Coming Around Again (5 page)

The judge shifted the papers to one side and looked
directly at Niels. “Mr. Strøm, I am granting your holiday application, as long
as you provide an undertaking to your wife that you will return the children to
her care. That is a solemn promise to the court. If you break it, I am sure
your wife would be minded to pursue not only child abduction proceedings, but
contempt of court. Meaning a fine and or imprisonment. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” he replied solemnly.

Stella felt her heart sink, and then the judge
looked at her. “Mrs. Strøm, I am only giving the prohibited steps order,
because Mr. Strøm admits that his intention always was to return to Denmark.
Your concerns are therefore reasonable. The order I am granting will permit Mr.
Strøm to remove the children from the UK for the duration of the holiday only.
No more, no less. Within the order, you have temporary residence of both
children and their home is considered as being in this country. Nowhere else.
Clear?”

She nodded. His beady stare lasered into her over
rimless glasses. “But do not use this as an excuse to interfere in your
husband’s relationship with his children. Listen to me, from one member of a
minority to another. I am a man of colour. Do not underestimate how important
it is for male children of diverse backgrounds to have their fathers in their
lives. It’s important for all children. But for those of colour, I cannot state
enough how much they will need his guidance. You want them to succeed, don’t
you? To be balanced individuals. Good citizens. Yes?”

Stella nodded, unable to vocalise her feelings.

“Then facilitate their relationship with their
father. He may well have displeased you, but your children exist. It’s too late
to put your disappointments with him on them.”

“I haven’t.”

“I can see it heading that way, from the tone of
your position statement.” The judge sighed, folding his arms in front of him.
“Have you attending the parenting class?”

Stella’s barrister intervened on her behalf. “My
client runs a business, as well as looking full-time after the children. She
has scheduled a class for next month.”

“I’d try an earlier one,” the judge suggested.
“Work together. Not against one another. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” both Stella and Niels echoed.

“Good, list this for the first available date
after…when will you be back from your holiday, Mr Strøm?”

“Second week in April. Just over the Easter break.”

“And when is the parenting class for you, Mrs.
Strøm?”

“First week in April,” she admitted, feeling
brutalised.

“Third week in April. See if things have improved
since then. Remember, you both made these children together. That means you are
stuck with each other. Your first concern should be your children and not your
pride,” he glanced at Stella, “and not to score points,” his gaze turned to
Niels. “That will be all.”

Both barristers stood up as the judge left the
courtroom. Stella remained seated in shock. Just like that. Someone who didn’t
know her or her children just kicked her life sideways. In agreement with
Niels.

Stella’s barrister shook her shoulder. “This is
good. You’re the parent with temporary residence. One step closer to permanent
residence.”

“But he got what he wanted…”

“I told you this. Judges will rarely say no to a holiday.
It’s barely a week and it’s a Hague Convention country. So if he decided to
stay, then you’d get the children back. I doubt he’d be that silly, though.”

Niels came toward her and Stella scrambled to her
feet. “Go away,” she snapped.

“Can’t you talk to me?” he demanded, eyes suddenly
furious. “Didn’t you listen to what the judge said? We’re stuck with each other
because of the twins. We can have a civilised conversation.”

She picked up her bag and said to her barrister,
“Just send me the order when you have it. I want the school to know.”

Her barrister opened her mouth to speak, but Stella
already moved to the exit. Niels followed her.

“Stella.” His voice demanded obedience and Stella
had no interest in playing sub.

“Leave me alone,” she repeated. “You’ve got what
you want. Now fuck off.” Hurrying out of the High Court, Stella gulped in
stark, cold air, filled with petrol fumes from buses, cars, taxis, and the
surrounding buildings. Her phone started ringing, and instead of answering it,
she headed for the nearest café and ordered an espresso. As soon as the barista
set the cup on her table, Niels sat down next to her.

“For God’s sake. You’re around me more now than
when you married me,” she fumed. “What? What more do you want? A kidney? Bone
marrow?”

He sighed. “My God, woman. The drama. Isn’t it
enough?”

She tapped the side of her cup with a manicured
fingernail. “Why else are you sitting here? To gloat? Or because you want
something else from me?”

“I want you to talk to me about our sons without
thinking I am trying my best to hurt you. Don’t you understand how much I miss
them?”

