The Soulmate(40)

‘She’s in heaven,’ Gabe says.

Asha looks at me then. Her expression is slightly different now. Less wise. All I see is her small round face. The vulnerability of it. I want to take her in my arms and block her ears, so she never has to try to understand any of this stuff.

‘With my mum?’

I take a breath in, hold it, then slowly let it go. And I do her the respect of looking her in the eye when I answer. ‘Yes, baby. With your mum.’





36


PIPPA

THEN



‘I have to tell you something,’ Gabe said.

I pulled two glasses out of the cabinet, set them on the kitchen counter and looked at him expectantly. It didn’t occur to me to be worried, even though, on reflection, the words ‘I have to tell you something’ rarely precede anything good. On hearing them, my heart rate didn’t speed up. I didn’t have the faintest idea what was coming.

It was just that things had been so damn good. Three weeks earlier we’d moved into our stunning new dream home – a four-bedroom renovated Edwardian house with a swimming pool and a rich green lawn. Freya was a delight: a busy but thriving almost two-year-old. We’d just put her to sleep in her big girl bed. We’d even been talking about trying for another baby.

‘I’m so sorry.’

I thought it must have something to do with money. The house had been so expensive. We’d taken out a mortgage that was a challenge to the risk-averse side of me, but Gabe was so confident that we could afford it. I remember feeling a flash of annoyance at myself. Why had I listened to him? Why hadn’t I suggested something smaller and cheaper? Perhaps it was because his boss, Max Cameron, seemed to believe that he could do no wrong? It was hard to imagine that he had anything other than complete job security.

But it wasn’t the house.

‘There’s a little girl,’ he said.

It should have taken me longer to understand. I should have been confused. I should have asked, ‘What do you mean there’s a little girl?’ But I knew. Perhaps I’d been primed for it since learning about the night he spent with the barmaid. I assumed it had been more than one, but I hadn’t pressed him on it because I couldn’t bear to have my fears confirmed.

I broke into silent tears. The kind that fall without effort or noise or even feeling. The kind movie stars cry. It was a strange thought, in among everything else. I’m crying movie star tears!

‘I got the call a couple of days ago. A woman I used to know . . . she died of a drug overdose.’

I closed my eyes, unable to look at him as I listened. Gabe told me he didn’t remember the woman, though he had memories of sex, shameful memories that he’d tried to push down. She’d certainly never got in touch to let him know of a baby. The little girl was six months younger than Freya. His name wasn’t on the birth certificate. The woman’s friend had been the one to identify Gabe as the father. The baby’s name was Asha.

There had been a DNA test, of course, but when I finally saw her I realised that we needn’t have bothered. Her mother was of Indian descent, and Asha’s eyes were brown and her skin too. But she had Freya’s mouth, her chin, her smile. She was Gabe’s daughter. Anyone with eyes could have told you that.

I considered leaving him. I considered slapping him. I cycled through every emotion, once and then again. There was a rhythm to it, the way they spiked and settled, spiked, settled. Anger, I realised, was the least painful, so I concentrated my efforts there for a time but eventually my rage dissipated. Because, unlike the other times Gabe had disappointed me, this time there was another person to consider. A little girl who had just lost her mother. A girl who was currently being cared for in a foster home. Whether or not she stayed there was up to me, Gabe said.

‘All right,’ I said, a week after I’d found out about Asha’s existence. ‘I’ll meet her.’



The foster home was a modest brick bungalow in a quiet street. There was a swing set in the front yard and a boy who looked to be around three or four played in a sandpit.

Asha sat between an older woman’s legs. She was wearing a yellow polka dot dress and yellow leggings, and she held a blue plastic shovel and ball. When we walked into the garden, Asha looked up at me and smiled. Was it strange that I immediately felt a connection with her? I put it down to the fact that she bore such a strong resemblance to my own child. I didn’t look at Gabe. In that moment, perhaps oddly, he’d never felt more irrelevant.

I kneeled, collected the ball that had rolled away from her and handed it back. She held up her shovel as if to show me.

I’d already decided we were taking her home, but if I hadn’t, I would have decided then. Of course she was coming home with us. It was as if she was always destined to be part of our ragtag crew. After we’d played with the ball and shovel for a bit longer, Asha reached for me with her chubby little arms. It was so typical. Gabe created beautiful things, and I took care of them.





37


AMANDA

AFTER



Max is in the back seat of the Mercedes, his driver Arnold up front. For once, he’s not looking at his phone. He hasn’t opened his computer. A couple of times on the journey he wipes a tear from the corner of his eye. That’s the funny thing about Max. He is capable of bad but also good. I forgave him for all of it, loved him for all of it. There was only one thing I couldn’t forgive. He knew that. But he did it anyway.