Chapter Four PRESENT DAY

Chapter Four

P RESENT D AY

Madeleine couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten breakfast in her apartment with a man. Her usual MO was to usher her gentleman guests, who were few and far between, out the door in the early hours, allowing her to sleep in her bed like a starfish and without the embarrassment of the post-date-post-wine-comedown regret that often felt inevitable. There was, she felt, nothing worse than having to make awkward small talk with one eye on the clock, wishing someone would leave. This felt different, however. Entirely different. She liked it, watching him navigate the unfamiliar kitchen and managing to make her a decent espresso, and then toast, drizzled with honey from Fortnum’s.

‘I’m liking this.’ Nico appeared to mirror her thoughts. ‘I mean, we’re still early days, but so far so good. Reckon I could make an equally good breakfast in LA. In fact, better! I think I’m more efficient in the sunshine. I’m certainly happier in the sunshine.’

She gave him a double thumbs-up and he laughed. It felt good to have a shared thing, a sign, building a history. And this wasn’t the first time he’d mentioned LA. Maybe he could visit.

‘I think this is the good bit, don’t you? Getting to know each other, and I don’t mean the big stuff, the obvious things, but the small details.’ He bit his toast. ‘That’s what I find most interesting. Tiny building blocks.’

It was something of a revelation to her. Ordinarily, the merest suggestion of a man wanting to get close to her and she’d head for the hills with her scent still lingering on his collar. Wary, always wary, of letting anyone get close to her. With Nico, however, she couldn’t quite put it into words, but the thought didn’t horrify her, not at all. Or maybe it was because she was safe in the knowledge that in two short weeks she’d be leaving on a jet plane, and so what was the harm at playing grown-ups for a while ...

‘Small details like?’ She was curious as to what detail he was chasing.

‘Like ... I don’t know.’ He threw his hands in the air, before wiping crumbs with the back of his hand from his mouth. ‘Did you have a pet? Who was your first crush, your favourite childhood biscuits or snacks, star sign, what scared you?’

‘No pets. My first proper crush was probably Zayn from One Direction, who, incidentally, I would still run away with if he were to knock on my door.’

‘Noted.’ He gave a single nod.

‘And my favourite biscuits were – indeed, are – Malted Milk.’ She interrupted herself and grinned. ‘Hands down, no question: Malted Milk. And I don’t follow star signs, I think it’s total bunkum.’

‘Ah, that cynicism – classic Scorpio trait.’ They both laughed. ‘And as for Malted Milks, I’ve never heard of them.’

‘You’ve never heard of Malted Milks? You’ve never eaten a Malted Milk? Where have you been?’ she squealed.

‘Mainly in the Sporades – where we ate home-made baklava and not Malty Milks or whatever!’

‘They have cows on them!’ she enthused. ‘So it wasn’t just that they were moreish and fabulous, but they had little cows on them. Cows! I thought they were things of wonder! I still do.’

‘You still eat these cookies?’

‘Oh no, my friend, they’re not cookies .’ This she felt was a vital point of difference, her tone deadly serious. ‘Cookies for me are something big and squidgy with lumps. These are biscuits. They snap, they’re thin. I haven’t had one for years, but I swear if there was a packet here, I’d go through the lot, right now!’

‘I knew you were a biscuit snaffler!’

‘There’s no shame in that.’ She sipped her coffee.

‘And what scared you?’

‘Erm . . .’

They fell silent. The comfortable kind of quiet where neither felt the need to fill the spaces in conversation with idle noise to mask unease. The comfortable kind of quiet that usually took time to perfect. It gave her time to think.

‘I was scared by the thought that things might be as good as it was ever going to get. That I might be stuck in that life for ever. Scared that I might never do all the things I dreamed of or go to the places I wanted to and that my life would be ... small.’

‘Your life seems anything but small.’ He spoke softly.

‘I kind of mentioned to you before, I grew up quite poor.’ Saying it out loud was at once cathartic and terrifying. The timing was a surprise to her, justified with the one simple thought that it felt right. Like ripping off a Band-Aid to reveal something unpleasant and festering beneath. He didn’t respond but stilled, coffee in hand, as if sensing that she had more to say. ‘Poor, but full of love and warmth from my parents.’ It always felt important to add this, to dispel the myth that ‘poor’ might mean ‘abusive’ or ‘traumatic’ or ‘desperate’. It was none of those things. A little smothering from Marnie, sure, but Madeleine was pretty certain this would have been her mother’s parenting style whatever their bank balance. ‘And so a packet of biscuits was the best thing. A treat.’

