‘You’re a wonderful friend,’ she mumbled, looking up with a watery smile, ‘and sharing the load cuts both ways.’ Jake was probably feeling worn down by his depressive wife. ‘We’re here for you,’ she said, adding, hearing Ahmed on the stairs, ‘come back soon, won’t you.’
27
A Weekend Away
Nattie was early at the school gates. She waited in the car with Tubsy singing ‘Tommy Thumb’ incessantly, kicking the back of the passenger seat. ‘Daddy’s coming very soon,’ she said, straining round, impatient to have the stressful handover behind her. ‘And then you’re off to stay with Grandma and Pa.’ She had everything ready, Lily’s packed ‘Hello Kitty’ bag, all Tubsy’s kit; his travel high chair that bracketed onto a table. She’d prepared food for the journey.
Hugo’s car pulled up. He knew the Ford now and came over. She got out, he kissed her cheek, stood back a bit and stared. ‘Any decisions?’ he muttered. ‘Do you know how long it is? How many more weeks do I have to wait.’ She didn’t answer. A three-month trial separation took them till mid-December, she had little over a month left before telling Hugo her final decision.
Did his pupils look dilated? There was an intensity about him that alarmed her. Was he using? Who was he seeing? She thanked God he was taking the children straight to his parents.
‘How’s my Thomas,’ he said loudly, lifting him out and swinging him high in the air. ‘Whoosh, whoosh!’ He was almost chucking him; Nattie felt in panic. ‘Can we transfer all the kit?’ she said, aware of inquisitive glances from other waiting mums who would be coming to their own conclusions.
The children soon rushed out with Lily dancing about, bouncy as ever. She slowed, seeing both parents, both cars. ‘Daddy, Daddy!’ she cried then, adjusting: ‘Are we going in your car? Must we go to Grandma and Pa?’ She made a face. Then she jumped around again, singing, ‘It’s my party next week, my party!’
Nattie hugged her and told her to be good. She then hugged Tubsy who clung to her and screwed up his face. ‘No tears.’ She kissed him. ‘Be a very good boy for Daddy. See you guys then . . . Have a lovely time! See you Sunday.’
Back in Lambeth, Ahmed had everything ready and they were soon roaring off. The Friday traffic was constraining, but who cared? They’d never had a proper little jaunt together, apart from the time she’d taken him to stay with her grandparents. Ahmed had got on well with her grandfather, John, and Bridget too. Nattie imagined him seeing them again at Christmas, which was only weeks away.
She’d always had Christmas at her grandparents’, with her mother and William and, once married, with Hugo and the children too. Would Hugo go to his parents’ this year? How wretched would he be, not seeing the children on the day? She tried not to dwell on that, it was too painful to contemplate.
Her mind skittered back seven years. That time she’d taken Ahmed to her grandparents’ had been after Shelby, the bastard, had talked to the press and exposed Ahmed to his enemies. She’d felt there were few safer places than staying with her mother’s parents in Worcestershire. Thinking about Shelby made Nattie subdued. He’d gone inside for his dealing thanks to Ahmed and the Post, but had an ace lawyer and was out in no time. He still had the hefty score of his prison sentence to settle and she had a secret terror of him discovering about Ahmed’s return.
They were soon clear of the heavy traffic, though the journey to Sidmouth took over three hours with squally winds and black rainclouds blocking out any moonlight. The vast bulk of the Victoria Hotel finally loomed. It was on high ground with immaculate lawns, Nattie could see in the floodlighting, and looked solidly turn-of-the-century. They were glad to arrive.
The doorman swept them in, eyeing Ahmed’s handsome leather bag with interest. ‘I can’t think what you’re doing with that weighty thing without wheels,’ Nattie muttered, as a bellboy carried it up a flight of stairs.
‘I like it. I like surprising sniffy doormen in smart hotels.’
Room 104 was tucked away at the end of a passage. ‘It’s perfect,’ she said, looking round. The heavy mahogany cupboards and wide oval mirror looked period, from the time the hotel was built, and Nattie discovered a door out to a private balcony. ‘But aren’t you a bit off beam thinking we can melt into the mahogany furniture? We stick out like sore thumbs or pop stars here. Didn’t you see the looks we got from those two old biddies going into dinner? One of the staff could even give a call to the local paper. Isn’t that what happens?’
