Page 37

“Come on, Nicki, relax. Literally millions of women have kids,” Daniel said. “What's there to worry about?”

And if Nicola hadn’t wanted to throttle him before, she did now.

They sat in the garden of The Prince of Wales pub, Daniel and Charlotte on one side of the picnic bench, and Nicola and Millie on the other. And of the three, Millie, who had a hundred issues with Nicola, was closest to a supporter. Know your surroundings. Know your allies. Keep your head.

Nicola squeezed her tumbler of sparkling water so tight it might crack. She almost wished it would shatter, for some release in the tension of this ‘get together’.

Daniel rarely bothered with the family video calls, preferring to catch up with the girls separately. Which was fine by her. But he wanted to talk before Charlotte gave birth. Nicola didn’t for one minute think it was his suggestion. No doubt his new wife’s.

She simmered, livid that he and Charlotte chose the village pub.

“It’s convenient for you!” he’d insisted in a message, and they’d already arrived when she objected and suggested another venue.

Deliberate? Probably just impulsive and thoughtless. But she didn't want him here. Iffley was hers. Her new start without him anywhere near. He’d never liked the village at college, part of the appeal for her. And in the past, he had the love of the children and the family home. While she had work. So no, this was her turn. Her home.

“Relax,” he said again.

Always telling her to relax, when if she ever had, everything would have fallen to pieces.

“Nothing will go wrong.” And he slung his arm around Charlotte, as if everything would be fine, now he was here.

What the hell did he know about it? It was Nicola’s mother who stayed and helped when she’d given birth to Bryony and Charlotte.

She only relaxed a little when she noticed Millie’s knuckles turning white around her juice. Not a beer today. Did Charlotte brief her? Did Charlotte finally notice that in Daniel?

“So,” Nicola said, towards Charlotte. “How are you doing for baby things, darling?”

“We’ve got the lot, haven't we pumpkin.” Daniel squeezed Charlotte, answering for her. “We’ve scoured the website, and I’ve bought everything. Cot, carriers, buggy.”

It was probably his wife’s suggestion again. And while a sting of jealousy never left completely, although she wished it damn would because he was the last person she wanted, she mentally thanked his new wife for the purchases.

He was still handsome and clearly charming everyone but Nicola.

She turned to Charlotte. “Do let me know if you need help assembling them.”

Because he’d forget that part. That turning up with a generous flourish and charming smile wasn't the whole story. There was always more work behind the scenes, and that had always fallen to her. And nobody thanked her for it. Nobody smiled like the sun for that, as Charlotte beamed at Daniel now, and had for years and years.

Fuck. She hated turning into this.

She wasn’t afraid of being a bitch, but only when it had purpose. This? This was a fucking nightmare, one she’d lived for decades and had no tolerance for anymore. She’d endured his company for half an hour and reverted to brim-full tension, after all those years of catching the dropped balls, cleaning up the mess, remembering the forgotten details and eventually staying away from home, just for a break.

She closed her eyes a second, for some relief.

What a difference between the warmth and ease yesterday with Geeta’s family, to the chill with her own. She breathed in quietly to keep herself calm.

“That’d be great Nicola,” came a quiet voice nearby.

She snapped her gaze to Millie beside her. The short, curvy woman, usually the energy in a room, sat with a blank face and subdued mood.

“You and me can assemble the cots and stuff.” Millie nodded. “Appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome, Millie. Let’s arrange a time.”

Surprising relief from that quarter. But Nicola was right. Millie was her closest ally in this family grouping. Jesus fucking Christ.

Then she froze.

Charlotte stared at her with an expression so complex Nicola caught her breath. What on earth swirled through her daughter’s head? So transparent usually, Charlotte wore exasperation as subtly as a bright-red oversized sweater, kicking stones in the river and moping behind when out for a stroll together. Her eyebrows would pitch in a roof whenever confused or upset, and she sighed, bored, on Zoom calls with her sister and Nicola.

Once, from such a call, Nicola had popped out for a glass of water, and walking back to her desk she overheard Bryony tut and say, ‘For god’s sake, Charlotte, she’s trying. Give her a chance'.

And she’d never felt so distanced from her youngest, even Bryony reading her better than Nicola.

Because despite those strong emotions being so readable, the person beneath remained unfathomable to her. ‘Why?!’ was Nicola's most frequent thought about Charlotte's actions, and taste, and everything.

