The Consequence of Love

by Sandra Howard

  The clock was set for six-thirty the next morning. Ahmed reached to kill the alarm, but it was hard to make a move. Nattie said Lily would wait till the sun was up on her bedside clock before coming in, but he still had to scarper fast upstairs to the top-floor bedroom. ‘Risky strategy, this need for separate rooms,’ he said, lying back and luxuriating in the warmth of her, snug in the crook of his arm. ‘I’d have to hide under the bed very fast. How long do we have to keep it up for?’

  ‘Months and years,’ Nattie said. ‘You should feel jolly lucky I allowed you into your bed at all. And time’s marching on.’

  Lily’s clock did its stuff. Ahmed heard her running along from her room at exactly seven-fifteen. Nattie was up and dressed. She’d got up with him when he dragged himself out of bed; she was taking no chances with timing on the first morning of the new school run.

  Lily’s cheerful chatter carried. ‘Is Dan having breakfast with us?’ he heard her ask in an it’s-very-important-to-me sort of tone. ‘Will he remember about the jokes for Noah, do you s’pose, Mummy? I reely, reely want him to.’

  Ahmed hadn’t quite forgotten, but it jogged his memory and it helped to be forearmed. He smiled to himself, dredging up a couple of silly one-liners as he dressed.

  Clattering down the uncarpeted single flight he put his head round Lily’s open bedroom door. ‘Morning, all! Sleep okay, you two? You look very snazzy and bright-eyed, Lily, in your smart red school uniform.’ She looked a comic mixture of beaming pride and burning anxiety and was about to speak when Nattie got in first, doing her best to tip him off.

  ‘Lily’s hoping you’ve remembered about the jokes for her to tell her friend, Noah, and I need to get Tubs up and dressed. Can you two head on downstairs? Lily needs to feed Moppet. Can you find her some lettuce and stuff in the fridge? I’ll be down in a few minutes to get breakfast on the go.’

  Ahmed smiled at her, basking in the warmth of intimacy.

  He got the breakfast underway. He made Lily’s toast, spreading it with raspberry jam and cutting it into squares. He was telling her his third tame cracker joke, which had Lily in hysterical giggles, when Nattie came into the kitchen. She was jigging Thomas, complaining that he hadn’t been at his best, and she raised an eyebrow. ‘So what’s going on round here? Can I be in on it?’

  ‘Mummy, Mummy, listen!’ Lily cried, skipping round and round the kitchen table. ‘This is my first joke. What’s orange and sounds like a parrot?’

  ‘Can’t think.’

  ‘A carrot! And this is my next. Why are owls always invited to the party?’

  ‘You tell me,’ Nattie said, strapping Tubsy into his high chair and squishing up a Weetabix. ‘Why are they?’

  ‘Because they’re such a hoot! I love that one,’ Lily said, dancing round. ‘And I love this one too. What is a crocodile’s favourite game?’

  ‘Let me guess. Could it be Snap?’

  Lily sucked on her teeth crossly. ‘That’s so mean, you’re not meant to get it.’

  ‘Breakfast-time now, no more jokes. Let Dan help you wash your hands then sit down, please, we must get on with things. You don’t want to be late for school when you’ve got three whole new jokes to tell Noah.’

  Nattie settled into feeding Thomas his cereal, looking a little distant. Ahmed hoped she wasn’t thinking of Hugo, alone in the house with no noisy children and no one to wave him away.

  ‘Do you want to stay here with Dan, Tubsy,’ she asked, with a glance Ahmed’s way, ‘or come in the car with Mummy and Lily?’

  ‘Tay.’ It was just translatable through his mouthful of milky Weetabix.

  ‘Sure you’re okay with that, Dan? Jasmine won’t be here for an hour and I won’t be back much before. Can you spare the time?’

  ‘Sure thing. Tubs and I are good buddies now, we’ll do puzzles and race cars.’

  ‘I’m at work today, Lily,’ Nattie said, wiping Tubsy’s mouth and turning her way. ‘It’ll be Jasmine coming this afternoon. It feels a bit funny, after having time off last week, the thought of being back in the office again.’ She looked levelly at Ahmed, a look that spoke volumes. ‘Getting back into the old routine.’

