‘To a better month for you, Gabby! I’m sorry it’s been tough.’
The evening sun is sliding across the patio. I fill two bowls with crisps and nuts and we pull sweaters on and go and sit on the garden bench so Dominique can smoke. The magnolia tree is out and the faint musty scent of the waxy blooms wafts over.
I smile. In Cornwall the …
‘I miss the sea,’ Dominique says as if she can read my mind. ‘That blur of blue everywhere you turn …’
‘The hawthorn and gorse will be coming out now …’
Great frothy white bushes and low-lying yellow gorse shimmering over the cliffs and smelling of …
‘… marzipan filling the air and giving us constant hay fever …’ Dominique says and we both laugh.
‘When I’m homesick I walk the coastal path. I can remember every stile, kissing gate and muddy path from our house to Priest’s Cove …’ I tell her.
‘Forbidden Beach. That’s where I go.’
‘I wonder if the secret path down through the hawthorn tunnel is still there?’
‘Do you remember the tiny shells brought in by storms we sometimes found in the rock pools?’
‘Is that what gave you the idea for the wedding dress?’
‘Perhaps. Subconsciously. When I need inspiration I go back to the sea in my head. It gives me the illusion of space and freedom. At night a city is never still. Nothing stops. Do you remember that particular silence? Sitting in a field in an absence of anything but birdsong and the swoosh of the sea?’
‘I remember,’ I say and hear the sadness in my voice. ‘How small silence made you feel. I remember that beautiful fox as big as a Labrador and the buzzards weaving and diving over the cliffs …’
I remember the seals off the rocks and the spine-tingling howl a mother seal sometimes makes when they lose their young. I don’t say this, I can’t say this, for the howl is banging around inside me for the things Dominique and I seem never to be able to talk about. Even though Maman and Papa are dead we never address the elephant in the room: the catastrophic end of our idyllic childhood together.
The sun slides behind buildings leaving charcoal and pink clouds. We are in shadow. We shiver, pick up the glasses and bowls and go inside.
‘Mushroom omelette?’
‘Lovely.’
As Dominique prepares the salad for me I glance at her face. Her dark hair is pulled back in a ponytail revealing an intent expression I know well. She wants to tell me something. It is a long time since we have been together like this, without Mike, without our children.
I slide two fluffy omelettes onto plates and Dominique pours more champagne.
‘Let’s finish the bottle? It is Sunday tomorrow.’
‘Dominique?’ I ask, suddenly. ‘You wanted to go to Cornwall last year. Shall we plan a trip back together? Maybe see what the new owner has done to our house?’
‘No, Gabby.’ Dominique shakes her head. ‘The moment has gone, darling. I’m planning a trip to New York to see the girls in June.’
‘Oh. That’s wonderful,’ I say, deflated. ‘Are they both okay?’
Aimee, Dominique’s eldest, is a paediatrician and expecting her first child with her American husband. Cecile is living with a musician in Manhattan and doing a PhD in something obscure.
Their Turkish father walked out on Dominique when she produced a second girl. Despite the rackety, uncertain lifestyle Dominique used to live, the three of them are very close.
‘Are you staying with Aimee?’ I ask.
‘I’m staying with Cecile for the first week. She’s taking me on a surprise holiday. Then I am going to Aimee. I’d like to be there when she gives birth, but we’ll see. I don’t want to outstay my welcome.’
I smile. ‘I can’t believe you’re going to be a granny! Seeing the girls is just what you need after the Marathon Dress.’
Dominique puts her fork down and stares at me. ‘Actually, Gabby, I’m … I’m …’
I catch a sudden bleakness in her eyes. ‘Dom? What is it? Tell me. I know something’s worrying you …’
She hesitates. I hold my breath. Tell me. But my sister closes her eyes, sighs and changes her mind.
‘Pff! I’m getting maudlin. It’s the champagne …’ She smiles at me. ‘At least, I can promise the girls I will be a better grandmother than I was a mother. I have so many regrets for what I put them through.’
‘Look how they have both turned out. You can’t have got it all wrong. You know they love you to bits.’