Tapping the side of the china seemed the only thing
she could do with her hands. Slapping him silly would do her no good. “Who
asked you to do any of this? Don’t, I’m not having the same argument with you
again. I can’t.” She took a deep breath and met his gaze. “They’re staying with
me. Enjoy your holiday.”

He gently cupped her face and leaned in, touching
his lips to her temple. “Talk to me. They’ll always be our kids. So talk to me.
Please.
What is it good for?
”

“War? Everything.” She enunciated the word
deliberately for him to understand. “You’re not having anything else from me.
Trot on, Dane. I’m busy.”

Raising his hands up in defeat, Niels stood up and left the café. It
took three tries for Stella to lift her coffee cup without shaking half the
liquid out. The sensible thing to do would be to sit down and talk to him about
what happened with the children. With Niels, sense always went out of the
window.

She loved him. Still. Even with him dragging her through the high court
over everything, she still loved the selfish bastard. And until she stopped, a
civilised conversation would never happen.

Only then would she stop trying her best to make him feel the same pain
she did…

Stella collected Danny’s vomit-covered coat and threw it into the
washing machine. “I didn’t mean to,” he gargled, looking at her through
tear-filled eyes. With a damp dishcloth, she wiped his face in practical
strokes.

“I know you didn’t, my darling.” She glanced at the clock again before
pushing him into clean clothes and his weekend coat.

“Why am I getting dressed?” he demanded. “I just want to sleep.”

“I know you do, but you can’t do that here. Come on.” She lifted him
into her arms. God, he was far too heavy and far too old for her to be lifting
him like a sack of potatoes but he really wasn’t playing ball with her.
“Lighten up a bit, I’ve got Lucozade in the car.”

She tapped in the alarm with one hand and locked the door with the
other, carrying Danny out. Luckily, Will had gone with the pool and was
probably wondering what had happened to his brother. She settled him in the
back and fixed his seatbelt before he could get out and stage a protest about
where she was taking him.

Once inside the car, she whacked up the heating, praying that the amount
of projectile vomiting she’d witnessed wouldn’t carry to her. She couldn’t
afford to be ill. Not when she was opening another salon and had shifted her
meetings twice around the kids. There was no chance she could do it again
today.

“Mum, where are we going?” Danny’s tone reached a level that was grating
on her goddamn nerves, which only made her flex her fingers on the wheel.

“We’re going to see your father,” Stella answered, catching Danny’s
pasty-faced confusion in the rear-view mirror. “He needs to keep an eye on you
for today as I am going to be late for this meeting and Mum doesn’t need any
more hassle in this new premises.”

Danny burst into tears, flinging his arms onto the car seat in
frustration. “I just want to go home! I don’t care about your prem… whatsit.”

Stella barely took her eyes off the road. “Daniel Strøm, don’t you dare
get in a huff with me. I cannot look after you and I can’t get anyone else to
look after you at such short notice. Your dad can make the time for you. Now
stop crying and have some Lucozade. It’ll make you feel better.”

With a sniffle, he picked up the bottle from the holder next to his
chair and suckled at the drink. He hiccupped and said, “Dad’s nicer than you.”

“Okay then. Here. Watch
Adventure Time
.” She passed him her iPad
and he settled down to watch the programme as she negotiated the roads to her
ex-husband’s offices in Mayfair. Another time, she’d ream him for saying Niels was
nicer than she, but she didn’t have the time or the patience for his insolence.
She figured it was delirium from the stomach flu.

Poor thing. Mother guilt was like nothing she’d ever experienced before
and Danny’s little laughs in the back seat made her feel terrible. But she
couldn’t ask Niels for more money and to be honest, she refused to ask him for
a hand-out.

The meeting was with her business bank manager to persuade him that
opening another salon was important, considering the country was forcing its
way out of a recession. People needed to relax, look pretty, and feel confident
about themselves. Fake tanning and gel-coated nails would do that. Niels was
good at that. Persuasive meetings, where he needed something from someone, he’d
charm it out of them with a smile. He coached her through the first meeting
with her business bank manager ten years ago. She’d say coached. He’d say she
distracted him with a lack of underwear.

No. Focus.

