‘Who would ever move house?’ Nattie grimaced at Tom. He was being stoic, even as she produced yet another overloaded packing case for him to take to the van. Amazon had delivered a quantity of double-walled flat-pack removal cartons early that morning, Ahmed must have thought of that too, in his extraordinarily productive hour before leaving. It was just as well. She kept finding more stuffed drawers, more toys, books, things they’d accumulated; belongings of his that he’d forgotten, though those were no problem now that they had the flat – nor was storage of the case he’d left behind with a spare set of kit for future visits. That wouldn’t be soon.
There were the clothes Ahmed had bought her, jewellery too, chosen sensitively, especially a thin gold necklace she adored. She’d remonstrated with him every time, but not over the Ford; that was theirs, she said, he’d be glad of a car when he came. There was no chance of seeing him before the baby was born, she knew. No snatched weekends, Shelby had seen to that. But nor should there be if she were honest with herself – if she was determined to do everything in her power to help Hugo and to try to settle into a relationship that would work.
Lily’s cooking stove, her blackboard, plants in pots, a television, Ahmed’s music kit, Moppet’s hutch, so much to fit into the van. ‘Keep it coming,’ Tom said. ‘We’ll get there!’
Jasmine was helping too, as well as looking after Tubsy. ‘What about his cot, the little lamb?’ she said. ‘He needs his midday sleepies.’
‘I think it best,’ Nattie said, looking hopefully at Tom, ‘if we put Tubsy down early for a short rest, then either Tom or I will come back in the van for the cot.’
‘I guess that’s one for me,’ Tom said. He was certainly earning his ticket to California.
Jasmine was a wonderful repository for anything going begging, thrilled with the clothes Ahmed had said he didn’t want. She did a good job on the food cupboards too, clearing and cleaning them efficiently, and was delighted to take the half-used packets, putting them separately in a neat pile. She told Nattie to wrap the frozen food in thick layers of newspaper. ‘It’s insulation, keeps it frozen for hours so it’ll be fine when you get there.’
‘Sounds brilliant,’ Nattie said, with a smile.
She and Tom made it away by half twelve. The unloading was much simpler, the van soon emptied, and she sent out for pizzas while Tom extracted bottles of beer from the stash of drink he’d just carted in. Ahmed hadn’t stinted with supplies. Then, beers in hand, they flopped down on chairs and patted themselves on the back.
‘Thanks for everything, Tom, for being there for us. You’ve been more than a friend to Ahmed. And how could I have managed without you today?’
‘It’s been fun – kind of! No, really. I like the flat too. Ahmed didn’t hang about, did he?’
‘He never does,’ Nattie said, opening cupboard doors, swigging her beer. ‘There’s excellent storage space here – good for my lonely nights, unpacking all those boxes.’
‘I still think you should have gone with him.’
‘I couldn’t. It would have felt like leaving Hugo to kill himself. I married him, Tom, I have to cherish him, even if the love isn’t quite as it should be.’
‘He’s back on cocaine?’
‘Yep. And crack most likely, but not heroin, I’m sure. I take a crumb of comfort from how he’s got by on his weekends with the children. He must have found some inner will. They mean so much to him, he’d have disintegrated if I’d taken them to California.’
The pizzas arrived; they ate hungrily. Nattie made coffee then Tom went off for the cot. It gave her a window of privacy. She wanted to text Ahmed before Tom was back and it was time to get Lily and show Jasmine the ropes at the flat.
Six in the morning in California. Ahmed would still be asleep; no noisy children now, his life changing pace.
She texted him and said she’d love a call before she had to face Hugo. It was for the comfort of hearing his voice; he couldn’t help her, couldn’t stiffen her backbone, no one could. She had to strip away Amber, Tyler Consultancy, money worries, even Ahmed. She and Hugo had to get through the thicket unaided, just them alone.
