The Consequence of Love

by Sandra Howard

  Hugo drained his whisky glass, poured more and struggled to his feet. He walked to the window, keeping his back to her. Returning to his seat, he was crying. He sat hunched, shoulders rounded, his head bent low.

  She didn’t speak.

  ‘I don’t need time,’ he said, looking up. ‘To have you with me again, living here, is the only thing that can give my life any meaning. I’ve loved you since I was nineteen, that’s always been my trouble.’

  ‘And you could find the will? No rehab? Chuck away what’s behind the macaroni packet? Silly place, people do clean shelves once in a while, you know. Better inside the packet.’

  ‘I was going to get on top of it, but . . .’ Hugo had been about to carry on, but dried up. He’d seen how meaningless that was; saying it wasn’t enough.

  ‘How do you feel about Ahmed’s child as part of our family, though?’ Nattie pressed. ‘You’ve only talked about me. It’s not as though he and I have gone our separate ways like people divorcing, remarrying, combining their offspring or whatever. He’d have an active role, be a full-on father – and I’d want him to be. I really need you to think very hard about that over the next few days. It’s so important if we’re going to work anything out.’

  ‘But it’s your baby, Nattie, part of you; living with a child of yours wouldn’t be the problem, it’s you keeping in touch with Ahmed that’s the hard part. I’ve lived in constant secret fear of his return, since before we were married. He’s been a ghost in the room, a hungry-eyed gremlin on my shoulder. It’s almost better to know where I am, in some ways, painful as the knowledge of you seeing him would be.

  ‘And as to that stash you saw . . . I’d been so determined to hold out and be sober for when you came, still holding on to a thread of hope. The trouble was that Amber appeared last night. She’d picked up on some of the Tweets. Shelby’s campaign is off the ground, but it hasn’t gone viral, you’ll be glad to know – I’d kept looking all yesterday. I was clear-headed enough for that, still lasting out at that stage.’

  ‘What set you back then? Something Amber said?’

  ‘She convinced me that you’d fly the coop, as she put it, now that Shelby had ensured Ahmed had to get out fast. She’s got keen, you see, and believed the way was clear . . . She’s kept me afloat at Tyler’s, found reasons for my absences, covered when I’ve been hung out. But being halfway sober last night I found the guts to tell her I couldn’t go on seeing her. I should have said it before. Now, though, far from bailing me out, she’ll do the opposite. I’m very likely to lose my job, Nattie – I think you should know that.’

  ‘I doubt she really will. Brady likes you, you’ve got that going for you, and if you’ve got clean and are on top of things, he’s not going to be swayed by Amber making a bit of trouble. People do bitch in workplaces, Brady’s wise to all that. Anyway, I don’t think Amber would do it for long. She isn’t like that. She’s a fun-loving person, the sort to cut her losses; she’ll get over you before too long. And Amber’s not so thick-skinned that she won’t have known, deep down, that you didn’t have the right feelings for her. I don’t think she’ll do you in.’

  Hugo was looking dumbstruck. Nattie left him and went to check out the freezer. She found a lasagne she’d made months ago, but it should be okay. She stuck it in the microwave to cook from frozen, hoping that wasn’t breaking any rules, and went back in to him. ‘Can you go to the supermarket for bread, milk and eggs, and some soup too, while you’re at it, and a packet of spinach. You must have something green.’

  He wasn’t taking any of that in. ‘Shall I tell you something mildly funny?’ he said.

  ‘Go on then.’

  ‘Remember Brian from SleepSweet, who you said we should have to supper? You really took agin him on the night, though you’d mellowed when he showed an interest in Tom’s paintings.’

  ‘Yes, I remember,’ she said. ‘He was a weedy womaniser. I can’t believe he has much success, and it was a waste of space for any leads to new business.’

  ‘It wasn’t. He called me yesterday and said he’d recommended me to his new boss. The firm they’ve got isn’t cutting it. I nearly fell off my chair. He wants me to come in and meet them and discuss when and whether Tyler’s would pitch.’

  ‘That’s not funny; it’s great! How’s Bosphor going? I’ve been worried about that. Have you been scuppering yourself there?’

  ‘Nearly, but I had some luck. You’ll do your full prude look, but snorting a line can be a lifeline once in a while. I was full of oomph, chatting up the travel editor of the Courier, and she was curious. She’s a user, I think – it takes one to know one – and anyway, I made a hit. She’s written a good piece since.’

  ‘That’s such a rag, that paper.’

  ‘No credit where it’s due?’

  ‘None. Go and get the shopping, get some air, work up an appetite.’

  ‘I’m not into food,’ Hugo said, watching while she found a notepad and wrote a list. He was thinner than a reed, unsteady as he went out of the door, but he went.

  ‘Wear a coat!’ Nattie shouted after him, before texting Jasmine with an even later ETA.

  She felt bloodied, nakedly guilty. The last three months had been unimaginably happy, love and joy distilled to their purest essence with the inevitability of their time being finite – as she’d known in her heart. The trouble with love, feeling that nothing more exists than breathing the same air, touching and belonging, was that more did exist, a world beyond, the lives of others.

  To have to face up to the sure knowledge that she’d driven Hugo to such a state of black, destructive desolation that he’d kept company with a snake like Shelby was a heavy penance. She, not Hugo, had caused Shelby to gather his ammunition; her actions, not Hugo’s, had started the rot.

