The Consequence of Love

by Sandra Howard

  ‘Sunday afternoon with you, worth waiting seven years for . . .’ Ahmed’s kiss was tender, but his body was taut with the strain. Nattie clung to him a moment before breaking away and edging towards the door. They were struggling to stay within bounds.

  ‘I have a car,’ he said, breathless. ‘I’m driving Jake’s till he knows his plans. I’ll drop you at the tube station; you won’t be late. And I’ll pick you up,’ he said, kissing her, ‘at whichever tube on Sunday.’

  He picked up his car keys and hurried her away.

  11

  A Weekend in Oxford

  Hugo was seeing out the morning in his Covent Garden office. It was a dank, grey Friday and he wished they were staying in London for the weekend. He longed for time alone with Nattie. He sensed a distance between them and was desperate to reconnect. What chance was there, staying with his parents, which could anyway be a bit of a strain? He had looked forward to going, but not now; any sense of anticipation had drained away.

  His relationship with his parents had never been easy. As an only child he’d felt in the way, an intrusion into their golfing lives, more bother than he was worth. He’d seen little of them; a weekly boarder at school, he’d had many weekends and spells in the holidays with his close friend, Patrick, at his home in Staffordshire, which was a vast mansion on a private estate. Hugo had begun to feel self-conscious about his background, too middle-class, neither one thing nor the other; his parents had begun to embarrass him too. He’d avoided going home whenever possible.

  Their pride when he got into Cambridge had been gratifying, yet Hugo felt that had been a fluke and with a mediocre degree in History of Art, choosing to go into public relations which they didn’t rate or understand, the awkwardness had continued.

  Looking back, he could see how much the time he’d spent in Staffordshire must have hurt his parents; he’d been almost more part of Patrick’s large aristocratic family than his own. He and Patrick had needed each other, though; two shy teenagers, one overwhelmed by the weight of family expectations – Patrick’s father had been a government minister, coincidentally Victoria’s boss at the time – and he by his innate feelings of inadequacy.

  Nowadays he was fine about going home to Oxford, seeing his parents; Nattie had been the glue, they adored her. But not this weekend.

  He had to find out what was wrong. Nattie was distracted and distant, hardly absorbing a word he said, and the times she did pay him any attention, her interest felt somehow effortful. Her mind seemed constantly elsewhere. Warning bells had rung too, when she’d sprung her plan to see her grandparents on Sunday. He felt suspicious and uncomfortable about the way she’d pressed so hard, saying how much his mother and father would love having him to themselves. Her smile hadn’t masked the look of trepidation in her eyes, almost as though her very survival depended on his consent. She said Victoria had only just told her at lunch about her grandparents’ visit, but she could have easily explained the weekend clash. After all, she’d see them at Christmas.

  Hugo stared out of his office window at the sullen sky. Maybe they could leave the children with his parents and go for a long walk. Except that it was forecast to piss with rain all weekend and was looking that way already. He cursed, minding deeply about Nattie leaving early on Sunday. It felt wrong, impolite, standing up one set of grandparents for the other. He’d have to explain, remind his mother and father of the circumstances; Victoria’s overworked government minister days and Nattie spending large chunks of the school holidays with her maternal grandparents. It wasn’t surprising that she had formed such a bond with them. At times she’d confided in her grandfather John before her mother, Hugo knew, especially when Ahmed was being hounded by the authorities and even having his telephone tapped.

  Hugo felt waves of jealousy imagining the private intimate conversations between Nattie and Ahmed. And to know they’d been recorded, listened to by spooks in their shirtsleeves in stuffy office rooms, hurt even more. He sighed. Ahmed had been vindicated, he was the brave fucking saviour of them all.

  He forced his mind back. Jeanie, his PA, had come in. ‘When do you want the B-list invites to go out, Hugs? They’re all done.’ She parked herself on a corner of his desk and studied her nails – newly painted from the strong smell of the varnish.

  ‘Maybe hang on a bit,’ he said coolly, irritated about the nails. ‘How we doing with the As? What are we up to?’

  ‘ ’Bout ninety – not bad.’

  ‘Cupcake Corner opens November one,’ Hugo said, trying to keep the impatience out of his voice. ‘We’d better not wait with the Bs. Can you send them out Monday?’