‘Are you close to your parents?’

‘Am I close to them?’ She thought about how best to answer. How to respond to that simple question that was anything but simple. ‘I love them both very much. I don’t know if “close” is how I’d describe our relationship now. We lead very different lives and sometimes I’ve got my head down and I’m crazy busy and I suddenly realise I haven’t spoken to them for a couple of weeks. Then I feel guilty and so I call them and it’s a little tense, like we’re all pretending everything is fine but actually they’re pissed that I haven’t called, and I’m pissed that they’re making me feel that way when all I’ve been doing is working, and so it’s complicated. More than complicated.’

‘It always is with parents.’

‘Yours too?’ It felt nice, sharing in this way – another thing in common, another shared secret.

He gave a wry laugh and wiped his mouth. ‘My mum is, erm, quite a character, and my dad is so laid back.’

‘They say opposites attract.’ She threw in the mollifier.

‘They do, and it’s true most of the time for them. When they’re in sync it’s wonderful, attractive, and fun, but there’s been the odd occasion when they clash more than attract, and then it’s like thunderbolts! An explosion! The icy tail wind after such a bust-up can blow for weeks. And since I was a kid, I’ve often found myself caught in the middle, reeling from the fallout. When it’s like that, I can’t please either of them. I think they’d like me to pick a side, even now, and because I don’t ...’ He pulled a face and looked downwards.

‘Families, eh?’

‘Yep, families.’ He sounded resigned. ‘It makes me think about the kind of parent I want to be.’

She felt her heart race; was this it? The ‘children’ conversation already? Where to begin ... It was a topic she shied away from at all costs.

‘I mean, not that I’m thinking of that in any meaningful way or planning for it or anything remotely like it.’ Madeleine thought he pressed in a way that suggested he might protesteth just a tad too much. ‘But I’m aware of how I think you should parent. So I guess I’ll pick the bits of how I was parented that worked and try my best to avoid the things that didn’t.’

‘Isn’t that what we all think?’ She blinked, not enjoying the topic at all, feeling her face blush.

‘I guess.’

‘I think you’re a nice person, Nico. A good man.’

‘Did you just call me nice?’ He screwed his eyes shut.

‘I meant to say, spectacular! You are a spectacular person!’

‘That’s better.’ He opened his eyes. ‘I try really hard to be a decent human. I’m aware that most people expect me to be an arsehole. I mean, how can I not be, growing up with all that dosh?’

‘I mean, yes, I get that! You do give off powerful arsehole vibes.’

He ruffled her hair, teasingly, playfully, and she liked it.

‘I’d give it all up you know.’ His tone was sincere.

‘You’d give what up?’

‘The ... the money, the job, the cars, all of it. I’d give it all up to be with that one person who made my whole day feel better. The One. Happiness.’

‘Nico, you old romantic!’ This too was a state of affairs that would ordinarily make her cringe, but not with Nico, not with him. The idea that she might be falling for him was a terrifying one. She might have little control over the way her heart jolted at the sight of him, but as for being ready for romance, she was pretty sure she was not. She had a new life in LA to get to, a job to do, and needed to remain focused.

‘It’s the truth. I would.’ There was another moment of quiet before he asked, ‘Wouldn’t you?’

She looked into the middle distance. ‘I don’t think it’s that straightforward. I know what it’s like to want more. I know what it’s like to live a life hemmed in by barriers that keep your horizon from view. To wake each day handcuffed by restraints only you can see and feel. It doesn’t feel good. It feels like you’re suffocating and silently screaming with a burning rage in the base of your gut and no idea how to calm it. It wasn’t easy.’

‘So, you’re saying shacking up in a tent for love wouldn’t cut it for you?’

His question was so close to the bone it pained her.

‘Tent? When did a tent creep into the equation?’ She deflected his comment with humour. ‘And, actually, if you threw in my biscuits, I’d consider it.’

‘Malted Milks.’ He let go of her hand.

‘Them’s the ones!’

The way he stood and now busied himself at the sink suggested that he might not be satisfied with her response, embarrassed almost that she had not matched his declarations. Not that there was much she could do about it now, glad the moment had passed and the pressure felt lifted.

‘Right, I’d better get going.’ She necked the remainder of her coffee.

‘Me too.’ He turned to face her, drying his hands on her dish towel. ‘This is good, isn’t it?’

