What Will Survive (23 page)

Stephen held up a hand. ‘Not my line, darling. Look, does it really have to be next month? I was hoping...'

‘What?'

He sounded wistful: ‘I thought we might manage a few days in Spain. Carolina's taking the boys to her cousin in Scotland.'

Aisha lifted his hand and kissed it. ‘Oh, I'm sorry. Actually, while we're on the subject —'

Her phone beeped, indicating the arrival of a text message, and she reached for it. ‘Hang on, it might be one of the boys.' She read the message and smiled: ‘Ricky. Nothing urgent, it can wait till the morning.'

‘I haven't really got the hang of texting. Where will you go first?'

‘Jordan, I think, then Syria, Lebanon... Fabio isn't interested in Egypt, he says it's too touristy, so I'll go to Alexandria on my own at the end.' She pulled a face. ‘It'll be OK, I'm sure. I mean, I haven't got family there or anything, not that I'm aware of, but I want to see where my mother grew up.'

‘Why haven't you been before?'

‘Something awful happened to her and she never wanted to go back. She wouldn't even talk about it. She was very Anglicised, apart from her name.'

‘Zulaykha.'

‘You've got a good memory.'

‘So you don't know —'

‘Her husband died — her first husband, not my father. I don't know the details. She did tell May, my sister who lives in France — she said they were living in Jerusalem and her parents, my grandparents that is, came and took her back to Alexandria when it happened. I don't think he was ill or anything, I think she said something to May about him being shot, but then she clammed up. May's not the most tactful... He was a doctor, that's all I know for certain.'

‘This would have been when?'

1946 or thereabouts. ‘Aisha's forehead wrinkled as she tried to work out the dates. ‘She got married very young, the first time.'

Stephen exclaimed, ‘Forty-six? When Irgun blew up the King David Hotel? You could hardly pick a worse time to go and live in Jerusalem. Why didn't they stay in Egypt? Was he Palestinian, this doctor?'

‘I don't know that, either. I've wondered whether he was a relative, maybe a branch of the family lived there? Obviously they were middle-class and not very religious — well, my mother definitely wasn't. She believed in Freud, that's what she said whenever religion came up.' Aisha smiled, remembering that she used to imagine Freud was another name for God, and how impressed she was by the fact that her mother owned so many of his books. Stephen shifted beside her, interrupting her train of thought. ‘I think she sort of re-invented herself,' Aisha said, ‘when she went to the States.'

‘Oh yes, you've mentioned this.'

‘She decided to go to college after she was widowed, and her brothers were already there. That's how she my met my father; he was doing some sort of research after his first degree. They got married in Boston, I've got the wedding photos — she looks lovely and a bit bemused, nothing like when I knew her. She was always so
soignée...'
Aisha smiled as she thought about her mother. ‘They moved to London when Dad finished his project, they lived in a flat while she did her training, then they bought the house in Highgate.' She paused again. ‘I wish I'd talked to her when the doctor told us how ill she was, about the family history I mean. You don't realise how important these things are till it's too late.'

‘Up to a point. I'm not convinced by this modern notion that you can sort everything out just by talking.'

‘It's not that modern. Anyway, my mother was an analyst. It was her job, getting people to talk.'

‘Other people, by the sound of it.'

‘What? Oh. I see what you mean.' Aisha turned to look at Stephen, wondering why she'd never thought of it before.

‘Perhaps it was for the best.'

‘What can't be cured must be endured?'

Stephen snorted. ‘What's the point of endlessly going over things you can't change?'

Aisha looked down at her hands. ‘I do remember my grandmother coming to London when I was a child. She had this strange accent because by then she was living in America with my uncle and his wife. He's still in Connecticut, as far as I know.'

‘Are you in touch?'

‘We exchange Christmas cards. He didn't come to my mother's funeral, he'd just had a bypass, but he sent flowers.'

Stephen turned her face towards his and kissed her. After a moment he whispered, ‘Bed?'

Aisha drew back and studied his face. ‘This may not be the ideal moment, but — when is? I've got something to tell you.'

