Not that it mattered, because Rushi got to the crux of the matter.
‘So,’ she began, in a light, almost conversational tone. ‘I take it you bedded my daughter last night.’
Cohen couldn’t reply, caught somewhere between immense guilt and perfect horror.
Rushi took a step towards him. ‘I distinctly remember telling you not to take advantage of my daughter.’
‘I didn’t take advantage—’ he began, but Rushi cut him off.
‘No? Oh, so you magically learned British Sign Language in the past three weeks?’
Cohen felt like it might be a mistake to show the few signs he did know in that moment. In fact, he was fairly certain that if he did make the sign forappleorkissorwineright then, that Rushi might think he was mocking her. And that was not the angle he was going for right now.
‘No,’ he said quickly. ‘But I love your daughter and—’
Rushi gave a sour laugh. ‘You don’t love my daughter, you fool. You hardly know her.’
Cohen opened his mouth to protest, before shutting it again just as quickly. Because hedidlove River. He loved her more than he had ever loved anyone else in his life, and he needed her just the same as he needed air to breathe and food to eat. And he knew enough about her to know that his love was genuine, and not just born of his loneliness or lust.
But he also knew he couldn’t adequately express such emotion or do justice to the depth of his feelings. And so he wisely kept his mouth closed, letting Rushi do all the talking.
‘I warned you,’ Rushi was now saying bitterly. ‘I saw that look in your eyes – a look I know well, having seen it in the eyes of your father when he looked at your mother. I warned you. I explicitly told you she wasn’t for you.’
‘And I told you that I’m not my father,’ Cohen reminded her quietly.
‘Your father,’ Rushi told him, ‘broke your mother into thousands of tiny pieces when he left. And she put herself back together, piece by piece, because she had you to love and care for. And what does she have to show for it? All you’ve done since is break her heart more. Whenever I’ve spoken to your mother in the past ten years, all I’ve heard is about how you have diminished and betrayed and hurt her at every turn. The job you took, working for her rival. The awful wife you chose. Your disregard for her feelings. For her love for you.’ Rushi looked at him, shaking her head and sucking in her breath. ‘You aren’t good enough for my girl. I want more than you for my River,’ she finished calmly, words which seemed to pierce at the very essence of Cohen’s soul.
‘But what about River?’ he asked her. ‘What if she doesn’t want more for herself? Look, I know I’m not good enough for her.No oneis good enough to deserve her. But River ... she seems to want me. Don’t her feelings – don’tourfeelings – count in this at all? What if I’m enough for her, just as she’s enough for me?’
Rushi seemed to consider his words, because she tilted her head to one side, giving him a keen look. But then she sighed, shaking her head, while resting on her cane. ‘Go and get her, Cohen. I’m tired. I’m taking her home.’
But he didn’t need to go and get her. Because there was a rustle behind them and then River appeared, his blanket wrapped around her body and held tightly to her chest. And he felt a possessive flare jolt through his body at the sight of her. He and River belonged together, and he wasn’t going to let anyone, not even Rushi, come between them.
Rushi began to sign at River, but River shook her head. She could not sign back to her mother without dropping her blanket, and Cohen felt – once again – the deep unfairness of the situation.
‘Stop,’ he impeached Rushi genuinely. ‘Don’t do this to her now. Not like this.’
And then he walked over to their pile of clothing, finding River’s bits and pieces and gave them to her. He pressed them into her hands, leaning down to kiss her, and she looked up at him gratefully. When she left to dress, Cohen turned back to Rushi, shrugging at her.
‘You wouldn’t argue with a woman whose mouth is taped shut,’ he explained. ‘So, don’t argue with your deaf daughter while her hands are full.’
And then something in Rushi’s eyes seemed to glint.
‘Alright, Ford,’ she said with a nod. ‘You’ve made your point.’ Abruptly, she sat on his sofa, looking around his home with interested eyes. ‘Nice sword,’ she remarked, nodding to the glass cabinet in the corner.
‘Oh. Thanks,’ he said weakly. ‘It’s a Mexican war sword.’
‘Hmm. My Guido liked the old samurai types. He kept one in the stock room of the ice creamery, you know.’ Rushi lowered her voice. ‘Unlicensed, of course. It was meant to be an item of historical interest, never a weapon. Still, it would cut your balls off if I wanted it to.’
Cohen froze, staring at her.
Rushi continued on blithely. ‘One afternoon – River must have been thirteen, maybe fourteen – some boys from the local estate came into the shop when they knew she was there. They brought a knife with them, tried to threaten her.’
Cohen felt his blood run cold. ‘Did they know she was deaf?’
Rushi nodded, her eyes black. ‘They knew. They thought we’d be an easy target, a shop run by an old man and a deaf girl. Well, my River showed them. Grabbed her papa’s samurai sword when they put a knife to Guido’s throat. Came out brandishing it like she’d been fencing all her life and sliced open one of their hands when they went for her. Well, the whole lot of them took off like scared babies, and they never came back.’ Rushi smirked. ‘That week River made a new ice cream flavoured with blood orange. We were going to call itFlorida Red, but River decided to name itRed Vengeanceand served it with a dash of cinnamon. She sent a message out to every would-be thief in South London.’ Rushi smiled proudly. ‘You don’t mess with my girl.’
‘I know,’ Cohen said, his voice an admiring exhale, and Rushi looked at him again, her eyes keen.
