Page 19

Nicola had taken many careful steps towards Charlotte over fifteen years.

Stopping comments about her queerness cold and dead in their tracks, Geeta’s presence bursting into Nicola’s psyche and making her wince at every guilty thing she’d said.

Slowly accepting that Charlotte was a lesbian and would never change, and that Nicola should never have suggested it.

Supporting Millie as Charlotte’s new girlfriend because, no matter how ill-advised, they seemed destined. She’d have to see where they landed, rather than stopping them.

Showing her genuine respect for people like Olivia, Kate and belatedly Philip.

Yes, she’d come a long way.

But now she’d blown all her progress to pieces, tripped up by her powerful attraction to Geeta, sharp mind thrown into a spin and messing up spectacularly. In front of Charlotte. In front of Geeta.

She realised, despite her small steps to accepting Charlotte’s sexuality and that of others, she hadn’t really examined her own in those fifteen years. She’d kept the cogs of her life turning fast, but the spanner that threatened and rattled the edges now plunged into the works, bringing her life to a standstill.

Damn it. Ignore this crush, or face it, whatever she did, it became a bigger and bigger issue.

For years, Geeta made her question everything about sexuality, then, unaware, enthralled her with a touch at the garden party. And when Geeta said ‘put women’ Nicola had unravelled, and nothing could halt it. The woman, who made her stop and stare and melt and sigh, was interested in women too.

It was as if Nicola’s years-long resistance strengthened her attraction. Like pulling back an unseen powerful elastic thread, and it suddenly letting go when Geeta said she was queer. Except this attraction had nowhere to go. Geeta hated her. And Nicola hurtled towards a stonewall of defiance.

How excruciating. The woman who made her melt burned with rage in return.

First things first, however.

“I’m sorry,” Nicola tapped out a message to Charlotte on her phone.

She’d already called, three times an hour apart, all unanswered, and got the message loud and clear that her daughter didn’t want to talk to her. Which was understandable.

But Nicola didn’t delay sorting problems. See an issue – fix it. Firefighting was what she did best, despite rarely starting the fires.

“Can we do that again, please? I'd love to help you and Millie.”

She imagined Charlotte showing Millie the message, and the latter cynically cackling.

“How about I take you to lunch? Ashmolean?”

Still no reply on Sunday.

Charlotte made her sweat. Also, understandable. Then she corrected herself. Charlotte wouldn't make her sweat for the sake of it because the girl was not calculating. She’d just be extremely hurt.

New message then.

“BTW, I’m free today and next weekend,” she tapped out. “Or Monday lunchtime at a push,” she added as a desperate alternative.

“OK. Monday,” came back.

So Charlotte chose the shortest slot. Fine. She’d work with that. Her daughter was giving her a chance.

She cancelled appointments and strode down the broad boulevard of St Giles, up the wide stone steps of the museum, through the columned entrance and climbed the sleek new stairs of the atrium to the rooftop restaurant. She sat at a table by the window wall with a view across the spires, always enjoying the sensation of being on top of Oxford.

Charlotte hadn’t arrived yet, so she ordered sparkling water for them both. She’d be forever grateful that her daughter didn’t like the taste of alcohol, and Nicola twisted the top with a satisfying crack and poured two fizzing drinks.

“Well, I’m not bloody putting up with it,” filtered through the air in London tones.

Ah. Charlotte brought Millie then. She would have preferred a private chat with Charlotte, but of course she’d bring reinforcements.

Nicola sighed, realising this was where she’d first met Millie. Before Nicola melted at Geeta. Long before Millie fell in love with Charlotte. The short, curvy blond had swaggered in with Charlotte, hips swaying, head thrown back with laughter, curls bouncing with the same energy as the woman herself. Nicola had instantly recognised trouble and almost welcomed the challenge.

Brash, outspoken and a man-eater, Millie let everyone know how much she enjoyed life without shame. Nicola had quietly approved of her: the gusto, the conviction, coming from an ordinary school and blazing into every room. That’s what women needed to cut their way through Oxford. She’d even admired Millie for standing up to her.

Because in preparation for that first meeting, Charlotte must have told her that Nicola didn’t approve of her coming out. Millie had entered with a glint in her eye and a defiant smile on her lips, clearly with an intention of socking it to Nicola. Millie's loud voice had carried in the respectable restaurant, referring to Charlotte as a ‘luscious lesbian’ and other names. Anything to rub Nicola’s nose in it. And Charlotte grew, sitting taller every time Millie shouted out another term, knowing it came from a place of unshakeable support.