But this expression, the one that fixed Nicola to the spot, carried so many thoughts that she blanched. It stirred something Nicola didn't like it all.

Fear. What a rare thing. But it was there.

***

Geeta spotted them down the lane, coming from the pub and she paused, recognising Daniel, who looked almost exactly the same as the last time she’d seen him. Charlotte walked arm in arm with him, and Millie strolled behind.

Then Nicola. What a change. The tension radiated off her from a good hundred metres away.

And Geeta retreated to her bungalow, delaying calling at Nicola’s.

When they’d woken together this morning, Nicola had rolled towards her, relaxed and smiling, gazing at Geeta with soft eyes and deep feelings, an ocean of contentment building between them. Nicola suggested meeting after everyone left, in a light arrangement, and headed out carefree.

The contrast now couldn't be more obvious. That was the woman she’d met fifteen years ago, not the one she’d woken naked to this morning.

Geeta left it later and later. But Nicola didn’t call.

So. Something had happened, and an odd jealousy stirred. Daniel and Nicola had been together for thirty years before divorce. But that was in the past, she reasoned, recalling how brutally Nicola talked about its finality. The marriage had echoes and its shape on the present, but Nicola was definite about that split.

Something was clearly up with Nicola, though, and Geeta wanted to help.

She wandered along the lane, up the steps and long narrow front garden, and gently knocked inside the porch on the cottage door.

It wrenched open and Nicola stood in the doorway.

Geeta stepped back. "Hi,” she murmured.

“Sorry,” Nicola replied.

Tension hardened her face. Not business like, or on top of her game, but wrought.

“It’s late, isn’t it.” Nicola breathed in. “I should have called and cancelled. I’m...not the best company this evening.”

Nicola avoided her gaze. That was OK. It was obvious something was wrong.

“Would you like me to come in through?” Geeta asked. “I can make you a cup of tea?”

Nicola looked everywhere but straight at her, although she nodded. “Yes, please. I’m sorry I didn't realise the time.”

Geeta wasn’t familiar with Nicola’s kitchen. They tended to stay at hers. But she found what she needed, while Nicola sat at the table.

“There you go.”

She slid a steaming mug next to Nicola and sat around the corner of the table. She didn’t want to press and waited for Nicola to talk if she wanted. Geeta stared out of the large window in the meantime, the garden outside lush with late summer foliage, abundant compared with when she’d first visited.

In the periphery of vision, Nicola shook her head.

“Charlotte having a baby is a catastrophe,” Nicola muttered.

Geeta flinched. For a moment, all their ancient antagonistic history swelled up inside. She waited, and let it wane and abate. Nicola wasn't who she thought back then. She was worth patience.

“I’m sorry, but I can't hide it. It’s going to be an utter disaster.”

“Why?” Geeta whispered.

They’d never addressed this issue properly, had they. Geeta didn’t want to believe this but, “Is it because she’s with a woman?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?” she said as gently as she could. Nicola had come a long way, but social conditioning ran deep in everyone, and so did bias. It wouldn’t surprise her if it still influenced Nicola.

“Would you say the same,” Geeta started, “if Charlotte had a husband like Bryony’s?”

“Of course not. Bryony chose the most boring, dependable man on the planet. No-one would object to having kids with him. But being a man isn’t the reason.”

“Then why?”

“It’s because Charlotte's the bloody disaster.”

It jarred so much it hurt. Saying that about her own daughter? Geeta took a moment again, but she didn’t dismiss it. Something clearly troubled Nicola, the clever lines deeper, the sharp eyes glaring, arms uncharacteristically crossed tight.

“I erm...” Geeta started quietly. “I’m surprised you say that, because I see a rather wonderful woman.” She smiled, thinking of Charlotte. “She’s intelligent and considered, loyal and loving. I wonder what more you can ask for.”

“You don’t know her,” Nicola retaliated.

Again, that hurt, Nicola dismissing her friendship with her daughter, because she did know Charlotte. But Geeta continued calmly.

“We see different things in her I imagine, and–”

“She’s utter chaos,” Nicola snapped, a hand waving emphatically, then slicing to a stop on the table. “She has her head in the clouds half the time.” Nicola clenched her hand tight. “You can't imagine the effort it took to keep her on track at school. She couldn’t put one foot in front of the other, in the same direction, for any length of time. How the hell is she going to manage with a baby?”

Geeta took her time again. Nicola wasn’t wrong. But that didn’t make her right either.

