by Caro Land
Another pause, longer this time. ‘What are you saying, Natalie?’
‘I’m not saying anything, I’m just speculating…’ She took another breath. ‘Robbie was a minor when the accident happened, so presumably Jed sued on his behalf; he’d have been Robbie’s litigation friend, wouldn’t he? I know a minor’s damages go into the Court Funds Office these days, but what about back then? Would it have gone to the parent with the usual undertakings to pass it on to the child at eighteen?’ Wishing she’d kept quiet, she cleared her throat. ‘Think of Jed’s anger the other day, his fury. Maybe it was more than just the suggestion of restorative justice, maybe–’
‘What restorative justice?’
Oh God. She shuffled her feet. This conversation was going from bad to worse; she’d forgotten Gavin didn’t know about it. ‘Robbie is considering going down that path. He learned about it in college and it appeals to him. He wants to meet and possibly reconcile with… the driver. That’s what Jed was angry about, understandably so, but I’m wondering if it’s more than that…’
Nat picked at her salad before throwing down her fork. The cherry tomato didn’t want to be caught and she wasn’t hungry anyway. She’d handled the conversation with Gavin badly. He’d said he had to go and abruptly finished the call. Bloody hell. Truth was she needed to see him in person, be brave and just say it all: that she suspected Jed hadn’t accounted to Robbie for the damages he would’ve been entitled to at eighteen; that Robbie wanted to meet and possibly forgive his mother’s killer at his own instigation; that Robbie’s situation, his thoughts and opinions had no bearing on whatever Gavin decided for himself.
In the past she had blamed Jack for building Chinese walls, but she was constructing them herself in a way, creating invisible barriers to protect her friends and even her mum, but doing more harm than good; she’d become the ‘C’ in every flaming triangle. She needed to back off, step away and look after herself, just like Jack had said.
She dabbed her eyes. She knew he was right; he generally was. But suppose this conception had been her only chance? What then? In the past, Gavin had joked about her ‘motherhood hormones’ crying out. If that was the reason for her need to get ‘fixing’ and involved in people’s lives, where would she be if she didn’t fall pregnant again?
Reprimanding herself for more self-indulgence, she sighed. A baby had never happened for Catherine. Oh God; the poor, poor woman. She had suffered five miscarriages; five times of hope and anxiety, then the anguish, the devastation and the cruel, cruel loss. Nat’s once was a drop in the ocean in comparison.
She picked up her phone and gazed at the screen. Could she really talk to Catherine as Jack had suggested? How nice it would be to say: ‘I’m so, so sorry for misjudging you; I’m sorry for calling you Cool Catherine, for assuming you had no feelings when you must have been dying inside. It hurts, it really hurts. I can’t image how you coped, how you put on a mask and lifted your chin high to the world. I’d like to say sorry; I’d love to talk. Can we?’
But she didn’t; she might have had Polish parents, but she was buttoned-up British inside. Instead she sent a text. I’m sorry for not getting back about Sunday. So glad to hear you’re having such fun with your gorgeous grandson. Hope to catch-up for a large G&T soon!
Still in her hand, her mobile beeped. For an instant she panicked, just knowing it was her. Oh God. Suppose Catherine mentioned Nat’s loss? Could she speak without crying? Should she let on that she knew about her friend’s own devastation? It was just too embarrassing. But after a moment, she twigged the caller was unknown. Bloody hell; she’d become completely irrational; the world didn’t revolve around her and babies.
Remembering her desperate need for a call from Jose, she faintly smiled. That was a million years ago; another world, another person. Yet her heartbeat increased nonetheless.
‘Hello?’
‘Good afternoon. Am I speaking to Natalie Bach?’
A smooth, pleasant voice she couldn’t place. ‘Yes you are.’
‘My name is Mr Hirsch.’
That sounded familiar. Someone had mentioned it recently. Work? Her mum? No, she couldn’t quite grasp it.
The old professionalism kicked in. ‘How can I help you, Mr Hirsch?’
