Bums on Seats Read online

  “Possibly, but it wouldn’t be the same. She wouldn’t have your poise or experience and you seem popular with Chief Nweewe since our first visit. I’m sure he would be disappointed…”

  “Look William, I need proper check-ups and then I’m booked into an English clinic for the birth. My family expect me. It’s best for baby and me.”

  “There’s a first class clinic here in Kumbi. They do births all the time. I’ll have a specialist woman doctor flown in when the time’s near. If you wanted, we could fly your mother in as well. Don’t decide now. Think it over, darling.”

  “All right, I’ll think about it. For heaven’s sake let’s go to bed.” Sarah was often alone in bed during the bad nights. William was ambitious, something of a workaholic, and needed his rest. He took to sleeping in the spare room. But this was a night for special effort.

  Sarah liked sex. She had no problem having orgasms. But her real pleasure was being stroked, held and kissed all over. Making love was, for Sarah, not a speedy process. William resolved to play his part. “Darling, it worries me to see you without sleep. Would it help if I were always here to talk?”

  “That’s nice, love, but I toss and turn, and get up and walk around. In the end, it wouldn’t help either of us. I think I’m one of those who just has an uncomfortable time childbearing.”

  “You’re being very brave, darling. The morning sickness was bad enough, but now this…” He leaned across and kissed her. She responded.

  “Sarah, I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you. You’re everything. There’s never been anything else that matters.” She gave a small sigh, reached out and pulled him closer. He kissed her again.

  “Oh William, I thought you were tiring of me. You always seem in a rush. It’s as if you’re body’s here but your mind’s on other things.”

  “No, it’s not that at all, my darling. I worry in case what you’re going through puts you off me for good.” He gave her a longer kiss. She held his face between her hands.

  The endearments and kissing and holding continued awhile. She was much moved. “I’ve missed you, William. I’ve felt wretched and lonely by myself most nights.”

  “No more, my darling. I’ve been thoughtless and selfish. I’ll be here for you now.” By and by he said, “I love you very, very much, Sarah.” He moved his fingers back and forth across her nipples. “I’m the luckiest man alive…” He lowered his head to her. Sarah slid her hand down his belly…

  Twenty minutes later, a beautiful smile on her face, she drifted into perfect sleep. He waited patiently then slipped away to the spare room. The baby was very good, too. It didn’t kick once!

  “Darling, it’s seven o clock. I’ve made you fresh juice.” He opened the shutters, helped her up in the bed and plumped the pillows. She reached up and kissed him.

  “I’ve had the most wonderful night’s sleep, William.”

  “Well, now that we know how to keep the blighter quiet, we can fix that permanently!”

  She looked thoughtful. “Has the maid cooked breakfast?”

  “About another ten minutes I should think.”

  “I’ll shower and join you on the verandah.” She hadn’t made the effort for weeks.

  They breakfasted like new lovers, mostly eating with one hand whilst clasping fingers with the other. The border beneath the balustrade was a mass of colour. Brilliant little birds twittered in the bushes. The sky was clear and the air still cool. William, for the tenth time, reached across and kissed her.

  “Duty calls, darling. Sit there; I’ll be back.” He left to prepare for the day. Ten minutes later he returned in smart khaki drills, carrying a brief case in one hand and a deep pink bloom in the other. He’d popped out the kitchen door to pick it.

  Sarah was quite overcome. It was a return to their honeymoon period. She kissed him. “What is this flower?”

  “This is a bird-of-paradise flower. It’s a strelitzia. Africa abounds with them. It’s named after Charlotte of Mecklenburg- Strelitz (1744–1818), Queen of Great Britain and Ireland. Not a lot of people know that,” he added with a grin. “However, such knowledge is essential for an appointment to serve Her Majesty in the colonies!”

  He kissed her goodbye, climbed in the Land Rover, waved and instructed the driver. She sat and pondered. She had everything, a loving husband and a wonderful lifestyle in a beautiful country. Good health and a baby just around the corner. And what was her response? She was going to bugger off to England and leave William to face a crucial career test alone. He’d shown how much he needed her. A servant brought a fresh jug of juice.

