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Geeta remembered the first time she met Nicola Albright, vividly.

The memory probably dislodged a more beautiful one, like when her second child took his first steps. But that was how human brains worked, clinging to threat rather than everyday happiness. She knew this and grasped at good things in life for balance. And to make up for the blank, she told her energetic son he was on his feet in an instant, “You incredible boy”, and they were all surprised and amazed. Which was true.

But Nicola, Nicola bloody Albright, strode into her long-term memory fifteen years ago.

Geeta had knelt on the lawns of St Hilda’s College, Oxford, by the river in spring sunshine, spreading out a picnic. Her husband chased after their son, who scampered around the grass, drawn to the water and danger, always.

She stood up, smoothed down the long tunic of her new silk Punjabi suit, knuckled her hands onto curving hips, and checked the food. She usually lived in jeans, but she wanted to look smart that day for her daughter, a student at the college.

Geeta had suggested this end-of-term picnic because, although Olivia shared little with her at an irritable twenty-one years old, Geeta suspected a soft spot for a new undergraduate called Charlotte, an out lesbian like Olivia.

So maybe a picnic when Charlotte's parents picked her up? Would that be nice? And the suggestion got a nod rather than the usual scowl.

And she was right. Here they were. A tall, smiling girl, all limbs and long wavy mahogany hair, loped towards Geeta. Olivia walked alongside, elegant and upright. She was tall and slim like her father, Sumit. Skin slightly darker than Geeta’s golden brown, like Sumit’s. Ferociously intelligent and reserved, like Sumit.

Olivia cast little looks to her friend, with the tiniest hint of interest, but a huge giveaway to Geeta who knew her daughter.

“Oh my god, this is amazing!” the friend said.

Wide eyes took in the spread of dishes on the blanket, then her olive cheeks turned pinker.

“Sorry. Hello, I’m Charlotte.”

The girl offered to shake her hand, as if a formal introduction, and Geeta smiled at her clumsy gesture and found it endearing.

“It’s just my mother.” Olivia tutted. “You don’t need to.”

But it was lovely that Charlotte offered, and Geeta rolled with the slight from her own daughter.

“Nice to meet you.” Geeta clasped Charlotte's hand with warmth. “Olivia has told me lots about you.”

A knot bulged in Olivia’s jaw. Geeta recognised that look. It said, shut up or I’ll tell you nothing about my life, ever again. And that Olivia knew, that Geeta knew, that Olivia fancied Charlotte, and under no circumstances should Geeta say anything out loud.

Still clasping her hand, the friend gazed distracted at the food as if she’d forgotten she held Geeta.

“I don’t recognise some of these,” Charlotte said, bright with intrigue. “Do you have any spare that I could try?”

Ah, Charlotte charmed her already, the enthusiasm of the girl irresistible. Geeta corrected herself. She should say woman because Charlotte would be nineteen.

“Dig in! Please!” Geeta said.

She led Charlotte to the food, and she finally let go of her hand.

“I’ve brought plenty for everyone.” Geeta sat at the edge of the blanket and Charlotte mirrored her, beaming the whole time. “These are stuffed parathas and chutneys. Spiced potato patties – aloo tikki. And I’ve made mini samosas for easy finger food.”

“Those are so cute! I love samosas!” Charlotte laughed. “Is that really OK? Mum and Dad have brought lunch, but nothing as nice as this.”

She guided Charlotte through the dishes one by one, and the girl nibbled her way through each, while Geeta’s cheeks ached with smiling. There was nothing like a social occasion with food for her, making people feel good, celebrated and cared for. It made her high.

Geeta loved preparing a spicy cup of cha on the hob for aunties when growing up in Handsworth, Birmingham. And accompanying relatives to make roti for Langar at the gurdwara. Even when asserting her independence into her teens, and she no longer visited the temple, she still wanted to cook.

She made cheap pasta dishes or tasty dal for her friends at Manchester University. Baked cakes with her own children, even very serious Olivia having a sweet tooth, then for friends and children's friends. It was a core pleasure for her – eating something wholesome and delicious and providing it for others too. And company. She adored good company.

“Oh my word, look this,” a deep voice said.

A tall man approached with the same unrestrained smile as Charlotte, as if they both bloomed with an honest energy that could light up a room.

“Daniel Albright,” he said. “And I’m rather ashamed of these crappy sandwiches.” He raised a thin plastic bag that bulged with cartons.

They both laughed.

“No worries at all,” Geeta replied. “There’s plenty for everyone. Please help yourself.”

The father was so similar, with the generous open smile, brown eyes that lacked artifice or guile, and an olive complexion.

Exhilarated and in her element, Geeta took him through the spread of food, caught up in the excitement of exploration. She immediately liked them both and their effusive delight in her food.