Ahmed called – conveniently when she was in the car on her way to Queen’s Park. He wished her luck with Hugo, saying fervently how hard that was for him to do. He chatted, told her about the hectic time he had coming up with the filming, all the arguments, changes to the scripts, said he loved her and she should never forget that. Ending the call was awful. It only served to make facing Hugo harder; it hadn’t helped at all.
Nattie was first at the house. The key was on her key ring where it had always been and she let herself in. The place smelled vile. It truly stank. Heidi came on a Thursday, so it was five days since she’d been, but even so . . . The smell could be rotten food, Nattie decided, making straight for the kitchen. Looking round, she could see signs of Hugo’s vain attempt to clear up, but the sad, unloved feel of the place was heartrending. It wasn’t a sort of bachelor squalor, dirty plates piled high and saucepans with congealed remains, it was more the lack of any sign of eating at all. It had the look of a family kitchen let go, barren, non-functioning; Lily’s drawings were under magnets on the fridge, a sit-on blue plastic car was pushed into a corner, but the dead pots of herbs on the windowsill, a black sack that clinked as she touched it told a wretched tale.
She found the source of the smell – sour yoghurt pots and assorted veg, all black with mould – in the swing bin. She reckoned Heidi must have had a clear-out of the fridge and assumed quite reasonably that Hugo would take out the rubbish. Nattie dealt with it, taking it to the bin outside. As she came back in, the smell was still there. It hit her then: it was vomit. She sniffed her way to the downstairs loo where she discovered the source and set to. Her long day was beginning to feel even longer.
It was six o’clock now – how late was he going to be? She went into the sitting room where Hugo hadn’t cleared away a quarter-full wine bottle and a wine glass with a lipsticked rim. There was a tumbler and empty whisky bottle on the floor beside his favourite armchair.
She heard his key in the door and glanced in the mirror over the fireplace. It was instinctive, a female thing, but it helped her confidence to feel her hair wasn’t flat and she wasn’t looking too washed-out; the next hour would be draining enough.
‘I’m here,’ she called, ‘in the sitting room.’
Hugo came in looking slightly demonic. His suit was hanging off him, he’d lost so much weight. He sniffed the air a bit, lifting his head, adjusting, she imagined, to the odour of disinfectant in the house.
‘Well, hi there, stranger,’ he said, being overtly breezy and glint-eyed, ‘welcome to your own home! What’s it to be? Glass of the old Sauve? Or are you going to be dead boring and want a cup of tea?’ He stretched out the word tea, cocking his head from side to side and being unnaturally brash.
He was confirming her worst fears. She’d visualised him snorting in the washroom at Tyler’s before leaving or the Gents in some pub on the way home.
‘Let’s have some tea. It’s soothing; it’ll help,’ she said, ignoring his glowering reaction. ‘I’ll put the kettle on. We’ve got a lot to talk about.’
‘Tea? God! It’ll be cucumber sandwiches and Rich Tea biscuits next, and cream buns.’
‘I didn’t go to the shops on the way, just cleaned up your downstairs loo.’
‘Our loo, damn you! I suppose you’re about to tell me you’re leaving old Blighty, your home and me? Better put me out of my misery then and get back to your packing.’
‘Unpacking actually. I’ve had to move – today. Your new old friend Shelby has put my life in enough danger, and the children’s lives. Jake’s house isn’t a safe place for us to be.’
Hugo slumped down in an armchair. His face was grey, sunken, he had huge under-eye shadows; his hair, when he was fit, was a feature of his good looks, mousy, but shiny and clean, floppy and forward-hanging in an appealing way. It was never, as now, flat to his head, lank and straggly. Nattie saw him notice the empty bottle on the floor; it caused him to glance at the lipsticky wine glass. He let out a low groan and buried his head in his hands.
She left him to go to make mugs of tea and phone Jasmine. ‘Hugo doesn’t seem very well,’ she said. ‘I think I could be here a couple of hours. Are you good to put the children in the bath and do a bottle? I’ll be back as soon as I can, but just reassure me, Jasmine. It’s the first night there for them – are they okay, do you think?’