‘I’m hoping I can help you. Jack Goldman asked me to have a chat. I believe you’re only down the road and I have a cancellation tomorrow if you’d like to pop down–’
Oh my God. The obstetrician Jack and Catherine had consulted. What the hell had Jack done? Embarrassing and wholly inappropriate didn’t cover it; it was bloody insensitive and breaching a confidence. A step too far, even for Jack. She gritted her teeth. ‘That’s very kind of you, Mr Hirsch, but I’m fine.’
‘And I’m sure you are, but I’d be happy to see you nonetheless.’ He paused. ‘I know this is a rather… unusual… way of going about a referral, but if you know Jack as well as I do, you’ll be familiar with his reluctance to take no for an answer.’
29
Fresh Air
Nat glanced at the crack through the curtains. Still inky black outside, it was too early to get up. Fuming wasn’t a good recipe for sleep. Neither was tossing and turning and shouting out loud. ‘Bloody Jack. How dare he? The final bloody straw.’
And she meant it. Why she’d gone back to Goldman Law after returning from Mallorca, she had no idea. Okay, she’d been away for five years and was out of touch with all things legal, but the law hadn’t changed that much, and anyway there were catch-up courses available in Manchester. On the internet too. And why the rotten, flaming law anyway? She had tried her best with vulnerable clients in years gone by, but it wasn’t exactly a caring profession, was it? She’d volunteered at a soup kitchen and helped disabled kids ride donkeys at weekends, but that was just scratching the surface of charity. To make her feel marginally less grubby about acting for the likes of Danielle and Frank Foster, probably.
But this was the final straw. Finito. No more Jack and Goldman Law. She’d offer her services full time to Gavin, and if she wasn’t needed, she’d look for a job elsewhere, try something new. A teaching assistant or something part-time, because that would fit in with life as a mum. If she ever became one. Oh God.
She fidgeted again. ‘Bloody Jack Goldman!’
‘Has something happened, Nat?’ Wes had asked when they chatted after dinner.
‘What, something other than a bloody miscarriage?’ she’d wanted to retort. But his eyes were shiny, his expression concerned.
She’d stared for a moment. Should she tell him what Jack had done, how he’d taken ‘interference’ to a whole new bloody level? But she’d kept schtum. Look how Wes had tried to take her to A&E on Sunday. She could see him saying, ‘Jack means well, and if it helps for next time, why not?’
Well, neither he nor Jack would be body searched for ‘tissue’, or opening their legs to be prodded and poked, or whatever else the ‘chat’ with Mr Hirsch might entail. She wasn’t born yesterday: simple conversation didn’t need an appointment with an obstetrician-cum-gynaecologist at his clinic. A cervical smear was bad enough. And yes, if men had to have the embarrassing and uncomfortable procedure, they’d come up with something considerably less humiliating, wouldn’t they? But they didn’t.
‘I’m worried I’ve offended Gavin,’ she’d replied instead.
‘How’s that?’
‘Long story,’ she’d said, crinkling her nose.
He’d kissed it. ‘Good job I have plenty of time…’
So she’d told him about her conversation with Gavin about the shooter and Heather’s desire for reconciliation and forgiveness. Robbie’s brave decision too. ‘I don’t think his is from a religious viewpoint, though,’ she’d said. ‘I think it’s more about healing, moving on.’ She’d sniffed back the emotion. ‘He’s had ten long years without a mum. Can you imagine that? We’re both so lucky to have ours.’
Wes had gazed, a shadow passing through his dark eyes. Andrea of course; the mother of hi
s sons. Her request to meet him wasn’t something he’d decided on yet.
Anna’s voice jolted Nat awake. ‘Morning, Skarbie.’ Then the drapes were opened, revealing a day as grey as Nat felt.
Her mum’s pretty face hovered, looking doubtful. ‘I didn’t know whether to wake you, but it’s late. I didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye.’
Nat hitched herself up. ‘It took ages to get to sleep, then I woke up at dawn and couldn’t get back off…’ She glanced at the clock. Heck, it was eleven! ‘But I guess I must have done.’
She tried to shake away the grogginess. That’s right; Anna and Borys were on a jaunt again today. A supermarket and its café; such was their new love! ‘Sorry, you get going; I’ll be up in a bit. Where did you say this new Morrisons was?’