  24

  Hugo’s Solace

  On Saturday morning Hugo forced himself out of a single-frame nightmare. He had been in a straitjacket, physically confined, screaming to be released. The context eluded him, his brain was leaden, not giving a thing, but he still had the sensation of being encased in concrete. Once he was more fully awake, a headache kicked in, the pain like a series of pneumatic drills driving into his skull; he was dripping with sweat and wanted to cry out in agony.

  God, it was Saturday too. How could he have done it, got in this state? How could he live with himself? How could he cope? He rolled over, shuddering with the effort, and squinted open his eyes to see the time. Nine o’clock. The bedroom door was ajar, a diagonal of painful light shafting in, shining right into his eyes, while harsh daylight seeped round the window blinds. He closed his eyes again fast.

  Nine o’clock. Hugo groaned and drew up his knees. Nattie said she’d bring Lily and Thomas at ten. Staying out late, liquid dinners with drunks from the office, bingeing all week – what single conceivable thing had he hoped to achieve? His children were all he had. Last night was a total blur. He’d been at home, alone and lonely, he knew that much. Feeling released from Amber and her hassling as well.

  She had gone to Chertsey to be with her aged mother, which she did most weekends, caring for her and doing her shopping. Amber said her mother really ought to be in a nursing home, but had such a terror of going that it seemed heartless to push it. Better just to help out. It was kind and unselfish and Hugo admired Amber for that – as well as being glad of the weekend respite.

  He squinted at the clock again. Ten past already. How was he even going to get out of bed, let alone be in a fit state to look after two noisy demanding kids? He managed to swing down his legs and made it to a sitting position on the side of the bed. Christ, he was still in his work shirt and trousers, must have crashed out in a coma – sweet release from the lousy, unfeeling world. He rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. His mouth felt disgusting, furred up and dry; he felt as repulsively foul-smelling as a pavement drunk.

  He got to the bathroom and took three extra-strength codeine. Should he take four? Better not. He cleaned his teeth, overloading the brush with toothpaste, and stepped into the shower, which was effortful, but it helped to feel clean again.

  He pulled on a T-shirt, which made him reel, though the freshly laundered check shirt he eased on to wear as an overshirt was a soft fabric and comfortable. He began to feel he had a chance of survival once the painkillers kicked in. They hadn’t yet. He slid on his watch; quarter to ten and they could be early. Coffee was what he needed – buckets of it, strong and black.

  The kitchen was a mess. He shoved all the empties into a sturdy black refuse sack – bulging guilty evidence, he should have padded the bag with kitchen towel – and made a mug of espresso-machine coffee, double-filled. He lifted it to his lips gratefully with a shaking hand.

  He’d made it through a week in the office at least. Amber had seen how much he was struggling, she’d covered for him, been his saviour, but there was a price to pay for that. He’d got by, though, even made it through the opening of Cupcake Corner at Palmers and survived his nemesis, Christine. The A guest-list had been a lost cause, but Amber had rounded up some last-minute glamour and, whether for the freebee and chance of a morning’s shopping, a decent number of B-listers had turned up as well.

  Better still, a pouting model, one of Amber’s fill-ins, riled by the fruity putdowns of a loose-mouthed Press Association photographer, had picked a fight and chucked her glass of cheap champagne at his digital camera. Other cameras had been clicking: she’d succeeded in carrying Cupcake Corner into all the gossip columns, even the local television news. And with the instant pick-up on social media Christine had a virtual orgasm. She’d told Hugo, sodden, s
haking, nauseous, sweating, what a brilliant job he’d done. He was her golden boy, she said – God forbid.

  The doorbell rang. Hugo started at the shrill sound and spilled half his coffee; he wiped hurriedly at the spill while his headache raged. He had to lean on the worktop to steady himself, sickened to think of Nattie ringing the bell. She had a key; it was her home. He couldn’t stand it. Why couldn’t Ahmed have stayed the fuck on the other side of the world, met his end, never been born.

  He let out a few curses, took a deep breath, composed his face and went to get the door. He could hear Lily banging the letterbox flap, calling, ‘Daddy, Daddy, where are you? Come and open the door!’

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, scooping her up and hugging her. ‘I was wiping up some spilled coffee, but I bet Mummy will think the kitchen’s a bit of a mess anyway!’

