Twenty-two

The next morning Sonia came round, early, to look after the kids. Tom and I dashed out to the car and drove to London. On the way he told me that he couldn’t possibly act for me, it would be unethical; as my husband, he couldn’t give me independent advice. Besides, he would probably be called as a witness. This was a shock but he told me not to worry, we would get Bella instead; she worked for him and she was very good.

We parked on a yellow line and dashed into his office. He got us some coffee and buzzed for Bella.

‘Now, when she comes, you’re going to Somerset House, right?’

I nodded.

He sat me down on a chair and lit my cigarette. My hands were shaking.

‘It’s just a formality, to issue the originating summons. She’ll explain in the car.’

‘Then what? I’ve got all muddled.’

‘Then she’ll get leave to serve papers on Salim.’

‘When’ll he come?’ I asked.

‘Fast.’

There was a pause. I looked at a row of pigeons, sleeping on the roof outside. My throat was so dry I could hardly swallow.

‘Once the summons has been issued,’ he said, ‘you’ll have to file an affidavit. You’ll have to give details of schools, day-to-day arrangements and so on.’

‘They’ll come and check me out, won’t they?’

He nodded. ‘The court will direct a welfare officer to prepare a report.’ He buzzed again. ‘Is she there?’ He turned back to me. He spoke at high speed; now he was at work, he was suddenly impressive. ‘They’ll visit you, they’ll interview you, they’ll talk to the kids, alone and with you, they’ll watch you together. You’ll have to arrange something about your job. Are you prepared for this?’

I nodded. ‘Then we go to court?’

‘Yes. It’ll all take some time.’ He came over to me. ‘Listen, darling. This is your last chance. You can still pull out.’

I shook my head.

‘It’s very dangerous. You know what you’re letting yourself in for?’

Suddenly I felt as if I was in a wartime drama, and he was priming me for an undercover operation. None of it seemed real. It was all being taken out of my hands.

I nodded and stood up. He put his arms around me. We hugged each other. At that moment, I loved him very much.

Just then, the door opened and Bella came in. She was black, and smart, and businesslike. Tom and I sprang apart.

Tom drove Bella and me to Somerset House. I wished we had a siren for the car. He left us outside and sped off. We waited impatiently, then we saw a man in an office. It seemed odd that a scrap of paper connected this stranger to my children. I suddenly missed Bobby and Yasmin, painfully. As we clattered down the stairs I realized that I felt like a mother again. I hadn’t for such a long time.

The rest of the morning passed in a daze. Tom was on the phone most of the time; he had to set a whole system in motion. He didn’t question me again about going through with it. He had made up his mind to help me. I sat there, knotting my fingers together and gazing at him with devotion.

Bella got through to Karachi, to Mr Hussein’s office. Tom gave me a sherry. Then Lucy, his secretary, got me a taxi and I took the train back to Kent.

‘Come and sit down,’ I said to the children. ‘I’ve got something to tell you.’

They were in their pyjamas, ready for bed. We were in Yasmin’s room that night. They sat down on either side of me. I took a breath.

‘Listen, darlings, very carefully.’ I put my arms around their shoulders. ‘How would you like to stay here, with me and Tom?’

They turned to look at me, puzzled.

‘For ever,’ I said. ‘This would be your home. Our home. How would you like that?’

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Yasmin said: ‘What about daddy?’

‘You’d still see him. Sometimes.’

Suddenly Bobby wailed: ‘What about Kulfi?’

‘What?’ I asked.

‘What about my dog?’

‘We can get another one!’ I said, desperately. ‘I’ll get you anything. But we can be together. For ever. Wouldn’t you like that?’

They nodded. I’m sure they did.

‘I’ll tell you what’s going to happen,’ I said, and told them.