They shared a lingering look that was as meaningful as the words they exchanged. She felt the intensity of his question, asking if they were on the same track. It felt easy then, as she stared at his beautiful face.

‘It is, Nico. It’s really good.’

She hummed as she walked to the Tube, smiled as she sauntered into the office, and felt like a giddy schoolgirl as she received a thumbs-up from Nico, just before her morning meeting.

‘The floor is yours, Nathaniel.’ Madeleine gestured to the top of the large table and the space on the carpet in front of the drop screen.

‘Th-thank you.’ The man stood and pushed his glasses up on to the bridge of his nose from where they’d slipped. ‘I ... I don’t have a presentation as such, but just wanted to talk through a few ideas that ... that I’ve been mulling over.’

‘Great!’ She clapped and nodded knowingly at Tan, her colleague, who she knew would be cringing in anticipation as much as her right now. Nathaniel had an ‘alternative’ view on most things – great as a sounding board for ethics and green issues, but in terms of practicality and delivering client satisfaction, his suggestions were usually unworkable. She admired his tenacity, the way he never went off script, and knew his passion was genuine, but that didn’t make sessions like this easier when time was tight and he was, no doubt, about to deliver one of his championing speeches. Not that she was going to intervene. With only a few weeks left in this office and wanting to leave the project in the best possible shape before she shipped off to LA, it was all about ironing out the wrinkles.

‘I just feel . . .’

She glanced again at Tan, knowing he was aware that she was not a fan of feelings in the boardroom. Or feelings in general, truth be told, yet still feeling the warm flush of happiness at the way her day had started.

‘That we could be doing things a little differently, a little better.’

‘Okay, so let’s be specific. What things? And differently how?’ she urged, keen to rush him to the point.

‘The . . . the Stern project.’

‘Yes.’

‘I don’t think it’s future proof.’

‘Future proof how?’ She sat forward, as did at least three of her three colleagues.

‘The ... the ...’ Again he pushed his specs up on his greasy nose, his top lip peppered with sweat. ‘Well ...’ He took a slow breath and she tapped her pen on her leather-bound jotter. ‘The generator that’s been selected is good for now – great for now – but ... but with the expansion required over the next decade, the next phase of the build – based on the projected figures from Stern – the generator will need replacing within three years to cope with the demand, and that’s an extra million or so right now, and who knows what it might be then.’

Tan, she noticed now, stared at Nathaniel, his cheeks a little flushed.

‘That feels like an oversight. But I’m sure the client can swallow a million.’ She paused, knowing it was something she would, nonetheless, have to raise with the developer, with whom they worked closely. All involved kept a keen eye on the financials. ‘Anything else?’

‘Yes.’ He took a breath and seemed to grow in stature and confidence now he had her attention. ‘The jetty next to the landing space for river access, also great for the next two to three years – the first phase previously mentioned. But with the estimated resident numbers, river traffic, and commuters too, it’ll get a lot more wear and tear and could need replacing or repairs, and that’s costly, and—’

‘Nathaniel.’ She waited for him to make eye contact. ‘It sounds like you have a few other suggestions – ideas that might mean the cost of build, choice of services, hardware, and construction might be a little off?’ All aspects that had a direct impact on their part of the project.

He shook his head as he spoke. ‘A little off, yes.’

‘What’s the difference, between the bottom line given to Stern and the areas of concern that you have picked up on?’

‘Potential areas of concern,’ Tan clarified, and his defensiveness bothered her.

She ignored him. ‘What’s the figure, Nathaniel?’

‘I can’t give a specific fig—’

‘Ballpark.’ She cut him short. ‘What’s the ballpark figure?’

‘The difference?’ It was his turn to clarify.

‘The difference.’ She felt her leg jump under the table; she was as impatient as ever.

‘About forty million.’

There was the audible gasp of breath around the table and she locked Nathaniel in a gaze.

‘That’s quite a gap.’ She smiled, knowing it was a mouth smile that didn’t reach her eyes, designed to intimidate.

‘Maybe fifty. In fact, definitely fifty.’

‘I see.’ She tapped her fountain pen on to the jotter – on it the scrawled reminders for her ever-growing to-do list.

‘I’d be more than happy to take you through it in more detail.’

‘Yes, speak to Nadia and arrange some time over the next couple of days.’

‘I will.’ Nathaniel beamed like he’d won something, and Tan, she noticed, picked up a pen and buried his face in note writing.

