Losing Touch (12 page)

Arjun breathes in to steady himself and speaks quietly. ‘Tarani. Hinton is in America. You are here. I don't think Hinton would mind since Sami is in so much pain.'

Tarani, also tearful, looks at Sunila. ‘I've got Calpol in my bag. Hinton doesn't know.'

Sunila fetches Tarani's bag and they squeeze a few drops of pink medicine into Sami's mouth.

Tarani whispers into Sami's hair, ‘We won't tell him, will we? You're feeling a bit better, aren't you, darling?'

Sami, still shaking with sobs, says, ‘Mm, mm.'

Arjun examines Sami's face. There is some swelling around the eyes, but that may be because of the crying. He swallows past the hurtful obstruction in his throat. If only he could open his mouth and take Sami's pain.

Sami is quieter now. Sunila insists on peering into his mouth. Arjun is impatient with her. ‘You're poking around there as though you are after a rat.'

‘I'm trying to see if he's all right.'

‘Take him to the light where you can see better.'

Sunila pushes her finger into Sami's mouth. He begins crying again. She wipes her finger on her apron. ‘I think the swelling is going down.'

‘No thanks to you.'

The women croon over the crying child again. Arjun hates them and their
hush darling
,
don't cry, darling
. Poor little Sami.

Finally, Tarani decides it's time to leave. The Calpol appears to be working and Sami has fallen asleep. Arjun clears his throat for the request. ‘May I kiss him goodbye?'

There's a barely perceptible signal exchange between Tarani and Sunila. Arjun refuses to let the anger rise up. Tarani lowers the sleeping child so that Arjun can kiss the top of the sleeping child's head. He whispers, ‘Be well, son.'

‘What was that?' Sunila frowns at him.

Arjun shakes his head. This will be safe from her.

‘What did he say?' Sunila asks Tarani but she shrugs.

Arjun says, ‘Have a safe journey, pet. Call us when you get home.'

For Sami and Tarani, home is now a flat in Swiss Cottage. Sami likes the roof terrace, where he has started his own garden in a sandbox with petunias named Bolam, Hentiss and Tenklu. Arjun worries about the roof terrace, even though it has a strong, high safety rail. He has cautioned Tarani never to let the boy out of her sight. You never know what growing boys will get up to.

The women's voices trail along the hedge outside as they walk out to the car. He hears Tarani open the car door and imagines her settling Sami in his car seat, buckling him in, nesting his cheek against the cushion.
Goodnight, Sami
.

He listens to the car starting up, the cheerful goodbyes and the engine accelerating away. Silence.

Sunila closes the front door and comes back into the living room. ‘Well, time for dinner, I suppose. What do you want to eat?'

‘Anything.'

‘All right,' she says in her patient voice.

She goes to the kitchen, turns on her Ray Price CD and clatters her pots and pans about. She will be absorbed there for another half an hour.

He clutches his memories greedily to himself. Sami's smile, his hello kiss, open-mouthed, sweet-breathed. His wonder at the elephants. His delight over everything. Arjun wonders,
Was I like that? Ever?

He feels anger stirring against this ex-husband, this Hinton, who still insists on dictating to Tarani. What idiocy makes a man dismiss pain as though it is some fairy tale? How dare he be so callous? How could Tarani have suffered him for so long?

Memory flings a door off its hinges. Tarani, thirteen, crouched on the floor in tears. They'd been getting ready for a trip to the beach. The car was packed and even Murad, notoriously slow at everything, was dressed and standing in the living room.

And now his daughter was crying
.
He saw his thirty-four-year-old self, so confident, such authority, hands on hips. ‘Leave her, Sunila. She'll soon come round.'

Sunila had murmured to Tarani, ‘I'll get you something.'

He had shaken his head. ‘No. Don't spoil her.'

Sunila had turned on him. ‘She's in
pain
.'

‘It's all in her mind.'

He said that?

He hears the rattle of the tray approach, slow and then stop.

Sunila says, ‘Arjun?'

But he cannot reply; he weeps, bent over, as though he has dropped his heart somewhere in the folds of the blanket lying crumpled on the floor.