“We have, at least, brought heaps to drink,” Daniel said with a grin.

He zipped open a cool bag. “Do you drink?” he said, pulling out a Champagne bottle that trailed with condensation.

But before she could answer, there were footsteps. And a stride. Heels stabbed the gravel path from the porter’s lodge, and the father-daughter pair stiffened.

A tall woman in her forties strode towards them with chin up, her high cheekbones and defined jaw striking. Long, straight, mahogany hair flowed around broad shoulders and an impeccable blazer. And a tailored dress said she was ready to take on the world even at the weekend.

The woman’s gaze ate up the scene as she approached, the expression taut on her pale white face, until close enough for Geeta to see the eyes were cold and blue.

It was like someone had taken a mould of this woman to make Charlotte, but filled her personality with everything from Daniel.

Then the cold eyes of the mother startled as they met Geeta’s. A fraction of a second, that’s all it took, but she’d never felt so assessed. The icy gaze swept Geeta from head to toe, judged everything in between, then dismissed her.

Geeta coughed a quiet laugh. Was she that inconsequential? This woman clearly formed a fast opinion, then moved on as if Geeta wasn’t there.

Others though were undeterred, and with a scuffle of limbs Olivia leapt up, keen to meet this stony-faced woman.

“Olivia Sachdeva,” her daughter said, putting out her hand.

Oh, so this woman was worth a big greeting, but not Geeta when her friend offered.

“Nicola Albright, QC,” came the impeccable reply.

The name reverberated powerfully, reaching every corner of the college, assuming the right to be there.

“Charlotte’s told me so much about you,” Olivia said.

Which was also, apparently, fine.

Geeta didn’t hear what they said next. The pair drifted away to sit on a bench, keeping to themselves rather than mingling with Geeta. She caught snippets about cases and law and opaque lawyer lingo. But she knew enough that QC stood for Queen’s Counsel, which meant that Nicola was a senior barrister, distinguished in her field of law, and represented clients in the highest courts.

Realisation sunk into melancholy acceptance. This is how it should be. Her amazing girl, a third-year law student at Oxford, now looked to others as role models, not her. She gazed at the impressive pair, bursting with pride at her daughter, as Olivia spoke with intelligence and knowledge to the renowned barrister. At the same time, her heart imploded, at being no longer needed.

“So,” she said.

She put back her shoulders and placed a smile on her face for Charlotte and Daniel.

Over twenty years of being a mum taught her that. How to put on a smile, when everyone else fell into a tantrum, even while her heart grieved. How to take a breath and look from everyone’s perspective before jumping to conclusions. To accept that people changed, made mistakes, moved on, while Geeta remained fluid and adapted to every single phase. But her still heart mourned, despite her patient and positive outlook.

She peeked at the pair on the bench throughout the picnic. Daniel and Charlotte kept easy company, even with her attention divided. They flipped from food to Oxford, laughing about any subject that came up. They leapt up to play catch with Geeta’s husband and son before Adam tore off down the riverbanks again.

And Geeta followed it all.

She watched out for Olivia, whose strong opinions sometimes came across as rude. But Nicola crossed her legs, put her arm around the back of the bench and considered everything Olivia said, like a respected peer.

Then a chill descended, and the scene seemed to pause. Geeta hesitated in the middle of reaching for a bowl of pakoras, and it took her a moment to realise why.

Gay.

Somehow Olivia had mentioned she was a lesbian and everything changed.

Charlotte and Daniel turned rigid on the other side of the picnic blanket, and conversation ceased between the two on the bench.

What happened to change the atmosphere so abruptly?

“My ex-girlfriend is a member of Lincoln’s Inn,” Olivia had said. That was it.

The look exchanged between Charlotte and Daniel told Geeta everything. This was an issue.

“Olivia's just a friend,” Charlotte whispered.

Her wide eyes searched his for understanding, but Daniel’s conciliatory gaze and squeeze of her hand said he wasn’t the concern.

“Excuse me?” Nicola said, the smooth, low voice suddenly pinched. The barrister stared at the ground, her white cheeks stony.

“My ex,” Olivia said. “She’s a student member of Lincoln's Inn.”

Nicola continued to glare at the lawn.

Hot anger sparked in Geeta’s belly. Tension coiled in her limbs, ready to spring up and unleash her mama bear. She didn’t care who Nicola bloody Albright was. No-one got to disapprove of her daughter’s sexuality. No-one made her feel lesser because of it. Ever.

But just as Geeta was about to leap up, Nicola seemed to reconsider.

“It’s a fantastic choice,” Nicola said, her voice smooth again. She turned back to Olivia as if nothing had happened. “By the way, here’s my card if you want to chat about options.” Nicola dipped long fingers into a blazer pocket and drew out a business card pinched between bright red nails.