‘I took care of that. Said I was writing about West Country hotels for an American publication – I named a Los Angeles rag – mentioned we were on honeymoon as well, and would really appreciate a little privacy. So that I could have you,’ he said, scooping her up into his arms, ‘on that big high bed, all the hours of the day.’
‘Think of everything, don’t you?’ She relaxed into his kiss, which didn’t stop there.
‘We’ll miss dinner if we don’t get a move on now,’ Ahmed said, ‘and I’m starving.’
‘I’ve just seen the chocolates and champagne. Is that your doing?’
‘I tried to order a bottle, but they said it came with the de-luxe room. Not bad, a bit of luxe thrown in.’ He popped the cork. ‘A quick glass now and the rest later.’
She unpacked their few things, taking a few sips of champagne. It tasted too acid, sharp. Her fault, not that of the champagne. It had affected her that way before.
Ahmed wanted to eat, but she needed a moment of calm and opened the door to the balcony. It let in a wintry blast. She stepped out, the wind taking her hair, and leaned on the rail, buffeted, breathing in the salty air, haunted by the sound and rhythm of the distant waves. It soothed her irrational inner fears, the kind that went with loving too much, that Ahmed would tire of her. Suppose Hugo became a full-on crack-heroin addict again. How would she feel then?
Ahmed came out and stood with her. He captured her hair and held it, smoothed it back, stroked her cheek, her neck, and took her hand. ‘You’ll share any load?’
She nodded, smiled and went back inside with him. She mustn’t be subdued. ‘I’ve found a menu,’ he said. ‘Have a look. I’m going for quail and duck terrine, shoulder of lamb, and treacle tart with black pepper ice cream.’
‘I’ll have the trout. You’ll have a paunch before you’re fifty.’
‘But I haven’t got one now. Live for the moment, I say!’
It was what they were doing and Nattie smiled. She wanted to have the sort of talk that was best done in bed. Should she wait till Saturday night? Better just to let it happen, she decided, as they were shown to a table in the near deserted dining room. She’d know when it was right. They were the last diners and served speedily; the waiters were already laying up for breakfast.
Ahmed was in an ebullient mood. ‘At least I’ll be able to get you back to bed quickly,’ he said. ‘We’ve got an action-packed day tomorrow, wet windy walks on the Esplanade and dinner out in some cosy bistro where the waiter will be overcome by your beauty and say through a mouthful of gold teeth, “You have beautiful eyes, the eyes are the mirror of the soul.” ’
Nattie groaned. ‘Spare me, please. That’s hardly up to the snappy dialogue of Shorelands.’
Ahmed was mellow and relaxed as they went back upstairs, but he never drank too much. ‘If you’d been brought up like I was,’ he said, ‘you wouldn’t dare.’
He locked the door; they were alone, free of the world, and Nattie wanted to bottle the moment, the wonder of it, the rediscovery, and forget her fears for the future and what lay ahead. Her life was about to change.
In bed she snuggled into the dell of Ahmed’s rounded shoulder. They had no need for words. His fingers caressed and began to trail lower, bringing her to a high point, and he buried his head in her breasts.
They made love slowly, beautifully, and as they lay together afterwards, fingers entwined, with a long day and the cares of a long week behind them, Nattie knew they were in perfect harmony. She felt an emotional lurch, all the
same, and raised up on an elbow. ‘Can I talk or do you want to go to sleep?’
He studied her with his deep dark intelligent eyes. The bedside light was on, there was no escaping that gaze. ‘What is it?’
‘I’m not sure. It’s just that I did a pregnancy test yesterday.’
‘And?’
‘It seems I’m pregnant, having your baby.’
She lay back and stared ahead, unable to watch for his reaction. Would he have seen in her face the dread of telling Hugo, her mother, of letting the pregnancy make the decision for her?
‘Our child.’ His tone was marvelling, without reserve, and he gave into an outburst of passion. ‘Don’t you see? It’s what we’re here for. To love, make babies, see parts of us carrying on beyond, the best bits. Our baby will set about civilising the world!’
‘Are you always this flowery and highfalutin? We could breed a little monster.’
‘You’re such a pessimist. Well, maybe our children’s babies, it might take a couple of generations.’
