Tree of Pearls

‘Just know he’s ok.’ I had brought trouble to their family. Remember when Hakim had first arrived in London, out of the blue, claiming that he was bringing trouble to my family. Little did he know. I was ashamed to ring them. Would they curse me and throw down the telephone?

I left him. Why unleave him now?

‘Would you like me to find out?’ Harry said at last. ‘If you don’t want to be involved … what with everything. I could see what’s happening for you. Even if I’m out of favour. I mean – as far as I knew it wasn’t an active case anyway. But there we go – let me see what I can see. Shall I?’

‘So you spend your days looking for my lover and your nights looking after my child?’ I asked with a smile.

‘Our child,’ he said. ‘And ex-lover.’

Uncomfortable phrases – but absolutely the shape of my world. Absolutely. I laid my head on the table, and after a while the mists of Egypt retreated from my mind. I got out the vodka, and proved my strength against Eddie by turning resolutely to my life and asking Harry if he thought we needed to make any plans or decisions or anything about Lily. And how it was going to be. He said no. ‘Let it roll,’ he said. ‘We’re doing all right, aren’t we? Am I behaving? And we can tell each other anything we don’t like.’

‘Do me a favour,’ I said.

‘What?’

‘Tell us what you do like as well.’

He grinned.

‘No, I’m serious. It’s a root of good childcare. Love and reward their goodness, and pay as little attention as possible to badness. And make sure they know that you love them however bad they might be. You have to tell them. They’re always thinking that everything is their fault, because they think they’re the centre of the world. So you have to reassure them a lot, and …’

He was looking at me.

‘It’s important,’ I said. ‘I’m not going to tell you how to do it, I promise you, but there are a couple of things …’

‘I know,’ he said. ‘I like you telling me. And I’ll tell you if I don’t.’

It made me happy. Thinking about Lily and her family life. Happy, in the heart of what matters.

‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Umm – Lily’s invited me for Christmas.’ He paused. ‘She says you’re going to cook a turkey.’

It’s a logical development. It’s bound to happen. It’s cool.

‘We go to Mum and Dad’s usually,’ I said. ‘Oh. Would you …’

‘I probably should,’ he said. ‘I mean, if you …’

‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Of course.’

‘OK then,’ he said.

‘Right,’ I said.

We smiled at each other. Family Christmas. Crikey.

‘I hate Christmas,’ he said, musingly.

‘I remember,’ I said.

Soon after, he left, and as he left he kissed me unlingeringly on the mouth, which seemed to me to be both firm and ambiguous, an interesting combination. For a moment I wondered what he meant by it, then shook off the thought. It was too brief to touch me but … But nothing.

FOUR (#ulink_c2e94d11-87e0-5fdd-a0fb-cb4977d9adc6)

Answering the phone to Chrissie Bates (#ulink_c2e94d11-87e0-5fdd-a0fb-cb4977d9adc6)

For the next week or so I behaved completely normally. Lily and I opened the doors of our advent calendar each morning, and at the weekend we went to the market and bought a tiny Christmas tree, which she covered with hairclips and doll’s clothes; while she was at school I copyedited most of an Iranian carpet magazine, which included re-translating someone else’s translation (from Farsi into nonsense) into decent English, hurrying to get it done before the school holidays. I got so involved with to-and-fro clarificatory telephone conversations with the translator that I forgot to screen my calls. And that is how on Friday afternoon I found myself answering the phone to Chrissie Bates.

‘Don’t hang up,’ she said. ‘Please. Please don’t. Please do this for me – oh lord. I’m not calling to ask you for anything. I just want to say something to you. Oh!’ And then she hung up on me.

Well, I didn’t like it one bit. Her previous phone calls had been … unpleasant, to say the least. So had the razorblade in the post, and the screaming heebie-jeebies when she had burst into my bathroom that time. Admittedly even now it was a little hard to work out which of the unsolicited letters and calls and acts of aggression had been from her and which from Eddie, but overall my view of Chrissie was that she was a nasty little thing who had been married to an even nastier one. Either way I didn’t want her around. Plus … there was the minor item that she had at one stage seemed very pissed off that Eddie was trying to give me so much money, and I had rung her and left a message saying she could have the bloody stuff, and stick it up her arse for all I cared, or words to that effect.

So maybe she wants it.

But she didn’t sound angry, or aggressive. For a moment I hadn’t been sure it was her, because I have only ever heard her voice drunk and furious before, unless you count the funeral where she was drunk, furious and tragic.

And anyway, she can’t have it, because Sa’id has fed it to the hungry children and bought them all new shoes so nyaaah.

The phone rang again.

‘I’m sorry about that,’ Chrissie said. ‘I’m not very good at this but I really want to do it and get it right. I’m sorry. There. I’m sorry.’

‘What?’ I said.

‘Sorry,’ she said again.

‘You’re ringing to say sorry for ringing?’

‘No. For … for everything. Look, can I visit you? I’d like to do this face to face, it gives it more …’

‘No,’ I said.

‘Oh. All right.’

She sounded very small. Very accepting. Completely different.

Actually she didn’t sound drunk either.

‘OK,’ she said. ‘Then I’d like to say this. Oh. Bother. I dropped the piece of paper.’ She rustled around a bit, and I held on, waiting.

‘What is this?’ I said.

‘Hang on – I’m nearly there. OK. Right. Angeline, It’s Chrissie.’

‘I know,’ I said.

‘And you haven’t hung up. Oh thank you!’

‘No, but I might yet. What is it?’