Events moved fast. It was a week or so later. Salim had flown over to London, as Tom had predicted. I was sitting in the lounge, talking to Tom on the phone. I’d tidied up the house; it was unrecognizably clean. I had even dusted the books and washed the kitchen floor. Out in the garden, the welfare officer was chatting to the kids. I had bought a tent and put it up on the lawn. Bobby was lifting the guinea-pig out of its hutch and showing it to the woman.

‘… She’s been here for hours,’ I said. ‘No, not bad. We had our little talk. Bobby’s shown her his tent, he’s so proud of it. He tried to make her go inside but she’s too big.’

The woman looked up at the cottage; I ducked behind the window. Then I heard her voice, talking to the children, and their chattery replies. I couldn’t hear what they were saying.

When she came in I was just taking some cakes out of the oven. I was wearing an apron and looking very housewifely. I’m a respectable mother, I thought, baking for my children.

‘Mmmm,’ she said. ‘Smells nice.’

I pointed to the cakes. ‘They’re my children’s favourites.’ I took off my oven gloves. ‘Would you like some tea?’

‘No, thanks.’ She looked at her watch. She was a portly woman with a big mole on her cheek. I hoped Bobby hadn’t remarked on it. ‘Must be pushing off.’ She looked at her notes. ‘Now, Mrs Wainwright, I’d like to see the children with their father. He’s staying at …’ She looked at her notes again. ‘Oh, yes, the Kensington Hotel. But I’ll see them in my office. Probably Thursday. Can you make sure they’re there? I’ll give you a ring when I know the time.’

‘Yes, of course,’ I said unctuously. If we were in Pakistan, I thought, I could slip her five hundred rupees.

I nearly started giggling then; I was feeling so pent-up I was almost hysterical. Then I thought: Why the hell should I prove I’m a good bloody mother?

We waved goodbye to the welfare officer, the three of us at the door. I kept my arms around my kids, and we watched her drive away in her mini. When we went back into the kitchen Bobby stared at the cakes.

‘What’s that?’ he asked, surprised.

‘Just some cupcakes,’ I said casually. ‘What did she ask you?’

Yasmin said: ‘She asked if I wanted to go to the big school.’

‘You do, don’t you?’ I said.

‘Emily’s not going.’

‘But Mandy is,’ I said. ‘You like her.’

Bobby was greedily eating a cake; crumbs scattered on the floor.

‘She’s best friends with Carol now,’ said Yasmin.

I turned to Bobby. ‘I showed her your new computer. She was ever so impressed. I showed her all your computer games.’

Bobby didn’t answer. He was stuffing himself with another cake.

When Tom came home that evening he closed his eyes dreamily.

‘Ah … that Proustian smell of Pledge … I’m a boy again, everything’s safe … the snip-snip of secateurs …’ He looked around the living room. ‘Why can’t it always be like this?’

‘He hasn’t got a chance in hell,’ I said. ‘He’ll just sit there in the welfare office, he won’t look like a father at all. The kids’ll be bored out of their minds.’

Tom went to the drinks cupboard and poured us Cinzanos. ‘Don’t underestimate your ex.’

‘But what can he do?’

‘He’ll show her photos.’

‘Photos!’ I laughed. ‘What, compared to this?’ I gestured round at the cottage. He didn’t reply. He just sipped his drink.

‘We’re going to win, aren’t we?’ I said.

‘You expect a lawyer to tell you that?’

I said: ‘I expect a husband to.’

He smiled. ‘Even a husband wouldn’t be that stupid.’

As time passed, I felt more and more optimistic. The weather was beautiful; down in the village they played cricket on the green. The countryside was bathed in sunshine; it was the dreamy England people feel homesick for, when they live abroad. I knew my kids wanted to live here with me. They didn’t talk about Pakistan anymore, not at all, and seemed quite calm about the whole business. In fact, I think Bobby enjoyed being the centre of attention, with strangers asking him questions and his mother spoiling him. Yasmin started taking riding lessons and I promised her a pony. Their primary school took them back for the rest of the summer term. I ferried them to and fro and became a much more diligent mother than I had ever been before, like one of those mothers in a Ladybird book. During the weeks before the court hearing, in fact, we settled down into a strangely normal routine. I arrived from work and chatted to the other mothers at the school gates, as if the last two years had just been a temporary setback. A couple of new babies had arrived, but otherwise everything seemed weirdly the same. Everyone told me I was bound to win.