‘They seem to, don’t they?’ She holds her glass up and meets my eyes. ‘Don’t let’s delve into my past and spoil our evening together. It’s been lovely, Gabby.’
The moment has passed, as it always does. ‘It has been lovely.’ We clink glasses. ‘We must try to do this more often …’
Dominique laughs and glances over my shoulder. ‘Oh! I just saw a fat little piggy fly by …’
In the morning Dominique and I are both hungover. I drive her to Gatwick to catch her plane back to Paris. As we say goodbye I realize how much weight she has lost. She was wearing a loose dress last night so it was hard to see. She looks smaller and frailer this morning, and I feel a stab of fear.
‘You’re losing weight, Dominique. Are you ill? Is that what you were trying to tell me?’
‘Pff!’ She raises her eyebrows in amusement. ‘I’m not ill. You’ve just got used to me being fat …’
‘I don’t like you being this thin …’
‘I will be fat again after I have been to America …’ She touches my cheek. ‘Don’t worry, darling, I’m afraid I’ve got to the age when a hangover is not a good look …’
I hug her. ‘Have a wonderful holiday with the girls …’
Dominique holds me away from her. ‘Gabby, you have too much work and not enough play in your life at the moment. Grab some excitement for yourself while you’re young enough to enjoy it. Your husband certainly seems to …’
And with that cryptic remark she is gone, threading through the crowds.
As I drive past a sign for Paddington Station I experience the old, nostalgic pull for Cornwall. I have an irrational urge to leave everything behind and jump on the Cornish Riviera to Penzance. Except, of course, there will be no one waiting for me at the other end.
It lies, the landscape of my childhood, rooted behind my eyelids. Iridescent blue skies; foaming peacock seas against floating hills of white hawthorn; hedgerows crammed with tiny wild flowers. Silver-winged terns rising from cabbage fields with the precision of a Red Arrows acrobatic team. Vicious winds hitting the house head on, creeping through every crack. All embedded into my being; an internal map of home, waiting for me to revisit, not empty rooms, but happy ghosts before the fall.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
London, 2010
I wake in the night with a start. Someone is in the house. I lie motionless with my heart hammering. My mobile is in the kitchen.
I can hear someone moving about downstairs. For a second I wonder if I am in the middle of a nightmare. But the light on the landing shines in an arc through the doorway. I am awake and this is real.
Someone once told me that if you ever hear someone in your house you should stay in bed and pretend you are asleep. You’ll lose possessions but you won’t be raped. I need to be upright. I leap out of bed in one movement, open the wardrobe and take out Mike’s old cricket bat.
I stop and listen. Silence. I go to the door and look out onto the landing. I can hear someone in the kitchen. I grip the bat, and, to give myself courage, I start to yell as I run downstairs, ‘Get out! Get out of my house!’
I reach the bottom of the stairs and raise the bat. The kitchen light snaps on and Mike calls out, ‘It’s me, Gabby! It’s okay! It’s me!’
His startled face appears in the doorway and he looks even more unnerved as he sees me wielding his cricket bat. Then he begins to laugh.
I am furious. ‘What the hell are you doing creeping about in the dark? I was sc
ared to death. Why didn’t you call out? Why didn’t you let me know you were coming? You stupid, stupid, irresponsible … idiot. You should have let me know … you …’
I throw the bat on the kitchen floor and burst into tears of rage and relief.
Mike looks stricken and rushes towards me and puts his arms around me. ‘Gabby, sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I sent you a text to say I would be arriving in the middle of the night and I’d try not to wake you. I should have put the lights on and called out. Come on … it’s all right … I just gave you a terrible fright …’
I can’t stop shaking and Mike runs upstairs, gets my dressing gown and folds me into it, then sits me down at the kitchen table.
‘I’m going to make you a hot chocolate.’ He opens the fridge door and takes out the milk. Finds a pan. Bewildered, I wrap my arms around myself.
‘What on earth are you doing home?’
