Page 38 of You’re So Vein

“Whoever she belongs to, looks like his babysitting isn’t going well,” says Dora.

“Can you imagine having Augustin for a babysitter?” I scoff. “Absolutely no fun allowed. She’d be better off with the Gorilla Gardener. At least they have a sense of whimsy.”

I touch the red flower in my hair, my brain spiralling into unscheduled gloom.

I think of my papa – his booming laugh, his absurd games, the way he always smells like delicious comfort food. He would spend hours playing make-believe with Preeti and me, letting us dress him up as a princess or villain or unicorn. I remember him throwing a huge street party when I graduated from RAF training as if he were the one who’d done it, even though he and Mamma made no secret of their disapproval of my career choice. I think of how he smiles now whenever he sees those red flowers or tells someone that I’m running for mayor.

I think of tall, perpetually composed Augustin with his fancy suits and peacock watch breaking down outside. The fear in his voice reaches inside my chest and wraps around my heart.

The thought strikes me like a brush of cold fingertips against my skin.

He can’t have children. Ever. Because of the risk of Dhampir.

I think I remember him holding a baby once – a girl in a pink onesie. I was back in the village on leave before my first deployment. I was heading to the pub to meet my friends, and he was walking her around the village green, the stroller laden with bags, arms full of a tiny living creature, and his body stiff, awkward, quietly delighted. He tilted his head when she gurgled, the way he does when he closely examines one of my proposals, intending to tear it apart. He held her close and whispered softly to her. I’d assumed he was a father, back then, but I never saw him with a child again.

Now I know he can never be a parent.

Like me.

I’m being maudlin. But I can’t help it.

I distract myself with my family, with flying my helicopter, with fixing things, and now by running for mayor, but it comes back to me sometimes. It stings, even though I’ve known for so long. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.

I’m not having kids.

I can’t have kids.

All around me, my friends gossip and laugh. I fake a smile, accept another glass of wine. But I’m a million miles away, bleeding in a tiny field toilet. I’d never even been desperate for motherhood until the night it was taken away from me.

I’d be an amazing mother. Maybe Augustin would be a half-decent father. But neither of us would get the chance to find out. We’re both alone in a way that we can’t talk about.

I glance back out the window. To my surprise, Augustin’s standing there, still holding that mountain of books, staring at the bookshop. His expression soft, controlled, and painfully gentle. As if he can read my thoughts.

My throat tightens.

Maybe this wave of sadness isn’t just about children.

Maybe it’s about unfairness – what cancer is trying to take away from me, what death has already taken from him, what neither of us will ever have.

Augustin’s eyes flick over the window. He catches me staring and holds my gaze. His lip curls up – a small, curious half-smile.

I touch the red flower in my hair. For a moment, I wonder what he’d do if he knew my secret.

And what would I do if he understood?

13Komal

Mamma: Don’t forget your date with Joe tonight. He expects you at eight. He has a tech startup. Doesn’t that sound clever and successful? Just like our beautiful daughter.

Did you get your hair done for your date? I should hope so, when I saw you last you looked like one of Dolly Auntie’s yarn monstrosities!

“WHAT CAN I GET FOR you ladies?” Lilac looks up from wiping down the bar. “Is it girls’ night out again? Do I need to have the paddy wagon on standby?”

“There will not be a repeat of Dora’s hen do,” Isis says with surprising force. Behind her, Dora crosses herself fervently.

“We actually came to talk to you about Alyra,” Mina says at the same time I blurt out, “A gin and tonic, please.”

“Komal, this is serious business.” Mina raps her cane on the floor.