Stephen stared at her. ‘You're not —'

‘Pregnant?' She burst out laughing. ‘Of course not. We've always been careful and at my age... Look, I'd leave it till another time but you're out of the country next week and then there's my trip.' She lifted a hand and touched his cheek. ‘It won't take long and I'm not asking you to do anything, promise.'

‘Do anything about what? You're being very mysterious, Aisha.' He took her hand, kissed the palm and sighed. ‘All right. Go on.'

‘I'm going to move to London.'

‘To London?'

‘Yes. I'm going to find a flat. Or a small house — I haven't worked out yet what I can afford.'

‘You mean stay up here during the week? I suppose that does make sense —'

‘No, I'm going to live here.'

‘But —'

‘My marriage is over in everything but name, Stephen. You know that.'

He started, as though he had been given an electric shock. ‘You don't mean — you're not leaving Tim?'

‘I couldn't before because of Max, but he finishes school this month and then he's off to Santiago. By the time he gets back the worst will be
over, if there is a worst.' She pulled a face. ‘Who knows, it might be as much a relief to Tim as it is to me.'

‘Aisha.' Stephen had drawn apart, sitting beside her but no longer touching her. ‘Are you sure you want to do this? I mean, it's none of my business —'

‘What do you mean, none of your business? I thought you'd be pleased. Once you get used to it, I mean.'

‘Pleased?' Stephen gave her astonished look.

She sat up straight, her body turned towards him. ‘You know how difficult it's been, finding places to meet — remember that awful hotel? And when you left your briefcase at Sian's? It'll be so much easier when I've got my own place, we can spend proper nights together.'

He said, ‘We could do that now if you didn't have a thing about staying here.'

‘I hate this flat.'

‘I know, and I can't think why.'

‘Because — oh, does it matter? The point is I'm going to have my own place in Camden or Primrose Hill, if I can afford it —'

‘You've really thought about it, haven't you?'

‘Yes, for ages. Look, Stephen —'

‘Oh God, this is the last thing I need.'

With an abrupt movement, he leaned forward and put his head in his hands. In the street below, cars hooted and Aisha heard a brief eruption of angry voices, then it was quiet again. Glancing at her watch, which she could just read in the lamp-light, she saw that it was twenty past ten. Her mouth was dry and she swallowed as she stretched out her hand to touch Stephen's back.

‘Darling?'

He straightened, his face working with emotion: ‘I can't leave Carolina, you know that. She's already in such a state —'

Aisha drew back. ‘Leave her?' she repeated in a dignified voice. ‘I didn't say anything about you leaving her.'

‘She'd go completely to pieces. The boys —'

‘Stephen, at no point have I suggested —'

‘If we could turn the clock back, if you and I had met each other twenty years ago, don't you think it would be different? Don't you think I'd be with you all the time if I could?'

‘You're not listening.'

‘It's true. You know it is.'

She threw her arms wide. ‘I don't know why you're reacting like this. I told you, I'm not asking you to do anything.'

‘Have you told Tim?'

She shook her head. ‘Not exactly. I mean, I have told him we need to talk — but I wanted to speak to you first.'

‘So you haven't done anything irrevocable —'

‘You're asking me to stay with him?'

‘Think, for Christ's sake. You're famous, once the papers get wind of it —'

‘The papers?'

‘It will change everything, don't you see?'

‘For the better,' she said urgendy. ‘It'll change for the better.'

‘They just love this sort of thing. The MP and the model —'

She recoiled: ‘What's this, a lecture on family values?'

‘Don't be ridiculous. You know my views.'

‘I thought I did. I'm taking about two adults —'

‘One of whom is about to appear in what's-it-called, that ridiculous magazine.'

‘The publisher asked me to do it.'

‘All right, let's not argue.' His shoulders slumped. ‘Look, Aisha, I —'

‘You — what?'

‘I'm exhausted. My life has been shit since the election, if you really want to know. The one thing — I thought everything was all right between us, at least, but now you spring this on me.'

