India's Summer (24 page)

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Turning the corner and trudging past the duty-free store at Heathrow, India could see it was going to be a struggle to balance her cart through the crowd that was cramming the barriers. And then suddenly she was blinded by whirring cameras and flashbulbs fir-ing off in her direction. Putting up her hand to shield her eyes, she turned and immediately recognized the focus of their attention; the strikingly beautiful woman coming up behind her who was holding onto two small children and wearing a baby slung across her famous bosom. For a second, India was not entirely sure whether she was relieved or disappointed.

She tried to spot Sarah. It was almost impossible to plough her way through the crush. Eventually she managed to get to the automatic glass doors and saw the top of Sarah’s head bobbing up and down by the exit. Pushing her way through the throng, Sarah eventually reached India and gave her a huge hug.

“You look so LA!” she exclaimed, standing back and admiring India’s gray fedora and pink cashmere jacket. “The car’s over the road. Here, I’ll take one of those for you; the pavement’s bumpy. Bloody hell. Have you got a dead body in here?” she said, hauling one of India’s Samsonites off the cart.

India followed her out onto the shiny wet street to the cross-way. The air was damp and cold and it seemed to take forever to reach the fourth level of the parking lot.

“I’m not sure all of this’ll fit inside Mr. Darcy,” Sarah said, referring to her ten–year-old Alfa Romeo.

Squashed into the front seat and balancing her feet on Annabelle’s hand luggage, India hugged her knees as Sarah’s car rattled out of the terminal. Now THIS feels like the wrong side of the road, she thought ruefully.

“India, this is such a balls up,” Sarah remarked once they were on the M4 Motorway.

“I’ve missed you, too,” India replied, staring out forlornly at the expanse of gray sky.

“Sorry. How are you holding up?” Sarah asked. “You have to be exhausted. But you look sickeningly amazing, you really do. I’ve made up the bed in the spare room and you can stay as long as you like,” she continued cheerily. “The place is more of a mess than usual – I’ve been working long shifts.”

“Thank you. Don’t worry, Sarah, I could sleep on the kitchen floor I’m so worn out.”

“You don’t have to talk now if you don’t want to,” Sarah said tentatively.

“There’s not a lot more to say,” India said wistfully. “I screwed everything up, as I told you.”

“Then I suppose this isn’t the right time to tell you that your cat just died?”

India looked startled.

“Only joking. Don’t worry. The Countess is still alive and dining on fresh tuna daily.”

India threw her head back and laughed. “It’s so good to see you, Sarah.”

“I’ve got us several nice bottles of Sancerre and a chicken with some garlic up its bum. I have also taken the liberty of purchasing a couple of large bars of Cadbury’s Dairy Milk, a DVD of Les Misérables and extra Kleenex,” she said, and then added, “I’m off till Tuesday. I’m all yours. Let’s get thoroughly wasted.”

As they crawled along the Edgware Road, India was struck by how small the buildings seemed to be, how tiny the houses, and how much duller than she remembered. It’s so crowded. I feel like I’ve been away for years. This is how a city’s supposed to look; kind of dirty and disorganized. I’m so tired of sunshine. I’m ready for this rain.

They turned off the Uxbridge Road and wended their way to Ealing. It was dark when they parked in the narrow street and dragged the cases up the path of the Victorian terraced house Sarah had inherited from her grandmother. India waited while Sarah rooted in her TK Maxx purse for her keys. It was an odd feeling not to be going back to her own apartment. Nothing I can do about it, she thought. I’ll have to rent somewhere, but I can’t think about that right now.

“You’re in there,” Sarah told her, pointing to a small room with a freestanding wardrobe and a dressing table cluttered with books and jewelry boxes. The tiny metal-framed bed had been freshly made up with layers of thick antique quilts. An ancient teddy bear was nestling between the pillows, next to a hot-water bottle and a clean pair of fleecy pajamas. India unpacked her toothbrush, checked her phone yet again, and plugged it into a wall socket to charge.

“Have a bath and a nap,” Sarah yelled. “There are clean towels in the hot press on the landing. And there’s Jo Malone bubble bath in there somewhere too.”

“Thanks so much,” India called to her in the kitchen. “Give us a shout later.”

“I’ll get you up when dinner’s ready,” Sarah yelled, taking off her red Jigsaw coat and throwing it over a battered armchair.

