‘Gim, is this a good idea?’
‘Yes, it is. I’ve worked really hard. I deserve to be a partner. Please, Chaya, just for one evening. You’re the only girl I know that I can ask.’
‘Well, thank you,’ said Chaya. The sarcasm in her voice wasn’t lost on him. Normally, he would counter with a quip of his own, but this was too important to him.
‘You know what I mean,’ he said. ‘Come on, Chaya. I’ve always been there for you.’
‘Oh. All right,’ she said. ‘I’ll cancel Sara.’
Gimhana let out a whoosh of breath. ‘Great,’ he said. ‘Thank you so much.’
‘That’s okay,’ she said. ‘As you say, you’re always there for me.’
He knew she was referring to the middle of the night mercy dashes he’d made when she was having a particularly low patch. He was getting to the point where he could spot the depressive episodes before they hit. Or rather, Chaya was. She’d tell him and often, he could help her avoid them, by distracting her from whatever was bothering her, if only for a few hours. It was hard work, but worth it, because non-depressed Chaya made him feel less alone. He felt a bit bad using it as a bargaining tool to get her to do this, but… needs must.
‘Gim,’ she said, her voice suddenly full of worry. ‘What should I wear?’
Gimhana thought about it. It needed to be something eye-catching, so that people would remember her. ‘Have you got a sari?’
‘Yes, but I’m not sure how to get into it.’
‘Tell you what, why don’t I come round on Sunday and we’ll see if we can get you into it. I’ll bring lunch. How does that sound?’
‘That sounds okay. I’ll see you on Sunday.’
‘Brilliant,’ he said. ‘Thanks again, Chaya. You’re a real mate.’
He hung up, opened his office door again and sat back at his computer, staring at the screen. This partnership thing was so close now, he could almost feel it. He had met and schmoozed and impressed so many people. If Chaya was the missing piece of the puzzle, then so be it.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chaya – London, 2005
Chaya put off calling Sara for as long as possible. She would have to explain what she was doing instead and that was never going to be easy.
‘Oh, what? We were looking forward to seeing you!’ said Sara. ‘What’s so important that you can’t come? You’re not working again, are you?’
Chaya shifted her weight. The suspicious silence behind her told her that Trish, the lab technician, was eagerly hoovering up everything that was being said.
‘I’m really sorry. I’ve… got to do someone a favour.’
Sara was quiet for a moment. Chaya could almost hear the cogs whirring.
‘Would this someone happen to be your nice lawyer friend?’ Sara said, after a moment.
‘Yes.’
‘So you’re dumping me and the boys for a date with him?’ There was mock indignation in her voice.
‘No, not a date. It’s difficult to explain.’ Chaya tried to walk further away from Trish, but the telephone cord would not stretch any further. ‘He’s got a big company do and he needs someone to go with him.’ She whispered into the receiver. ‘I’m really sorry, Sara. I’ll make it up to you. I’ll babysit one evening and you and Jay can go out.’
‘I’ll hold you to that,’ said Sara. ‘So, things are getting serious with this guy? When are we going to meet him? Jay and I are both very curious to see who—’ She stopped.
Chaya filled in the rest of the sentence in her head. Who can compete with Noah.
Sara cleared her throat. ‘Who’s won you over,’ she finished weakly.
‘I don’t have time to talk about it right now,’ said Chaya.
Sara sighed. ‘Well, you have fun. But you have to come round and tell me all about it the day after. Otherwise, I will never forgive you.’
‘Fine,’ said Chaya.
There was a crash at the other end of the line. ‘Oh bugger,’ said Sara. ‘I mean, bother. Listen Chaya, I’ll speak to you later. You have a great time with this man of yours. Take care, okay?’
‘Okay, bye.’
Chaya hung the phone back on the hook and walked out without looking at Trish. She sighed as she sat back in front of the paper she was writing. She wondered why she didn’t just tell Sara and Trish that Gimhana was gay. It would be so simple, yet she didn’t. She quietly kept his secret as though it were her own. She couldn’t quite figure out why. Was she using him as a foil so that no one would pressure her to date? Perhaps she was. Or perhaps she just understood what a fragile thing a secret was.
* * *
Before Gimhana came round, Chaya cleaned the bedsit. She still felt awkward having a man in her room, so she went to the extra effort of rescuing her two cushions from under the bed and arranging them so that the bed looked more like a sofa. Gimhana was hardly a threat, but sometimes it felt like the Sri Lankan community had eyes and ears everywhere. Especially in London, where there were thousands of people, other Sri Lankans maintained a web of contact. She didn’t want word to get home that Gimhana was visiting her flat.