Parking outside of Niels’ impressive building, Stella hoisted her son
into her arms and marched inside. She stalked past the receptionist who
recognised her and decided from past experience to let her carry on. His
secretary saw her approaching and scrambled to her feet.

“Mrs. Strøm, please, you can’t!”

Stella threw her a withering glance. “Sit down and be quiet,” she
commanded, reaching around Danny to open the door. Her husband, former husband,
seated behind a huge desk she vaguely remembered having sex over a while back,
took in the sight of a child in her expensively suited arms and lifted his feet
from the desktop.

“I’m going to have to call you back,” he said into the receiver, not
taking his eyes from her. “Stella’s here. My wife, Stella, yes.”
Ex,
she
wanted to add, but didn’t want to rise to his blatant bait. “I’m sure I’ll be
fine this time. Speak later.”

He put the phone down and rounded his desk. “Everything all right?” He
asked, reaching over to lift Danny from her arms. “Daniel, what’s the matter?”

“Sick, Daddy,” he muttered, resting his cheek on Niels’ shoulder.

Niels pinned Stella with an ice-blue stare. “Since when?”

“Since this morning,” she announced. “Stomach flu. So in the interest
of… God, how did your bitch of a solicitor put it? Equality of parenting.
Unfettered time with your children. Here you are. I’ve got a meeting.” She
leaned over and pressed her lips to Danny’s chubby cheek. “See you, darling.”

Niels caught her by the arm before she could leave. “What are you trying
to prove?”

“Nothing at all. But, since you want the chance to prove you’re the
better parent…” Danny chose that moment to throw orange-coloured vomit all over
his father’s well-tailored shirt.

“Oh, Daniel,” Niels sighed.

“This is your chance,” Stella concluded. “Muma loves you!”

With the look of horror on her ex-husband’s face giving a spring to her
step, she strolled out of the office back to her car. The radio played Aretha
Franklin and she turned it up at full blast. Damn right,
RESPECT
.

She pulled up outside the bank and was directed to the meeting room. Her
assistant caught her with a wide-eyed stare of terror, but Stella walked into
the room with gusto and determination. That loan was hers.

“I am so sorry I’m late,” she trilled. “Child care issues, but I am
ready to talk figures and projections and getting this new salon ready.”

Her assistant leaned over as she sat down and ventured delicately, “Mrs.
Strøm?”

“Yes?”

“You’ve got vomit on your shoe.”

***

Will wouldn’t shut up about his brother. Almost as if he was convinced
that his mother had done away with him and there was a government conspiracy
involved in Danny’s disappearance. He ate dinner, talking through mouthfuls of
mashed potato, peas, and grilled fish to explain his theory.

Stella’s mind was on getting her suede shoes professionally cleaned and
the wrinkle of disgust on the bank manager’s nose as he barely agreed to the
loan for the second salon.

The phone rang and Will leapt to answer it in the dining room. “Strøm!”
he announced. “Dad!”

Stella rolled her eyes, then remembered her other child was being
watched by the Prick. The very least she could do was make sure her son still
breathed.

“Yeah,” Will continued. “Muma’s here. I’m fine. Yeah, he yacked and everything.
No school? That’s not fair. Okay, I suppose. Love you too, Dad.” He handed out
the phone to Stella, a wide grin on his face. With tar-like discomfort rolling
through her, Stella collected the phone.

“How did your meeting go?” he asked, sarcasm rolling through his deep
voice.

“Really well, thank you for asking. How’s my son?”

“
Our
son is chucking his little guts up. I have a feeling our
other son will be doing the same very soon.”

“Doubtful.”

“Most certainly. Before he passes the same terrible thing onto you, I
suggest you bring William over to me. I’ve moved my meetings to next week,
everything else I can deal with from home.”

What. The. Fuck?
“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Stella said dismissively.

“They were coming over to me for the weekend anyway. No point in putting
it off if William’s going to be ill. I don’t want to miss out on my time with
them.”

And if she didn’t, she’d be in breach of their stupid contact order.
That fucking judge thought Stella had life too easy. If only he knew. Dick
stain didn’t have a sodding clue. “Let him be tonight and if he’s dodgy
tomorrow, I’ll drop him around. If he’s not, I’m not exposing him to flu just
so you get time with him. That’s what Skype is for.”

“It’s not the same, Stella.”