Nicola had watched her, almost enjoying it, wondering how far Millie would take it.

Kissing Charlotte was how far, right in front of Nicola and Daniel – a theatrical smooch that delighted Millie and turned Charlotte the colour of borscht.

Nicola remained under no illusion that Millie wanted Charlotte as a lover. That was not her intention. But Nicola also knew she’d break Charlotte’s heart one day. Which she did.

Now Millie was back, and here to support Charlotte again. So be it. She stood to welcome them. Appropriate, she thought, given her mistake. She could show humility and respect when needed.

“Mum,” Charlotte said.

Quiet. But Nicola wouldn’t berate her for not speaking up today.

“Charlotte, darling. Come and sit.”

Charlotte nodded, eyes down, evading Nicola’s.

“Nicola,” Millie almost growled, pitching up the end of her name in defiance.

“Millie, darling. Good to see you too, because I owe you both an apology. I’m sorry for my behaviour at the weekend.”

The tiniest nod from Charlotte. Nothing from Millie.

They both sat opposite, a show of strength together, Nicola without Daniel this time. Although Nicola had effectively been on her own back then anyway.

“Lunch is on me, so order whatever you fancy,” Nicola said, with a generous wave at the menus.

“I’m...” A frown took up residence between Charlotte's eyebrows. “I’m feeling sick, so I might not have much.”

“Of course,” Nicola said.

How odd. It hadn’t sunk in that Charlotte was actually pregnant. She’d been too focused on fixing this rift between them.

She should have known, looking at Charlotte closer now. Face fuller, chest larger, like Nicola when pregnant with Bryony.

And now her youngest was expecting. How strange and miraculous and terrifying. She tried not to think of everything that might go wrong. But, of course, she did. That was her job, both as barrister and mother.

“Tell me everything,” Nicola demanded, in a friendly way. “I was incredibly rude on Saturday and cut you off. I'd be grateful if you could fill me in.”

A smile promised to appear on Charlotte’s face, like an almost-dawn of happiness.

“Please,” Nicola said, wanting to see it break into sunshine.

“Well, erm...” Charlotte reached for Millie’s hand. “It’s...”

They looked at each other and Charlotte tripped over several starts.

Just spit it out, for goodness’ sake. Nicola took a sip of water so she wouldn’t say it. Patience. Patience.

“We only talked about it at the end of last year,” Millie said. And Charlotte’s sunshine smile dawned for her instead.

“We approached the clinic in January,” Millie continued.

OK. So they were going to a clinic. She appreciated the information. Clearly Nicola wanted to know where this child came from, but couldn't ask.

Millie twitched, not quite her robust, blunt self today. “We chose an anonymous donor they’d had success with before,” Millie carried on.

“We want a child. Just...” Charlotte squeezed Millie’s hand hard.

“And we were expecting this to take months.”

“Years.” Charlotte’s eyes stretched wide with surprise.

“But Charlotte's pregnant. We had the three-month scan last week. And...”

Millie beamed at Charlotte as if the most miraculous thing on earth, and they gazed at each other, amazed and nervous and very much in love. Nicola read it all.

She was almost envious.

“Turns out I’m ridiculously fertile.” Charlotte looked embarrassed about it. “Which is ironic, considering.”

Considering? Nicola didn't press though. This wasn't the time to bulldoze answers out of them.

“Well congratulations, both.”

Nicola raised her glass and clinked it against Millie’s. Charlotte almost dropped hers when she attempted the same.

Nicola bit her tongue. She must not say anything about how dreadfully clumsy Charlotte was. How, for such a clever, studious girl, she was ineptitude itself at the basics – frustrating when Nicola saw moments of brilliance from her. And how she’d definitely need to speak up if she was going to be a mother.

Charlotte was many exasperating things. Late teens were a maelstrom of tensions with Charlotte never following Nicola’s advice. Nicola introduced her to a Fellow of prestigious Magdalen College, then Charlotte applied to St Hilda’s. She scored higher on the Oxford entrance exam than sister Bryony, but dragged her heels when revising for A levels. Nicola paid for tennis club for Charlotte, but she wouldn’t even try, more interested in gazing at the surrounding trees than the ball Nicola served to her.