‘I’ll tell them you’re with their daddy, I’m sure they’ll be fine. Lily’s been fixing her new room and Tubsy’s very settled in, like he knows the place already.’ He did, he’d had the previous afternoon there. And Lily, seeing the flat for the first time, had seemed happy enough, exploring and clucking over Moppet. ‘No worries about time for me,’ Jasmine went on. ‘I’m getting Pete over, if that’s okay? He can give me a ride home.’
Nattie thanked her and relaxed a bit. The single carton of milk in the fridge was well and truly off; she remembered a tin of powdered milk on the top shelf in the food cupboard, climbed on a chair and moved two tins of flageolet beans, a hangover from a craze for a particular lamb recipe, to reach it. She shifted an ancient packet of macaroni to tidy away the tins and saw twists of paper that took her back to another decade, another place. She was in Hugo’s Hammersmith flat, coaxing him up from the filthy floor, holding him tight while he clung wildly, screaming of demons. She left his supply where it was. Removing it wouldn’t help. Hugo had to find the resistance, the will to lick his habit; he had to get there himself.
She mixed spoonfuls of powdered milk with water and poured some into the tea; she found, to her amazement, an unopened packet of Rich Tea biscuits then remembered once buying them when one of Hugo’s aunts had been coming.
Hugo was still bent low with his head in his hands; no more bravado, he was a sagging bag of bones. ‘Please sit up properly,’ she said, feeling like a starched nurse with a patient, ‘and have a few sips of this. It’s good and hot – and don’t laugh, but I’ve found some biscuits. It’s powdered milk, though, I’m afraid. I found a tin of it behind a packet of macaroni on the top shelf of the food cupboard.’
He looked up then, stared like a man coming out of a trance. ‘Oh, you did? Right up there? Do I have to drink this? I might be sick, can’t keep much down just now.’
‘Try it. I put some sugar in, it’s settling. And dip in a biscuit too.’
‘I’m not a child. And if I don’t have a bit of Scotch I’ll pass out. I’ve got some in the hall, bought a couple of bottles on the way home. I’ll just get one.’
She could see the sweat break out as he tried to stand. ‘I’ll get it,’ she said, ‘but drink the tea.’ He stared at her, stared down at the tea, then lifted the mug to his lips with both hands.
‘I’ve got a glass here,’ he called after her as she went out into the hall.
She stayed silently in the doorway, coming back, relieved to see he was still sipping the tea. He sensed her there and lifted his eyes, putting down the mug and spilling some, holding out a hand for the bottle like a supplicant.
Nattie handed it over and sat down in the other armchair. ‘Ahmed left the country yesterday,’ she said. ‘He was on a plane before Shelby’s Twitter feed had time to have caused people to be skulking around at Jake’s or at the airport. He’d have been an easy target otherwise, probably knifed or axed in the street before he ever made it to Heathrow. It’s as well I’d made my decision in time. He knew about Shelby’s doings before leaving, of course. William had called.’
Hugo had a tormented look in his eyes. Nattie forestalled him as he tried to speak. ‘I know how you must feel about the Shelby business. It makes me shivery even to think of being followed, but let’s draw a veil over it all, shall we?’ She smiled. Hugo stayed mute, sipping whisky, his eyes in their sunken sockets constantly staring.
‘Shall I go first?’ she suggested. It was what she’d said to Ahmed only a couple of days ago. It felt like a lifetime already. ‘I’m going to try to explain what I think is the best way forward, but stop me any time you want. I’m sorry I’ve taken so long about it, but it’s been such a huge emotional upheaval. Ahmed alive and home again, the shock and bolt from the blue. He’s gone now.’ She swallowed. ‘I know it’s been hard for you, Hugo, with all the stresses and strains. I hope you understand.’
‘Oh, God,’ he mumbled. He was focusing, raw. ‘How long has Ahmed gone for? For good? What a lousy fucking mess.’ The chemicals in his system were draining and she dreaded to think how addicted he could have become. He looked ghastly. Was he going to have to go into rehab again? It would be the end of his job.
