She raised her eyebrows, but William wasn’t letting on; he never did about anything connected with the paper. He answered about Hugo tangentially, though.
‘Nattie’s right to be terrified of Hugo reverting. Addiction is an illness in many ways, which people forget. Anyone with an addictive personality is always at risk. It’s rough, the bind she’s in. She’d never forgive herself if he slipped back; she can only pray that having the children around will help him to hold off.’
William reached across the table for Victoria’s hand then rose to make the coffee. ‘You’ll know soon enough what she’s decided,’ he said, over his shoulder. ‘I don’t know what she’ll do. Ahmed’s keeping his head down, but it’s not much of a life. He’d be better off living on the other side of America. Certainly, if Nattie was with him, they’d have to.’
‘That’s what I dread most of all. If I say a word about it to her, though, I’ll only push her straight onto a plane. I worry about the children too, getting so fond of Ahmed. It seems terribly hard on Hugo.’
‘They adore their father – you’re making a bit too much of that. Children are very adaptable. I have great faith in Nattie. She’s not a wimp, she’ll sort out her life soon.’
‘She looked terribly pale at Lily’s party . . .’
William’s phone shrilled before he could comment. He listened a minute. ‘Shit. Change the front page – now, fast! Send it over.’ He clicked off. ‘A plane’s come down in the Aegean. It’s grim. Sure to be another fucking bomb. Sorry, darling, I’ll be a bit busy. You’re seeing Nattie in hours; try not to worry.’
That, Victoria thought miserably, brought down by the news, all the frightening world events and pressure points, the legions of dead, the millions of lives affected, was easier said than done.
Nattie banged the knocker and called through the letterbox: ‘It’s me!’
She came in along with a blast of icy air and turned to push the door shut. Dumping down her bags, she gave her mother a proper, meaningful hug. Victoria could feel her daughter’s need of her and of her support, however nervous she might be about saying whatever it was she wanted to unload.
‘How are you, Mum?’ Nattie said, lifting off her bike helmet and letting her hair tumble. Her cheeks were pink, her breath steaming. She looked lovely, really beautiful.
‘All good,’ Victoria said, smiling. ‘I like seeing this colour in your cheeks. You look very rosy and healthy – unlike the other day.’
‘It’s riding my bike, it’s cold out there! I’ve locked it to the railings, okay?’
‘Sure. You’re straight from work?’ She hated Nattie riding her bike after dark.
‘Yup – and before you ask, I’ve got great new bike lights. Ahmed insisted. He’s got me these really fancy ones.’ Nattie was stuffing her mitts into the pockets of her black puffa coat, which she shrugged off and left draped on the hall chair.
‘I’ll get the kettle on,’ Victoria said, making for the kitchen.
‘Can I have water? I’m a bit off tea and coffee.’
Surely she’d want something nice and warming, coming in from the cold? Was that some new caffeine scare or other? William said all the health fads, whether good, alarmist or bad, always sold papers. ‘You’re looking so much better, darling,’ she said. ‘I worried at Lily’s party. I know what a strain those things are.’
‘I was struggling rather,’ Nattie admitted, taking a glass out of the cupboard and holding it under the tap, ‘feeling pretty rotten in fact. It’s why I’ve come.’ She smiled nervously. ‘There’s something I need to tell you.’
What could she mean? Victoria felt chill shivers down the length of her spine as in a split second she imagined every possible black-winged carrier of doom. It couldn’t be some sort of cancer, surely? Please God not that. It had to be something serious, wouldn’t she otherwise have simply picked up the phone?
Nattie perched on the sofa arm, sipping her water thoughtfully.
‘Come and sit down properly, love, and tell me.’ Victoria’s eyes were beginning to smart. She’d had a sleepless night, which wasn’t helping, set off by William’s talk of the two terrorist plotters coming out of jail, as well as her private fears about Nattie and California. ‘I hope it isn’t anything too serious. You’re not ill or anything – it’s nothing like that?’ She gave a light laugh, an instinctive masking of her feelings. ‘Or is it about your decision? Hugo’s in such agony, you must tell him soon.’
‘I know that, Mum. What I’ve come about is sort of related, though, but I’d hate you to think that it’s something that would ever affect my decision. It hasn’t and it won’t, I promise.’