“Thank you,” Olivia replied with a polite nod.

“Drop me a line any time. I’m always happy to help women lawyers in particular. There are still so many barriers to us.”

And their conversation moved on, Nicola apparently so impressed with Olivia that the transgression of queerness passed as acceptable, and Olivia only shone brighter.

“These...these...pakoras...” Charlotte said.

Geeta’s attention flowed to the girl sitting opposite, clearly upset with her mind stuck on something other than the food.

“Would you tell me...erm...what spices you use for these?”

The mama-bear alert for Olivia faded and morphed into concern for Charlotte, whose queerness was not accepted at home. It filled Geeta with sorrow and her heart reached out for the tall, goofy girl, with a guileless smile like sunshine, who wasn't embraced for who she was.

Geeta couldn’t help it, especially with anyone her children’s age or younger. Out came the nurturing response at any sign of stress.

It was like someone hit a switch when Geeta had a baby at twenty-two. As a teen, she found babies crying aggravating and wished they'd be quiet. But as soon as she gave birth, she wanted to pick up any distressed child and soothe them like her own. The response never went away. There seemed no flicking back the switch for her, even when these kids grew up.

She reached out and gently squeezed Charlotte’s hand.

“Let me tell you how to make them.” Geeta smiled.

She chatted on, all about how to cook pakoras, even though she knew the girl wasn’t really listening. And eventually Charlotte took a nibble and brightened again.

The gathering resumed. Olivia took a turn to supervise Adam. Sumit chatted with Daniel. And Nicola sat by herself, long legs crossed in her tailored dress, checking her watch as if no-one else was worthy of her company. Which was fine by Geeta.

Except, while Geeta attended Charlotte, holding her hand and offering food, she felt Nicola Albright QC’s eyes on her the whole time.

***

That bloody memory from fifteen years ago emerged in vivid detail every time it was triggered. It took a moment for Geeta to realise why it surfaced now, early in the morning outside her bungalow.

Footsteps, familiar ones, cracked open the morning air in Iffley Village. They came from behind her with that distinctive stride length and powerful stab of heels into paving stones. God, she could see the woman with her chin aloft, even though Geeta faced the opposite direction while pulling her ordinary grey bin onto the pavement.

Nicola Albright, now KC instead of QC. Geeta always heard the full title, because did the woman ever introduce herself without telling everyone how senior and accomplished she was.

She breathed in.

“Nicola,” she said, calmly turning around. “Good morning.”

Of course they would meet. Nicola had recently bought a cottage a short distance up the lane. Geeta was prepared to face anyone with a smile, but did they have to bump into each other right now? When Geeta was puffy faced, first thing in the morning, dressed in her faded PJs and putting out the rubbish. While Nicola... She sighed as she turned round fully... Nicola looked like that.

Shoulders squared beneath a tailored dress that accentuated that impressive tall physique. Her coat billowed in the cool spring air in her wake, like everything trailed behind her. And those legs, that went on for days, bore down on Geeta along the quiet street of stone cottages. When did Nicola not look spectacular and as if about to wipe the floor with everyone in court?

Fifteen years did mean change. The long hair now flowed with broad bands of grey, and she'd dropped what Geeta thought her best feature, Daniel. And yes, Geeta wasn’t being the most generous, but dammit, the woman was challenging.

Nicola’s lips pinched thinner for a moment, then she opened her mouth with a tut.

“Good morning, Geeta.”

The barrister purred in a powerful timbre that reached along the village lanes, with a deceptive velvet finish and derision of a cat offered lettuce. Posh, forceful, British received pronunciation, and a delivery that said confidence and entitlement. A sharp contrast with Geeta’s own laid-back British accent, mellowed by her Midlands upbringing.

Nicola stopped at a shining Mercedes, parked like others along the narrow village lane built before cars. The barrister pressed her keypad and the Mercedes said beep and winked lights at Geeta, with more welcome than Nicola.

“And how are you this morning?” Nicola added with a sigh.

There was no real interest behind the question, but Geeta didn’t want to hold on to the same antipathy. It would only ruin her mood without affecting Nicola’s.

“I’m good, thanks,” she answered warmly. “Looks like it’s going to be a lovely day,”

“Doesn’t it just,” Nicola said, putting her briefcase into the car.

“Hope it holds for the weekend. Any plans?”

Nicola curled her fingers around the top edge of the car door. She breathed in and sighed out, as if summoning the energy to bother telling Geeta anything.

“The usual. Catching up with briefs and preparation for the week. Then I plan on taking Charlotte and Millie out for lunch.”

“Oh, that sounds good.”