‘Yes, he’s left now, gone abroad. He’s far away. But there’s something I have to tell you, which, if you do still want me back at some stage, might make you want to change your mind. I’ll still be here in London with the children, though, either way. We had to move out of Jake’s house today, because of Shelby, but we’re in a flat that’s quite near here. You’ll be able to see plenty of them.’
He took a long gulp of whisky. ‘What is it you have to tell me? Just say it.’
‘I’m having Ahmed’s baby. I’d want to be with him from time to time – like at the birth and when he’s able to come on a visit to enjoy his child. I may go out to where he is once in a while as well. Probably take the children, but I’ll always come back, unless you’d started a new life. That’s it, Hugo. I’m sorry, I’ve let you down very badly. I love you in my way – I always will, that hasn’t changed – but I’m afraid that seeing Ahmed again, I wasn’t able to keep control.’
‘But you haven’t gone with him. Why not?’
‘I wanted to help you where I can and you’re a loving father. I can’t take your children away and deprive you of seeing them – I couldn’t do that.’
‘You’d be prepared to have his child and live here with me – with his child?’
‘Yes, if you wanted it and felt able to cope. Not straight away. In due time, if you’d got clean. You managed to, all those years ago when you were in a far worse state, so you can do it. I’d stay in the flat for a while, a couple of months, maybe. I can be there indefinitely and I have a car.’
‘Who’s paying for the flat, the car? William and your mother?’
‘No, Ahmed is. The car is his really, to use when he’s over.’
‘Where does he get the money?’
‘He’s done pretty well, actually.’ It was hard to keep the pride out of her voice.
‘Bloody man.’
‘You’ll need plenty of time to think all this through,’ Nattie said, looking at him anxiously, wondering if he was going to have enough incentive this time to find the will, ‘to know whether the very idea is beyond you or something you could bear. It’s for you to decide.’
Hugo drained his whisky glass, poured more and struggled to his feet. He walked to the window, keeping his back to her. Returning to his seat, he was crying. He sat hunched, shoulders rounded, his head bent low.
She didn’t speak.
‘I don’t need time,’ he said, looking up. ‘To have you with me again, living here, is the only thing that can give my life any meaning. I’ve loved you since I was nineteen, that’s always been my trouble.’
‘And you could find the will? No rehab? Chuck away what’s behind the macaroni packet? Silly place, people do clean shelves once in a while, you know. Better inside the packet.’
‘I was going to get on top of it, but . . .’ Hugo had been about to carry on, but dried up. He’d seen how meaningless that was; saying it wasn’t enough.
‘How do you feel about Ahmed’s child as part of our family, though?’ Nattie pressed. ‘You’ve only talked about me. It’s not as though he and I have gone our separate ways like people divorcing, remarrying, combining their offspring or whatever. He’d have an active role, be a full-on father – and I’d want him to be. I really need you to think very hard about that over the next few days. It’s so important if we’re going to work anything out.’
‘But it’s your baby, Nattie, part of you; living with a child of yours wouldn’t be the problem, it’s you keeping in touch with Ahmed that’s the hard part. I’ve lived in constant secret fear of his return, since before we were married. He’s been a ghost in the room, a hungry-eyed gremlin on my shoulder. It’s almost better to know where I am, in some ways, painful as the knowledge of you seeing him would be.
‘And as to that stash you saw . . . I’d been so determined to hold out and be sober for when you came, still holding on to a thread of hope. The trouble was that Amber appeared last night. She’d picked up on some of the Tweets. Shelby’s campaign is off the ground, but it hasn’t gone viral, you’ll be glad to know – I’d kept looking all yesterday. I was clear-headed enough for that, still lasting out at that stage.’
‘What set you back then? Something Amber said?’