Her mum didn’t answer. Instead she stroked the hair from Nat’s forehead. ‘You’re fretting about something.’ She smiled wistfully. ‘And it clearly isn’t Wesley. It’s so lovely having his company again.’ She glanced down at her hands and took a breath.
Nat cringed; oh God, her mum knew. She wasn’t ready for this conversation right now. ‘The Morrisons in Hyde, did you say?’ she asked. ‘With your Prince Charming, of course.’
‘Is that what’s troubling you, love? I’m not replacing your dad, I never could. But…’
It took a moment to adjust. ‘What? No, of course not.’ Nat laughed. ‘What are you like, Mum? Borys is great.’ A bit of an old spiv with a waster son, perhaps, but considerably more affectionate and cheerful than her father. And he made Anna happy. ‘Off you go and have fun.’
Anna’s expression cleared before another small frown. ‘But what about you? You’ve been cooped up in the house since Sunday. Promise me you’ll get out?’ She blushed. ‘The same four walls can get you down. I know it’s easy to hide when you’re feeling a bit under the weather but…’
‘Okay, will do.’ Nat smirked. ‘But suppose I need to fill the washing machine or feed the cats?’
Ignoring the teasing, Anna stood. ‘Then it can wait. Your well-being comes first. I know it sounds old-fashioned, but some fresh air will do you good.’
The ‘fresh air’ turned out to be a veritable gale. Though Abney Hall Park was less than a kilometre outside the village, Nat wished she had driven. Tired both physically and mentally, she tromped home in the steady drizzle.
She put her key in the latch. Who’d have thought a simple trip out would make her so extraordinarily weary. High emotion, she supposed, and all those embarrassing tears.
Yanking down what was left of her umbrella, she pushed the door. ‘Hello!’ she called, shaking off her damp coat and boots.
Glad of the warmth, she padded to the kitchen. She expected to see her mum and Borys sitting companionably around the table, drinking tea as usual, but Anna was alone, her face pale and tense.
‘You’re late, love. I was starting to worry.’
‘I went for a walk to…’ Nat glanced around, expecting to see carrier bags. ‘Have you put everything away, Mum? I would’ve helped.’
‘We didn’t go. We’ve been at the hospital.’
Feeling fragile, Nat stared. Could she handle more trauma right now? ‘Oh no, not Borys. What on earth happened?’
Anna shook her head. ‘Not Borys, but Michal, his son. It happened last night. Michal had no identification, so no one got in touch. When I arrived to collect Borys this morning, the call came through, so we went straight away.’
No identification? Oh God. Despite her sheer exhaustion Nat prepared herself for the worst. ‘What happened, Mum?’
‘Michal got beaten up. Badly beaten up on his own doorstep.’ Anna’s shock was plain to see. ‘He was unconscious all night, but he finally woke up this morning, thank the Lord…’
Nat let out her breath. Thank God, not dead. But the prickling sensation was there.
Her mum was patting her cheekbone. ‘He looks terrible, Natalie. Black and blue. He has facial fractures, they said. They’re keeping him in overnight again. Why would anyone do that?’ She sighed deeply. ‘It’s just dreadful, truly dreadful. I’m going upstairs to lie down.’
Her heart thrashing, Nat sat. God she hoped she was wrong, but she was certain she wasn’t. Bloody hell, bloody hell! DFL Debt Advisers were meant to come out of the woodwork by sending a reminder letter to Michal, not send in a heavy right away. Yet she should have known, shouldn’t she? If she was right and the Levenshulme Mafia were behind the loan management company, she had put poor Michal’s life in danger. She knew too well how ruthless they were. Their ‘debt enforcer’ had repeatedly threatened, then assaulted, a heavily pregnant woman; it was blindingly obvious they’d have no qualms about a middle-aged man who’d suddenly stopped paying them.
Her mobile rang in tandem with the doorbell. She glanced at the screen. Oh God; Gavin. He’d be furious, of course. Where on earth should she begin to explain and apologise?
She answered him first. ‘Gavin. One moment.’ Then she stepped to the door to let Wes in, briefly holding his hand before facing the inevitable. Taking a shuddery breath, she went back to the phone. ‘Gavin? I’m back.’