Looking back, the days had a golden, timeless feel to them. They resembled the photos of that summer before the First World War broke out. One day, when I was driving the children home, Bobby turned to me.

‘When dad came, he said we were going to the dentist.’

Yasmin said: ‘Then he said we were going on the ferry. He said we’d see you soon.’

‘He told a lie,’ said Bobby. ‘He says we can’t lie, but he told one.’

The presence of Salim, only sixty miles away, was like the rumbling of artillery, massing for the assault. The kids saw him a couple of times at the welfare place, but I never did. I didn’t even know if he stayed in London all those weeks, while we waited for a date for the court hearing. But I could almost feel his anger, like an electro-magnetic force. At night I barred and bolted the doors and lay in bed, tense for the sound of a car arriving.

I told the children we were fighting like this because we both loved them so much. I said that whoever won, we would both love them for ever. This often happened after a divorce, I said. It had happened with Bill and Sonia; we were just like them, only a bit more so. Quite a bit more so. I spoke with a kind of tender exhilaration, because I knew I would win. I think Tom secretly thought so, too. Sometimes, just occasionally, I almost felt sorry for Salim. He was going to lose them. We had divided the world between us. East and West, and now never the twain would meet. How could my kids possibly want to grow up in their grandparents’ house, going to their strict, boring school each day to learn chunks of the Koran by heart? How could they possibly want to grow up motherless?

There was just no competition.

‘We’ve got you a barrister,’ said Tom one evening when he came home from work. ‘You’re lucky. We’ve managed to get Henry Allen. He looks a bit of a queen—well, he is a bit of a queen—but he’s terrific. Bella’s arranged a conference for next week.’

I went up to London and met him. He was large and florid and reassuring. He asked me a lot of questions and told me not to worry if the odd tear flowed in court. It wouldn’t do us any harm.

Then I went to Fenwick’s and bought myself a suit—dark-blue, tailored, straight skirt.

‘I look like an IBM executive!’ I wailed that night.

Tom shook his head. ‘You look like a respectable, responsible mother,’ he said. ‘Power dressing for parents.’

A few nights later, when Bobby was having his bath, I went into his room to straighten his bed. Underneath the pillow I found some photos. He must have hidden them there.

I took them out. They were all of Kulfi, his dog—Kulfi lying on the dusty lawn; Kulfi curled up on Bobby’s bed; Kulfi jumping up—blurred—at a pair of unknown legs.

I looked at them for a moment. Then I put them back under the pillow. They didn’t mean anything.

The next week we got a date for the hearing. It was July 15.

I remember the night before. My new suit lay over the chair. Outside, it was a heavy, starless night. The whole world seemed to be holding its breath. In the next rooms my children lay sleeping.

I thought of my kids growing up tall and strong here. I could almost hear the pony, snorting and stamping in the orchard. I thought of us all being together, down the years. I would take Yasmin into Ashford to buy her first bra. We’d make autumn bonfires together. Oh, I don’t know what we’d do. Everything. My stomach ached; my head throbbed.

‘You awake,’ whispered Tom. ‘Want one of your pills?’

I shook my head. I needed my wits about me for the next day.

‘I won’t have to speak to him, will I?’ I asked.

‘You won’t even be sitting with him.’

We lay side by side, stiff as knights in armour. Downstairs, one of his clocks chimed twice.

‘Do you hate him?’ I asked.

‘I hate what he’s done to you.’

I turned to looked at him; his face in darkness. ‘Have you ever been jealous?’

‘No,’ he said. Downstairs, another clock struck two. ‘Of course I have,’ he said. Then he kissed my forehead. ‘Better get some sleep.’