  He cast an eye at his watch, anxious to be off, home for lunch with the children before setting off for Oxford. ‘Anything else?’ he asked tersely, wanting her gone.

  She was almost out of the door when she stopped dead. ‘I nearly forgot. Christine called while you were on the other line – I said you’d give her a bell right back. You’re off then, are you? Have a cool weekend.’

  ‘And you,’ Hugo muttered ungraciously as the door closed, frustrated at having to deal with yet another of Christine’s not-so-bright ideas. The cursed Palmers department store, his great bugbear, with its endless demands on his time.

  Hugo cursed all the way home, feeling put-upon and undervalued. Christine had only expected him to drop everything for an ‘impromptu meeting’; nagging on in that squeaky little voice of hers like a mouse on steroids. He’d had to lie through his teeth about back-to-back sessions all afternoon.

  He felt wretchedly low. They’d lost the SleepSweet account. He wasn’t undervalued, he was a complete fucking failure, a no-hoper, a joke. Brady had said ‘Lose one, win one’ with an easy, understanding smile. He was a decent chairman, good to Hugo, but it wasn’t good for Tyler Consulting. He can’t have been pleased.

  A wash-out at work, unloved at home . . . Nattie had always been great at sensing when he was down and being positive, but not this week, not lately. Something was going on in her life and he didn’t feature. He felt desperately out in the cold.

  He hadn’t told her about losing SleepSweet, hadn’t been able to face it, not after hearing her Sunday plans. She hadn’t even asked after the press launch when he’d been in such a frantic state. It would have helped to tell her what a fiasco it had been. A key home editor not showing up and Murray Beard poncing around, acting like he was a hard-pressed chief executive, let down by his useless public relations firm, the jerk. Pissing himself with excitement at being given just the thin ammunition needed to ‘let Tyler’s go’. Beard had his pet agency, the writing had been on the wall, but Nattie would have said helpful things and had some bright ideas.

  Hugo walked tiredly up to the front door, keys in hand. He could hear Lily squealing with delight on the other side, on tiptoe, probably, unlatching the door for him. She stumbled as it opened in on her, righted herself and jumped up and down. His heart swelled. She was his beloved angel child, as golden as Nattie.

  ‘You’re late, Daddy! We’ve had lunch. Mummy said you’d be home in time.’

  ‘Have you saved me any?’ He dropped his briefcase and swung her up for a kiss. ‘How was school?’

  ‘I got another star! It was for tidying up.’

  ‘Not sure you’d get one of those round here, my girl.’

  Nattie kissed him and asked rather mechanically after his morning. ‘There’s some ham and salad and the Cheddar needs finishing.’ She smiled. Her smile lit up her face; it was lovelier than any smile in the world, heart-piercing, the core of his devotion. He carried it with him night and day, dreamed of reaching out to touch it. But he never could; he had no foothold, was never on solid ground.

  ‘You seem a bit down,’ Nattie said. ‘Is it Christine, just for a change, or that Murray Beard joker?’

  ‘Both. Other stuff too, but this isn’t the time. Are you lot quite ready? I’m keen not to be stuck in traffic when I’ve only got you for half a weekend.’

  ‘Don’t b
e sarky. I’m sorry, love, but you said last night you were okay with it.’ Her eyes were pleading, willing him to play along. ‘You even said you’d get me to that early train on Sunday, which is as saintly as they come.’

  They made it out of London with comparative ease only for the Oxford rush-hour traffic to do them in. ‘Must be an accident surely?’ Nattie said, as they crawled along.

  Lily had been driving them mad with her constant questions. ‘When are we there? Are we there yet?’ Thomas had a screaming fit, which must have punctured eardrums all down the line. Hugo jollied them along, containing his irritation, and when they finally drew up outside the house he turned back to the pair of them with a tired grin. ‘Phew, made it at last.’

  Out of the car he eased his shoulders and stretched, glad to have changed into jeans, badly in need of a drink, then tackled the unloading. ‘Buck up, old man!’ he coaxed, leaning in to unstrap Thomas. ‘Grandma and Grandpops would love to see a smiling face.’

  ‘Tubsy won’t do one,’ Lily said with satisfaction. ‘He wants his tea.’