India gathered up the cat and curled up with her on the bed. She felt utterly exhausted and defeated, and yet there was something so comforting about being back in London. She could hear the background hubbub of English voices on the radio and the clank of pans as Sarah began cooking. Listening to the rain pounding relentlessly on the windowpane, she drifted off.

When she woke up, an hour or so later, India levered herself off the bed, realizing she was feeling hungry for the first time in days.

“Mmm… that smells wonderful,” she said, wandering into the tiny kitchen, bleary eyed. Sarah had set out the table with a vintage printed Colefax and Fowler cloth, a couple of bistro glasses, and some candles.

“You packed in a hurry,” she said, nodding at the open case on the sitting room floor. “Even customs never make that kind of mess.”

“Yes, well, I had things on my mind,” India said, climbing over it and taking a glass of Pouilly Fumé from her. “Lovely wine. Thanks.”

“I love the new clothes. I had a bit of a rummage. Mind you, the Agent Provocateur would be wasted on me.” She laughed, spotting the gilt-edged box. “I spend all my time in my uniform, as you know, and the last guy I went with asked me to wear it to bed, too!”

“From what you were saying that was a while ago.”

“Well, no … that would be last week and that would be Signore Antonio…,” Sarah hinted.

“Ahh … I think I missed something there,” India said, taking a plate of chicken and roast potatoes. “Pass over the gravy and tell me all about it.”

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“I think I must have become unhinged,” India confided to Sarah a few nights later when they were sitting in the stained-glass snug at the Cat and Lion pub. “Now that I’m back it seems outrageous that I thought I could reinvent myself just like that,” she said, carving into the beer-battered fish.

“How so?” Sarah frowned, turning the bottle of HP Sauce upside down and shaking it.

India sighed. “There was all that opportunity waiting, but I think maybe I went too fast.”

“Indie. Stop beating yourself up, will you? You did a lot of things right. You got caught off guard, and yes, you went from Cinderella to the Wicked Witch of the West, but you didn’t deliberately set out to hurt anyone. Your classes sounded brilliant.”

“Yes. That’s the one thing I don’t doubt in all this,” India agreed.

“So what’s next?”

“I’m at the limit on all my credit cards. I need to earn some money.”

“Well, I think it was worth whatever you spent. I know it all went pear shaped, but it’s been such an adventure, such a ride…” Sarah said, taking a sip of warm Ecco Domani Pino Grigio.

“Yes. Well, it was for a while.” India sighed, spearing a couple of chips and picking up her glass. “Sarah, are you sure about this wine? It tastes musty to me.”

“I’ll admit it tasted better with pasta. I’m not entirely convinced the Signore’s Italian,” Sarah mused.

“Sarah, it didn’t feel like an adventure or a ride, it felt like destiny. If that stupid video had never happened I had a really good chance of earning great money doing what I love. Adam was right; I could have franchised them.”

“Yes, it’s rotten. But you know you crammed more into the last few months than most people do in a lifetime. You could write a book on the back of this – India’s Summer.”

“Been there, done that... Well, okay, I didn’t write an actual book, but I did write a damn good proposal,” India said thoughtfully, putting down her fork. “I need to make a fresh start. I think I’ll just stick to what I know. I’m a good teacher at least, I never doubted that.”

“Fair enough.”

“Sarah, I know I keep saying it and thank you for putting up with me, but it’s unfathomable of Adam to just cut me off like that, isn’t it? I mean, I’d only met him once and all I said was he probably had the attention span of a gnat. That’s hardly enough to hang me.”

“True. You don’t exactly come across as Mother Teresa on that video, but you’re no Atilla the Hun either.”

“Right. So shouldn’t he want some closure?” India said staring off into the distance.

“You’d think,” Sarah said. “You would, but well, in my admittedly limited experience, men are not good at saying what they feel, and although it seems like a lifetime, Indie, it’s only been a week, you know.”

“True,” India said. “But I can’t work it out.”

“Well, I never met the guy, so I can’t help you there, but I do have some good news for you. I’ve been storing this up for the right moment to give you a lift.”

“Go on,” India said. What could possibly brighten my miserable existence right now? she thought.

“I spoke to Jane last week just before you came home. She knew all about what’s been going on and I asked her how desperate she was to stay in your place and guess what?”