  Nattie followed in with Thomas attached to her hip and a big canvas bag on her shoulder. She closed the door behind her, turned to face him and he met her eyes. He had to look away. He felt the rush, the swell of his need of her; and an intense rush of bitterness as well. He wanted her, his beautiful wife, his own wife, and she was with another thieving man. She was too beautiful, the pain too great. He’d spent five drunken days trying to blur and obliterate that vision, her beauty; losing his mind, risking his job. Trying to forget her softness, her wonderful dependability before Ahmed’s return and the disaster of where they were now.

  ‘You okay, darling?’ Nattie said, staring at him, looking full of alarm – which was hardly surprising, after all.

  ‘I’m fine, slight headache, that’s all; it’s been a long week. How’s my Thomas then? Big hug for Daddy?’ He held out his arms for his son who clung to her, hurtfully resistant. ‘How’ve they been?’ he asked, hiding the hurt.

  ‘I’ve been reely longing to see you, Daddy,’ Lily chipped in, with a what-about-me look on her face; she had to be the centre of attention. ‘I got two stars at school, one for writing and one for reading, and I’ve got a new story to show you! I thought it up all on myself! It’s in Mummy’s bag where we’ve packed things for staying. Tubsy’s Pampers and stuff like that.’

  ‘Just a few things you might need,’ Nattie said, sounding apologetic about it. ‘There’s plenty of kit in Tubsy’s drawers as well. Shall I stay a moment or two to settle them in or would you rather take over right now?’

  Hugo sensed her embarrassment. Neither of them knew what to say or do. ‘No, stay a while. Have some coffee, don’t hurry away.’ Hadn’t people in this situation mostly fallen out with each other? Nattie wasn’t being cold and businesslike, just looking at him with concern. No good reading anything into that caring look. Better stick to needing to curl up and die.

  He took Thomas into the kitchen and set him down on his feet. The effort involved in bending, then coming upright again, was bad. Hugo’s head throbbed with both physical and emotional pain. He felt giddy; the room was pitching and rolling like being on board ship. Was this the way to enjoy his children? Could he get nothing right in his life?

  Nattie had a quick glance round, trying not, he felt, to seem too critical or involved. He’d missed a couple of bottles and the bulging refuse bag was a giveaway; he hadn’t had time to sling it into the recycle bin outside the back door. ‘I’ll just put on the dishwasher,’ she said, collecting up mugs and glasses. The machine was mercifully quiet.

  ‘You did really well with Cupcake Corner,’ she grinned. ‘Christine must have been pleased. That model certainly did you a favour! I read the guy’s suing her for more than the cost of his camera, which seems a bit hard.’

  She binned some rubbish – used coffee-pods, stray detritus – and asked, a bit pointedly, ‘Heidi came to clean okay on Wednesday? I told her to take any laundry down to the cleaner’s, by the way, and said you’d collect it. They open at eight, so you can always pick it up on the way to work. Have you been for last week’s load yet?’

  ‘I was going to go this morning,’ Hugo lied. Laundry hadn’t been top of his list.

  ‘Perhaps take the children to the park and get the laundry on the way back? Tubsy does love that little area with the swings.’

  ‘Good idea.’ He smiled, trying not to grimace with the pain of arranging his face.

  Nattie smiled awkwardly in return. ‘I’m sure you’ve got plans,’ she said, ‘but they’re always happy mooching around at home, if you’ve nothing special on.’

  She knew he hadn’t got anywhere near making plans. She could always see right through him, hardly needed those surreptitious glances at the bottle bag. She knew all right. That was one thing, but her talk of the children being happy at home really carved him up. They weren’t fucking well at home; she’d taken them away from at home. They were occasional visitors.

  He should have made plans. Other fathers would have. He felt useless, pathetic; guilty enough to be mordantly angry. Thomas was clinging to Nattie’s leg, his little face pressed against her skinny black jeans. His son unsettled, needing to get his bearings in his own home – how could she do that to her children? Ahmed had let her down too, buggered off, dropped off the face of the earth – didn’t even that give her pause? It was a pointless train of thought, Hugo knew; he’d never have had five precious years of marriage if the fucker had kept in touch for a single day more than a year.

  ‘I’ll make the coffee,’ he said, pulling himself together. ‘How about playing with your garage, Tomtubs? Let’s get it out of the toy box, shall we? But you must come and help.’

