‘Where did you get that pizza round here?’ he said, watching Shelby pick off the pepperoni and put away a huge slice. ‘It was still hot when you came.’ Shelby had hardly touched his vodka; he always liked to be in control.
‘I had it delivered to this girl’s flat in Notting Hill, the Bahamas girl. She’s a good find. Bit inverted – she likes to slum it, likes rough trade – but her daddy has a string of racehorses and the Bahamas estate. I made some useful contacts out there, all in the inside of a week. People who’ll look me up when they’re passing through or back from their hols. I know the users, who to approach.’
‘Her daddy didn’t mind hosting an ex-con boyfriend of hers, out there?’
‘Do I look like a jailbird?’
‘Amber likes your dope,’ Hugo said, rolling a spliff. ‘I took some over to her place, it helped blur the edges a bit. You could give her a call, chat her up. She’s probably not into more than weed, though, too ambitious.’
He took a drag and passed the spliff over to Shelby. Was he going to buy more? It was only a bit of weed, he could trust himself. And Shelby would have some on him; why else would he come round with his dripping box? They went back a long way, all the same. Shelby may have walked off with Nattie, but they’d both lost out when Ahmed had come along.
‘What do you rate the odds on kicking Ahmed off the planet?’ Shelby asked, sensing his train of thought, which wasn’t difficult. ‘A trial separation is as vague as it gets. You didn’t agree a time limit, did you? Are you just going to let it drag on?’
Hugo didn’t answer. Nattie had said three months and at some stage she’d come to a decision, he knew – much as he dreaded what that would be. Ahmed had his enemies, but she’d never let fear of that stand in the way. She should do, he thought angrily. What about the children? Even her mother wasn’t able to talk sense into her about that.
He knew Shelby was watching him, reading him, but so what? He didn’t have to pretend or put on an act with Shelby, the relationship was in its own box.
‘I suppose Ahmed must have a new name now, a new identity,’ Shelby said idly, as though it was a passing thought. ‘What’s he called these days?’
Some corner of Hugo’s addled brain told him to hold back a bit. Shelby had asked for a reason. He wanted to know and it wouldn’t be for Hugo’s benefit; everything he did was self-motivated. He didn’t go in for passing thoughts.
‘Nattie keeps his identity close,’ Hugo said. ‘She calls him Dan, but whether that’s simply for the children’s benefit, easier to get a handle on, I couldn’t say.’
‘Something less obvious, I guess. He’d be easy to recognise, of course, by the people who want his guts. Where are he and Nattie living? Is he renting or has he bought a place here, which would be risky, I’d have thought, even if he could get a mortgage. What part of London are they in?’
‘He’s renting from a friend, I think,’ Hugo muttered, feeling uncomfortable. ‘I’m not entirely sure where; she always brings and collects the children. The last thing I want is to go there. Weird to think I once rated the man and thought him a halfway decent bloke.’ He didn’t know what sort of trouble Shelby could make, but couldn’t believe it would help. Shelby’s hatred of Ahmed wasn’t from jealousy, it was visceral; he wanted revenge.
They smoked a bit, exchanged gossip and smut. Hugo described his Cupcake Corner coup; Shelby had seen the mentions in the columns and earmarked the model as possible talent. Hugo told him to call up Amber, she’d have the contact details, he said eagerly, clinging to a vain hope of Shelby hooking in Amber and getting her off his back. A lost cause, probably; he didn’t see her being Shelby’s type.
He sensed Shelby tiring of the evening, having extracted out of it what he could. They did the deal over the weed and Hugo walked him to the door, impatient suddenly, for some ill-defined, but Nattie-related reason, to have him out of the house.
Alone again he wrapped himself up in his depression, cuddled it like a comfort blanket and reached for the whisky bottle. Another week, Amber to deflect, the Bosphor Air decision on which his job, his very survival hung. Brady was wise to his drinking, Hugo was sure. He had another chance to see Lily and Thomas on Saturday, there was that to look forward to, but he and Nattie would be side by side, preparing for the party. She’d be there, close, her scent reaching him. How was he going to cope?
They would have to play-act in front of the other parents, yet more stress, and Victoria was coming; she would be anxiously watching for signs. She wanted them back together again almost as much as he did. Some hope. Nattie was living with the fucker, she’d never change course now.
