She met his eyes. His insides curdled when she seemed to hesitate, trying to frame her words.
‘Don’t go away and leave me,’ she said. ‘You’ve done that once already. You’re my one certainty in all this, whatever else.’
‘Well, that’s cleared the air.’ He laughed, but the thorny issues of ‘whatever else’ still loomed large. ‘Better get you to the office now then,’ he said. ‘Whatever else.’
They stood together and he held her arms. ‘I don’t want you humping a travel cot about. Why don’t I just buy a cot and high chair? I can have them here for tomorrow.’
‘Fancy you thinking of a high chair,’ she grinned. ‘Very domesticated – but buying them? I don’t know. It feels a bit extravagant somehow.’
‘It’s hardly a big spend. I’m paid this silly amount of money. Are you worrying about changes of heart or being still undecided, that sort of thing?’
‘A bit,’ she said honestly. ‘It would be a help, though, so thanks. Keep pressing on my arms like that, will you, with your thumbs? It speaks to me and gives me hope. It helps me bear the pain I’m causing Hugo.’
Ahmed felt as if he was on probation, meeting Thomas. The child was only sixteen months, but out of babyhood and he could make his feelings known. It would be one less hurdle if they hit it off, but Ahmed knew it would be difficult, striking the right note between father figure and friend, no easy balancing act. He watched from the front window as Nattie came up the path with Thomas settled on her hip and marvelled at how well they fitted together, how perfectly she was designed.
He let them in and closing the door behind them, put up a hand. ‘Hi, Thomas, I’m Mummy’s friend, Dan. It’s good to meet you. Can you do high-fives? Like this?’ Nattie put up her free hand to help demonstrate and Ahmed said, ‘High-five!’
Two deep amber eyes stared solemnly back at him and he felt himself being assessed with a healthy degree of caution.
‘Do you want to have a try?’ he said.
He had Thomas’s attention at least, and was mildly gratified when the child lifted a chubby little hand. Ahmed grinned, swinging up his hand to meet it. ‘High-five!’
‘ ’Gain.’
‘How do you ask, Tubsy?’ Nattie hitched him more onto her hip.
‘ ’Gain, pees.’
Ahmed met hands a couple more times, enjoying the child’s sunny beams. ‘We’ll go downstairs now,’ he said. ‘There are a few toys in the kitchen you can play with, although I think,’ he said, glancing at Nattie, ‘it’s nearly time for your nap.’
She stood Thomas down on his feet and he toddled off as if he owned the place. ‘He’s very independent,’ she said, ‘learning to take the stairs backwards too, which is a bit hairy at times. Lily was more agile at his age. Still, he’s not doing badly for seventeen months, and the words are coming fast.’
‘It’s okay about the toys?’ Ahmed queried, as they stood close together watching Thomas. ‘Only a couple of stacker-ring things and building blocks, and a little car.’
Nattie nodded. ‘You did well with the car,’ she said, as Thomas homed straight in on it, fervently clutching a tiny blue toy Mercedes as though no one, but no one, was going to prise it from his hand. ‘Blue cars are Tubsy’s absolute passion.’
‘You know what mine is,’ Ahmed murmured. ‘Isn’t it time for his rest?’
Tubsy was soon settled in the new cot – erected late that morning with much cursing – and burbling quietly to himself, mumbling, ‘Hih, hih fff . . . Hih ff,’ to Nattie’s amusement. There was a convenient half-landing box room for the cot, probably a bathroom in its day, but space had been found for one on the bedroom floor.
Thomas drifted off to sleep quite quickly to Ahmed’s immense relief.
‘I’m glad about the cot,’ Nattie said, locking eyes. ‘I’d feel a lot more anxious about what you have in mind if Tubsy wasn’t peacefully penned in.’
Ahmed took her in his arms, overcome with his need. The passion poured out of him as he pulled off her shirt, her jeans, laid her back on the bed and felt the soft silkiness of her. He was groaning with exquisite joy as he slid into the body he knew so well.
‘Shush. No noise, two little mice . . .’
‘Making squeaks of delirium.’
