TIM DRIVES SLOWLY up on to the moor, remembering how he drove through that wild spring storm, stopping to phone Mattie to describe it to her. Now they text each other arranging odd, impromptu meetings, relishing these unplanned moments together. Today he is meeting her at the cave but this time he hasn’t brought Wooster. Andy and Charlotte have taken Ollie to the beach and Wooster has gone with them.
‘He loves a swim,’ says Andy, ‘and so do I. I pretend to drown and he tries to rescue me.’
Tim likes Andy. It’s good to have another bloke around of his own age. They’ve had a few little chats together and Tim is impressed by Andy’s sense of responsibility for his little family, his anxiety lest something should happen to him whilst he is at sea, leaving them alone.
‘But in the end, if you think like that, you’d never do anything, would you?’ he said. ‘I could fall under a bus. You have to take risks sometimes.’
As he spoke, Tim remembered his mother, the squeal of brakes, and wondered whether, if she’d known, she would never have had him. Now, he parks the car, takes out his rucksack and walks the narrow track over the moor. Sheep huddle for shade under dry-stone walls and small thorn trees, and as he hears the lark winging up and up he thinks of Meredith’s poem.
She is waiting for him at the mouth of the cave, sitting with her legs drawn up, arms hugging her knees. The sight of her causes his heart to give that now-familiar flutter and he drops down beside her, putting his rucksack against the rock.
‘Can you hear the lark?’ she asks, and he puts his arms around her and kisses her.
‘I love it here,’ he says. ‘It’s special, isn’t it?’
She holds him a little way away from her, looking at him so searchingly, so anxiously, that he knows, at last, that this is when he must tell her. The moment has come: it is now.
His head is filled with the words that he must say to her but before he can speak she says: ‘I’ve got something to tell you. Something really important.’
He is taken completely off balance and he can only gaze at her in surprise. She kneels up so that they are face to face and she holds him by his shoulders.
‘I’m pregnant, Tim,’ she says. ‘I’m expecting our baby.’
He is so shocked he can’t speak. She still holds him, watching him.
‘I’m not sorry,’ she says. ‘I can’t be. But I’m sorry if you are.’
‘No,’ he cries. ‘No. I’m not sorry. I love you, Mattie. It’s just . . .’
‘Just what?’ she asks, shaking him, gripping him. ‘Just what, Tim? Please tell me . . .’
And then he does tell her. He explains to her the nature of the disease, that it is a rare strain, and that nobody knows how long it might take to cripple him; to kill him. And all the while she grips his shoulders, staring into his eyes, listening intently. When he’s finished she gives a huge sigh.
‘And is that it?’ she asks.
He looks at her and then begins, incredibly, to laugh. ‘Isn’t that enough?’
She shakes her head quickly. ‘I’m sorry. Sorry, Tim. I didn’t mean it like that. Yes, it’s awful. Awful.’ For a moment she looks stricken but she rallies and reaches out for his hand. ‘It’s just I thought you didn’t love me.’
He doesn’t know what to say. ‘I couldn’t ask you to . . . How could I?’
‘But I want to be with you,’ she says. ‘And there’s the baby. Our baby. You say you don’t know how long you might have – well, it might be years. He’ll need you. So will I.’
‘But that’s the point,’ he cries. ‘Don’t you see? I can’t say how long it will be before I begin to be . . . useless. Helpless,’ he adds savagely.
‘But we can be together for however long it is,’ she says.
‘But you have no idea,’ he cries angrily, ‘no idea what it might involve.’
‘Neither have you,’ she says reasonably. ‘I just know I want to have our baby and be with you. Can we start there?’
He stares at her and he hears Francis’ voice uttering Hopkins’ words:
I can;
Can something, hope, wish day come, not choose not to be.
Still kneeling up, face to face, she pulls him into her arms and rests her head against his shoulder.
‘Yes,’ he says, and at last he is filled with peace. ‘We can. We’ll start there.’
As she drives back to Exeter Mattie is in a state of exaltation. Ever since she knew about the baby she’s been in such a muddle of emotions: shock, wonder, fear. She can hardly believe it and yet, at some very deep level, she’s not surprised. After that first unexpected, unprepared meeting in her cave it was a possibility, but it was as if she was in denial, keeping the thought of it at bay. She still doesn’t know whether it was because subconsciously she wanted Tim’s child or whether the prospect was too frightening to consider.
And now she has so much to think about. Never will she forget his face when she told him: shock, awe and a kind of odd hopefulness. Once he’d explained his own problem she could guess why he looked like that. He’d considered his life was slowly counting down, running out, and suddenly he was offered an arrow into the future: new life, his own child, something to live for.
All she’d thought about, as he was telling her, was that she wanted to give him this chance. She wanted to be with him, support him. Only now does anxiety kick in; fear of the responsibility of it all. Back then they held each other tightly and after a few moments, knowing that they must now move forward, she leaned back and looked up at him.
‘We need tea,’ she said firmly. ‘Come on. The hamper’s all primed. I’ve got some biscuits. We’ll have our own private little celebration.’
To her surprise he was quite ready to join in with her mood. They’d toasted each other and the baby with camomile tea and a brownie, sitting close together on the rug in the sunshine whilst the lark sang and sang. Tim recited Meredith’s poem to her.
And ever winging up and up,
Our valley is his golden cup.
And he the wine which overflows
To lift us with him as he goes . . .
‘That’s nice,’ she said, leaning against him. ‘Who did you say it was?’
‘George Meredith.’
‘Mmm,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘I like the name George. We’ll call the baby George. Georgina if it’s a girl. Then we’ll always remember this moment.’
She knew that Tim was feeling very emotional and she also knew that she must keep him steady. She would deal with her own fears later.
‘So how’s it going with Charlotte and Andy?’ she asked. ‘Second honeymoon stuff, is it? I can’t wait to see them at the weekend.’
‘I like him,’ Tim said. ‘He’s a really nice guy.’
The conversation gradually became more general and a little later they were able to make a few plans, as if they were just an ordinary couple planning an ordinary future.
Now, Mattie allows her own anxieties to creep to the forefront of her mind. How will they manage? How long will Tim be strong, viable? What will her parents say when she tells them? And Charlotte? Her heart quails rather at the prospect but she grips the wheel, lifts her chin, and takes a very deep breath. Odd though it might be, it is her father she will talk to first when the time comes to explain about the baby, how that unexpected lovemaking in the cave took her by surprise and unprepared. She’ll explain Tim’s anxiety, his fears, and that, despite everything, she wants to have his child, to be with him. If she can get her father on side then somehow everything will be managed. But first: their engagement. She knows that her parents like Tim, and the fact that he can afford to buy a little house and keep something put by for the baby’s future will be a good mark in his favour. Second: the baby. For the moment, she and Tim have agreed that this remains a secret between them for a few more weeks and she prays that she has the courage when the time comes to deal with the disclosure.
Mattie shivers with a thrill of joy: her baby. Hers and Tim’s. She’ll go with him to the hospital to talk about this new drug trialling; they’ll find out everything there is to know. They’ll do it together and – who knows – maybe a miracle will happen.
The sunlit, undulating moor flows away from her. Its impression of the infinite, its sheer size, puts these problems into perspective and brings tranquillity, and she drives on, comforted.