‘She convinced me that you’d fly the coop, as she put it, now that Shelby had ensured Ahmed had to get out fast. She’s got keen, you see, and believed the way was clear . . . She’s kept me afloat at Tyler’s, found reasons for my absences, covered when I’ve been hung out. But being halfway sober last night I found the guts to tell her I couldn’t go on seeing her. I should have said it before. Now, though, far from bailing me out, she’ll do the opposite. I’m very likely to lose my job, Nattie – I think you should know that.’
‘I doubt she really will. Brady likes you, you’ve got that going for you, and if you’ve got clean and are on top of things, he’s not going to be swayed by Amber making a bit of trouble. People do bitch in workplaces, Brady’s wise to all that. Anyway, I don’t think Amber would do it for long. She isn’t like that. She’s a fun-loving person, the sort to cut her losses; she’ll get over you before too long. And Amber’s not so thick-skinned that she won’t have known, deep down, that you didn’t have the right feelings for her. I don’t think she’ll do you in.’
Hugo was looking dumbstruck. Nattie left him and went to check out the freezer. She found a lasagne she’d made months ago, but it should be okay. She stuck it in the microwave to cook from frozen, hoping that wasn’t breaking any rules, and went back in to him. ‘Can you go to the supermarket for bread, milk and eggs, and some soup too, while you’re at it, and a packet of spinach. You must have something green.’
He wasn’t taking any of that in. ‘Shall I tell you something mildly funny?’ he said.
‘Go on then.’
‘Remember Brian from SleepSweet, who you said we should have to supper? You really took agin him on the night, though you’d mellowed when he showed an interest in Tom’s paintings.’
‘Yes, I remember,’ she said. ‘He was a weedy womaniser. I can’t believe he has much success, and it was a waste of space for any leads to new business.’
‘It wasn’t. He called me yesterday and said he’d recommended me to his new boss. The firm they’ve got isn’t cutting it. I nearly fell off my chair. He wants me to come in and meet them and discuss when and whether Tyler’s would pitch.’
‘That’s not funny; it’s great! How’s Bosphor going? I’ve been worried about that. Have you been scuppering yourself there?’
‘Nearly, but I had some luck. You’ll do your full prude look, but snorting a line can be a lifeline once in a while. I was full of oomph, chatting up the travel editor of the Courier, and she was curious. She’s a user, I think – it takes one to know one – and anyway, I made a hit. She’s written a good piece since.’
‘That’s such a rag, that paper.’
‘No credit where it’s due?’
‘None. Go and get the shopping, get some air, work up an appetite.’
‘I’m not into food,’ Hugo said, watching while she found a notepad and wrote a list. He was thinner than a reed, unsteady as he went out of the door, but he went.
‘Wear a coat!’ Nattie shouted after him, before texting Jasmine with an even later ETA.
She felt bloodied, nakedly guilty. The last three months had been unimaginably happy, love and joy distilled to their purest essence with the inevitability of their time being finite – as she’d known in her heart. The trouble with love, feeling that nothing more exists than breathing the same air, touching and belonging, was that more did exist, a world beyond, the lives of others.
To have to face up to the sure knowledge that she’d driven Hugo to such a state of black, destructive desolation that he’d kept company with a snake like Shelby was a heavy penance. She, not Hugo, had caused Shelby to gather his ammunition; her actions, not Hugo’s, had started the rot.
Now she had to patch together the fabric of family life. She had to hope and pray, try to put Hugo back on track. She would hold off moving in again for as long as possible, while her heart was so raw, then do her best to make him feel loved.
He had to live with her pregnancy, see her change shape, suffer the constant reminders, accept the fault lines and settle for what she could give.
Could they find a way through? Lily and Tubsy would glue them together, they’d adjust to the new baby too, and all that went with it. They’d enjoy seeing Ahmed, their distant daddy, once in a while; he would always be special in their lives.
He was more than that to Nattie. Somewhere out there, a pinpoint of light shone bright in the dark of an unknown future. She would never stop hoping. Life could take many different turns.