Mike turns from the stove. ‘I was in Dubai for a meeting. At the airport I saw there was a flight straight to Heathrow. I decided to jump on it and come home for forty-eight hours instead of catching the flight back to Karachi …’
He measures the milk into the pan and gets the hot chocolate out of the cupboard. His movements are slow and deliberate. There is tenseness in his shoulders. He is conscious of me watching him as the milk heats.
‘Why?’ I ask.
Mike pours the milk into the two mugs, stirs the hot chocolate round and round and brings it to the table. ‘This will warm you up.’
He sits opposite me. ‘You know why. It’s the first time in our whole married life that you haven’t emailed or phoned me when I’ve flown away. You always want to know that I’ve arrived safely. Not this time.’
I place my hands round my mug.
‘I’m home, to say I’m sorry for being crass and selfish and for taking you for granted … as well as being a pompous arse …’
I smile despite myself.
‘I’ve been wretched, Gabby. I don’t know what got into me. I know I crossed a boundary. You’ve never given me the silent treatment before.’
‘I’ve never needed you more than I did the week you were home but you could not have been less interested. That hurt, Mike.’
He grimaces. ‘I had this plan, a desperate need, to take you to a lovely hotel and spend a couple of days walking in the country with you. Karachi can be claustrophobic. I behaved like a disappointed, spoilt brat when I realized it wasn’t going to happen …’
‘Because it’s always about you, Mike. You’re so used to me dropping everything to fit in with you.’
‘It’s true,’ Mike says. ‘I’ve realized that.’
‘Why didn’t you try to explain how you felt instead of getting angry?’
‘I wasn’t in an explaining mood, was I?’
‘No, you weren’t.’
‘I’ve flown a long way to apologize, Gabby.’
‘Yes. That does amaze me. The trouble is you didn’t just hurt me, Mike, you made me see how little importance you put on my life and work. My business is something I’ve built up and treasured while you spent years away. I’ve always thought you were proud of what I did, but last week I realized that it was an illusion. You see my work as a convenient hobby to keep me busy while you’re pursuing your career and something to be dropped when you come home. You were casually dismissing my life’s work by not caring if it failed …’
Mike stares at me. ‘Can you really believe I don’t value your life and all you’ve achieved? How can you think that? Of course I’m proud of you …’ He turns away. ‘Would I fly back to apologize to you if I did not value you? I know I can be difficult and I don’t often say it, but I do love you and the boys …’ He hesitates. ‘Gabby, you said the other week that you didn’t like me very much. That shook me. I don’t like the person I’m in danger of becoming. We need to find a way to spend more time together.’
He smiles at me. ‘I’ve got a little proposition to make … but it’s late and we’re both exhausted. Let’s finish this conversation in the morning.’
‘Well, I’m not going to sleep now, am I?’ I say. But, somehow I do.
In the morning Mike makes coffee and toast and brings it up to bed on the big wooden tray. Unnerved, I sit up against the pillows. ‘Proposition?’
‘I realize the timing is far from brilliant, especially with the problems you’ve been having at work. It might also seem selfish and self-serving, so, all I’m asking is that you think about it when I go back to Karachi tomorrow …’
‘For goodness’ sake, Mike, tell me.’
‘Charlie has offered me a newly renovated apartment in the Shalimar. How about coming out and living with me in Karachi? There’s good Internet access. You could work from an apartment in Pakistan, couldn’t you, like you do from home? There are regular flights between Karachi and London. You could fly home for meetings or to see the boys anytime you wanted. I don’t want to be on my own in Karachi any more, Gabby.’
I stare at him, startled. Mike takes a swig of coffee. His long hands with their scattering of dark hairs move nervously. I have never seen him strung out like this.
‘Is it such a preposterous and unrealistic idea, Gabby? Please say something.’
I am thinking. A deep excitement is stirring inside me, but so is a vague sense of unease. This is so sudden a change. Mike is Mike. Instinct tells me something else might be powering all this emotion.
‘What’s brought all this on, Mike? Why now?’
