Suddenly she was startled out of her wits by the doorbell. It was a member of the Tory Party, canvassing for a by-election.
“I’m just changing to go out,” Janey called out of the window, “but you can rely on my vote.”
“Got to get that bloody man Callaghan out somehow,” said Kevin.
Next time the bell went Kev had to unplug himself. Janey staggered to the window. This time it was the Labor Party.
“No, you don’t need to convince me; you can rely on my vote,” she said.
“That’s done it,” said Kev, getting up. “I’ve got to go anyway.” Janey was appalled at how miserable she felt. They had a bath together.
“Too small, really,” said Kev as he dried himself. “You ought to come in my Jacuzzi at Sunningdale. You will, one day.”
Feeling happier, Janey put on her new white overalls, which just covered her boobs, and nothing else. Her newly washed hair divided over her brown shoulders. As she made the bed, she instinctively removed hairs, looking for Kevidence, she told herself with a giggle. She persuaded him to have a drink before he went. They were in the drawing room when they heard a step outside. Janey went to the window. “Expect it’s the Liberal Party. Oh my God, it’s Billy.”
“It’s all right,” said Kev calmly. “Billy told me you were depressed and to drop in to cheer you up. I just happened to be in the area.”
Janey patted her hair frantically in the mirror.
“Do I look as though I’ve just got out of bed?” she asked.
Kev laughed. “You always do anyway.”
Billy was absolutely thrilled to see them both. He’d always been worried that they got on so badly and this would certainly make things easier. He looked awful: thoroughly tired out, his hair a tangled mess, eyes bloodshot. He smelt of curry and drink. He needs some Gold Spot, thought Janey.
“How did the last days go?” asked Kevin.
“Bloody awful. The competition’s so hot because everyone’s over for the World Championship. You’re lucky if you get in the money at all. Here’s some Arpege for you, sweetheart.” He also put down a bottle of duty-free whisky.
“Your wife’s been on a diet,” said Kev. “Doesn’t she look great?”
“Sensational,” said Billy. “So does the house.” He looked around. “Really lovely. You must have worked hard. I’m filthy. I must go and have a bath and change.”
“Have a drink first,” said Janey, sloshing three fingers of whisky into a glass. She was nervous Kev might have left some of his jewelry in the bedroom. Billy accepted it gratefully; anything to postpone the opening of the brown envelopes and his bank statement. They discussed the World Championships — he would either jump Mandryka or The Bull.
“The Bull — I mean Moggie Meal Al — is a bit stale. I’m going to rest him for the next fortnight.”
32
The gods that had blessed Billy during the first year of marriage seemed to withdraw their sponsorship during the second. The following week, Billy rang, jubilant from a show in the South, saying he’d just come first in a big class and won a ?5,000 car. He was going to pop up to London in the morning for a ten o’clock appointment with Enid’s gynecologist, who’d been making some tests, then pop back to the show, compete in the afternoon, then drive the car straight home afterwards. Tracey would drive the lorry and, as the car was still being run in, he was afraid they’d both arrive in the middle of the night.
“But I really feel my luck’s turning, darling.”
Janey spent the afternoon in bed with Kevin, so she was glad Billy was going to be late. At midnight the telephone rang. It was from a call box.
“Billy!”
“Yes, darling.”
“Where are you?”
“On the Penscombe-Birdlip road.”
“Are you all right?”
“I don’t know. I was driving home when a wall jumped out and hit me.”
“Christ.”
“I’m afraid I was a bit over the limit, and I think the car’s a write-off.”
“Stay where you are,” said Janey. “I’ll come and get you.”
She drove in her nightie, frantic with worry. The first thing she saw was a concertinaed pile of scrap metal. God knows how Billy had escaped alive. Then she saw Billy sitting on the wall, singing:
* * *
He was absolutely plastered. She must get him home before the police came along and Breathalyzed him.
“Billy Lloyd-Foxe sat on a wall,” he began again.
“Shut up and get in the car.”
She had to help him in; his legs kept giving way. When they got home she helped him upstairs. He collapsed on the bed, white and shaking. There was a huge bruise on his forehead.
“Must have a pee.”
He got to his feet and, staggering towards the wardrobe, opened the door and was about to step in.
“Bill-ee, the loo’s the other way.”
“Oh, yes.” He took two steps back, one forward, and veered off towards the loo.
“I didn’t know anyone could pee that long,” said Janey when he came back.
“I’ve done one minute, fifty-five seconds before now. Rupert timed me.” He collapsed on the bed again. She knelt down beside him.
“What’s the matter?”
He looked at her, not focusing. “I went to the doctor.”
“And what did he say?”
“That it’s me, not you. I’ve got a zilch sperm count. He showed me it under the microscope. Not a tadpole in sight.”
He hung his head. “He said we should think seriously about adoption.” Janey put her arms around him.
“Oh, angel, I’m so sorry. But it doesn’t matter. Of course we can adopt.”
“But I wanted you to have my babies. You wanted one so badly and I can’t give you one. Christ!”
She felt desperately sorry for him, but she couldn’t help feeling relief in a way for herself, and boo sucks to his bloody mother. She put him to bed and within seconds he had passed out. He woke with a most appalling headache and went to the doctor, who said he had concussion as well and he should rest for a week. Billy ignored him. The following morning he set off with Rupert for Aachen.
Janey rang Kevin as soon as he’d gone and, feeling disloyal, told him about the car and the sperm count. In a way, she felt she’d been dealt a marked card. She’d married Billy thinking he was a star and the star had almost immediately started falling out of the firmament. That she’d contributed almost entirely to this fall didn’t enter her head. She forgot how miserable she’d been, racketing from lover to lover in Fleet Street, waiting desperately for