In the old days, Murad would have spent forty minutes in the bathroom, ignoring Arjun banging on the door. Tarani would have been ready to go, but too slow in helping to load the car, or would have brought Arjun the bags in the wrong order. Arré,
this child is so stupid
. Sunila smiles. What a fuss everyone made, but they all had a good time in the end and that's what counts.

Today, though, it's just Arjun and Sunila. These days Arjun no longer has the energy to berate her about being late. He has been ready for some time and is waiting in the living room while she calmly loads the bags in the car. She has a quick shower and dresses. There's even enough time to pin on the little pearl and agate brooch that Pavi gave her a few years ago. How nice to leave in such a civilized manner instead of all that hurry-burry business.

Arjun can no longer drive, so Sunila takes the driver's seat. She dislikes driving on the motorways, but it is Sunday morning with little traffic about and the car settles onto the A40, quickly leaving semi-detached Hayes and Northolt for the tall, narrow houses crammed up against the Westway. The car accelerates up onto the flyover and, for a few moments, they glide past grey and rusty loose-tiled rooftops.

Then they descend back onto the gritty A roads that grind further into London, where the terraces of shops and upstairs flats squat along Seven Sisters Road. Who lives above Mini's Fish and Chips and the Sunshine Market? Do they know each other? What do they do about the smells? Young men jog in baggy trousers and puffy jackets with white stripes along the arms. And everywhere this revolting graffiti disfiguring bridges and walls and even shop windows. Why do young people need to deface everything? Can't they just write their slogans on pieces of paper?

They turn onto Green Lanes. Sunila recognizes more landmarks. ‘We're close to Clissold Park, aren't we?'

‘Clissold is at the other end.'

‘And Lordship Road isn't far away. Remember, in the old days, we used to walk around the cemetery? What was it called?'

‘Pay attention, Sunila. We're turning here.'

She turns onto Brownswood Road and into the warren of blocks of flats. Carefully, she manoeuvres the car into a small parking space beside the rubbish skip.

In gradual stages, Arjun levers himself out of the car and up and grasps his walker. She avoids pulling a face but the smells from the skip make her wish that Arjun would hurry up. She loads the pull-along bag with her food bags and they begin the slow walk across to the ground-floor flat that is Pavi and Mike's home. As they get closer to the building, there is the familiar smell of frying bacon along with other smells of garam masala, cumin and onion. Pavi is cooking, but not just Pavi. Sunila glances up. Perhaps there are other Indian families living here now, who also cook like the Kulkanis. Perhaps they slap their chapatti dough on a stone and squat over a small electric hotplate, like Sunila did when she was first in London. It's somehow comforting. They're all in this together, one big block of flats filled with happy families.

Near the front door, someone has spray-painted a small figure with a big stomach and hanging penis, along with the words ‘fuck off'.

Arjun says, ‘Tchah. Filth. What is the country coming to?'

Before Sunila can reply, the door opens.

‘Here's Aunty.'

‘Aunty, give us a hug.'

‘Suni, Arjun,
bhai
. So lovely to see you. Kids, let your great-uncle through now. Careful.' Pavi shepherds Arjun into the living room.

‘Did you bring the pie, Aunty?' Sadiq's head bobs over the confusion of limbs in the hallway.

‘I'll pie you in a minute. Let your aunt take her coat off.' Mike shoos the children away.

Sadiq, grown up and prematurely greying, helps Sunila and her plastic bags of curry, rice, dhal
and her pie, into the kitchen.

‘You
did
bring the pie!' Sadiq unwraps it carefully.

‘Of course, Sadiq. I promised, didn't I?' She watches him: this once-upon-a-time imp trained at the Royal College of Music and is now a professional conductor. ‘So? Still going to America? Pennsylvania, isn't it?'

‘Philadelphia, Aunty. Five nights. Back home for two nights and then off to Glasgow to guest for a month.'

‘
What
a busy time you'll have of it. I suppose your wife has something to say about that.' Sunila laughs.

‘
She's
all right. It's the
boys
. They complain
all
the time.' He rolls his eyes in a way that brings back the small energetic child who loved to hug her and sit on her lap.

Who would have thought that little Sadiq would grow so tall? So gifted, too, and no airs and graces. Still a fan of her lemon meringue pie.