Victoria stared steadily at her daughter, more confused than ever.
‘You see, I’m pregnant, Mum. I’m having Ahmed’s baby.’
The slow dawning of how wide of the mark she’d been caused a hot flush of embarrassment. Victoria felt the heat, the blood-rush, suffuse her from the neck up. ‘I don’t know how I didn’t get there,’ she said. ‘With the sickness, how could I have been so dense!’ She deposited her mug of tea and stared down, linking and fingering her hands. She was battling with a fluttering in her stomach, a sense of her compass being awry, lost bearings, a slight, impossible-to-articulate moral discomfort that shouldn’t come into it.
She looked up again. ‘Sorry, love, it’s just taking me a while to get my head round it. There are a lot of ramifications . . . It’s such beastly luck, the morning sickness, and having it all day too, if Saturday was typical. I understand completely now how much you were struggling. You’re still in the early stages then? I really should have guessed.’
‘Can’t you look a little bit more happy about it, Mum? It’s another grandchild, God willing. Aren’t you pleased?’ Nattie looked hurt and questioning. ‘It’s very much wanted – isn’t that what it should all be about?’ She stuck out her jaw, going on the attack, longing for a wholehearted seal of maternal approval. Victoria felt emotionally protective, but desperately worried and confused.
Nattie got up abruptly and went to refill her glass from the tap over the sink and Victoria realised how much she must have dreaded coming to tell her; it was a precious piece of news and she would naturally have longed for it to be joyfully received. Had she automatically expected her mother to be shocked and distressed? How awful to have been so typically less than spontaneous, so predictably cautious and reserved. It was in her nature, though, the way she was built.
She jumped up and put her arm round Nattie’s shoulders, feeling her heart soar as her daughter turned into her arms for a hug. They stood clinging together by the sink, Victoria stroking Nattie’s hair, feeling her heartbeat competing with her own. ‘I just needed a little time to adjust,’ she said as they separated and she lifted a strand of hair away from Nattie’s eyes. ‘It’s a new life and I’m thrilled for you. It’s wonderful, but it does make for complications, as I’m sure you know.’
She stopped herself from saying that she couldn’t see how it could fail to affect Nattie’s decision; it had to. She couldn’t get beyond all the obvious worries. Even if Nattie went back to him, how could Hugo possibly handle her having Ahmed’s child? It would be a continuous reminder, a connection with Ahmed.
‘It’s going to hit Hugo dreadfully hard, of course,’ Victoria said, as they went to sit down again. ‘I was really worried about him on Saturday, even wondered if he could have taken something. It would be too awful if he went down that road.’
‘Don’t, Mum, that’s such heavy pressure. And can’t you ever think of it from Ahmed’s side, how much this baby must mean to him? Take yourself back; he risked his life, gave evidence, gave up the freedom to come and go. I think all that makes our baby the more extra special somehow. I know I can’t expect Hugo to understand that. I know all the problems. I’ve pulled Hugo back from the brink in my time. There’s Lily and Tubsy too . . .’
Nattie rose. ‘I should be getting back. Try not to worry too much, Mum. I’ll sort out my life �
�� just as long as this stinky morning sickness doesn’t last a whole nine months.’
‘When’s the baby due?’ Victoria felt quite light-headed, feeling the load lifting, sensing that she and Nattie were in a good place again, the precious mother and daughter relationship restored.
‘Late June – a summer baby. It won’t need to be all bundled up against the cold.’
Victoria watched Nattie bike down the road, back light winking furiously, went in again and closed the door, shutting out the December cold. The hall was warm and filled with the smell of her daughter’s light scent; she’d squirted some on from a mini spray-bottle in her bag before leaving. She was going home to be kissed by Ahmed. The lingering scent set Victoria back again. Her qualms hadn’t gone away; she couldn’t think about the good in her mixed feelings, only the downside. She wanted Nattie’s happiness, but it was a mess.
If Nattie stayed with Ahmed, Hugo would see his children less and less. It was the way things went. And suppose she ended it with Ahmed for whatever reason, it was hard to see Hugo gladly accepting her back. A tall ask, after all he’d been living through, surely, to expect him to look after and love Ahmed’s child as his own. Ahmed visiting regularly, it would be an impossible strain. Wasn’t Hugo going to buckle under with all the stress and pressure anyway, whatever happened?