“I realise Charlotte gets distracted.” Geeta gave a quiet, fond laugh. “Not when it matters though. In fact, when it comes to the crunch, I see a very motivated and clever woman who can move mountains.”

“Exactly.” Nicola flung an arm up high. “She’ll move a bloody mountain. When she needs to climb the damn thing and move on, because there are so many bloody mountains.”

Should she just go? This clearly tapped into a deep issue for Nicola, and Geeta didn't know if she was the right person to dig into it with her. At the same time, she felt a part of it.

Tentatively, Geeta carried on. “There are different ways to travel where you want, and not everyone wants the same place.”

Nicola stared from the window.

Was this frustration that Charlotte didn’t share the same aims as Nicola? That she didn’t take her advice, and Nicola never stopped trying to give it.

“I won’t say it’s not true. But look at her? Look where she is?” Geeta implored. “She’s an Oxford graduate. She has a fantastic job. She–”

“She should have made partner by now,” Nicola muttered.

“Listen to yourself.” Geeta laughed, not unkindly, but more in despair for Charlotte. “Your daughter is amazing. She loves and is loved. She’s happy. Kind. She wants a baby with the love of her life.” Geeta stopped. “I don't think we can ask for anything from our children. Their lives are their own. But what more could you really ask for?”

“That for once, she chose a sensible option that didn't end in mayhem,” Nicola started. “You’re lucky. You have Olivia. There’s nothing to worry about with her.”

OK. That was too much.

“Nothing to worry about with Olivia?!” Geeta said, incredulous. When did she ever stop worrying about her kids?

She paused though. Because she didn’t share these anxieties with just anyone, especially about her children now they were grown. And especially Olivia, who idolised Nicola. But they’d reached this point, hadn't they. Becoming significant to each other and needing to share more. Where this relationship began to outweigh other considerations.

Their conversations had circled for months. Bickering, flirting, sharing, all the while getting deeper and growing more important to each other. And this was a huge leap.

“Olivia...” She breathed in, uncomfortable at stepping over this line. “Olivia doesn't cope with everything perfectly. Just as Charlotte isn’t perfectly focused. It’s not like we’re perfect either is it,” she said pointedly.

It came out harsher than she’d intended.

Nicola glared at her, a lawyer’s fiery challenge in her eye, before relenting and seeing it was only Geeta.

“Olivia needs things a particular way,” Geeta continued. “She needs her routine and the habits that support her. She hates change.”

God, she’d have loved to see her travel the world, but Olivia always chose home. And eventually Geeta realised those were her dreams, not Olivia's.

“She struggles with it to the point she can’t function well.”

The times Olivia had gone into a paralysis, everything in meltdown with school changes and transitions that other kids, usually far less clever, skipped over without thought. And she’d hide in Sumit’s study in a pile of cushions.

And Geeta wanted to help her, but didn’t know how. Sumit dismissed it, saying he was the same when young. Later, when Geeta realised why, she suggested he get diagnosed too, so he and Olivia could ask for accommodations at work. Then he showed her the sea of white faces on the department website and asked her how standing out even more would help.

They did talk about it more, and they adjusted to each other, and accommodated Olivia. But not enough. And Geeta never found a way to raise it with Olivia, without fearing she’d walk out. She regretted that.

“Olivia is head of family law,” Nicola said. “Respected solicitor and killing it. She has everything under control.”

“She can’t control everything.”

Probably the reason Olivia remained so unimpressed with most people – unpredictable, imperfect, illogical beings.

Geeta breathed in, hating the scenario that worried her. “Do you know what would happen if she split up with Kate?”

Nicola looked at her.

“Can you imagine how a person, who thrived on familiarity and hated change, might cope if she and Kate ever split up.”

Nicola listened.

“If the screen love and real love of her life left her? If someone so integral to her happiness disappeared, taking Bea away too. Because they're not married.” Geeta shook her head. “Olivia has no parental rights with her and Ralph. And I see her besotted with them.”

Others might think her frosty, but if Olivia sewed labels with that kind of care for someone, it meant the world.

Geeta’s eyes burned with tears threatening.

“I'm terrified for her,” she whispered. “If she broke up with Kate, I don’t know if she’d ever mend.”

And she couldn't dispel the image of Olivia curled up, in a black dress, and never speaking to anyone.

Did you ever stop worrying about your children? Did it ever, ever stop? The worst thing that could happen to Geeta, was something to Olivia or Adam. She couldn't bear it some days.