‘My favourite.' He lovingly transfers it to a plate and moves it to the wide windowsill for safety.

He helps to unwrap the rest of the plastic boxes in plastic bags. She watches as he decants the curries into bowls for the microwave. So lovely to see the children growing up and with kids of their own. Then Pavi shoos him out of the kitchen. What is left for Sunila to do?

Sunila has sometimes wondered what it would be like to sit in the living room with the men talking over the old days in India. But what would she have to say about India? And the women in the kitchen were full of
now
and what was happening in the office and what was being worn and who got which promotion (unfairly) and who scandalously slapped the parcel post boy's face.
Young girls these days
, they would shake their heads,
just asking for trouble.

Even though it was Pavi's kitchen, it was where Sunila used to feel the most comfortable. She'd be elbow to elbow with Mum and the great-aunts, Pavi, Haseena and Nawal, all around the table, sorting lentils, topping and tailing green beans and whipping up butter and sugar for the cake icing. The best jokes were in the kitchen. Sometimes, they would have to stop what they were doing to lean against each other as they laughed.

Now the women have dwindled away. Hard to believe that Nawal, too, is gone. So young, as well. Only sixty-four. Now it's just Sunila, Pavi, Haseena and Great-Aunt Vera, whose ninety-seven years make her the youngest of the great-aunts. Too old to stand around in the kitchen, Great-Aunt Vera is in the living room, dozing in the brown paisley armchair, a light wool blanket over her knees, cup of tea nearby, the last faint wisps of steam disappearing. Great-Aunt Vera is the only one who still takes tea in a cup. Pavi keeps one for her in a cupboard above the sink: flowers around the rim, a gold trim around the saucer and a curly handle that Great-Aunt's arthritic fingers can barely hold.

‘How is Tarani? And Sami?' Pavi wipes her hands on her apron. ‘Such a sweet little boy.'

‘They're visiting America. Hinton, you know, insisting on his father's rights. He's trying to persuade her to move back.'

‘Go on – she won't do it, will she?'

‘She said to me, she said, “Mum, he was such a bully. Always insulting me, running me down. Never again”.'

‘Sometimes you don't find out these things until after you're married,' Pavi said.

‘And then it's too late.'

They switch places so that Pavi can reach the sink to wash the
kothmir
and Sunila can chop the tomatoes at the table.

‘Anyway, she'll be back here with Sami later this year. Tarani is
so
good with Arjun, and how Sami loves his grandfather.' Sunila tips the tomatoes into a bowl.

‘Lovely, Suni. And Murad? He's fine, too?'

‘Business is growing so fast, nah? Doing very well. No girlfriend yet, though.' Sunila pours dhal into a microwave-proof dish.

‘Don't worry, Suni. He'll find someone.'

‘I just wish he could settle down. He never tells me anything.'

Pavitra sighs as she lifts down a bowl from one of the cupboards.

‘Pavi, are you all right?'

‘Fine, fine. Just a little tired.'

‘You work too hard.'

Pavi waggles her head. ‘So, Suni, we should go out for a good old Chinese chew. There's a new place in Southall. Very cheap. We can make a day of it. I want to find some of those dried chillies, remember the ones we had at Christmas?'

‘Let's do it. How about next weekend? Maybe Tarani can come over and sit with Arjun.'

Suddenly the bowl slips from Pavi's hands. Sunila darts forward and snatches it up just before it hits the floor. Pavi looks stunned. ‘How did that happen?'

‘No harm done.' Sunila puts the bowl back on the table. ‘Come, come. Sit. I'll make us a cup of tea.' Sunila offers a kitchen stool and Pavi, who is always the last to sit down during any of the family parties, sinks as though her legs are weighted with cement.

‘I don't know what it is, Suni. I've never felt so tired like this.'

‘Are you sleeping okay?'

‘Sleep is fine.' Pavi looks at the Formica table. ‘I've been crying. Stupid of me. I don't have anything to cry about.'

‘Has Mike…?'

‘No, no. He's been very good, Suni. I couldn't ask for a better…' She looks up at Sunila. ‘Well. Anyway.'