From his heavy sigh, she knew he was angry, even before he spoke. ‘What did you think you were doing, Natalie?’ he asked in a clipped voice. ‘Putting Robbie in that position? The police have been here, grilling him with questions for fifty minutes. It’s the last thing he needs. He’s shaken and tearful, the stutter is back…’
Catching Wes’s frown, she sat next to him on the sofa, trying not to cry as she continued to listen.
‘…it took me half an hour to get the truth out because he didn’t want to be disloyal or let you down. A man, no not a man, a client has been badly assaulted. The police seem to think it’s linked to the advice a newly qualified paralegal gave him. Not just advice but a directive, one which was proffered under your watch, Natalie.’ He huffed again. ‘Robbie is barely an adult. I’m at a loss to understand why you would put him in that position and not do it yourself.’
She felt the weight of Wes’s arms around her waist, pulling her close. The tenderness defeated her, the tears tumbled out. ‘I know you’re angry, Gavin, and quite rightly so. I’m so, so sorry. I deeply apologise – to you, to Michal and Robbie. There was a good reason, a good legal reason, I promise. It’s complicated, but I can explain and I will, but not right at this moment,’ she managed between sobs. ‘I’ll phone you tomorrow, but I need to talk to Wes and take things easy just now.’
A very long pause, then the tone of Gavin’s voice changed. ‘Is it a get-out-of-jail card from the doc?’ he asked.
‘Something like that.’
‘Are you saying what I think you’re saying?’
She smiled and wiped her face. ‘I couldn’t possibly comment.’
Finishing the call, she turned to Wes’s puzzled frown. Her emotions were still slithering all over. Elation, hope, anxiety, fear. She tried to blow them out. ‘So… Jack arranged…’ she began. She started again, the words tumbling out. ‘Jack visited me on Monday and guessed about the pregnancy. Well, it seems he already knew from my pasty face when I last saw him. Anyhow, the next thing I knew was a call from Mr Hirsch. I definitely was not going to go, but Anna wanted me to get some fresh air. The grounds at Abney Hall were the obvious place for a walk, and just opposite, well it just so happens that his rooms are there. It seemed… I don’t know, it felt like serendipity, so I went.’
Wes spread his hands. ‘I have no idea what–’
‘He’s an obstetrician, Mr Hirsch that is, and some days he works from the Alexandra. Today included. He’d pencilled me in for an appointment at four. He called it a “chat”, and in fairness we did, but after that he carried out an “MOT”. I’m not entirely sure I like being compared to a car, but that’s what he called it.’ Wes’s handsome face was a picture. She couldn’t help but tease him. ‘You know, oil change, spark plugs, brake check–’
‘Nat–’
‘And I passed, Wes!’
/> ‘So you’re still–’
‘Yes. He referred me to a colleague for an ultrasound scan.’ Oh God, bloody tears again. ‘And there it was on the screen. Our baby, a perfect baby with a heartbeat.’
30
Coincidental
It was a mistake to tell Anna about the pregnancy, of course. The doc had told Nat to take it easy for a few more days, not be banished to her bedroom and force-fed cabbage soup for the rest of eternity.
Nat had liked Mr Hirsch’s pleasant and honest manner. ‘I can’t wave a magic wand, Natalie, but statistically you have a good chance of keeping this baby after twelve weeks and you’re very nearly there.’
He’d explained there were a number of possible reasons why she had bled, including a blood clot or miscarrying a twin. Then again it could have been nothing at all; the body was a strange thing; some women spotted throughout their pregnancies, others had full blown menstruation. The best thing Nat could do was to take a couple more days of rest, then go on as usual, but to be sensible: no additional stress, extreme sports or alcohol.
She had wanted to enquire about the risks of having sex. Not immediately, but soon. Wes was now reading Anna’s Sunday newspaper next to her on the bed. It turned out that her exile wasn’t all bad; the father of her child was allowed upstairs for visits. Nothing had been said, but she instinctively knew an overnight stay wouldn’t be approved of. Of course it was her house and she could do as she liked at forty, but she wanted to be considerate to her mum, and besides the silent fumbling was fun.
‘Hey,’ she said, flicking the tabloid. ‘You’re here to entertain me and tell me how much you love me.’