That brought a genuine smile to Geeta's face. Was Nicola finally welcoming one of her daughter’s relationships? This time, with a sweary, clever, unfiltered woman called Millie, who Geeta suspected had a generous, tender heart, especially for Charlotte. She tried not to chuckle out loud. Is that who Nicola would have to give approval? Because the couple had all the signs of forever.

“They’re always entertaining,” Nicola said, with obvious understatement. Then she breathed in through her nostrils. “And you?” she asked, as if tired by it all. “Do you have...” she waved her hand in the air, “family plans?”

“Kind of,” Geeta said.

She forced enough surface cheeriness to be convincing and left it there. She didn’t want to go into detail with Nicola, not with her life right now.

“How lovely for you,” Nicola muttered.

This was how they managed over fifteen years. The words were often polite, but with undercurrents of complexity. Geeta at least tried to be friendly and was adept at smoothing over any slights from Nicola.

For a start, the barrister seemed to forget most of their previous conversations. Maybe Nicola saw so many people in her daily work she forgot about insignificant others, like Geeta. That was being generous, because who knew what went through Nicola's head?

But it was like Nicola played games. And all the time. With everyone. As if life were some extended session in court. Catching out Charlotte with disapproval, only to later surprise her with help. Distant one moment, then another laughing with Charlotte’s girlfriend, the sometimes outrageous Millie.

Whatever the game, Nicola was clearly used to winning, with assured presumption and insight of a military strategist.

Which made it strange that, for some reason, the cool exterior cracked whenever Geeta was around. It confused and amused her. How did she, an amiable mum, housewife, part-time employee, threaten Nicola, a barrister at the top of her career. It was ludicrous.

For the fifteen years they'd known each other, she’d seen Nicola talk in depth to Geeta’s husband, Sumit, about ethics and law in scientific research. She’d helped daughter Olivia with her career. Even chatted to her mother, Satinder, who’d been a solicitor for several years.

But for some reason, this impressive woman, a senior barrister and KC to the realm, disliked her, no matter how amicable Geeta was in return. And Geeta was warm and welcoming, she knew that about herself. Why live life any other way?

Apparently, when Nicola remembered her at all, Geeta annoyed her by talking, “all things domesticity,” she’d overheard Nicola complain to Charlotte once.

Well, why shouldn’t she? Geeta spent most of her adulthood supporting her family. Of course she talked about it. It was a huge part of her life.

Then another time, they’d almost argued about how to support grown children – Geeta keen to be a cheerleader and supportive presence, and Nicola defending her hands-off approach. Geeta accepted the difference as simply that, difference, but that seemed to annoy Nicola even more.

Geeta didn’t want to take pleasure in it, because she didn’t approach life like that, but sometimes it was kind of satisfying to annoy this elitist woman.

It was like Nicola assumed the position of apex predator – a lioness pouncing on prey – and didn’t expect her supposed prey to turn round calmly and flick her on the nose.

“How are you settling in?” Geeta asked.

She kept it light, because Nicola had moved to Iffley by herself, splitting up with Daniel a couple of years ago. That must have been hard, surely?

“Oh, everything's sorted,” Nicola dismissed any difficulty with a wave. “Glad to have my own place again.”

Or not.

She kind of envied that right now. How much easier it must be, to thrust your way through life, chin held high and boots crushing problems beneath your feet. Undiminished by adversaries. Untouched by the emotional damage that the loves of your life inflicted, even when they didn’t mean to. Geeta quietly sighed.

“By the way,” Nicola added. “The company I hired to manage the decoration and move were excellent. Let me know if you ever need their details.”

What? Was she... Was she encouraging Geeta to move? Did Nicola want to live in beautiful Iffley Village, with its rich, stone, thatched cottages and green fields by the river, without Geeta, an unfortunate blip in the perfection for her?

It took the barrister enough time to remember Geeta lived here in the first place, and now she wanted her to move?!

Oh honestly, why waste time trying to fathom Nicola.

“Thank you,” Geeta offered instead.

“Must dash. I’m due in court this morning.”

“Good luck.”

Nicola glanced at her in a way that implied luck was irrelevant, and why would Geeta suggest such a thing.

Nicola slipped into the car, one long white leg, with winter holiday tan and Pilates firmness, then the other. The door shut with a clunk that said money, then she and the electric car silently rolled out of the village.

Geeta hugged herself against the chilly April morning. At least it was more conversation than when they’d first met at that picnic.

Geeta breathed in. Then out.

She did try to understand the context of everyone and embrace the goodness in people. It was always there. Everyone had their own issues and Geeta always approached with an open mind. She didn’t need reminding of it usually, but she had her own issues right now.

But, after fifteen years of looking, hoping to find gold inside, Nicola Albright remained one of her least favourite people.

So why, at this time in her life, this very specific time, when so much was challenging, did Nicola bloody Albright have to move in virtually next door.