She did her best to hide her concern. This was the last thing she needed – the proverbial spanner in the works at the eleventh hour. It would hurt both her pride and her professionalism to leave the agency with her flawless reputation dented by such an oversight. The thought of handing the project over to Aarushi, her successor, with issues to be dealt with, was more than she could handle. And the clock was ticking.

The boardroom door opened.

‘Madeleine?’ It was an unexpected and unprofessional interruption. These meetings were sacrosanct. Dorian, Allan Goodwin’s PA, poked her head into the boardroom. Allan was on the board of directors and was currently in Portugal playing golf.

‘Yes?’ She turned.

‘So sorry, but there’s a call waiting for you. Nadia is at lunch and it came through to me.’

‘Oh, right, could you take a message and number and I’ll give them a shout in a mo.’ Basics ... Dorian ... basics ...

The woman gave a slight shake of her head. ‘No, erm, I mean, I could of course, but it’s ... It’s your father on the phone.’

‘My ...?’ She swallowed, wondering if she’d misheard.

‘Your father. He says he needs to speak to you.’

Aware of all eyes now on her, and equally how unusual it was for the smallest detail about her private life to be revealed, she stood on shaking legs and tucked her hair behind her ears, standing straight, doing her best to keep her composure while her heart thundered.

‘Do excuse me, everyone.’

There was a muttered chorus of, ‘Of course!’

‘Tan, if you could handle AOB and any housekeeping. Nathaniel, I look forward to catching up. Thanks, everyone.’ Gathering her laptop, jotter, water bottle and belongings, she followed Dorian from the room.

‘Will you take it in your office, Madeleine?’ The woman looked both nervous and on high alert.

‘Please.’ She nodded and took her place in the leather chair behind her immaculate desk, where two carefully placed onyx lamps gave just the right amount of light to allow the modern workspace to feel cosy.

She stared at the phone, waiting for the winking transfer light, her cue to pick up.

It felt like an age for the call to come through and she was torn – feeling intense waves of frustration at Dorian’s lack of speed, yet also glad of the chance to breathe, to prepare. It had to be something bad, something that couldn’t wait – why else would he be calling at work? Her heart skipped and she swallowed, as her composure briefly slipped. It was rare for her two worlds to collide. Without time for further analysis, the small light flashed and, trying to control the tremor to her hand, she lifted the receiver.

‘This is Madeleine.’

She regretted the line the moment she said it. It was automatic, yet no less officious, and there was no need for that, knowing that would be viewed as antagonistic, especially when this might be the most difficult of conversations – it was not well thought out. This wasn’t a client or a colleague, this was her dad, her daddy ...

‘This is your dad.’

He mimicked with a softness and humour that was not only familiar and comforting but was also the biggest relief. She was confident that had the very worst thing happened to her mum or anyone else at home, he wouldn’t start like this – there would be more urgency, more ... panic. Of that she was sure.

‘Hey, Dad.’ Holding the phone close to her face, she closed her eyes, knowing they were connected, that hearing his voice was enough to cause a small ball of emotion to settle at the base of her throat. It happened like this. It was true what they said – out of sight, out of mind ... She was a master. But to hear his voice, to listen now to him breathing, was like opening a heavy door behind which she kept a tsunami of feelings at bay.

‘Sorry to call you at work.’

‘That’s fine, really.’

‘It’s just that Mum’s got your mobile number on her phone and you know I don’t like the bloody things.’

She smiled to hear he was still railing against mobile phones, as he did with all manner of technology, seeing it as an infringement on his peace rather than an asset to his life.

‘I do know that.’ She paused, not wanting him to feel rushed, but keen to discover the reason for the call. ‘Is everything okay, Dad?’

‘Not ... not really, love.’ The quaver to his voice was alarming and she felt her own breath stutter in her throat.

‘What’s happened?’

‘It’s . . . it’s your mum.’

‘Is she ...’ Her voice was thin and the words disappeared on her tongue.

‘She’s in Newham General.’

‘Oh no! Dad! What’s happened?’ she repeated, wanting him to get to the point.

Her mother, as the family saying went, was as strong as an ox and with a hide that was just as thick. For her to be hospitalised, was, she knew, not without good reason.

‘It’s, erm ...’ He took a slow breath. The anticipation was killing her! ‘It’s her heart. They said she had a heart attack.’

‘Oh, Christ.’ She sat back hard, sinking into the chair, her hand over her eyes.