On Wednesday Nattie had her first bout of morning sickness. She had seen a doctor as a temporary patient first thing Monday and had the pregnancy confirmed, Ahmed’s baby, their baby. She woke that day feeling queasy and wasn’t yet over the terror and horrors of Sunday’s drama in Lyme. She was jumpy, worrying about who the two men would have been able to contact. They’d been taken in for questioning, William had ascertained. It seemed both were related to one of Ahmed’s enemies who was still inside, and enough incriminating material had been found on their devices to bring charges. That was a relief, but Ahmed was known to be in the country now.
Nattie dragged herself into work feeling rotten. She was tired all day, gagging on the smell of somebody’s takeaway, and when the sub-editor came up to her desk, sipping a steaming café latte, she had to make a dash for the loo. In the middle of the afternoon? Morning sickness was a misnomer. It was worse than anything she’d had with Lily and Tubs. Vomiting was one more stress factor to contend with too. Suppose it happened at Lily’s birthday party?
Shopping for the party was another small headache, though she’d done most of it online. She’d bought plastic containers for the home-cooked food, cake candles, the goodies for the children’s going-home bags; mini packets of love-heart sweets, heart bracelet-making sets for the girls, under £2 online, Rudolph red noses and a car for the boys, a balloon and lollipop for all. Ahmed had thought of Lily doing notes to slip into the bags like Thanks For Coming To My Party! or I Hope You Had A Good Time! It kept her quiet for hours.
The entertainer was booked – all Lily’s friends had one at their parties, it was hard to buck the trend – and Nattie had hired twelve small chairs and a trestle table. She’d resisted delegating anything to Hugo. He wasn’t at his most reliable and she was nervous enough as it was.
She felt wretched again on Thursday, and drained. Ahmed clucked round her like an old mother hen. He insisted on doing supper, cooked plain fish, but the aroma put her off. All she wanted was rice, dry toast and Marmite. ‘What about my baking session tomorrow?’ she wailed. ‘I don’t want to throw up into the fairy cakes – and in front of Lily. I was going to do a surprise hedgehog birthday cake too, when she’d gone to bed, but I feel sick just thinking about it.’
‘I’ll sort it,’ Ahmed said, reaching for his laptop. ‘There are people who make cakes to order. It’ll be home-made, your pride’ll be intact.’
She gave in weakly. He called Jasmine as well, who agreed to do the school run. It lifted some of the pressure and gave Nattie her first proper night’s sleep of the week. She had a lazy Friday morning, feeling better, despite her guilt-ridden fears for the children and the worry of Ahmed’s safety, and she managed to make pink-iced cakes with Lily in the afternoon. At eight o’clock there was a ring on the bell and a chocolate-brown hedgehog birthday cake, complete with prickles and a little black-button nose, was delivered. Nattie threw her arms round Ahmed and said if she hadn’t loved him before, she did now.
Saturday was Lily’s actual birthday. When she came running into her mother’s room she found Ahmed there too, dressed, and a pile of presents awaiting her.
‘Your main present is downstairs,’ Nattie said, leaving Lily, whooping with delight, tearing off wrapping paper under supervision – notes being made of which grandparent had given what – while she got Thomas up and dressed.
<
br /> Lily could read the label on a huge package beside the breakfast table, almost the height of the table, Happy Birthday! Love Mummy and Dan. It was a kitchen cooker range, with all the play kit, frying pans, utensils; not quite in keeping with Jake’s state-of-the art kitchen décor, but a friendly addition. Lily loved it and chattered about all the play-dishes she would cook, the friends she wanted to have round to play with her. Lily’s need to have schoolfriends to tea was a problem. Nattie told the mothers that they’d be at a friend’s house so she would return the child, no need to collect, but Lily must surely talk about Ahmed at school. The rumours must be rife.
Lily didn’t know which way to turn she was so excited. Ahmed had given her a globe too, which the box stated was for eight-year-olds; she pored over that, asked non-stop questions, she was uncontainable. ‘I so wish you were coming to my party, Dan,’ she said, when it was time to go. ‘I’m sure Daddy wouldn’t mind.’
