We walk on the shoreline, our hands touching but not holding. The sea glitters and dances and forms small pretend waves.
‘How beautiful your world is,’ Sergei says.
I point to the house on the hill that no longer has an ugly balcony. ‘That house, there, is where I grew up.’
‘I would like to see,’ Sergei says.
We walk back to the path, do a circle past the church to my empty childhood house with the seahorse knocker. Sergei peers through the little gate to the orchard that will be full of blossom in weeks.
He stares and stares as if he might see the children Dominique and I once were suddenly appear, as if trying to place me in a context and culture so different to his own.
Matt calls my mobile. He and Will are waiting at the café. When we join them, Will says, ‘Dominique has bought enough to feed a small Tibetan army. She is spreading it all out in your kitchen …’
We sit outside at a table facing the sea and eat prawn salad and drink cold white wine.
Sergei says something ridiculous and I throw back my head and laugh. Matt grins at me. ‘I can’t remember when I last heard you laugh like that, Mum.’
He glances at Sergei and there is a second of awkward silence. I get up to go to ask for another jug of water and as I do so I see my sons exchange a surreptitious glance. At the end of the meal Will says, ‘I guess we better head back and play sous chef for our bossy aunt.’
Matt adds, ‘She won’t want you or Sergei back yet. Can you guys manage to entertain yourselves somehow …?’
I stare at him but his face is expressionless. Will is nonchalantly doing up his shoelace. Sergei is watching them both with amusement.
‘I will get your mama to show me around the village at least four times more, to please your aunt …’ he says.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ I say to Matt and Will. ‘I will come home when I’m ready. Dom can shut the kitchen door …’
My sons disappear, grinning, and Sergei looks at me.
‘There is only one way to entertain ourselves this afternoon, Gabriella.’
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE
Cornwall, 2011
‘I think,’ Sergei says as we lie in his bed at the pub, ‘that we have been … what is that English word?’
‘Rumbled?’
‘Yes. What a lovely word. I think your sons have rumbled us.’
He laughs and rolls me on top of him. I kiss his mouth over and over and he holds my face and murmurs to me in Russian.
‘What are you saying?’
In English he says, ‘Loving you is like travelling a long journey without a map and finding you have finally come home to all you want, all you need. Even when you are thousands of miles away, I try to hold onto the space you leave. You are my secret joy, Gabriella …’ He smiles. ‘It is a sad truth that I am not quite a whole person without you …’
We roll back on our sides, our faces close. I am not quite a whole person without you. He plucks the words from my mouth. I tell him how lonely I was, how bleak I felt this past winter, in a way I have never felt in my life before. I begin to relax, something I have not been able to do for months. Sergei folds me to him and we sleep.
The smells are delicious when I walk through my front door. The kitchen table is beautifully set with a bright red paper tablecloth and napkins. There are daffodils in jugs and tiny eggcups of primroses. Matt is washing wine glasses and Will is lighting the fire.
I turn in circles. ‘Oh! It all looks amazing …’
They all look up and grin at me.
‘Birthday girl returns.’
‘We have had fun,’ Dominique says. ‘It’s not every day you turn fifty.’
Will opens a bottle of champagne and we stand in front of the log burner and toast each other.
‘Thank you for this wonderful day. I am very spoilt.’
‘About time you were, darling,’ Dominique says. ‘Go and change before Sergei gets here. I have done lots of small dishes that we can eat in relays. I know your appetite.’
‘Actually, I am quite hungry,’ I say and instantly regret it. I make for the stairs with my glass as three pairs of amused eyes follow me.
I put on the grey dress I bought with Dominique and look at myself in the mirror. I feel loved and happy and sexy again. It is so long since I felt these things.
I go downstairs and look across the room. Every person I love is here, together, by the fire in the home that I’ve made. Dominique too is wearing her grey dress.
‘Telepathy.’ She smiles. ‘You look lovely.’
‘You too,’ I say.