  Kumbi, the capital, is a four-miles-square modern city. It has a deep-water anchorage, a busy port and a thriving commercial centre. The Anglo-Zombek Corporation occupies the top four floors of a high-rise block. The topmost is furnished in the style of an executive penthouse.

  The Chairman of Anglo-Zombek looked at his major shareholder, gave a tight smile, turned in the leather armchair to their visitors and opened the bidding. “We’re delighted at the opportunity to continue to serve Zombek. My great-grandfather, who no doubt was good friends with yours, spent half his life opening up this country. Your country! I feel sure he would have expected us to reach mutually beneficial arrangements today.”

  Matthew Nweewe, paramount Chief of the Zombek National Council, leader of nine other Chiefs, smiled likewise at his deputy, Chief of his principal rivals, the Abiki tribe. He turned to the Chairman. “We, too, are pleased you wish to continue your association. We await your proposals with interest.”

  The British, who had governed Zombek for 150 years, were about to depart.These were times of decolonisation.The country was prosperous. All the systems of a democratic and effective society were in place. Primary systems of healthcare, education, and law and order were operational. What the country would need, however, was a continuing commercial presence and also, help with moving all those institutions of society forward to equal European standards.

  The British, who had hoped to stay and share commercial gain, had nevertheless seen this day coming. Since 1950, most of the sons of tribal chiefs had been educated in Britain at the Crown’s expense. Their two representatives, present today, had graduated from British universities. Both were in their mid thirties. Both were born to the everyday matters of controlling tribal affairs. In short, they would not be a pushover.

  The Chairman reached into the ice bucket and topped up their water glasses. This was going to be a take-your-time day. “I travel this country constantly. I’m proud of what I see. Well-fed children. Smiling women. Every man who wants a job can have one. These are the marks of progress.”

  Matthew Nweewe leaned further back in the leather armchair and sipped from the glass. Time was plentiful and on his side. They held most of the cards and the other side would not know of his deficiencies. He started the negotiation. “Your major mineral exploitation leases expire this year. What do you propose should follow?” It was a direct and, in the circumstances, almost a rude question. But it had to be answered.

  The Chairman made his opening gambit. “A further forty- year lease. However, this time we should be fifty-fifty providers of capital and recipients of due profits. My Board were for something rather less generous to Zombek, bearing in mind our capital investment in the last decade but I persuaded them that a partnership implied equality. How about that, then!”

  Matthew thought it an outstandingly miserable bit of parsimonious cheek but he said, “Let’s leave that aside for the moment. There’s no hurry. Let’s talk about developing the social aspects of my country. What assistance do you have in mind?”

  The Chairman had absolutely nothing in mind. But his major shareholder was quicker. “We’re glad you raised that. We’ve given considerable thought to it. We’d strongly recommend you let us help with roads, clean water and healthcare.”

  Peter Abiki thought it likely that both improved roads and healthcare would help their British partners towards bigger profits
. But instead he said, “What about education?”

  “I was coming to that,” said the other man. “What we should do is to help you towards good secondary education. Provide something which would equate to our O Level standard.”

  The meeting continued. Each side made negotiating forays and then consolidated. What standard of roads? How many water boreholes? How might clinics be established? Two hours passed at a mutually leisured rate.

  “Let’s have a bite to eat,” said the Chairman.

  *************

  Lunch was an hour-long buffet. The Zombekians refused wine and asked for juice.

  Two hours into the resumed meeting, the Chairman decided to crank things up a gear. “If we are to put up fifty per cent of all capital, I cannot possibly go beyond a fifty-five per cent of profits to Zombek basis without returning to my Board for instructions.”

  Matthew said, “I was not going to be so discourteous as to tell you of this, but we are meeting another prospective bidder shortly. It seems advisable that we make every effort now. But of course, you must decide.”