Aisha closed her eyes, steadied her breathing, tried to think. ‘What are you suggesting? We can't just pretend nothing's happened.'

‘Can't you — I don't know. I don't know.'

She glanced at her watch again. Her voice bleak, she said, ‘It's getting late. Perhaps I should go.'

He lifted his head. ‘Where are you staying? Camden?'

‘I told you, Sian's in London. We had a drink before the film. I'm staying with the Clarks tonight.'

‘But they're in — Hammersmith?' He reached for her hand, covering it with his, caressing it with his fingers. ‘You don't have to go. You could stay here.'

‘You know how I feel about —' She started to get up, saying in a more conciliatory tone: ‘Not tonight, OK? We both need time to think.'

He looked up at her, hope fading in his eyes. ‘Aisha —'

‘I'll get a cab.'

He pushed himself up from the sofa. ‘I'll come down with you.'

‘There's no need.'

They sounded like polite strangers. Aisha slipped her feet into her shoes and said in a rush: ‘Stephen, I'm sorry. I didn't think it would be such a shock.'

‘We will talk — just not now.'

She turned towards the door.

Stephen hurried after her, sliding his arms round her waist, dropping his head to kiss her hair. ‘Let me get used to it. What about next week?'

‘You're away, remember?'

He groaned. ‘Shit. When will you be back from the Middle East?'

‘Last week in July, I think.'

‘It seems so long.'

She turned in his arms. ‘Not so long. And it's won't be so bad, really, not when you get used to the idea.' She stood on the tips of her toes, lightly kissing his lips. ‘I should go.'

‘Let me come down with you?'

She nodded and glanced round the room, looking for her bag. Stephen released her and lifted it from a chair. ‘Is this everything?'

‘Mmm.' She took it from him and their hands touched. ‘Love you,' she said.

‘Love you too.'

Arms around each other, they went slowly down the stairs to the front door.

August — September 1997

Iris folded her hands in her lap, straining with the effort of holding them still. Tim said nothing and after a long silence she said, ‘How are the... arrangements going?'

He thrust his hands into his trouser pockets and stared down at his shoes, which had made creases in the deep red rug in front of the sofa.

‘Oh, sorry,' he said, making a half-hearted attempt to straighten it. Abandoning the effort, he sat back heavily and added: ‘I'm leaving most of it to the boys.'

Iris wasn't aware that she had reacted, but he rushed on. ‘No, it's not me being pathetic for once, that's how they want it. Becky's been giving them a hand, she's coming over to deal with Aisha's — her stuff. You wouldn't believe the letters — what makes people write to total strangers? Anyway, Ricky's found a woman from the British humanist something or other and they've been faxing each other about the — what used to be called the service.' He grimaced. ‘Ceremony, that's the PC term, apparently. She does two or three a week, now the poor old C of E is in terminal decline, though I did think her suggestions about music were a bit naff. She sent Ricky a list, a sort of top ten, as Aisha didn't have a chance... didn't leave instructions. Apparently the latest thing is to be carried off to the theme from
Titanic. You
know?' He hummed a speeded-up version of Celine Dion. ‘No accounting for taste.'

‘So what have you chosen?'

Tim pulled another face. ‘Nothing to do with me —
Unchained Melody,
The Righteous Brothers. There won't be a dry eye in the house. Max says it was her favourite song, which is news to me — I'm amazed he's even heard of it. Anything that happened before last year is ancient history as far as he's concerned. He's trying to track down some poem he wants to read, the last few lines are about love, he says, which really narrows it down. Why don't you go to the library in Minehead, I said, the librarian might be able to help and I also thought it would get him out of the house.'

‘Did it?'

‘No, he said he'd look on the Internet.' Tim rolled his eyes. ‘He hardly says a word, unless it's about the — Friday. Last night he asked what I'm
going to wear.' He made a noise, somewhere between a laugh and snort. ‘Does it matter, I said, it's not as if your mother's going to complain, is it? But he seems to think it does. I heard him discussing it with Ricky, something about a white suit.'