  Nattie held out her arms for Thomas, leaving Hugo to sweet-talk his daughter into a better mood. He squatted down. ‘Grandma and Grandpops hardly get to see you both and it means a lot to them. Will you give them a big hug, just for me? You’re very special to them, you two, their only grandchildren.’

  ‘We’re Granny’s only grandchildren too.’

  ‘But she sees you more often, angel. Be a good girl this weekend.’

  The front door opened and Adam and Claudia came out to help them with the paraphernalia. ‘Sorry we’re late,’ Hugo said, kissing his mother’s cheek, ‘lousy traffic. Good to see you both.’ He hugged his father awkwardly in an embarrassed, British sort of way. His parents had aged; it was a few months since he’d seen them. Their golf-players’ tans belied an underlying pallor, a more faded, slack-skinned look. His mother, in lavender cut-offs and a lacy lemon top, had gained a pound or two and her hair that had been richly dark and glossy, much admired, was now uniformly grey. His father had lost most of his. And he’d developed quite a little pot belly too, which sat oddly with his height and basic leanness.

  ‘Lily, you’ve grown, you’re such a big girl!’ Claudia crouched down with cricking knees and held out her arms. Lily hung back a moment then stiffly accepted the embrace. Thomas flung his head away dramatically, rejecting any suggestion of contact, and burrowed deeper into Nattie’s chest, clutching on to her left breast with his little fingers.

  ‘Give him time, Mum,’ Hugo urged. ‘He sleeps in the car and wakes up in such a grump. How have you been?’

  ‘We’re fine, darling,’ his mother said.

  The children behaved better at tea. Thomas chomped through chipolatas, peas and mash, followed by a banana forked up with brown sugar and cream. Lily wanted black cherry yoghurt, about the only flavour Claudia hadn’t got in for her.

  The kitchen was lower-ground, a large living space transformed by his architect parents from a warren of sculleries, cellars and storage. A front window onto a stairwell let in light, as did a big modern window at the back and a side door out to the garden.

  There was no time to be alone with Nattie. Lily refused to believe that her room was a spider-free zone and had to be coddled and read to for hours. Thomas was slow over his bedtime bottle, and as soon as he was tucked up in his sleeping bag – in Hugo’s old cot, retrieved from the attic – Nattie disappeared to help Claudia in the kitchen.

  She did her best at supper, was almost her old lively self again. Warm with her in-laws, helpful, appreciative, enthusing about the garden flowers, the chicken dish. ‘It’s so tasty with the olives and peppers, I’d love the recipe if it isn’t too guarded a secret.’ His mother promised to photocopy it for her.

  Hugo drank his wine feeling little involved, tired and depressed.

  ‘How’s work?’ Adam asked predictably. ‘Not great, I take it, since you’re putting back the vino like water. You can’t sit with that empty glass. Help yourself and look after Nattie’s glass too.’

  ‘Not the best,’ Hugo said. ‘We lost an account yesterday, one of mine, but as the chairman said, you lose some, win some. It could be worse.’ There seemed no point in prevaricating and pretending, flannelling along; no point in saving it up to throw at Nattie either. What the fuck?

  He flicked his eyes her way. She looked mortified, guessing it was SleepSweet, probably, and feeling hurt not to be told. Guilty too, if she remembered that she hadn’t even asked after the launch. She’d be full of sympathy later, which might help with a little togetherness, but what use of that if it wasn’t from the heart? It wouldn’t fill the void. Hugo felt himself sinking deeper into a mood of self-pitying desolation.

  Claudia was looking maternally anxious. ‘I’m sure something else will come along,’ she said, with a need to console, though it was just the sort of anodyne remark guaranteed to irritate. ‘You won’t let it get you down, will you, Hugo dear?’

  ‘Anything you say, Mum,’ he grinned, humouring her with effort. Much as his parents tried to hide it, they didn’t care for his job. How much did they even really care for him?

  Claudia made a game effort to move things on. ‘We went to a dinner with the Wrights last weekend,’ she said, with a bright informing smile, ‘in that gorgeous house of theirs. It was very civilised and intellectual, the full academia with all those dons.’ The name didn’t mean a thing to him; Hugo couldn’t think who the hell she was talking about. ‘Don’t look so blank, dear,’ she said, with slight impatience. ‘You know, the Wrights – your friend Jake’s parents. You and Nattie went over there once when Jake was down the same weekend. They asked after you very warmly. They’re really sad to have lost Jake to Australia. I expect you’re both going to miss him quite a lot too.’