‘It is past midnight, I think your little bastard seedling needs to get some rest.’
They wouldn’t be making any decisions that weekend. Live for the moment. Nattie smiled as they walked hand in hand along the blowy Esplanade next day. She was only too glad to postpone any thoughts of location, practicalities, the extreme emotional upheaval.
The cliff at the end of the bay, a steep sheer fold of rock, was clear of an early-morning mist that had been thick as felt. Now, in the pale sunlight, the cliff was majestic and the pebbles on the beach glistened, washed by the receding tide.
They drove out into the countryside, down tree-lined lanes with the last lovely remnants of autumn leaves; it was a scene to match any New England fall, with chrysanthemum colours, fiery red, yellow and bronze. Over open land, plump clouds dawdled in a soft pink sky, casting shadows over fields of stubble, lemon and ochre brown.
‘Our child,’ Ahmed kept saying, rolling the words around on his tongue. He was in a state of elation, wonder – the happiest man alive. It was Nattie’s dream, just as much as his, but her mood was tempered. There were so many hurdles ahead.
On Sunday they planned to take the journey back slowly, leaving at noon when they had to be out of their room. ‘Let’s stop for a bite at Lyme Regis,’ Nattie said. ‘It’s just up the coast in the right direction and it’s a great place. We can have fish and chips on the Cobb, the high historic wall round the harbour, and Lyme’s the place for fossils too – remember The French Lieutenant’s Woman? We can buy one for Lily, and home-made fudge to gorge on all the way home.’
Ahmed was zipping up his leather bag. ‘Sounds good,’ he said, looking over to her, ‘as long as Lyme is as quiet and sleepy as Sidmouth. We’re taking too many risks, Nattie darling. We’d have to do any shopping separately.’
‘Don’t be such an old worry-bags! Lyme’s popular, a bit touristy, but it’s well out of season and I know you’ll love the Cobb. This weekend’s going to live on in my mind and it would round it off wonderfully – for all three of us.’
That earned her a grin. ‘Okay, you win this time. Lyme Regis it is.’
28
Back to the Past
The car park and the narrow main shopping street were busy. Ahmed felt anxious, crossing to go down some steps to the Cobb. There were few people about, though, as he and Nattie strolled round the harbour in the lee of the famous old wall. The harbour was sheltered and peaceful, dotted with boats laid up for the winter and bathed in a cool blue haze. He felt moved and emotional, wishing he could shake off a slight sense of something about to go wrong.
They had crab sandwiches and chips at a rickety table in one of the many eateries tucked into the wall. The aroma of frying fish mingling with salty seaweed and boating smells was evocative and Ahmed knew, as he held Nattie’s hand under the table, that he would never forget this place. He’d never known such a sense of hope and happiness.
‘Time we were going,’ he said. ‘We can’t be late back.’
‘Pity,’ she sighed, ‘but you’re right. I told Hugo I’d come for the children at half six and I’ve got to pick up the Ford. Getting across London takes time too.’
Ahmed nodded. He was keen to be off, still feeling an instinctive wariness, which he supposed was inevitable, given his state of euphoria. Nattie was having his child. He worried about all the Sunday shoppers he’d seen, too many for safety, and they had to cross the busiest area on the way back to the car park. Lyme might be out of season, but it was far from dead. Young marrieds pushing buggies, retirees, loitering youths – the town was doing good business and had a buzz.
‘We must do our bit of shopping,’ Nattie said, slipping her hand into his.
They were approaching the main street and he broke away with a quick apologetic smile. ‘We do need to do it separately,’ he said. ‘You get the fudge and something for Tubsy,’ he pressed a couple of twenties into her hand, ‘and I’ll find a fossil for Lily. You’ve got your phone? I’ll text when I’m going to the car, but give it time for me to have the engine running and be all set to get straight off. You okay with that?’
‘Sure, but isn’t this a bit over the top? I understand about room service last night, not taking chances with waiters, but aren’t we safe enough, mingling in the Sunday crowd? I want to be with you and we’re just doing a bit of shopping.’
‘I don’t want us seen together, Nattie. Please understand how important it is.’
She wrinkled her nose, muttered ridiculously about the money, saying that he could at least let her buy a bit of fudge, but she set off independently, prepared to accept he was right.