“Go on.” India felt a rush of excitement.

“Well,” Sarah said, pausing for dramatic effect. “She told me she’d look around for somewhere else and she called today to say she can move out at the end of the week.”

“Sarah, you’re a star. Thank you. This is fantastic,” India said, leaping up from the barstool to hug her. “Fantastic. Thank you.” She beamed.

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If Adam would just call, I could at least explain. India yanked another handful of paperbacks from yet another cardboard storage box and stacked them onto the wall of bookshelves in her sitting room. It’s been more than two weeks now.

She kicked the empty container to the far side of the room, where it landed next to a suitcase spilling over with summer clothes. Then she sat down heavily at the cluttered bleached pine table that doubled as her desk. Opening a copy of the Times Educational Supplement she began flicking through the vacancy pages for substitute teaching posts (“supply teaching” she was back to calling it). Babysitting, more like, India thought, idly wondering who might be covering for her own absence. She circled a few ads then pushed the paper away and turned to a sheath of carefully chosen handmade cards she had bought earlier from Harvey Nichols. The women in her classes were worth more than a cut and pasted e-mail.

I’ll start with Lizzie, she decided, pulling her long gray cashmere cardigan around her shoulders more for comfort than for warmth. She glanced out of the window into the bleak road below. It was drizzling. The trees looked eerily stark in the dismal streetlights, the pavements were cluttered with wet leaves, the cars crammed up against each other. She watched a woman dragging a shopping trolley laden with trash onto the curb.

It all looked so dreary. India sighed, opening a card and taking the lid off her pen. Two hours later, she finally put it down again. She took a quick bath and set her alarm for seven. I have to get a job and not just for the money. I’ll go insane trying to work out why Adam disappeared off the face of the Earth like that, she thought as she climbed into bed.

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India had waited until late afternoon to check in with Annabelle. She closed the drapes and curled up on her sofa. She felt cozy in her old granddad sweater and fleecy Cath Kidston pajamas. The room was glowing from the light of a log fire and the two wall sconces either side of her hand-painted mantel mirror.

“God, I miss you, darling,” Annabelle said, flopping onto her heavy white linen couch.

“Especially in the mornings, don’t tell me,” India laughed, imagining Annabelle in her kitchen, the California sunlight pouring through her French windows. “How are you?”

“Good, but really, darling, I am missing you like crazy,” Annabelle said, tossing off her gold Manolo thongs and tucking her feet underneath her. “So what’s new?”

“Not a lot. I just got some freelance teaching. It’s easy if you’re not picky. I’ve four days next week in Tower Hamlets. Believe me, it’s a rough catchment; forty percent dropout rate,” India said, then hesitating for a second, “Have you talked to Lizzie? I’ve written to her. I’ve written to everyone. They won’t have got the letters yet, I suppose; I only sent them last week.”

“She’s been busy with a part-time contract, so I haven’t seen much of her. But she’s incredibly fond of you, darling. She’ll get over it. Leave it with me.”

“Give her my love. How’s Summer?”

“I’ve not heard from her for a couple of weeks. Last time we spoke she told me she’d lost confidence in her psychic powers. I can see that, I mean, she was a bit blindsided by what happened.”

“How are the girls?” India said, changing the subject quickly.

“They’re fine. Bella got her orthodontics sorted yesterday. The braces are pinching but I think she’s secretly delighted. She looks really cute.”

“Give them my love. Tell them I miss them too.”

“I will.”

“Are you still looking after yourself?” India asked.

“I’m good. I’ve had meetings with some people at CAA and we’re in the beginning stages of looking at a pilot I might direct. It’ll give me a chance to see if I enjoy being on the other side of the camera.”

“That sounds like fun. So Annie, I’ve STILL not heard from Adam. I think he was more offended than you expected him to be.”

There was a long pause during which India immediately sensed Annie was holding back.

“Have you spoken to him at all or seen him?” she probed.

“Darling. I thought you knew. I honestly thought you’d seen it by now…”

India went cold. “Seen what?”

“The tabloids … the day you left. I thought you’d have caught it, maybe at the airport. The picture was on the front page of one of the rags…”

“What was on the front page? What?”

“Darling, it’s probably a load of bull; you know firsthand how these things aren’t true most of the time.”