Like she cared. They had their high-end life. There was everything here. The house overlooked one of the most exclusive golf clubs in the country. There were ten bedrooms, all en suite. Three drawing rooms. Massive staircases, a downstairs hallway you could hold a dance in. A gym. An indoor and an outdoor heated pool. Outside, the house was skirted by a huge terrace, then a massive lawned garden with an integral sprinkler system. There was a deep pond full of koi carp, a boating lake, a tennis court, a walled vegetable garden and orchard, tended by four gardeners. There was now also the ‘petting’ zoo, which Charlie added to on a regular basis with the creepy reptiles and crocodile-type things he seemed to like so much. It was a bit of a hike down there, so he kept a buggy parked up in the workshop beside the garages.

On this trip Charlie had taken Terry with him, and feeling so ill, so low, Nula was glad about that. Charlie had left a couple of his other men on the door of their house.

Nula often wondered if one of these days her bumptious risk-taker of a husband was going to be returned home to her in a box. Maybe they could have a joint funeral, the pair of them. Leave it all to little Milly, and to their adopted son Harlan.

So she had to endure her ill health on her own and although she was scared shitless, she was glad of Charlie’s absence. He’d be fidgeting, shouting, thumping the table, demanding answers. She just wanted to be told, quietly and calmly, what the fuck was wrong with her. That was all.

The doctors ran a raft of tests. They prodded her, poked her, weighed her, and a week later the consultant called her back in. By this point she was screaming inside, scribbling wildly in her journals, wondering if taking up drink would be a good idea. Or cigarettes. Fuck it, if she was dying anyway, what would it matter?

Then it was off to see the consultant, all on her own. She sat there in his office, waiting for the axe to fall. He came in, smiled and sat down.

‘Congratulations,’ he said. ‘You’re pregnant.’

37

Reeling, Nula went home. Gary on the door told her that Jill Barton was in the living room, wanting to see her.

‘Oh for fuck’s sake,’ said Nula.

Her brain literally spun. Pregnant? A visit from sickly-sweet Jill was the last thing she wanted right now. When she’d had Milly, that consultant had told her she could have no more kids, it was too risky. This one said, with the proper care, there should be no problem.