  Now she had to patch together the fabric of family life. She had to hope and pray, try to put Hugo back on track. She would hold off moving in again for as long as possible, while her heart was so raw, then do her best to make him feel loved.

  He had to live with her pregnancy, see her change shape, suffer the constant reminders, accept the fault lines and settle for what she could give.

  Could they find a way through? Lily and Tubsy would glue them together, they’d adjust to the new baby too, and all that went with it. They’d enjoy seeing Ahmed, their distant daddy, once in a while; he would always be special in their lives.

  He was more than that to Nattie. Somewhere out there, a pinpoint of light shone bright in the dark of an unknown future. She would never stop hoping. Life could take many different turns.

  Epilogue

  Christmas came and went. Hugo joined Nattie, her mother and William at Nattie’s grandparents’. It was the usual tight squash, but Bridget cooked a magnificent Christmas dinner and they had a traditional family time.

  Ahmed loved Lily’s handmade calendar and she loved the books and American clothes he’d sent. He had Christmas Day with his eccentric Californian neighbour, a cricket-obsessed Englishman who wrote songs and smoked cheroots. They barbecued steaks in the garden.

  Hugo hung on to his job. Brady was impressed that he’d had the guts to come and apologise for a bad patch, and congratulated him on his handling of Bosphor Air. Tyler’s won the furniture account too, that Brian had put their way. They lost Palmers department store. Hugo got his Christmas bonus all the same, which tided him over. He wasn’t in good financial shape after his dealings with Shelby.

  Amber was not a happy bunny, but she moved on and began a relationship with a cosmetics client who showered her with the product. Not ideal, fraternising with the client, but she had a new glow and mended fences with Hugo – ‘No hard feelings, lover-boy’ – and a rumour went round the office that wedding bells were on the cards with her new man.

  Shelby didn’t get his comeuppance, he was far too canny for that, but his campaign fizzled out quickly with the William-orchestrated counter Tweets asserting that Ahmed was on the other side of the world and it was all a got-up sca
m. Nattie’s safety caused constant anxiety, but the risk had been minimised as far as possible.

  Jasmine went on a diet, worrying about fitting into her wedding dress, though there was nearly a year to go.

  Ian at the office was very snoopy about Nattie’s pregnancy. He asked, with a finger to the side of his nose, if it had anything to do with all those extra-long lunch hours she’d taken a few months back. She told him he had a fertile imagination.

  Moppet pegged out unexpectedly. Ahmed sent an ‘In Memoriam’ poem and they had a tearful burial in the back garden at Queen’s Park. Nattie and Hugo bought Lily a silvery-grey replacement that they called Poppet.

  Nattie had stayed on at the flat for a couple of months, surviving on memories, but she was round with Hugo quite a bit, feeding him up and keeping him on the straight. Jasmine appreciated the extra hours.

  Lily told her teacher and all her schoolfriends that her mummy and her distant daddy were having a baby.

  Tubsy was out of nappies and at nursery school in time for the birth.

  Nattie’s baby was born on the first of June, a little prematurely, but Ahmed made it over in time and was with her at the birth. It was a boy, six pounds five ounces. They named him William Jake John Bashaar. Ahmed felt sure he would be Bill Bashaar when he was older; it had a good ring. Ahmed said his newborn son was the ugliest, most perfect little bugger he’d ever seen in the whole of his existence. He was a very proud dad.

  Acknowledgements

  The writing is only a part of the whole, few books would happen without the incalculable help and experience of many professionals and friends.

  My warmest thanks to John Sullivan, Stephen Sherbourne, Sayeeda Warsi, Louette Harding, Luke Alkin, Tim and Jenny Hamilton, Paul O’Louglhan, Dominic Ruffy of the Amy Winehouse Foundation and all at Addaction, a charity dedicated to helping people manage their drug and alcohol addictions; they have helped many in need to regain their lives.

  I would be floundering in the wilderness without my wonderful editor at Simon & Schuster, Suzanne Baboneau, whose wisdom and instinct I treasure and my agent, Michael Sissons, with his mastery of all things bookish, unerring judgement and firm guiding hand; and Fiona Petheram at PFD, always so terrifically supportive and wise. They have my heartfelt thanks. As do all the team at Simon & Schuster, Ian Chapman, Sue Stephens, Emma Capron, Sara-Jade Virtue, Maisie Lawrence and many more.

  Warm thanks too, to Carola Godman Irvine who bid at an auction to have a character named in this book. She chose to have her two sons named, Matthew and Charley, who have their part to play. And where would I be without my loyal readers? To know that anyone has read and enjoyed one of my books is a very special privilege.

  I depend on my husband, Michael, in all things and my wonderful children and grandchildren; you are all my rock and I love you.

  Also by Sandra Howard:

  Glass Houses

  Ursula’s Story

  A Matter of Loyalty

  Ex-Wives

  Tell the Girl

  First published in Great Britain by Simon & Schuster UK Ltd, 2017

  A CBS COMPANY

  Copyright © Sandra Howard, 2017

  THE FOUR LOVES by CS Lewis © CS Lewis Pte Ltd 1960

  This book is copyright under the Berne Convention.

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  ® and © 1997 Simon & Schuster, Inc. All rights reserved.

  The right of Sandra Howard to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

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  Hardback ISBN: 978-1-4711-1139-6

  Paperback ISBN: 978-1-4711-1141-9

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-4711-1142-6

  Special thanks to Faber and Faber Ltd for permission to quote from Four Quartets by T.S. Eliot

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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