Will and Sergei are standing talking together by the window.
‘I haven’t seen you wear that dress before,’ Will says.
Dominique tells him that we bought the dresses the day I spotted this cottage. I am glad she is talking because Sergei is staring at me so hard and the emotion in his eyes is so raw that I have to look away. He gathers himself and holds up his glass. ‘To two beautiful women …’
We sit at the table and, French style, the food just keeps coming, starting with the delicious seaweed pancakes Dominique is famous for. The wine flows and we all get mellower and mellower and more talkative.
I look across the table at Sergei who has pulled his chair out from the table to stretch his legs and is listening, amused, to Will and Matt banter about art.
Dominique says suddenly, glancing at me, ‘May I tell you something?’
We all look at her. She swallows nervously. ‘I have made a big decision. I am going to rent out my house in Paris and move into a tiny condominium in New York.’
Startled, I stare at her. I cannot imagine my sister living anywhere but Paris. ‘I guess it makes sense to be near the girls but … you are so Parisian, Dom.’
Dominique smiles. ‘I do want to be near my girls, but that’s not why I have decided to try living in America … I met a doctor when I was staying with Cecile. Last month I went back to New York and something just … clicked, felt right … He’s kind and gentle …’ She turns to me. ‘We don’t get many chances of happiness, Gabby. It may not work out, but if I don’t risk it I will never know, will I?’
I laugh, amazed and thrilled for her. I should have known: my sister’s new confidence, her joy, her cooking, her bossiness. It makes my heart soar with happiness.
Will gets up and opens another bottle of champagne. ‘No wonder you brought bottles of this with you, Dom.’
As we raise our glasses to her, my sister meets my eyes. We both feel our parents settle in the shadows.
Dominique leans towards me. ‘Gabby, you’ve done amazing things to this cottage. You’ve made a home here …’ She hesitates. ‘I know you wanted a safe place. I know you wanted to build something solid and real and make roots again, for you and Will and Matt, and you have. You’ve done that. Tonight, your little cottage is warm and alive and full of people who love you, but most of the time you are here on your own …’
Will says, ‘Matt and I worry about you being lonely down here. You’ve always had people round you, Mum. If you don’t want to work in London any more, go off and do something new and exciting … This house can be your base …’
‘We don’t think you should hole up down here, just doing the odd translation and waiting for people to visit,’ Matt says gently.
‘Hey, what is this?’ I say, smiling but feeling defensive. Why are they saying all this, now, in front of Sergei? I cannot look at him. I do not know what to say against the truth.
Sergei says softly, ‘Ya tebya lyublyu.’
The rush of love I feel is so visceral I close my eyes. Dominique says, ‘Darling, what is it that is stopping you from doing what you obviously long to do? Does it feel too soon? Is it fear of leaving a safe place? Is it fear of being hurt again or do you feel you must be here constantly for Matt and Will?’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘You do know what I mean.’ She smiles at Sergei. ‘“I love you” sou
nds the same in any language.’
Sergei smiles back at her, unruffled.
Will says, ‘Mum, don’t make us a reason not to do things. If you want to go and work in Pakistan with Sergei, Will and I think you should. Come back every few months or for the summer or something …’
He grins at me. ‘We are being selfish here. If you’re happy and busy working with Sergei we don’t have to worry about you …’
Matt looks across at Sergei. ‘Can you keep Mum safe if she goes to Pakistan with you?’
‘As safe as is humanly possible; everyone working with IDARA has security but Pakistan is not a safe country, Matt.’
Dominique looks me in the eyes. ‘So darling, you can stay here, safe and lonely and faintly bored with no sense of direction, or you can go and make a difference with the person you love.’
‘Goodness,’ I say crossly. ‘You have all had a busy afternoon sorting out my life for me. You all seem very sure about what you think I want.’