Suni swallows the comment she'd like to make about Mike. ‘Did someone upset you?' Suni pours the tea and adds milk and sugar the way Pavi likes it. Pavi curls her small hands around the mug.

‘You know I'm working part-time, just two days a week, even though I'm officially retired, isn't it? Well, yesterday I had a long report with three copies. I lined up my carbons and sheets of paper as usual and put them into the typewriter. And then I started to cry. Just like that.'

‘Were you in pain, Pavi?'

Shakes her head. ‘I had to go to the Ladies to pull myself together. I don't know what the others must have thought. It's never happened before.'

Pavi looks so bewildered that Suni puts an arm around her. ‘No, darling. All of us have days like that.'

‘And do you cry?' Pavi looks up.

‘Sometimes. At the bottom of the garden. I pretend I'm putting the compost out.'

The trips to the compost heap are less frequent these days, and anyway, there's no point in dwelling on these things. Just put them behind you. But Pavi is so vulnerable and Sunila feels protective.

‘You need a good rest, Pavi.'

The kitchen door opens and Haseena comes in. ‘Aunty wants a biscuit to dip in her tea.'

Pavi jumps up but Sunila says, ‘You sit there and drink your tea. I'll take care of the biscuits.' She turns to Haseena. ‘Chocolate or plain?'

‘Rich Tea, if there are any.' Haseena looks at Pavitra. ‘Pavi, are you all right?'

‘She's fine.' Sunila snaps open the biscuit tin. ‘McVitie's. Will these do? We're just having a cup of tea. Would you like one?'

‘Yes, please. I'll take these to Aunty.' Haseena disappears with the tin.

Pavi says, ‘It's okay, Suni. I don't mind Haseena knowing. She's family.'

‘Of course. It's just that, you know, after that business of her boyfriend—'

‘Suni, that was so many years ago. And she didn't know he was married. He kept it a secret from her.'

‘Well, she should have known. These men will try anything on.'

‘But he told her he was single.'

‘How naive could she be? He's an older man. It's obvious he was married. And married men are like that. Always on the prowl.'

‘I know.' Haseena has come in quietly.

Sunila jumps. ‘I'm sorry, I—'

‘It's okay, Suni. I still think about it. Maybe I should have been more suspicious. It
was
silly of me. Nawal told me I should be careful. But…' Haseena stands with the biscuit tin in her hands.

And Sunila sees it. A warm spring morning, the beautiful widow and the handsome man in a pinstriped suit who stops at the shop to admire the lavender sachets, who buys two for his sister. After a couple of weeks, he offers to take Haseena for a cup of coffee. Someone else might have seen it as a typical ‘line', but not Haseena, who has never mentioned how lonely she must have been. Sunila pours the tea. All these years she has been unfair to Haseena because Arjun was once attracted to her. Her face becomes warm.

Jesus would have forgiven Haseena, like He forgave the fallen women in the Bible. Not that Haseena is a fallen woman, but she did have two husbands. And what would Jesus have said about Sunila, who has stood on the sidelines, judging? She places a mug of tea in front of Haseena. ‘Would you like sugar?'

‘That's okay. I don't take sugar.' Haseena looks up. ‘Suni?'

And the stupid tears are coming. ‘I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Haseena.'

Haseena is on her feet, her arms around Sunila. ‘What on earth are you apologizing for?'

‘I have thought unkind thoughts about you. I'm ashamed of myself.' Even now it is difficult to put into words.

Haseena is saying ‘hush' but Sunila must confess. ‘It's not Christ-like, and I must ask you for forgiveness.'

‘It's all right, Suni. We're friends, aren't we? I don't know what it is you've done but it's really all right.'

Sunila is a little winded by this sudden generosity. ‘Well, it
is
a long time ago now, I suppose.' She smiles a little and wipes her eyes. How easy it is to make things right. She sits at the table with her sisters-in-law. ‘Biscuit, anyone?'

It's not meant to be a joke but they all laugh. Perhaps she and Pavi could invite Haseena to join them for the Chinese lunch. But no. There are some things she wants to keep just for herself and Pavi.

Sadiq wanders in. ‘Is it time for lunch, Mum? Aunty?' He addresses whichever aunty happens to look up. ‘I can get the kids' plates ready.'