He smiled. ‘I’ve got lots of writing to do. Your granny’s coming and your godmother, Maudie, you’ll be with your friends, helping Mummy and Daddy beforehand too. You’ll look after Tubsy? You won’t leave him out – promise?’
She hesitated. ‘But he’s not to start screaming,’ she said, and grinned cheekily. Then she ran to Ahmed and gave him a hug and kiss. ‘I promise,’ she said, ‘reely. I was only joking,’ before she was dancing all the way out of the door.
Crossing London with Christmas shopping underway was a strain. Nattie swallowed back the nausea that rose in her throat and tried to stay calm. She would say she was getting over a tummy bug if it happened. Her nipples were very painful, the stress building; she passed a hand over her forehead and carried on.
Hugo came out onto the pavement as she parked and set about the unloading with a kind of manic efficiency. There was plenty. Ahmed had given Tubsy a present too, anxious he shouldn’t feel left out – a pushcart with bricks that Tubsy wouldn’t be parted from. ‘For Lily birfday,’ he said proudly as it appeared out of the car.
‘How’s my birthday girl then,’ Hugo said, swinging Lily up on high. He set her down with a bump and turned his gaze. ‘And her mother?’
‘Can we go in and get started?’ Nattie said, feeling slightly faint; she loosened her belt a notch. She and Lily were in jeans for the moment; she had a new tunic top from Ahmed, silver grey with a boat neck, to wear with black leggings, and Lily, a pretty, navy-lace skater dress. She was dying to twirl around in it, impatient to get changed, but it seemed best for them to party up later.
‘Right, orders, what can I do?’ Hugo said, after giving Lily his present, a child’s computer that Nattie didn’t really approve of. She wished he’d called, discussed it, given her a chance to suggest that all the play games on it were bad for the imagination. ‘What can I do?’ he repeated, with a staring-eyed, hyperish look on his face.
‘Perhaps calm down a little?’ Nattie suggested. He was being a bit unnatural and over-keen. Was it stress? He couldn’t be on anything, surely?
‘I’m not calm,’ he said, coming close, taking hold of her hands. ‘You’re very pale, darling, are you all right?’
‘Just a bit stressed like you.’ She smiled and extracted her hands.
The trestle table and chairs had arrived; Hugo pushed the kitchen table against the dresser and set them up in its place. Nattie got on with the food, mini sandwiches, bowls of carrots, single grapes, slivers of cucumber that nobody would eat. She gave Lily a sneak preview of the cake, which was met with ecstatic whoops. When she cooked pasta for their lunch and opened a jar of pesto, the sharp smell turned her stomach and she couldn’t eat a thing. Hugo didn’t seem to notice or didn’t comment at least.
The entertainer turned up. He looked remarkably old to be clowning around in a clown’s outfit, but he came highly recommended.
Then Victoria arrived. Nattie and Lily had just got changed and with Lily doing her twirls, the centre of attention, Nattie hoped her own pallor would go unnoticed.
She had to wake Tubsy a bit early for the party and he was grouchy, needing to be coaxed out of his post-sleep grumps. Her mother came upstairs and hovered, looking anxious. ‘You’re not ill, darling? It’s not that you look it,’ she added hurriedly, ‘just a little stressed. I know this isn’t the time, but are you any nearer a decision? Hugo’s just told me his good news, yet he’s acting like the bailiffs are about to walk in the door.’
‘What good news? What are you talking about?’ Nattie looked down at Thomas on the changing mat. He’d done a poo. She kept her head bent, took deep breaths, couldn’t carry on talking, but managed to clean him up and see him into his best dungarees without throwing up. She raised her head weakly. ‘Sorry, small smelly interruption. What’s this good news, Mum?’
‘Only that they got that account, Bosphor Air, and it seems the Turks or whoever have specifically asked for Hugo to handle the account. He can’t think why!’
The doorbell rang. ‘The first little darling,’ Nattie laughed, saved from making any response. ‘Half an hour early too – there’s always one!’