  In the event, after another two hours, they reached agreement in principle at a figure of 60% profits to Zombek. The period of further lease was settled at 25 years. Outline figures and standards were agreed for help with roads, clean water and health. The extent of assistance with improving the standard of education proved an unexpected sticking point. The Zombekians however, were united and obdurate. The impasse was broken by the major shareholder.

  He said, “Very well, we’ve come this far. We will provide major assistance to get you up to the equivalent of our A Levels by at least five years before our lease concludes. We will also help you arrange an agreement with a British university to finish the education of your brightest and best.”

  It was this last clause that led, quite unexpectedly, to an incredible series of events more than 20 years later.

  *************

  Sarah had decided. ‘William, I will stay here with you. I can as easily have the baby in Kumbi as in London. Then I’ll be able to help you and we can all be together.”

  “Darling, that’s wonderful. It makes all the difference in the world to us both. Thank you so much.” He kissed her. “We’ll look after each other. Everything will be fine.” He regretted earlier unkind thoughts, resolved to be less selfish and to keep her happy. Lately, as she became bigger, he found her less attractive. Making love became a sexual duty. His work was increasingly engrossing. He could achieve a bright future. He just needed to cope with a pregnant wife for a few more weeks. That night, though, he produced a repeat performance of the previous night. Sarah was ecstatic. She had made the right decision.

  The next six weeks were frantic. William mostly worked long hours. As well as the forthcoming inauguration, there were endless legalities and transfer of power issues resulting in local turmoil. When he wasn’t working at the office there were functions to attend. Sarah was at his side at least two nights a week. Despite finding it something of a chore, William made special efforts in bed. Sarah was happy but increasingly exhausted. Even so, William urged her presence on social occasions.

  Throughout her pregnancy, Sarah was visited by Mamuna, one of the wives of Ngunda, the Nweewe tribal witch doctor. Mamuna was well educated, fun and very supportive. If Sarah was low or had a headache, Mamuna would bring her a herbal remedy. As William’s days became longer, Mamuna came more often, brought flowers, and stayed later. She became a good friend. The presidential inauguration was now just a few days away. Coincidentally, so was Sarah’s expected confinement.

  One morning a few days later, William left the house to drive north for the day. Sarah slept late and awoke in a puddle. Her waters had broken! She called the maid, kept calm and telephoned Mamuna. Before long, she was in the back of an official car with Mamuna, on her way to the clinic. Her contractions were every fifteen minutes.

  The clinic was a low modern building, and her room was ready: bright and fresh with colourful curtains. Mamuna stayed to settle her in. The nurses and duty doctor were Zombekian and were friendly and professional. She felt reassured and didn’t regret deciding against flying in a specialist. It looked as if it would have been too late anyway. An hour later her contractions were coming at five-minute intervals and the doctor gave her a close examination.

  Another hour and it was becoming painful. Perspiration poured off her. It was almost time for gas and air. She moaned through gritted teeth at the height of each convulsion. The contractions stopped! The doctor listened through his stethoscope. “Don’t worry the baby’s fine. This sometimes happens.”

  She started again. Contractions were now four minutes and agony. The nurse wheeled the cylinders over and gave her the mask. Events blurred into a continuous nightmare. “Breathe deeply but don’t push yet.” … “Aaaghh!” … “Everything’s all right; first babies take their time.” … “Aaaghh!” … Then later: “The baby seems to be in the wrong position. The head is right back. I’m going to help it turn, Mrs Fairhurst.”

  “Christ, it’s bloody agony … Ohhh,” The nurse discreetly checked the forceps under the cover on the trolley. Mamuna watched from the corridor.

  Another three hours and the contractions were at two minutes, but the baby was no further down. “I can see the top of the head…” The doctor listened with his stethoscope. The baby was becoming distressed. It was fifteen hours since Sarah had entered the clinic. The doctor had very clear orders. The nurse hurried from the room to the operating theatre. It would have to be a caesarean section birth. Sarah passed out.