  ‘Jake’s gone to live in Oz? Never! Has he won some great architect’s competition or something? Some jammy project Down Under?’ Hugo continued to stare, feeling another solar punch to his system. Jake was the egghead architect his parents would have loved their son to be – following in their footsteps, overtaking them. To have his mother twittering on about Jake just at that moment was all he needed. Jake had only been Ahmed’s fucking flatmate and best friend.

  He’d become one of Nattie’s best friends too, naturally; she’d kept up with him – with all the constant reminders of Ahmed it must bring. Hugo didn’t dislike Jake, nor even his sour-faced wife, Sylvia, but having them in their circle of friends only underlined the feeling he had of living life in Ahmed’s shadow.

  He glanced at Nattie who must have been as surprised as he was and was amazed to see she’d blushed to the roots of her hair. She often did, she embarrassed easily, but he couldn’t see why, over this. He felt even more suspicious and quite unnerved. ‘Did you know Jake had taken off for Oz?’ he demanded in an accusing tone, forgetting himself. ‘Did he call to say goodbye? You might have told me!’

  His mother threw him a cross look and Nattie reddened even more. ‘I had no idea he’d gone,’ she said, speaking pleasantly in front of his parents. ‘It’s an age since we’ve seen them. I’ve felt a bit guilty, if truth be told, about not being in touch.’

  ‘They’ve gone to Melbourne,’ Claudia explained. ‘Jake’s mother-in-law lives there, and he’s joining a practice, staying for a year or so to broaden his experience, Ruth said. He’s only rented his house out, not sold it; she was relieved about that.’

  ‘It’s good to see how they do it in other countries,’ Adam remarked, ‘but from what I hear in the trade Jake is quite a high-flyer already, going places himself.’

  ‘Yes, Dad, yeah, okay. Sorry I’m not Jake Wright.’

  It was a churlish outburst, which caused a small shock like a stone hitting the windscreen, leaving its imprint if not shattering the glass. Hugo regretted it immediately. He saw flickers of emotion flit into his father’s face; there was truth in it, they both knew, though Adam was quick to swipe it away.

  ‘That’s the wine talking,
’ he said crisply, in a vain attempt at damage limitation. ‘Winning and losing accounts must go on all the time in PR. Hardly something to lose sleep over, I’d have thought.’

  ‘Sure, Dad, it’s just a bit frustrating, that’s all.’

  Claudia went to the fridge and brought out a mounded summer pudding and a dish of crème brûlée. Nattie was at her most effusive. ‘Hugo’s fave, as I’m sure you must know. Mine too. Summer pudding’s a perfect treat.’

  Hugo sipped his wine and assumed the role of smiling onlooker, quietly brooding on life’s disappointments and his woes. He wondered if his father, both parents, felt a bit unfulfilled themselves. Theirs was a provincial architects’ firm, thriving as far as he knew, yet they’d never branched out and expanded, never moved from the inconvenient Victorian semi they’d lived in all their married life. It was on five floors, handsome in its way, but you’d think they’d have moved to somewhere detached, more practical and on fewer floors. Still, the house was in Oxford’s quiet Victorian conservation area and they seemed happy enough in their chosen rut, playing golf, seeing friends, pottering on pleasantly towards old age. He was probably their only worry.

  ‘We loved Lily’s postcard from Portugal,’ Claudia said, handing Nattie a heaped plate, ‘and in her own writing too.’

  ‘One or two backwards letters, you mean,’ Nattie prattled on and the tame tenor of the evening was restored.

  They were alone upstairs at last. Nattie unpacked their few things and handed Hugo his washbag. She looked at him with pained, questioning eyes. ‘Why ever didn’t you say about losing an account? I’d always want to know. It’s SleepSweet, I suppose. I feel dreadful, I should have asked about the launch, but there’s been such a lot going on, I just never thought—’

  ‘No, you haven’t been doing much of that lately, where I’m concerned.’

  ‘Don’t, love – don’t be in a sulk. I only wish you’d come home and told me straight out.’ She smiled anxiously and gave a slightly affected little sigh. ‘Well, better get to bed, I guess. I’m pretty tired. You must be too. But, darling, we’ve always shared every little setback, you know that.’