Ahmed waited a few minutes before following. His nerves were working overtime; he had a telepathic scent of danger which was unsettling, making him edgy. He’d had those feelings before.
He went into the first fossil shop he came to and was charmed by the elderly owner who had an obvious love of palaeontology and delight at a genuine customer. A couple of mothers in the shop were hustling out whining children, empty-handed. Ahmed left with two fossils in a brown paper bag and descriptive notes on each. Lily would love them.
Stepping out, he saw a chic sweater in the window of a boutique across the road. He liked the look of the sweater with its dark navy and biscuit stripes – and the tan leather skirt it was teamed with as well. They’d suit Nattie perfectly. He had little chance to shop for her except online and wouldn’t be holding her up. He’d spotted her queuing in a busy fudge shop as he hurried by.
As he crossed over to the boutique, instinct caused him to half turn and he knew he’d been seen. He had them in his spatial vision, two men outside a café, one drawing on a cigarette, probably a waiter, and the other, a visiting cousin or brother, he suspected, who looked familiar. Ahmed sensed their cold black eyes focusing, hardening with malevolent intent. He was well aware of them moving away from the café wall, slipping in amongst the shoppers, coming steadily towards him.
A surge of fear overtook him and his thoughts slammed into gear with the speed of a racing driver out of the pits. The boutique was the safest bet. They wouldn’t come in, they’d wait just outside, ready to slip a knife into his guts when he reappeared – then melt into the crowd as he slid to the ground. Did he call the police? What could he say? – that two men had looked at him suspiciously? Shit, fuck, why hadn’t he worn his glasses, his built-up shoes, his Mr Bashaar button-downs and hideous jacket? Vanity. Being with Nattie . . .
He darted into the shop, its only customer, the prices putting people off. A studious-looking young assistant glanced up hopefully, in need of a sale, and he gave her his most disarming smile.
‘That stripy sweater in the window.’ He beamed some more. ‘I’d love to buy it for my girlfriend – the leather skirt too, if by any chance you had it in a size ten.’
‘That one’s a ten, I’ll get it out of the window,’ she responded warmly, flattered by his smiles. He needed her to be on his side.
‘And w
ould you, if it’s not too much trouble, be able to gift-wrap it, do you think?’
‘I’ll do my best,’ she said. ‘We have tissue paper and ribbon, and smart carrier bags.’
Ahmed could see the two men looking in the window, and stepping back out of view he began to text Nattie as fast as his thumbs would fly. Red alert!!! Go to car park, unhurriedly, and wear beanie u shoved into yr bag. Drive out thru barrier and park on main road u turn onto, going out of Lyme. Keep engine running. Charm any fuzz. Beanie off 4 that!! Moment u see me coming climb over gear stick and curl into little ball where yr feet usually go. Darling, go now!!! Do it now!!!
He looked up. The girl had the skirt and sweater draped over her arm. Ahmed paid, seeing her relief when his card was accepted, and watched as she began to wrap the clothes in tissue and tie round purple ribbon with meticulous care.
‘I don’t know how you can make it look so appealing and perfect,’ he said, pulling out every charm stop he possessed. ‘I wonder, could I ask another favour? My girlfriend’s shopping somewhere opposite and it’s such a beautifully wrapped present, I’d love to slip it to the car ahead of her and make it a complete surprise. Do you have a back door possibly? Would you mind if I went out that way?’
‘Of course not, I’ll show you.’ She hesitated as two women came into the shop, but then pointed down a passage. ‘It’s just along there. The key’s in the door.’
Ahmed thanked her profusely, dropping his fossil bag into the carrier that he’d tried not to grab with unseemly haste. His adversaries were peering in, clocking what was happening. They’d have a back way out too, through the café – they’d know the back-street geography. He prayed the alley or road behind ran parallel and came out near the car park. If it was a dead end that way, he’d end up dead too.
He opened the back door and legged it. He reckoned he had a 100-metre start. Only one guy was following. Had the other gone for a car? A motorbike? Ahmed pushed past a drunk with a dog and was spat at. Lucky the dog didn’t share the same sentiments, he thought, shitloads of fear making him light-headed. He was panting in spasms, his heart feeling about to explode. He kicked at a parked bike, sending it crashing, blocking the alley and gaining himself a few seconds.
The Consequence of Love Page 26
