Picture Imperfect

"You. You set it all up. You bloody bastard!"

"Bravo! I knew you'd get there in the end. I offered to pay Adam a grand. But he said you were such a good fuck – especially with a bit of ... er, shall we say... 'help' - that he did it for free."

Kashi now wanted to scratch his eyes out.

"You mean he drugged me?"

"Just a bit of something from the lab. Nothing like Rohypnol, or anything like that. Just something to 'loosen you up' a bit. Though Adam did say you were far from loose, if you get my drift."

Kashi flung a fist at his smug face, but he was waiting for it and caught it with ease. He squeezed it until she winced in pain.

"Reflexes of an opening batter, my dear. Now, let's discuss this situation like two civilized adults, shall we?"

Kashi exhaled, relaxed her arm, and he let go as her shoulders slumped. She felt crushed, defeated. She knew what was coming next.

"Now, we don't want Tim hurt, do we? We don't want him to see the true colours of the little tramp from the Leicester slums he thinks he fell in love with, do we?"

Kashi didn't answer, but she could feel the tears forming in her eyes.

"No, I didn't think so. So you're going to have second thoughts. You're going to tell him you don't love him at all, and that you need to get away and want to get out of his life. Well, you can tell him whatever you like, but just make sure it ends. All right my dear?"

"But I was set up. I was drugged."

He sighed and looked at her shaking his head slowly:

"Poor little thing. You don't look drugged in the photographs. Oh there are others of the whole sordid evening. No, that won't stand up. Let's face it, you try and expose this and I'll make sure you'll be shown to be some immigrant gold digger. And that will really hurt Tim. This way, he'll always think of you with fond memories and not hatred. No, it's much better my way – for all of us."

"This has nothing to do with my working class origins, has it? Nor my Comprehensive school education, nor my degree from an ex Polytechnic. The thing that really makes me hate you, is that you can't even be honest with me. We all know what the real reason is ..."

+++

The two weeks since the meeting in the garden had been hell for Kashi. Going round estate agents had become almost therapeutic. There were a couple of affordable possibles here. She sat alone at the desk leafing through the prospective properties. The salesman came back with a couple more leaflets in his hand; and he stopped and looked round:

"Oh, where's your friend gone?"

Kashi indicated towards the front of the shop.

"Outside. Phone call."

The estate agent started rambling on about double aspects, and gardens and locations. When the door opened, they both looked up. Tim walked over shaking his head:

"Mum's moved into my old flat. She's invited us over there. She said she's going to take the old bastard for everything he's got. She said I can have half, but I told her I don't want anything that's been touched by him. I'll make my own way, because I've got all I want now."

Kashi looked at him, stood up, put her arms round his neck and kissed him. Then she turned to the salesman, picked up the leaflets and said they'd be back later. On the walk round to his old flat, he hugged her and said for the millionth time how glad he was she'd said before they'd even seen his father, that there was something she wanted to tell him.

"It all seemed so far fetched to me, and at first I didn't really know what to think. But when mum said Adam had been round for dinner and he and dad had spent ages huddled in his study. And that he'd asked if we had a photo of you, then it all fell into place."

They rang the bell of Tim's old flat, and she turned to face him, and put her hand against his cheek:

"What I can't understand is how a man like him produced someone like you."

"There are lots of reasons I think. Remember his generation grew up with racial prejudice and social classes. As it all got torn down, most people got over it and ultimately found it easy to accept everyone, regardless of their skin or background. He was obviously someone who couldn't. As for me, well remember it took two people to make me, and the other one always saw you and accepted you for what you were... someone that made her son ecstatically happy. But nature is only part of it. As for nurture, remember I went to public school and Oxford, where it's more multicultural than the centre of London on a Friday night! I wonder if he will ever realise that his decision to send me there would be the catalyst to opening my mind."