No, it wasn’t. “I’ll call you tomorrow. Let me speak to Danny.”

“All right then. Tomorrow.”

She heard the scrambling of the phone and a croaky-voiced Danny
answered. “Hi Muma.”

The weakness of his tone clogged her throat with tears. “Hello, darling.
How are you feeling?”

“Like bollocks, Muma.”

“Who taught you that horrible word?” she demanded, tears drying
instantly at his language.

“You said it when we had a flat tyre last week before school. I do feel
bad. Dad’s given me Lucozade and Ribena and Robinsons and coconut water. I
think I’ve stopped throwing up.”

“That’s something. But keep drinking lots of water and juice. Are you
hot? Has your dad put a cold flannel on your head?”

“Yes, I’ve got one. You should come, too. We’re watching TV in my bed.
Like we used to on Sundays.”

She breathed out slowly until the urge to curse her husband for ruining
every aspect of their lives together passed. “That sounds lovely, darling.
Listen, get some rest and I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay Muma. Nighty night.”

“Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

He passed the phone back to Niels. “I’ll call tomorrow, make sure Will’s
okay.”

“He’s with me.” She threw off his irritating suggestion. “He’ll be
fine.”

Ten hours later, on her hands and knees wiping up something unspeakably
disgusting, Stella took back every word of her suggestion that her son could
simply sidestep a virus, even though she’d spent the better part of the evening
spraying the house with an antibacterial aerosol. With pinpricks of pain needling
her head, foretelling an undeserved migraine on the way, Stella packed her
second sick child into her car and headed for Niels’ home. Her ex-husband
lounged in the doorway as she pulled up.

Will weakly lifted his arm to wave to his father as Stella heaved him
out of the car and rolled his overnight bag onto her shoulder. Niels took it
from her, by her side in two short leaps. “Come in.”

Stella hadn’t stepped foot inside his home and had only seen pictures of
the boys playing together within these much-lauded four walls. The interior
wasn’t much different from her own, walls a subtle shade of grey that didn’t
show scuff marks the same way white walls did. It was spacious, clean, and just
like the man, meticulous. Niels placed the bag down in the hall way and lifted
Will from Stella.

“Go and make yourself a coffee. I’ll just put him to bed.”

Stella jerked a thumb in the direction of her car. “I really do need to
go to the new premises…”

“Stay and have a coffee,” he repeated, taking Will upstairs and out of her
sight. She rubbed her forehead. A coffee would only make her migraine worse.

Closing the front door behind her, she trudged to the kitchen and
flicked on the kettle.
Now where the damn hell is everything
, she asked
the empty room. Leaning forward, she rested her head on the cold marble of the
centre bar and closed her eyes.

She felt the heat of a palm on her lower back. “Stella?” Niels prompted
softly. “Are you feeling sick?” Her mouth flooded with saliva and her stomach
rolled with irritation. “All right, come on.”

“No, I’m all right. I’ve gone to work on worse…” Oh, talking did
not
improve that sensation. Gently
coaxing her hair from her face, he edged her to the sink and the scent of lemon
made her stomach protest violently. Her morning cup of tea went the same way as
Will’s Weetabix.

“You’re not going anywhere, either.”

“Can’t stay here,” she groaned.

“Yes, you can. Don’t argue with me, woman.” He swung her easily into his
arms and carried her up the stairs to a grand bedroom. A large king-sized bed dominated
the room, decorated in simple grey, black, and white.

“I can’t, Niels,” she tried to lift herself out of his hold only for him
to grip tighter.

He placed her on the bed and removed her shoes. “Just for once, be quiet
and rest. You’re not going to feel any better for at least forty-eight hours.
No work, no cleaning, no cooking, and definitely no driving in your state.”

His hands tunnelled under her pearl-studded jumper, lifting it over her head.
He discarded her pencil skirt in much the same way and took her tights with the
skirt. There was something unnaturally clinical about the way he undressed her.
As if she was another sick child. Had she the strength to smack his hands away,
she would have done. Smacked him right around his big head.

He tucked her into one of his T-shirts with the direction not to throw
up over it and unclipped her bra with the T-shirt on, maintaining her dignity.
Not that he hadn’t licked, sucked, or bitten her puppies, only difference
being, he wasn’t legally allowed to touch her personage.