After the Storm (All I've Ever Needed)(12)

Her mother was silent for a moment.

“How old is he?”

“He’s twenty-eight.”

“At least he’s not a dirty old man.”

“Mum!”

“Look at Sybil’s daughter—living with a man old enough to be her grandfather!”

“Mum, David’s not old enough to be Sybil’s…” Her mother was right, but just barely as his eldest child was almost seventeen years older than his new lover. “Okay, he’s old enough to be her grandfather, but he’s not! And he loves her.”

“Of course, he loves her. What’s not for him to love? She’s young and beautiful. Why didn’t he marry her before asking her to shack up with him?”

“Maybe she doesn’t want to marry him!” Natalie retorted. Knowing Karen as she did, she was sure that the young woman Karen planned on being a pampered mistress for a while before moving on.

“You think she prefers to live in sin with him?” Her mother made a dismissive sound. “He doesn’t want to have to give her half of his money if they get divorced. And why would he buy the whole cow when he could drink all the milk he wants?”

“Mum, that’s so cynical.”

“I’m just being realistic,” her mother insisted.

Karen was a year older than Natalie. Their mothers had been friends as long as she could remember, but she and Karen had never had much in common. They’d chatted and played when their parents had thrown them together, but they had never made any attempt to deepened or further the friendship. Most people accused David of taking advantage of Karen because he was so much older, but all it took was one look to see that he was totally whipped by his younger lover. Karen had always been street smart and savvy; she had probably decided that she wanted a life of luxury and found a man to provide it. Natalie would be willing to bet that Karen was the one not wanting to get married and not the other way around—she had probably decided, why buy the whole bull when all she wanted was some meat?

“Was Michael white too?” her mother asked.

“Why do you ask that?” The question was so unexpected Natalie felt sick for a moment, thinking that Nathan had betrayed her although she had sworn him to secrecy.

“You mentioned him all time and I got the impression that he was more than just a classmate. When you didn’t bring him home, I did wonder.”

“No, Mum. Michael’s black. His stepfather’s from Trinidad and his mother’s from Jamaica.”

“What’s his father’s name? I might know him!”

“He never told me.” Natalie had asked him, wondering if the man was a friend of her father’s, but Michael had refused give her any details except to say that he was a ‘Trini bastard’. “His real father was Jamaica, but he and Michael’s mum split up when Michael was a baby.”

Her mother was silent for another minute.

“I expected Nathan to date a white girl with every Black British footballer, politician or celebrity marrying one, but somehow I never thought that you would date a white boy.”

Nathan was popular and outgoing, like their mother. Growing up he’d had friends from all walks of life. His previous girlfriends had both been St Lucian, the last one two years older than he was. He’d met his fiancée Folasade at university. He’d admitted that he’d admired her willowy beauty from afar, but she had blown him away when she’d sung a cappella at a fund-raising event the university’s African-Caribbean Society had organized for victims of the Haitian earthquake in 2010.

“I never thought I would date a white man either,” Natalie admitted.

“Times are changing,” her mother mused. “Everywhere you go in London you see mixed couples now. White men dating black women has suddenly become quite trendy.”

“I’m not doing it to be part of a trend, Mum!”

“I never said you were, honey.” Her mother’s face suddenly became serious. “You know that your father isn’t going to take this very well?”

Natalie knew he wouldn’t. She was a daddy’s girl and to him it would be like she was dating the enemy. Her mother was confident and outgoing and had friends of all races. Her father, though born in London, had only a handful of friends, all West Indian, but mostly Trinidadian, with whom he exchanged visits from time to time. He was most content to be home with his family when he wasn’t working as a building surveyor. Five years ago he had sued his employer for racial discrimination and won. He had been unsuccessfully in applying for a managerial role and had accepted their decision even though he had then been told that he had to train the appointee. When he’d discovered that the younger man was only partially qualified, although the job specification had clearly stated full qualification and professional membership of the Royal Institute of Chartered Surveyors as requirements. He’d won the case and been paid substantial damages. He now worked freelance and admitted that he enjoyed the variety and the less-rigid work schedule, but the case hadn’t endeared him to white men. Surprisingly he had no problems with white women—her mother had often said it’s a man thing and borne of their competitiveness.