Then suddenly Charlotte would put on headphones, to tune Nicola out she suspected, got on with revision and into Oxford. Nicola couldn’t decide if it was deliberate stubbornness, or if Charlotte blundered through, oblivious to anything Nicola told her. And just when Nicola thought she’d finally, finally, finally pulled her life together, getting an IPR and Tech job at Bentley, she fell head in the clouds in love with Millie, lapsed into distraction and was now entertaining the fantasy of raising another human.

She stopped herself. There was no point indulging these misgivings when Charlotte was already pregnant.

“So, when’s your due date?” Nicola asked instead.

“End of the year,” Millie answered.

“How lovely. A Christmas baby.”

A miracle baby. She hadn't seen this coming. It hadn’t settled into her consciousness as real yet. When had Charlotte been interested in having children, for goodness’ sake? She showed little interest in Bryony’s. Avoided her sister like the plague. Almost as much as she avoided Nicola, except Nicola kept insisting on seeing her.

“Is there anything you need now?” Because Nicola could be practical even though the emotional reality hadn’t settled yet. “I’d love to help you buy baby things. They cost a fortune. You wouldn't believe the paraphernalia you need.”

“We’re...” Charlotte frowned. “We’re not rushing yet.”

Their hands squeezed tighter.

“We’re decorating the bedroom,” Charlotte said.

That would account for the patch of paint in Charlotte's hair that Nicola also tried not to comment on.

“And after the twenty-week scan, we’ll buy everything.”

Still the tight hands.

“OK,” Nicola said lightly. “I'll transfer some cash, so you can pick up things when you see them.”

“Right.” Charlotte nodded. “That’s....”

“Very welcome,” Millie finished. “Thank you, Nicola.”

They remained quiet over lunch, and Nicola watched as they ate, Charlotte fussy about the food. Nicola remembered this stage of pregnancy well. A whiff of chocolate or coffee and she'd throw up. Millie hovered attentive. Not quite the ballsy version she saw usually. They were nervous about this.

Nicola leant her elbows on the table, fingers entwined, anxious for them too. How on earth was her girl going to navigate this?

“Have you told Bryony?” she threw out there.

Charlotte breathed in with a slight smile. “Yes. It surprised her but she said congratulations, and she’s saving the kids’ clothes to hand down.”

Her two daughters, so tall and similar in looks, couldn't be more different in every other way. Nicola understood that. She also knew she shared Bryony’s wavelength more than Charlotte's.

She was about to ask if Charlotte had told Daniel, but she would have told him first. Nicola silently sighed. Then it hit her. Charlotte had told her in the safety of company, Geeta’s, rather than telling Nicola on her own. The sigh was deep and pinched at the end.

Millie checked her watch. “I need to get back.”

“Me too,” Charlotte said, in a hurry.

It had been brief but they'd given her time. This was progress. Although she recognised Charlotte fleeing with Millie.

“I need the loo.” Charlotte stood, with another squeeze of Millie’s hand.

Which left Nicola and Millie.

The blond gazed at her from the other side of the table, with eyes that shimmered between green and blue as if reflecting shifting thoughts. What did Millie have planned for her today?

“Thank you for coming,” Nicola said, an opening move.

“Thank you for lunch.”

Still the gaze.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t more supportive when Charlotte announced she was....”

Pregnant. Her daughter was pregnant. Her youngest, who was surely still that goofy affectionate girl, was about to have her own child.

Millie sat back and considered her.

“I know you, Nicola.” Millie crossed her arms. “You don’t think anything different to what you said before. You’re just being more diplomatic about it.”

Nicola listened.

“You can switch this on whenever you want.” Millie waved her hand dismissively. “Changing tack with whatever wind suits you.”

Nicola waited. There was more coming.

“I’ve teased Charlotte for years. How she’s like a mini you and always trying to emulate her mother. How she dresses and speaks. Choosing law and Oxford.”

Millie leant forward so her words would remain private, while Nicola also heard her loud and clear.

“But think how much happier you and Charlotte might be. How much easier life would become,” she tilted her head, “if you both respected Charlotte, as a perfect version of her, instead of a shit version of you.”

There were few Nicola would tolerate speaking like that, but Millie had seen right through her. Admiration kindled too. It’s why she’d always nudged Millie towards being a barrister and offered support.

They looked at each other, neither wavering. And Nicola said nothing, because a good barrister also knew when to keep quiet.

Millie stood and left.

Fair enough. Point to Millie.

Also, ouch. It hurt deep down, alluding to a history she didn’t understand, never really appreciating where Charlotte was coming from.