Lying back recovering, half listening for any stirrings from the cot, Ahmed dared to dream. He wanted married life with Nattie, a family, Nattie having his child . . . No sound from Thomas. It was a rare day when she didn’t have to rush off, a luxury to be savoured. Ahmed settled his arm round her and lifted the hair from her eyes. He wanted to broach what was being left unsaid, but of such critical importance, vital to know. He’d been back in the UK for six weeks already and something had to give. They were in limbo, all three of them.
‘What are you going to do, Nattie? William knows now and Hugo must too, more or less. I’ve been determined not to push you, but it’s hard, living this way.’
‘I’m going to tell Hugo as soon as he’s back from Istanbul. I’m going to suggest we have a trial separation, say I’d be the one moving out, that he’d be in his own home. He goes next Wednesday, back Friday. I’m only hanging on till you’ve met Lily; it’ll help so much if you’re a friendly face and both children have been here before. They’ll be confused and unsettled whatever happens. I’m paralysed with dread about telling him and what sort of upheaval we’ll be in, but I will do it.’
Ahmed pulled her close for a moment then sat up, elbows on knees. Nattie sat up beside him and he reached absently for her hand. He couldn’t let in euphoria, however electrically charged he felt at hearing her say it; there’d be mishaps, obstacles, blind alleys, Hugo’s vulnerability and the agony of how he’d cope. The way ahead was strewn with boulders. Nothing was for sure.
‘The car’s a bit of a problem, isn’t it?’ he wondered, trying to think practically. ‘It would be best if you leave it for Hugo. I’ll get one for you, something unremarkable and routine and kit it out with baby seats.’ Nattie looked at him with alarm in her eyes, her predictable anxiety about accepting such an offer. ‘It’ll be mine,’ Ahmed assured her. ‘I need a basic little run-around while I’m here, after all. It’ll just be in your name.’
‘You do think of things,’ she said, leaning close with a kiss. ‘Whatever would I do without you? I can’t bring Lily till Friday week, though. Bringing her any sooner, she’d be too full of coming here and tell Hugo all about it. “We saw Mummy’s friend today, Daddy. He’s called Dan and he has a fridge in his house that shoots out ice cubes into your glass and he’s a very nice man, lots of fun.” ’
Nattie kissed him again. ‘In all sorts of ways.’
‘Tell me more.’
Ahmed grinned, fighting a sense of disbelief. It was huge, what Nattie was doing to be with him, but she was taking it in stages. A trial separation left Hugo with hope, which had its downside. He wouldn’t believe there was hope; it would seem like a lost cause to him, very likely, a foregone conclusion. And if Hugo couldn’t hack her going, the empty house, the misery, and took the road to relapse, what then? Wouldn’t Nattie feel less and less sure of what she was doing? Hugo was already drinking heavily, she said.
Ahmed banished his unwanted thoughts and scrunched her hand.
‘Come on! We’d better get a move on and get Tubsy’s lunch on the go. I’ve been hearing a few grunts and groans.’
‘Keen ears,’ Nattie said. ‘I suppose that really means you’re ready for yours. I should warn you, though, Tubsy gets his first and he eats slowly, savouring every mouthful, like one of those judges on MasterChef. Don’t go expecting a peaceful orderly pattern of life with children around.’
20
A Mother’s Advice
Hugo was going to Turkey next day. One more evening together, possibly not quite the last if he was back too late on Friday, but the last in this suspended bubble of faux-normality. He’d probably be late on Friday, Nattie anticipated, and tired and hung-over. Suppose he was early? There would be no
postponing it then. He could even try for the first plane out, either to surprise her or clinging to the hope of some miracle. What miracle? That he could walk in and gather up his loving family in his arms, take his wife to bed and be reunited?
Nattie shivered. How could she feel such an ache of deep affection when she was completely in love with another man? She clenched her fists. She was only going to suggest a friendly trial separation. They weren’t uncommon; it was a way forward. She couldn’t live with Hugo, couldn’t give him what he wanted. There’d be no tug of love over the children, neither of them would want that, she was sure.
He was late that evening; usually he was home before seven-thirty. She’d just finished reading to Lily and had come downstairs. If he made it home in minutes he could catch a sleepy goodnight, Lily’s arms around his neck, which he loved.
Nattie heard his key turning in the door right then, telepathy at work, and stayed in the hall to greet him. He kissed her cheek, coolly, whisky on his breath, and dashed upstairs to see his daughter.