  The doctor cut through the abdominal and intrauterine walls and reached for the baby. His eyes widened, but he said nothing. He passed the child and placenta to a nurse and set about closing. The nurse and the anaesthetist exchanged glances, but were equally silent. There was no sound other than the hum of electrical apparatus. The nurse hurried from the theatre.

  Sarah was heavily sedated. She slept for 32 hours. She rejoined the world to a still and silent room. She tried to sit up and gasped with the hurt. Where was her baby? She rang the bell. Mamuna came.

  “Where’s my baby?” Mamuna knelt by the bed, tears streaming.

  “Sarah, your little boy was born dead! I’m so sorry.”

  “Dead! Dead! The doctor said the heartbeat was normal. There must be a mistake. Get them to bring him to me!” she screamed.

  “Sarah it was a very difficult birth. The strain was too much for his heart.”

  “No! No! I want to see my baby. Now!”

  “Sarah, you’ve been sleeping for thirty-two hours. William came yesterday. He was very upset. He sat with you half the night. But he had to go. The presidential inauguration is very soon. There’s still much to do.”

  “Much to do! Much to do! Where’s my baby Mamuna?”

  The doctor entered. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Fairhurst. I did everything anyone could possibly have done.”

  “But where’s my baby?” she shrieked.

  “In Zombek we believe the dead must be buried as soon as possible. This is the way to avoid evil spirits. Mr. Fairhurst agreed to a funeral yesterday. Your baby has gone to heaven.”

  Sarah became hysterical and inconsolable. The doctor, fearing for both her heart and sanity, sedated her again.

  When she came to, she tossed and turned this way and that, her mind in turmoil. Eventually, William appeared. It was the morning of the inauguration. She didn’t wait for him to speak.

  “You bastard! You rotten selfish bastard! You kept me in this bloody heathen place to help you with your career.” Her voice rose to a scream. “You don’t give a shit about anything or anyone, other than yourself Now you’ve killed my baby and buried him – without me even holding him – well fuck off to your bloody inauguration. I hope it kills you, too.”

  He tried to speak. “Sarah darling…” She reached out and threw a vase of flowers. He turned and left. She cried for another two hours.

  The state occasion was a great success. It
also heralded a big step forward in William Fairhurst’s career and a long period of sadness for Sarah. She left for her parents’ London home three weeks later. A year after that, she obtained a divorce.

  CHAPTER 7

  1996

  The old MGB roared up the winding ramp, tyres squealing on ribbed concrete, noxious fumes belching. Simon swung onto Level Four, beating an old gent in a custard coloured Metro for the last parking space. Even Schumacher would have lost out today!

  Smiling at the old gent’s shaken fist, he bounded off to the top floor of the mall. It was Saturday, he was alive and had money in his pocket. Great!

  The redhead in the CD shop found his order, Carly Simon in Concert. “She’s great, isn’t she – really gives a song a bit of wellie. I said on the ’phone we’d get it in twenty four hours for you!”

  “I’m impressed, but I bet it was you, not the shop,” he flirted. “You like Carly Simon then,” he laughed. A frowning, thin-lipped, manager-looking woman stepped forward, her name printed on a lapel-tag. Simon didn’t read it, didn’t need to. It would say Mrs Hitler or Helga Frankenstein or the like. He quickly handed over fifteen pounds, collected his change, said, “Another time!” and left. He never set out to have romantic encounters. They just seemed to, well, happen. Was it all right to carry on in this fashion at thirty? Would he still be doing it at forty? People often died at fifty! A lifetime’s philandering and all of it accidental.

  The Mall was great. It was huge and imaginative. It was as if an architect had taken a three-shops-high, two-hundred-yards-long high street and plonked it down in a glasshouse at Kew Gardens. The place buzzed with life and wellbeing. The winter sun beamed through the glass roof, adding realism to the frequent artificial plants and trees, and illuminating the lives of the shoppers. All the shops were sited around the walls. Centrally located moving stairs and lifts disgorged a stream of eager spenders onto wide terrazzo pavements. Ten thousand would visit today and a couple of million pounds change hands.