32
Decision
Nattie was back in minutes, Jake’s house was no distance from her mother’s. She humped her bike up the front steps and in through the door; she’d had a wheel nicked leaving it padlocked out front.
‘You still here, Jasmine?’ she called. ‘Thanks. I’d popped in to see my mother, but don’t feel you need to stay if Dan’s here. He is halfway capable, you know.’
Jasmine came into the hall. ‘I thought he’d like help with their tea. Lily can be such a cheeky little miss, laying down the law about what she wants to eat.’
Nattie opened the back door to lock up her bike outside and Jasmine had something to say about it. ‘Brrr, blimey, it’s colder than a witch’s tit out there. Any babysitting needed tomorrow?’ she added hopefully. She didn’t work Fridays and she and Pete were getting married – a year next April, and already trying to save.
‘Sorry, no plans,’ Nattie said, but as it was one of Hugo’s weekends with the children, Jasmine would have extra hours then.
She saw Jasmine out and closed the front door with a sense of relief. She needed to be alone with Ahmed and to have the house to themselves.
He was in the kitchen, giving Thomas his supper, spooning in yoghurt. He put down the pot and plastic spoon to come to give her a kiss. ‘Mmm, you smell good – but you’ve taken off all the gear. Done me out of seeing you shake out your hair in that sexy way.’
‘Sexy’s a naughty word,’ Lily said with authority, turning from the dishwasher, which she loved to fill.
‘It’s not very naughty.’ Ahmed gave her hair a tweak as she came bouncing up. ‘I’ve heard a certain little girl say much naughtier things.’
‘What? What has she said?’ Nattie asked, instantly worried about the words Lily could pick up at school.
‘That’s just between Lily and me, and she’s not going to say it again, are you, Lily? Remember your promise?’ She narrowed her eyes at him, cross at being reminded.
Tubsy was trying to aim spoonfuls of yoghurt into his mouth with limited success. He quickly tired of the task, maximum effort for minimum reward, and started hammering at his high-chair table, sending spatters of yoghurt flying.
‘Oh, Tubsy, darling, we hadn’t forgotten you.’ Nattie wiped his hands and face and lifted him out of his high chair. She hugged him, feeling emotionally fragile and beginning to worry already about Hugo’s ability to cope at the weekend.
She played games with the children, allowed a little DVD viewing, lost herself in the agony of what lay ahead. There was no going back. She’d done it, plunged into the gully, told her mother she knew the way forward, and now she had to face up to telling Hugo and Ahmed what it was.
‘Bedtime, you two, up we go!’ The three of them trooped upstairs. ‘Into the bath with you and then I’ll call Dan to read a story.’
Wrapping up Tubsy in his towel, rubbing him dry, she could tell her breath was juddery; she held her cuddly boy close, trying to calm her thumping heart, if not her nerves. She had to do it, had to tell Ahmed before anything else. From that all else flowed – or became silted up, or sucked her down into the abyss. She had to do it now – well, soon, over the weekend. When – Friday night? No, not when she was seeing Hugo next morning; even with the children as cover she’d be feeling dangerously overwrought. It would have to be after taking them, as soon as she returned here.
She got Tubsy’s bottle and called Ahmed to read to Lily. It was the right time to tell him; they’d be alone in the house, no distractions. And it was just far enough away to give her the space she badly needed, time to formulate arguments, to plan, to prepare herself mentally – as if that were possible. They would have the rest of the day, Saturday night, Sunday, precious time together. How would they cope?
Thursday night, Friday, the hours of daylight and darkness moved on inexorably; they blurred into each other, fading and fast disappearing. Nattie laughed and smiled, fed the children, fed Ahmed, she shopped, functioned thanks to the weird phenomenon of autopilot, which carried her through the school run, her daily routine. The hardest part was the car ride home alone.
Ahmed must have some sort of idea; he had X-ray eyes and could see into her as clearly as if she were transparent, like an old-fashioned ticking clock with its workings exposed. He must be seeing her pumping blood, the lift and fall of her lungs, the manic whirring of her brain; perhaps even the infinitesimal growth of his embryo child. He’d have an idea all right, with his sensitivity, but was he aware of the indescribable pain?