‘Life,’ he says, meeting my eyes. ‘Middle-age; the sudden consciousness of time passing; a difficult job in a country where I have to watch everything I say …’ He smiles. ‘And I can’t run off my frustrations in a park. I don’t want the sort of rift we had to become a gulf because we’re living apart. I’ve just been offered a lovely apartment and I’d like to share it with you …’
A blackbird is singing out in the garden, a beautiful sound that gives Mike’s honesty a touching resonance. These words will not have come easily and I recognize not just the love behind them, but the vulnerability, in both of us.
Until Mike spoke I had not realized how tired I am of the predictability of the life I have. The thought of going on and on in exactly the same way until I retire makes me limp with ennui. I do not know why this has slyly crept up on me, but it has.
Mike has never been so open with me. He has never asked me to share his life. Never faltered in self-confidence or wearied of living and working on his own.
‘Have you thought this through, Mike? You’ve always preferred not to have me with you when you are working so you can concentrate on the job.’
‘I’m always going to put in the hours, Gabby. I’m always going to get tired and crabby. The point is, you would not be on holiday, you would have your own work, your own routine …’ He smiles. ‘I saw how you were at New Year with Birjees and Shahid. You are eminently capable of making friends and having a little life of your own in Pakistan …’
‘But there’s a huge difference in coming for a short time and living there permanently. I would be entirely dependent on others to go out and explore, Mike. Wouldn’t it be better for me just to come out to Karachi regularly? I can still bring my work.’
‘No,’ he says quickly. ‘It would defeat the object. I want to establish you out there as my wife. You will have access to Noor and security. It means we can take off together at a moment’s notice; explore as much of Pakistan as we can.’ He pauses.
A little path is opening up where I least expected it.
‘I need you with me to keep me sane, Gabby,’ Mike says.
As we hold onto each other I feel my heart soar with the sudden possibilities for a different life. Emily can run the office blindfold. I can translate books anywhere. We have the Internet. Long-distance flights make the world smaller and our lives simpler. I can fly home to be with the boys in a few hours …
Inshallah, you will return, Gabriella.
I laugh. It’s not much of a
decision.
PART TWO
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Flight to Karachi, April 2010
The aircraft cabin is hushed and dark when I wake. I lie listening to the sound of people turning and sleeping, coughing and snuffling. The hushed voices of the crew chatting in Urdu rise and fall in a distant, hypnotic rhythm from beyond the curtain.
It must be near dawn. I lift the window blind. The sun is edging over the horizon and spreading gold light over the stark, brown mountains of Afghanistan. Iridescent colour flickers across the shadows of a vast, empty landscape.
I feel suspended between worlds, hovering over unknown territories. I am looking down on a hostile, unforgiving land of death and apricot orchards. Down there, in the red dust, NATO soldiers are defusing bombs and losing limbs in the fight against the Taliban. I think of all the people living their lives against insuperable odds amongst those sharp mountains and hidden valleys. Thousands and thousands of miles of uninhabited land where there are no trees, where nothing moves.
I think of Emily in my house back in London. Her bright patchwork throw over my bed, her possessions scattered around my home. It all feels unreal. I have a moment of heart-thumping panic. What am I doing? Everything I know is back in the UK: my sons, my friends, my work, my whole life.
The plane turns. The interior lights go on. Blinds are lifted to view the new day coming to life outside. A flight attendant in an unflattering shalwar kameez is handing out landing cards as we fly over an unseen border into Pakistan. I wrap my arms around myself. I have taken a risk. I am making a leap into the unknown, with Mike and with Pakistan.
The plane turns and loses height. As the flat, sprawling buildings and mosques of Karachi slide into view I can almost smell the baked earth and feel the crush of people. I look down on the unpredictable city below me and feel only excitement for a new life that is about to begin.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Karachi, 2010
When the plane doors are folded back at Karachi Airport I can see Mike standing waiting with Mahsood. He is wearing a crisp white shirt and tie and an identity tag around his neck. I see him before he sees me. His eyes do not light up as I step out of the plane. For a second his face looks bleak before he quickly raises his hand and smiles.
In a Kingdom by the Sea Page 8