‘We could not be more sure,’ my sister says, smugly. ‘Go on, tell us we’ve got it all wrong …’
I can’t. Dominique laughs. ‘For goodness sake, Gabby, do you think we are idiots? You and Sergei could light up the national grid when you are together. It is blatantly obvious you would be happy working and living together …’
Sergei is laughing and I glare at him.
I look at my sons and I let go and tell the truth. ‘I would love to go back to Pakistan and make a difference with the person I love.’
‘Oh, thank the Lord,’ Dominique says.
‘Just a moment!’ I say. ‘Has this all been a plot? Was Sergei brought down here for a reason?’
‘I am entirely innocent,’ Sergei says. ‘Despite being Russian, I know nothing of this plot …’
Dominique is smiling smugly at my sons. ‘We just needed to see you together to be sure …’
‘Enough!’ I say.
Sergei leans across the table and pushes something wrapped in tissue paper towards me. ‘We were so busy exploring your village that I forgot to give you your birthday present, Gabriella …’
Inside the tissue paper is a chain necklace holding three little orbs.
The sun, the moon and the stars.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX
Karachi, 2016
My Dearest Dom,
Sergei and I have finally moved to our new house. The garden is beautiful, full of shady trees and the scent of jasmine, hibiscus and bougainvillea. It also has a swimming pool …
I pause. This new house is also surrounded by high walls and metal gates with security guards outside but I do not need to tell my sister this. Karachi simmers with political tensions. Sectarian violence erupts out of nowhere and Sergei is not popular with everyone. He treads on toes. He tells the truth.
It is early evening. I am writing to Dominique in the peace of the garden listening to the birds as shadows slide across the grass. Inside the house I can hear the sound of Usama’s small feet in her red shoes running on the cool tiles of the hall as Herata gets her ready for bed.
I could never get Samia and Usama out of my mind. When I came back to Karachi, Abida Baruni told me that Samia’s husband had never returned, and her mother had died, leaving Samia alone with Usama. Neither were safe. Sergei and I did not hesitate. Dr Baruni drove them down to Karachi and they became part of our household.
Abida told me that Samia had fervently believed that the gora would come back for Usama. Samia has never fully recovered from the infection she had after Usama’s birth so Herata gives her easy tasks. She looks after our clothes and our personal things with great care.
Usama brings us all joy, I tell Dominique. Sergei is completely besotted and Herata and Badhir adore her. My friend Afia picks her up and takes her to nursery school with her youngest child, Zarina. Samia glows with pride that Usama is going to have an education.
I can hardly believe it, but next September Will becomes a fully fledged doctor. He flew out to Karachi in the summer with two other doctors with donated medical supplies. He seems to have formed a bond, not just with Sergei, but with Dr Baruni too. I think seeing the conditions Abida has to work in, as well as lack of medical equipment for her women’s hospital, has subtly altered the course his life is going to take.
Matteo is doing a post-grad course at Falmouth and is happily living in my cottage with Iona. He also came out to Karachi with an old school friend to do some volunteer work. They decided to dress as clowns and we took them into the displacement camps to entertain the children with their terrible juggling and hopeless magic tricks. Mr Magic and his dumb sidekick were a big hit! It is a wonderful thing, Dom, to see small children who have so little fun, giggling and rolling on the ground with laughter.
The poverty and deprivation here shook Matt and Will. Pakistan is struggling to cope with so many disasters; it is going to be years before it can recover from the terrible effects of the floods. These camps are full of displaced and dispirited people burning under plastic sheeting. Most lost every single thing they owned: homes, animals, land, work, their livelihoods. The government is failing them and as time goes by without education or hope they are easily radicalised. Unfortunately, there is so much growing unrest here in Karachi that it’s not going to be safe for Matt and Will to come back for a while.
I am proud of the boys. They could have gone to Dubai for two weeks but they chose to come to Karachi. Of course they go out to Dubai and see Mike and glitz out for long weekends. Mike takes them to resorts, rather than home to Zakia. They have a good time together and I am glad Mike makes time for them. Did I tell you Zakia is pregnant? So all may change next year.
