‘God!’ says Sophie. ‘Is he ill?’
‘No, no,’ she says. ‘He’s gone mad. Completely mad! Come in. I don’t want the neighbours to see me like this.’
We follow Aisha into her super-modern townhouse made of steel and untold quantities of glass. Every line is squared off, every light fitting recessed. There isn’t a curve or decorative flourish in the whole house.
‘Please sit down,’ she says as we enter the kitchen. ‘Sorry, it’s such a mess.’
Sophie and I stare. Admittedly there is a single glass on the side and one of the chairs is askew, but it’s otherwise spotless.
‘Sounds like drinks are needed. Don’t worry, the cavalry has arrived!’ says Sophie, removing a bottle of wine from her tote bag.
‘We had a blazing row last night,’ she says. I presume this means they didn’t end each sentence by rubbing noses. ‘And he left this morning without a word. It’s beyond comprehension. The children are happy here. I’m happy here.’
‘Is he sleeping with someone?’ I ask.
‘It’s worse than that,’ she says.
Aisha pulls a tissue from her sleeve and dabs her eyes, which she finds difficult as she’s shaking her head in disbelief the whole time.
‘He wants to destroy our family,’ she says, and looks like she’s about to break into tears again. ‘He wants us to move to Abu Dhabi.’
There are gasps of shock, as though she’s told us that he’s leaving her for a nurse.
‘When?’ I ask.
‘He leaves in three months. We’re supposed to join him in September.’
‘How did this happen without you knowing?’ says Sophie, unscrewing the cap on the wine bottle.
‘Oh, he went off alone to the UAE for a series of interviews. Told me it was a conference and came back with our new life all mapped out. Said he didn’t want to get my hopes up. They’ve offered him the post. I don’t want to live in a cultural and actual desert,’ says Aisha, a sudden defiant tone in her voice.
‘They have a Louvre franchise there now,’ I point out. ‘And it’s so sunny.’
‘At least we know the price he puts on his family,’ she says.
‘Is it just about money or is it a promotion?’ says Sophie.
‘It’s a lower position, but he can earn three times his current salary, and it’s tax free. Financially, it’s a no-brainer. But I don’t want to bring up my children in the UAE.’
‘He can’t make you move,’ I say.
‘He’s made an executive decision. He’s resigned from his position at the Royal Free.’
‘Wow,’ says Sophie, and gulps half a glass of sauvignon blanc.
‘What about your interior design business?’ I ask.
‘Oh, don’t worry, I can just set up over there, apparently. Yeah, dead easy. Just pull a new client list together, work like a madwoman to rebuild my reputation, and find a new set of talented colleagues while trying to get Hari, Ajay and Ria settled into new schools in a new country, while missing all my lovely friends.’
‘How about planting drugs on him?’ I suggest. ‘You can’t work in the UAE with a drugs conviction. Simple sabotage is sometimes the best thing for a marriage.’
‘Sure, and he won’t be able to work anywhere else either. We’ll be destitute,’ says Aisha, wiping her eyes, when the doorbell rings. ‘Oh no, that’ll be Cait. Please don’t tell her about this. I don’t want to cry about having too many homes when she’s lost everything.’
We’ve each brought enough spare stuff to tide Cait and the twins over. Tor was supposed to contribute toys, but she’s gone missing again, claiming an urgent podiatry appointment, which is probably a euphemism for something to do with black market Ozempic prescriptions.
‘Bloody men,’ says Sophie, as soon as Aisha’s out of hearing. ‘They ruin everything.’
‘Oh, dear, what now?’ I realize that I’ve been so caught up in my own problems I’ve probably missed several obvious signs that Sophie’s no longer dancing in the streets.