Nattie went into the sitting room and stood by the window. A chill wind had swept in that morning – she’d felt it deep in her bones. Her fingers were white and numb when she reached the office, and people had been hurrying along with their heads bowed. She looked out at the leaves swirling where streetlight shone down, pooling between parked cars. The two woody hydrangeas in the patch of front garden looked about to snap, bending to the wind’s bitter will. Hugo had been complaining for weeks about the heat and humidity; he at least had welcomed the sharp drop in temperature. ‘Finally, some proper autumn weather.’ How could she bear to tell him?
‘I’ve done Moroccan chicken and polenta,’ she said as he came back downstairs, ‘kind of to get you in the mood for Turkey. Long day?’
‘Usual pre-pitch panics. Drinks for someone leaving too – why I was late. People told jokes, they were having fun,’ Hugo muttered, with icy emphasis. ‘The joke was they actually expected me to join in.’
‘Good jokes?’ Nattie asked lightly, struggling to keep the show afloat. She thought how often Hugo had come home from work, full of some wisecrack or other. They were a quick-witted bunch at Tyler’s, in the business of being on the button.
‘You want me to tell you jokes?’ Hugo sneered, but the hurt showed in his eyes. He took out the ice tray, held it under the cold tap, put a single lump in a glass and filled it to the brim with neat Scotch. ‘Okay,’ he said, fastening his pained eyes on her, ‘since you seem to want to make believe you still have the slightest interest in my life, I’ll tell you how Miss Li, the Chinese girl at the office, raised a laugh. It’s fucking appropriate as it happens. She’s just back from the States and was full of a health-product commercial showing a corny older-age couple, all happy and crooning.’ Hugo glowered. ‘They have to reel off the whole gamut of side effects in the US, and Miss Li started giggling, telling us about one of them on the list. “If you have an election lasting more than four hours,” ’ Hugo mimicked her accent, ‘ “consult your doctor.” We didn’t get it until Brady asked what the product was for. “Electile dysfunction,” Miss Li said, and we got it then.’
Nattie couldn’t help smiling. Hugo scowled. ‘It could be a fucking metaphor for our marriage, that. Erectile dysfunction – bloody marital dysfunction, more like.’ He sipped his whisky morosely, nursing a bitterness that seared her heart.
She talked about the children over the meal, a one-way conversation. ‘Lily was impossibly precocious tonight.’ No spark of interest. Hugo kept drinking steadily, his eyes watchful over his glass. Nattie pressed on. ‘She’d pushed Tubsy over backwards, and I screamed at her furiously that I never wanted to see her do that again. So what do you think she said, sticking out her cheeky chin?’ Hugo shrugged, radiating misery. ‘ “Well, you can close your eyes then, Mummy, can’t you?” I didn’t know whether to laugh or send her to bed.’
Nattie kept up the chat, doing her best, being warmly affectionate, desperate for any sign of softening. They had to stay friends. Hugo gave a sigh from the depth of his soul, but he finally reached across the table for her hand.
How could she bear to tell him?
‘I’ll take you to the airport tomorrow,’ she offered.
He frowned. ‘I can get a cab; it goes on the office. Don’t do things out of bloody guilt. You’ve got better things to do with your time.’
‘I’d like to. Jasmine’s here all day. It’s more difficult to come to pick you up with all the Friday traffic. Of course, it would depend on the time of your flight,’ Nattie carried on hurriedly, keen to close off any sardonic response. ‘Do you know when you’re likely to be back?’
‘I have no idea. Nor what will happen – there or here.’
They said goodbye outside the terminal. Nattie squeezed Hugo’s hand and smiled, feeling winded, unable to speak. He stared at her fixedly, kissed her unexpectedly hard on the lips, before breaking off abruptly and wheeling his bag briskly towards Departures. He didn’t look back.
She stayed rooted to the spot, only moving when the driver of a car wanting the parking space leaned on his horn. Tears had gathered; she let them slide down her cheeks and dry of their own accord.
She didn’t go to see Ahmed, but returned home to relieve Jasmine and get the children’s tea. She waited to phone him too, till they were in bed and the house was quiet. He understood why she didn’t want to ask him over. It was Hugo’s house and that was important; nothing of her passionate rekindled relationship had felt sordid, adulterous as it was, but lovemaking in the home she shared with Hugo would.
