionally to replenish my plate. I think I got addicted to veggie sausages and tofu satay that night. Although I don’t think I ate tofu before, or ever again, to be honest.”
“Well, you must have been undercover, I don’t remember you other than under that table all afternoon and evening. And I watched you, James, you looked so sad and solemn, as if you had the world on your small little shoulders. I should have asked you if you were okay. I should have...”
“I wouldn’t have told you, you know. And I made damn sure no one was looking when I snuck out. Sneaked out? Whichever. I didn’t want a fuss. Drunks fuss over cute kids at weddings. I hated all that.”
“You’d have probably made an excellent spy, then James, coz I was watching you, couldn’t take my eyes off you. What will you do, now you’ve left the Seminary? Have you decided yet?"
“Yes.”
“Well, don’t keep me in suspense.”
“I’m going to join the police force.”
“The what? The police? You?! You’re going to be a policeman?”
“Yes.”
“You!”
“Yes,” James said firmly, in a definite tone that brooked no further argument.