  Lily squatted down too, pulling out toys from the muddle in the deep, low-level kitchen drawer, which made a frightful clatter. Nattie offered to make the coffee while saying it was really time she left. ‘You can’t go yet, Mummy!’ Lily wailed. ‘You’ve got my story in your bag and Kangy – and Tubsy’s Pampers.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, the bag’s for here. You’re in charge of it now, Lily, and helping Daddy lots, remember, and doing all we said.’

  ‘I’m going to help you change Tubsy, Daddy,’ she said proudly, ‘and I’m going to be nice to him too, and not fight.’

  ‘I will need lots of help, angel,’ Hugo said. ‘It’s wonderful to have you here and . . .’ He was distracted. Thomas had unearthed his favourite police car with the flashing lights and siren; he had his finger stuck on the siren button and the sound, like the scream of brakes and clashing steel of a violent car crash, was driving in daggers of pain. Hugo put his hands to his aching head, feeling close to throwing up. ‘Just nipping to the john,’ he mumbled and made it to the downstairs loo. He managed a thin dribble of bile and broke out into an all-over cold sweat; his hands trembled as he splashed water onto his face. Dabbing it dry, wincing at the touch, feeling overcome with misery, he flushed the chain for cover and went back.

  ‘I’ve dug out that percolator Thermos we never remembered to use,’ Nattie said, eyeing him. ‘The coffee should stay hot and you’ll have some on the go for the morning, if you need. I’ll have a quick cup then and be off. You’ll be okay with them?’

  ‘Sure, why ever not?’ he said curtly, resenting her patronising tone, irritated by her knowing how much he needed the coffee. Didn’t he really want her to see the state he was in, though? Didn’t he want to touch her conscience and trade on her soft heart?

  ‘Jasmine’s all set to come to do supper and bath time,’ Nattie said. ‘She’ll babysit too, if you need her to, if she can bring her boyfriend Pete along. I, um, took an executive decision and told her to come about half five, but I can always change that.’

  ‘No, don’t, it’s fine,’ Hugo said, a bit too quickly. He didn’t want to seem to be longing for help. He worried about coping with lunch; better go out somewhere.

  ‘I’m sure you’ll be glad to have Jasmine around for an hour or two,’ Nattie said, pressing down on the plunger and pouring coffee into two bright yellow mugs, ‘helping at bath time. And . . .’ She looked up. ‘I hesitate to ask this, but Mum and William are in London tomorrow and they’d love you to bring the children
for Sunday tea. Perhaps, if it fits, I could pick them up from over there instead of here at about six? Don’t forget Lily’s Kangy, though, and the stuff in the bag. Anyway, how does that sound? I’d understand if you’d rather not.’

  ‘Fine, good idea.’ Hugo was sipping steaming black coffee, only half absorbing what she said.

  Lily screwed up her face. ‘I must have Kangy. We can’t leave him behind.’ She looked close to tears. Hugo tried to sharpen up and concentrate.

  ‘I’ll text to remind Daddy, promise,’ Nattie said, kissing her. ‘Bye, honeybuns, be good children. See you tomorrow at Granny’s house.’

  He saw her to the door like seeing out a friend, the plumber or electrician. He couldn’t bring himself to kiss her cheek, his breath would be so bad. Lily was between them and he was jiggling Thomas too, who was still grizzling, holding out his arms to go to Nattie. It pierced Hugo’s heart.

  He closed the door behind her and wandered back into the kitchen with Lily, still trying to jolly Thomas into a smile. ‘How’s my lovely boy then? We’re going to have a great day.’

  ‘Now will you look at my story?’ Lily demanded, skipping and dancing around. ‘Can I have a drink? Tubsy has one too, in the mornings. And we have bits of dry mango or rice biscuits, usually.’ Hugo felt panicked, sure there wasn’t any of that sort of stuff in the house. He didn’t know where to look, it was ages since he’d been left in charge. ‘They’re in here, on the middle shelf, I think,’ Lily said, going to the larder cupboard next to the fridge, ‘only I can’t reach.’

  ‘I’ll get your drinks in a mo,’ Hugo said, desperate for more codeine, ‘just need to pop upstairs. Keep an eye on your brother for me, my little helper, then we’ll sit at the table and you can show me this story of yours. Thomas will need a little attention, of course.’