Their call was interrupted. The house phone was ringing. ‘I expect it’s Mum,’ Nattie said, ‘so few people have the number. Call you back later.’
‘Hello?’ she said cautiously, lifting the receiver.
‘It’s only me, darling. William’s going to be as late as ever and I wondered if I could pop round. I know Hugo’s only gone for two days, but I told him I’d look in.’
‘Be great, Mum. Of course – have you eaten? I haven’t. I’ll make something.’
‘Don’t think of it! I’ll call up a takeaway and be with you in half an hour.’
A gum-chewing boy with a Rasta ponytail and baseball cap rang the bell, opened the large square box on his motorbike and handed over a Thai dinner for two. Nattie tipped him and put the food to keep warm in a slow oven. Her knees were wobbly. She poured herself a glass of white wine. Her mother arrived and they had a hug. Victoria’s scent, the Calèche she always wore, was potent in the narrow hall. Nattie got the bottle of wine from the fridge and they sat at the kitchen table.
She was close to breaking down, desperate, suddenly, to pour everything out and cling to her mother.
‘Tell me what’s going on, darling,’ Victoria said. ‘I understand more than you think.’
‘I hope you do, Mum. I need to talk to you, but I’m so dreading explaining, or trying to. It’s a mess and it’s all my fault.’
‘You know, love, I saw you last week. You were with a man in a car in Lambeth Road. And Hugo came to ask my advice, worrying you were having an affair.’
‘Did you see who I was with in the car?’
‘I guess it must have been Ahmed. Is he really back?’
‘Yes, hard as it is to believe. He’s right here in London, renting Jake’s house. Jake’s having a year in Australia.’
‘I can’t imagine what it must have felt like, seeing Ahmed after so long,’ Victoria said. ‘It can’t have been easy for Hugo – and not only these last few weeks.’
‘That doesn’t need saying, Mum.’ Nattie felt frustrated. Her years of yearning for Ahmed were in the past, not what this was about, and she got up to unpack the meal. Peeling back the tin foil released the spicy aromas, chilli, lemongrass, lime and ginger. They picked at the food, the chicken pieces and peppers in the perfumed sauce, not saying much, both of them postponing, Nattie felt, all the awkward questions, the search for solutions. There were no easy answers to be had.
‘Is Ahmed back for long?’ Victoria asked finally. ‘Has he got plans?’
‘Nothing that’s set in stone. But not seeing him now, Mum – whatever the wrongs of having got in this deep – would be no solution. Hugo’s trust in me is blown to bits. Our relationship would always be uneasy now, in the future. Whatever we’ve had in the past, things could never be the same.’
She took a breath, holding it in; she had to say it, her mother had to know. ‘I’m going to suggest having a friendly trial separation, Mum. I’ll do everything in my power to ease Hugo’s load, but we can’t go on as we are. The children are young, resilient, at an age when it’s easy to adjust,’ she felt her words were overdone, cloying and sticky, like overcooked rice. ‘They can see lots of their father. You loved William enough to leave Dad,’ she pleaded, hearing the guilty whine in her voice.
‘You know that wasn’t comparable, how things were with Dad. He had no control, I’d have had to leave in any event. Hugo’s kind and good to you, he has none of Dad’s violent, addictive weaknesses. He’s a decent, genuine man.’
‘And a wonderful father too. But Hugo was an addict, years ago, Mum. I helped him through.’ Should she have said that? It felt a little self-serving and disloyal.
Victoria didn’t look particularly shocked. ‘I knew about Hugo’s habit, more or less,’ she said. ‘I saw the weight loss, the look of him at times, but he had a far harder struggle than Dad and still found the will. He did that for you, he loved you that much.’
Nattie couldn’t help herself. ‘What about Ahmed and what he did, averting an unspeakable catastrophe and losing his freedom? He’s waited this long for me to minimise the risk, and he would have done so even if he hadn’t known I was married. He “did that for me” too, Mum, he “loved me that much”.’ Couldn’t her mother even acknowledge what Ahmed had been through, how much he’d sacrificed of his life?
The Consequence of Love Page 19