The hours slipped by as fast as the countryside out of a train window. At some stage, Nattie couldn’t remember when, Ahmed had voiced the unwanted truth, speaking it softly into her mouth, a question in a kiss. ‘It’s time for us to talk? But not now, not tonight?’ She’d pulled back, looked at him and he’d known it would be soon.
Friday night came, the train speeding up. The children were in bed, asleep, she and Ahmed had a quiet evening together. They turned in early and Nattie was silent as they went upstairs. In bed Ahmed was passionate, loving her with a particular intensity; she had no need to talk. They lay holding hands as they usually did after lovemaking, a time when they often shared ideas, jokes, media putdowns, racy chat about personalities, private little bitches. It didn’t seem the night for talking, though; they lay with their fingers entwined and hardly spoke at all.
Ahmed lifted their linked hands to his lips, sucking gently on one of her fingers. ‘Do you want to talk now? California comes into it, doesn’t it?’
‘Yes. But I’d rather tomorrow, when I’m back from taking the children and we have the house to ourselves. You don’t mind waiting till then?’
He put his mouth to her finger again, which seemed as good an answer as any.
‘I had a plan for this weekend,’ he said, after a bit, ‘going to see your grandparents. I long to see them again, but that’s out of the window now. No more pottering round the countryside – I can’t bear to think of what you went through in Lyme, Nattie darling. They’d have got me without you, those two guys. You were a rock, helping and spurring me on.’ He pulled her close. ‘I don’t want any space between us tonight, I want to sleep with you in my arms.’
Hugo looked limp and haggard, standing in the doorway, kind of unshielded; he had a frailty about him, as though even opening the door had taken all the energy in his possession. Was he starving himself? He looked, Nattie realised with a sudden shock and sinking feeling, as if he was in the throes of a harrowing come-down from some substance, some dreaded chemical prop. Would the children be safe? Was it irresponsible of her to leave them with him? What could she say? ‘I can’t leave you in charge; you look too washed
out’?
She’d hate to row in front of Lily and Tubsy; even if it were out of earshot they’d sense the tension, which would be so bad for them, and Hugo had looked almost as close to the edge on other weekends. He’d probably manage somehow. The children were all he had.
He came down the path to greet them, blinking several times in the crisp bright daylight and covering his eyes with the spread of his hand before squatting down when Lily ran towards him. He gathered her up in his arms. ‘Hello, my lovely, my wonderful girl.’ He stroked her hair while looking up at Nattie over Lily’s silky blonde head. It was more than a look, it was a piercing, gaunt-eyed stare. He was a dying man, his look said, sinking beneath the ice.
He blinked and dropped his eyes, turned his attention to Tubsy. ‘How’s my Thomas Tubs then? Come and give Daddy a hug!’ Tubsy held back; he needed adjustment time, which Hugo understood. He didn’t push it and struggled up onto his feet. Lily took his hand in a daughterly way and they went on ahead indoors. Nattie followed slowly; she was walking at Tubsy’s pace which, on his short chubby legs, was unhurried.
She refused Hugo’s offer of coffee with as much kindly softness as she could manage.
‘You’ll be okay with them?’ she said, trying to keep her voice light. ‘Any problems, just give a buzz. I may be out of London,’ she said untruthfully, worrying what sort of wretched state she could be in herself, ‘but Mum’s around this weekend and I know she’d love to help.’
‘Daddy’s got me to help,’ Lily said, looked up at him proudly for confirmation, ‘and I do, don’t I, Daddy? I’m your good little helper – and Tubsy’s mummy just for now.’ She was her bouncy self, skipping round the kitchen, jumping up and down.
‘You’ve seen the canvas bag with the usual guff?’ Nattie said, desperate to go.
Hugo was staring again. ‘I can bring them over to your mother’s on Sunday if you like,’ he said, ‘save you coming all this way.’ It was more an attempt to slow her up than genuine keenness to be accommodating, she felt. His hurt at her need to get away was palpable. Or was he worried about Amber dropping in? Perhaps she was a regular Sunday fixture.
The Consequence of Love Page 30