‘Yep, bit of a shocker. She was heading to work on the bus. She was with Trina – it was her who got hold of me. Her neighbour’s a security guard up the market and so she called him and he came and found me as I was unloading. I’m all over the place, I can tell you.’

‘I bet.’ She could hear his distress, the underlying warble to his tone. ‘Where are you now, Dad?’

‘At home. I went to the hospital, but they said best to let her sleep or whatnot, and I’m going back in after lunch.’

‘Is she going to be okay? What did they say?’ She spoke gently, coaxing, as if he were the child.

There was the tiniest pause that suggested it was hard for him to consider.

‘They seem to think so. Lucky, really, that she was with Trina. And I’m winding down Fridays, only got a couple left. I’ve given up my Friday pitch, but I’ll do Sundays instead, I take more on a Sunday ...’

A wave of sadness swept over her. Sunday, their day of rest, about to be conceded in the face of financial need. Madeleine decided to speak to her mum again about using the money she sent each month. Bookending the sadness was an unpalatable tang of envy at the fact that Trina Watkin had been with her mother, spending time with her mother, and was right there when her mother needed help. Trina, who Madeleine rarely saw and when she did it was not by design. It was misplaced jealousy that she was aware she should swap for gratitude. Madeleine knew she had no right to consider or even hanker after a life that she had discarded. She knew that no one could have it all.

‘Did ... did they say why she’d had a heart attack or anything?’ Just what she was hoping to hear she was unsure, but it felt like the right thing to say.

‘Not yet, love. They’re doing tests, but she’s in the best hands. The NHS is marvellous, always said so.’ Again that wobble to his voice, the sniff of his distress. It tore at her breast.

‘Do you need me to come over right now? I can. I can be there in under an hour.’ Mentally she visualised her calendar, figuring out how she could rejuggle her day.

‘No, no, not at all. She’s asleep. I’m just going to have me sandwich and then head back over to see her.’

‘I’ll go to the hospital, then. I’ll come after I’ve tied up a few loose ends here. When’s visiting time?’

‘You have to leave by eight at night, but I think you can pitch up when you want on her ward. I think that’s what they said.’

‘Right, don’t worry, I’ll check, Dad. Do ... do you guys need anything?’ She swallowed. What was she asking? The details of arrangements that really were nothing to do with her, the well-oiled logistics of a life lived in harmony. The mechanics of a routine that functioned perfectly well without her.

‘No, love. We’re fine. Might see you later, or we might go in tomorrow if you’re there tonight. Don’t want to overload her. But I do want to see her. I’m worried sick, love.’

‘Of course you are.’ She swallowed, dreading and looking forward to the visit in equal measure. ‘But it’ll all be okay, Dad. As you say, she’s in the very best hands.’

‘Yes, she is.’

‘And you’ll go and fetch—’

Her sentence was curtailed as Tan knocked on the glass door of her office and stared at her.

‘Yes, yes, don’t worry. As I say, we have everything under control.’

‘Okay.’ She took a beat. ‘Dad, I’ve got to go. I’ll speak to you later, keep ... keep in touch. Let me know if there are any developments. And we’ll speak in a bit. See you later.’ Her heart flexed at the thought of seeing her lovely dad, who she knew would flounder without Marnie by his side, even if it was only temporary.

‘Will do, my little sausage.’ He put the phone down and with Tan walking in there was no time to dwell on the name her dad had been calling her since she was young. No time to pay heed to the sadness that swelled at the fact her mum had been taken ill, nor the worry of what might happen next.

‘All okay?’ Tan asked, approaching her desk with caution.

‘Yes.’ She looked up. ‘I’ll need to leave early today.’ She was keen to get to the hospital.

‘Of course.’ He bowed his head slightly. ‘Anything else?’

‘Actually, yes. Would you mind telling me how there can be an oversight to the tune of fifty million pounds? How does that happen, Tan? You have full sight of the spreadsheets, you’re supposed to be one step ahead of the budgets, to keep an eye on mitigating risks, costs, future-proofing – the very things that Nathaniel was talking about. If Stern gets the wind up him over costs, where do you think he’ll make cuts? It won’t be the generator or the jetty, but it might be goodbye to my customised chandelier or the bespoke artwork for the reception, and that could hurt us.’ Could hurt me ... ‘I’ve worked so hard to get things to this point. I just want to hand it over to Aarushi in good shape. It’s important to me.’

She watched her colleague, who was also her friend, sink into the chair in front of her desk, as she leaned back in hers. This was no time for emotion.

She had a job to do.