Cohen stood there, unsure of what to do. But it quickly became clear that both Rushi and Esther had taken the same ‘disappointed and repressed fury for mothers 101’ class, because he felt a familiar flush cross his cheeks, along with an instant feeling of guilt. No matter that he was a grown man, and that River was a grown woman. No matter that he was a Vice-President of a multinational corporation. Right now, under Rushi’s intimidating stare, he was reduced to a guilty teenager, caught red-handed and shirtless in an act of pleasure.
‘Look,’ he started slowly. ‘This isn’t what you think.’
But Rushi remained silent, her eyes going up and down over his half-naked frame with clear disbelief. And suddenly he saw himself through her eyes, his hair tousled and chest bare, wearing only his taekwondo trousers – and God, but why did he still even own these? He’d only been to one taekwondo class, post-Christine – his skin still glistening with sex and glitter.
‘No, no, no,’ he protested quickly. ‘Okay, so it is what you think, but it’s also not what you imagine, I mean River and I—’
‘Oh,’ Rushi said bluntly. ‘So, she is here then? Go and get her. Right this minute.’
But Cohen stood at the doorway, desperate to rectify this matter, and quickly too. He loved River, and he knew that River loved her mother. If it hadn’t been for Rushi, River would never have lived the wonderful life she had. She might have rotted away in a children’s home, or jumped from foster parent to foster parent, waiting for a family that was never going to come. If it hadn’t been for Rushi, there wouldn’t have been an amazing girl standing in an ice creamery, ready to fill in all the missing parts of his soul.
River loved this woman, and Cohen loved River. He had to salvage this.
So, he decided to do what any other decent Brit would.
‘Rushi,’ he said calmly. ‘Come inside and have a cup of tea.’
‘A cup of tea,’ Rushi repeated, parrot-like. It was the voice of a parrot with a natural sarcastic tone and a squawk that made his stomach tighten, but she was still calmer than she’d been five minutes earlier, which he took as a plus.
‘Yes.’ Cohen stood taller, yanking his trousers further up his stomach. ‘A cup of tea.’ She nodded her head ever so slightly, and Cohen opened his door further, ushering her in.
When they reached his living room, he suddenly saw the blinding error in his plan. Because by the window sat two abandoned piles of clothing, as well as a very large patch of blue on his carpet. He blushed red from head to toe when he spied two obvious handprints by the patch, along with a clutch of hastily dropped brushes and a spilt bottle of ink.
An ink that very clearly matched the slight blue tinge to his own skin and mouth.
Rushi looked at the offending evidence and then again at him, her eyebrows slightly raised, her lips pressed together. She was clearly unimpressed and growing more concerned by the minute.
And he realised he didn’t even have any tea. What the hell was he thinking?
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 for apple or kiss or wine right 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 he did love 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 one is good enough to deserve her. But River ... she seems to want me. Don’t her feelings – don’t our feelings – 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.