She and Hugo greeted a steady stream of arrivals. Most of the parents simply dropped off the children, glad of a couple of hours’ peace, but two mothers stayed. One, a bland, washed-out-looking girl, who clearly never let her pink-net-petticoated child out of her adoring sight, the other, a dyed-blue-hair grunge queen. She wore a yellow-and-black punk knitted sweater with more holes than fabric, yellow tights, black bovver boots, and had a string of linked safety pins looped round her neck. So that was Star’s mum! Nattie liked Lily’s little friend, Star, who had a cheery grin and looked fetching in a jeans jacket, shorts and lacy tights.
‘You’re well prepared with that necklace.’ Hugo smiled at Star’s mum’s safety-pin chain. She stared straight through him.
The entertainer got going, pulling his clown red nose on and off, calling up children, the birthday girl of course, and giving out little prizes. His act was all slapstick and he had them in fits.
Maudie arrived. Hugo kissed her cheek, still holding the bottle of wine he’d been offering. Star’s mum had accepted a glass with a sullen glare; the mousy mum, who Victoria was chatting to sociably, had declined. ‘Great to see you, Maudie, glad you could make it,’ Hugo said, full of bonhomie. ‘Glass of wine?’
‘Why not.’ She eyed Nattie. ‘How’s you? Where have you been in my life, girl?’
Hugo, about to go for a glass, paused, keen to hear, but Nattie fielded the question. ‘Where have you been, more like! You were about to go off to New York with the very generous Harold.’
Maudie eyed her. ‘This is woman’s talk, not for Hugo’s innocent male ears. Come into the kitchen. Your mother’s doing a good job here, she’ll keep an eye.’ Nattie followed, electric with tension, and busied herself filling the kettle.
‘You’re seeing someone, aren’t you? The body language is awful. But I knew it anyway, way back when you came to dinner.’
The vibrating buzz of Nattie’s mobile was well timed. It was swizzling round on a worktop; she picked it up and saw it was a text from Ahmed. A-okay or B-so-so?
She couldn’t help smiling and texted back: B-okay, but going on C.
She looked up. ‘Sorry, something silly from a friend. You’re right, Maudie, but don’t make me talk about it, not yet. It has to come to a head soon.’ Another wave of nausea. ‘God, sorry – just have to run. Tummy-bug,’ she called back. ‘I’m not in the best nick!’
Maudie was sympathetic when she returned. She was a good friend underneath. ‘That’s helped your colour, you looked pale as a ghost. Okay, you win. Tell me when you’re ready, but I can keep a secret, you know.’
Victoria came into the kitchen. ‘Are you all set out here? I think the clown’s winding down. Watch out for the safety-pin lady, Hugo’s refilled her glass!’
The noise level reached a cacophony as the children came in and scrambled into seats, the boys making a race of it. A small fierce-looking girl prodded Nattie’s thigh. ‘I don�
�t do gluten.’
‘I’m sure I can find you a rice cake,’ Nattie said, hoping the packet she’d had in the cupboard months ago wouldn’t be long out of date.
She helped the child into her seat, handed her a couple of the dry round discs and made the mistake of leaving the packet on a worktop. Star’s mum picked it up immediately. ‘This has been off a whole week!’ she said, with a distinct note of triumph.
‘It’s only a Best Before date,’ Nattie smiled. ‘Do have one.’
Lily blew out her five multicoloured candles in a single puff; they looked like extra hedgehog spikes, and everyone sang ‘Happy Birthday!’. The clown entertainer conducted extravagantly and even Tubsy, in his high chair, joined in.
Nattie took back the cake to cut it into slices. ‘You’ve excelled yourself with this one,’ Victoria whispered, coming beside her. ‘What a pro job! You’ll be setting up in the cake-making business next.’ Nattie made a mental note to come clean, but telling her mother she was pregnant had to come first.
There was more entertainment after tea before the doorbell began to ring. Nattie and Hugo saw out the children, handing Josie, Jasper, Noah, Helen their going-home bags, spotty bags for the girls, striped ones for the boys. The Harpers, parents they knew slightly, looked at them curiously, pondering the rumours for sure. Hugo pressed a drink, but Mandy Harper said the baby needed feeding; another time. Nattie hadn’t noticed the little pink head, pressed to its mother’s chest, peeking out of a baby-sling like a salmon in a fish basket, and the sight of it made her nipples prick. She was dreadfully tired, aching to be home and in Ahmed’s arms.
The Consequence of Love Page 28