You ask me if I am happy. Oh, Dom, my life in Pakistan isn’t easy but it is totally absorbing. I feel a rounded, soaring fulfilment. I am heavily involved in women’s issues and I am able to help change simple things in tiny ways. I never feel out of my depth because the women I meet out here are amazing. They cope, they endure, accept and love you without judgement. Their capacity for friendship is as generous and natural as breathing. I feel as if my ability for languages has at last found its real purpose. My Urdu is pretty good and, with Birjees teaching me, I am well into Punjabi and Pashto. This way, I can communicate, connect and be trusted.
I have also started working with some Pakistani writers. I still can’t resist looking for talent. I sleepwalked through a lovely, privileged life with Mike. Pakistan was pivotal, it changed us both; I grew up, Mike grew away, fell in love. Now, I see that it was inevitable. A man who spends most of his married life away from you is not going to want to spend his retirement with you, is he?
I pause. Sergei and I finally got married, in London, without Dominique on our last trip home.
‘We are living in a Muslim country and it would be safer for you,’ Sergei had said.
‘Ah, just for convenience and convention?’ I asked, watching his face.
‘Of course not just for convenience and convention,’ Sergei said softly.
We married in a registry office, with just Will and Matt, Kate and Hugh, Emily and Steve. No fuss and a lovely party. Birjees and Massima have never forgiven us. ‘We will have a blessing in St Lawrence church,’ Sergei promised them. ‘And a big party at the Shalimar afterwards.’
Darling, don’t be cross. Sergei and I got married when we were back in London last month. Expediency really, it makes living in Pakistan safer. I would have loved you to be there, but it really was just a formality. Sergei and I have always felt married. I cannot tell you what it means to know you are happy with your doctor. He looks lovely in the photo you sent. You both do.
Dom, I think we have got as near to happy ever after as it is possible to do, don’t you? Doesn’t life spring unexpected surprises? I hope Maman and Papa are looking down.
I love you.
Gabby
I look up. Dragonflies are hovering green-winged over the swimming pool. Small pigeons stand on the steps drinking. I have a moment of déjà vu, as if I could
turn and catch a fleeting, younger version of myself holding a letter in the shadows of another life, by another pool.
A faint memory of a dream catches at me … a blackbird singing in my English garden, a man and a child, happy and laughing, moving through a tropical garden towards a high gate. The sense of danger in the dream slides back like a warning. I glance uneasily up at the curved wire on the high walls that surround our garden. I listen for the sound of the car bringing Sergei home, for the click of the security guard opening the gate. Sergei and I can never relax until the other is home safe. Life is tenuous and each day precious.
I watch him coming across the grass towards me. He has been to a local function and looks striking in a traditional sherwani.
‘Here you are!’ he calls. ‘Hiding away in the garden.’
He sits beside me, his lovely face crumpled with tiredness, and reaches for my hand. Sergei still makes me laugh, although his laughter does not come quite so easily these days. He has seen too much.
We sit, Sergei and I, in perfect silence as kites sweep low like a cloud.
There might be few happy endings in Pakistan but I see small triumphs of the human spirit each and every day.
Herata is walking across the grass with his whisky. I look up to find Sergei smiling, ‘Life with you Gabriella,’ he says, ‘is like travelling without a map, the destination does not matter as long as you are by my side.’
I look at my fingers curled in his. All these years there has never been a day when we have not laughed. A day I have regretted. There is still the thrill of seeing one another at the beginning and end of each day, of wrapping our limbs around each other at night even if we are too tired to talk. I have no idea where Sergei ends and I begin.
The garden holds the golden stillness of evening. Birds sing and small lizards scoot across the shadows on the path. Sergei and I sit on in the dusk until we are called in to supper.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
A huge thank you to Richard, for helpful advice and the chance to visit and fall in love with Pakistan. Love and thanks to Lisanne Radice for years of unfailing support, friendship and pitch-perfect advice.
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