Victoria looked down at her phone again and re-read Nattie’s text.
Can I see you, Mum? I need to talk. What’s best for you in next couple of days? Around five tomorrow, after work, or Friday’s good, except for picking up Lily. Ahmed will look after Tubsy, then both of them in the afternoon.
Victoria clicked off and went to stand at the kitchen window. She was tired, just in from a long busy day, and stared out through the glass. The garden was cloaked in blackness, but with the bright light from the kitchen she could make out shape and form. Was it crunch time? Had Nattie made her decision?
Five o’clock tomorrow would be best. Victoria didn’t feel especially happy about Ahmed looking after the children – not that he wasn’t responsible, probably more so than Hugo as things were; it was just a feeling they were getting too close to him. It must be so painful for their father. She sighed. They were into December already, with the whole business of Christmas coming up – and what was Nattie going to do about that?
She texted Nattie back.
Sorry, busy Friday, let’s go for five tomorrow? Hope nothing too serious. Be lovely to see you, darling.
She got on with the evening, cooked, did a few chores, tried to still her mind. William called. ‘On my way, sorry!’ He never made it by the appointed time.
‘A bit less late than usual,’ Victoria said, trying to be cheerful when he came in. ‘I’m glad I factored in an extra twenty minutes’ cooking time.’
He kissed her. ‘Perfect synchronisation then.’
They sat down to supper and she mentioned Nattie’s text.
‘I don’t want to worry you,’ William said, pouring her a glass of wine, ‘I’m sure Ahmed isn’t really in much danger, but a couple of the lesser players, Iqbal and Haroon, are up for release. He was at school with these guys and Harehills may be part of Leeds, but it’s as tight-closed as any small village community you’ll get. It will hardly have been popular there that Ahmed broke rank. He’s a hero with us, but back there, it’s not like he’s an old boy who made good. There’s the honour thing too. It’s not great, those two snivelling shitholes coming out.
‘Remember Yazid, the thicko ringleader of that small cell?’ William carried on. ‘He’s still inside, but there’s also Shelby, of course, that little cunt, who’s got a score or two to settle and he’s been throwing his weight around again for some time now, weaselling his way into the clubs and doing the social scene.’
‘God, Shelby,’ Victoria said. William was doing a poor job of not worrying her. ‘I had enough stress over Nattie’s fling with him. He had it in for Ahmed back then all right. Remember the time he came to the house trying to persuade me that Ahmed was in with the terrorists? I saw him off with a flea in his ear, though Nattie would never believe it. I can hardly blame her, it was just at the time when the Home Office and MI5 were checking Ahmed out.’ Victoria felt sorrowful, remembering the pulls of loyalty and immense stressfulness of the job.
‘I’ve often wondered,’ she said, ‘whether it was Shelby who fed Hugo his drugs. I expect you know, don’t you? You, the Post, set Shelby up pretty successfully with that entrapment ring, after all, and got him put away.’
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?