‘You’re not going to like this,’ he says.

A man like him is not prone to exaggeration. In fact, he is like a black hole sucking in all kinds of information and observations and never giving anything back. At his words a strange coldness invades my body. It is already so tense that it feels as if every nerve is screaming, but I force myself not to react.

‘We picked up the pings that came off the unidentified mobile phones that Ben was in contact with. We ran through every number on them for the last six months. One of the numbers was registered to a woman called Angel Levene. She works in the mental asylum Victoria is committed in. But here’s the real kicker. The one time it was used to call Ben’s number, the tower that served it was located close to the mental asylum.’

A chill goes through my body. I gape. ‘Victoria?’

Brian doesn’t say anything. A corner of his eye twitches. I never noticed that nervous tic in his cheek. I drop my eyes to the papers on my table and see a blur of white. You’re not going to like this. It has scared the shit out of me. I’m fucking terrified.

Fruitcake Victoria’s got my son? The implications are beyond anything I could have imagined.

For a long time after Brian leaves I do nothing. Simply stare out of the window. Shocked by how blissfully unaware I had been of the impending storm. Once, I would never have been caught so unprepared. I have changed. I’ve become soft. Then I get up and go to look for her. She is in the south facing reception room. She spends most of her time there now. The rest of the house seems so full of cold-eyed men. I can hear strains of Puccini’s Nessun Dorma as I get closer. It makes my hair stand on end.

Nobody shall sleep! Nobody shall sleep! Even you. O Princess.

I stand at the door and watch her, how still she is. When I move into the room, she catches the movement and starts rising to meet me, but she is seemingly so dazed she has to test the sole of her shoe on the floor before she puts her weigh on that foot.

We stand a few feet away from each other. I’ll never be able to listen to Turandot again without having this feeling that I am a falling glass, about to hit the tiles. About to shatter into a thousand pieces.

Fifteen

Lana Barrington

He stands at the door of the living room. He knows something. And it’s not good. I stand and look at him expectantly.

‘Victoria’s got him.’

Time stops. I freeze. He freezes. Then I am flying across the room to him—he catches me and holds me so tightly against his chest my feet lift off the ground. I begin to sob into his neck.

‘Don’t, my darling. Don’t cry, don’t,’ he whispers again and again, but I cannot stop. I want to blame someone, but there is no one to blame.

He gathers a fistful of my hair and pulls my face away from his neck and kisses me. His kiss is odd. It is as if with that kiss he wants to suck away my pain. There is no erection against my stomach. Even in my sorrow, I hate that. It feels wrong. Everything is wrong. I let the strange passionless kiss go on and on and then I break away and stare at him breathlessly.

‘But you said she is locked away in an asylum?’

‘She is.’

I frown. ‘Then how can she…? I don’t understand.’

‘Victoria is more resourceful than I gave her credit for.’

So there is someone I can blame. I can blame him. He is at fault. It is his fault that my baby is gone. At that moment I feel his separateness from me. My face twists at my own crazy thoughts. I pull myself back from that cliff edge. But even that one second of doubt and blame that I indulge in breaks something precious. I break ‘us’.

I see his face change and a look of such hurt and pain come into his eyes that I am immediately filled with regret. He has given me so much and asked for so little in return. My hands rush up to his neck and wrap themselves tightly around it.

‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry, darling. I did not mean it. I love you. You’re the last person I want to hurt. I’m just so scared I don’t know what I’m saying.’

‘But you are right. It is my fault. You entrusted me with his safety. I have failed. I have let both of you down.’ His voice is scarily quiet. In all the time I have known him I have never heard it so. It feels as if he has walked away from me, for good. I pull back and stare at him. Could it be that what we had was nothing? That with one moment of mistrust he could walk away. That our great love cannot survive this tragedy.

He turns away from me, and my betrayal of him during his time of greatest need. I try to pull him back to me, but he is already striding away. I watch the door shut behind him with horror.

For some time I wait. His footsteps become fainter. I listen intently. Maybe he will realize and come back. Of course he will come. A whole minute passes. He’s not coming back. When I hear his car start outside, I sink to the floor and, holding onto my belly with both hands, sob—ugly wrenching wails that come from a place I did not know existed.

I did not feel this depth of loss even when I walked away from Blake, pregnant and lost, and left for Iran. It seems as if all this while I was playing at motherhood. I have known nothing, but the fun stuff. But this—this hurts so fucking bad.

‘Oh God. Oh God. Please don’t take my son away from me. Please. He’s just a baby. Take me.’

Suddenly, I stop blubbering. There it is. The truth that was staring me in the face the whole time. It is not Blake’s fault. It is mine. I came back to Blake. I dared her wrath. I was the one who was so naïve and stupid I did not think further than my passion. Both Billie and Jack warned me and I did not listen. It’s not Blake that is to blame. It is me. I stole another woman’s man.

I took her money, and arrogantly, stupidly thought nothing would come of it. That there would be no consequences. No debt collectors would come a calling.

I bite my fist.

Then I find my mind clearing. There is nothing to cloud it. I have lost my son and I have lost Blake. There is not even an erection between us left.

Without lust, I see my path clearly. It is as if it is lit by a thousand lanterns. My mother stands at the end of it. It is not Sorab that Victoria wants. It is me. All I have to do is give Blake up. That’s all. A sob chokes me. I am surprised by it. By the selfish instinct that prompted it. I stand. I know exactly what must be done.

Blake in exchange for my son.

Another traitorous sob rises up my throat. I swallow it down. Silent tears begin to run down my face. It is only my body making its stand. I’m not about to listen to it. I stand up and go to my bedroom. I open my jewelry box. I lift the first tray. Throw it to the ground. The second tray follows quickly. I take a cleansing breath. A breath of love. There it is. Her card. All this time I saved it. Why? Because some cautious part of me knew this day was coming.

I take it out and look at it. The truth is I don’t need to look at it. Every single letter and number on it is indelibly imprinted into my memory bank.

I go to the bedside and the phone. I sniff once. Just to make sure that my voice when it comes out will be strong and sure. Then I clear my throat and cough. I pick up the phone and a voice full of pain and sorrow says from behind me, ‘Don’t call her, my darling.’

I turn toward the voice. My mouth parts in a soundless cry. My nose is so blocked from crying I can’t breathe through it anymore. I gaze at him sadly. The truth is he is my life, and fresh tears start pouring from my eyes.

‘For Sorab,’ I sob.

‘Not even for Sorab.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I will not give you up for anything.’

‘He is our baby. He is innocent. He is depending on us to protect him,’ I whisper.