Gimhana knew this too. He made an effort to be discreet. Chaya was grateful for their shared background that made so many explanations unnecessary. As she buzzed him into the building, she wondered where in the spectrum of acceptability him helping her put on a sari fell. Her mother would have a fit.
‘Hi,’ he breezed in, planting a kiss on her cheek as he passed. ‘I’ve brought lunch.’ He indicated the big bag slung over his shoulder. ‘Eat now, or later?’
‘Later,’ said Chaya, concerned that she might not fit into her made to measure sari blouse once her stomach was full.
Gimhana was unpacking Tupperware boxes onto the little work surface that served as her kitchen. ‘I’ve brought lamb curry, lentils, fried okra, pumpkin and biryani. All made by my own fair hands,’ he said, opening the half sized fridge and kneeling in front of it. There was plenty of space in there for him to store the boxes.
‘Jesus, Chaya, what do you live on? You only ever have milk and two pop tarts in there.’
Chaya shrugged. ‘I don’t have time to cook.’
‘You have to eat, though.’ His knee clicked as he stood back up. ‘You’ll waste away to nothing, if you’re not careful.’
‘Yes Mother.’
‘What is this? Giving lip to your elders and betters? Aney, Aney,’ he tutted at her with mock severity.
‘Betters?’ She muttered, shaking her head.
‘Just elders then.’ He strode over and sat on the bed. ‘So then, Nangi, let’s see about this sari.’
She had already taken out both her saris and draped them over her chair. The first was the teal one that she had worn for meetings with prospective husbands. The other was terracotta with little gold flecks and a border of red and gold leaves running all the way along one side of it.
Gimhana picked a corner of one and ran the fabric through his fingers. ‘Nice,’ he said. He put his head to one side and looked at the two swatches of fabric that looked loud and out of place in the grey room. ‘I think the terracotta one,’ he said. ‘It’ll complement your skin better than the other one.’
She had put the two sari blouses and underskirts on the chair. ‘My amma and sister help me, normally.’ She picked up the sari dejectedly. She knew the basics of how to wrap the material round her, but it was difficult to make it look tidy.
‘Well, first we have to get you into the blouse and underskirt.’ Gimhana stood up. ‘I’ll wait outside while you change.’ He left, crossing the room in two strides.
Chaya locked the door after him and, feeling a little silly, changed out of her jeans and t-shirt into the incredibly snug blouse and cotton underskirt. The blouse was made from the same material as the sari and had the leaf motif on the sleeves. The underskirt was also in the same colour as the sari. It had no buttons or hooks to hold it in place, so she was obliged to secure it with a safety pin. The blouse did have hooks
, but it took her a few minutes to get it safely closed.
There was a rumble of voices outside and she heard Gimhana explain to someone that he wasn’t lost, he was just waiting for someone. Chaya waited until she heard footsteps depart down the stairs before she opened the door and let him back in.
‘Let’s see now,’ said Gimhana, flicking the sari so that the six yards of material billowed out and floated gently down in a burnished pool on the floor. He beckoned her over. She obediently stood in front of him.
‘How much do we need over your shoulder?’ he said, draping it over her. When they’d worked out how much material should be allowed to trail behind her, he looped the other end of the sari once round her waist. Chaya noticed that his eyes were focused on the fabric and not her. She allowed herself to relax slightly.
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Hold it here.’ While she held it at the place indicated, he deftly folded pleats into the fabric.
‘Where did you learn to do that?’ said Chaya, impressed at the way the folds fell neatly into line under his fingers.
‘I used to watch my mother putting on her saris,’ he said, not looking up from what he was doing. ‘She used to let me help.’ He looked around for a pin.
‘Are you sure she doesn’t know you’re gay?’ Chaya grabbed a box of safety pins from her desk and handed them to him. One of the few advantages of living in a place so small was that nothing was very far away.
He shrugged. ‘You know mothers. They don’t see what they don’t want to see.’ He stuck a couple of pins in and secured the pleats. ‘Okay, let’s try this.’
She stood, her arms held away from her body whilst he wrapped the bottom half of her up in silk. She pinned the top part of the sari to her blouse whilst he tucked the fabric in at her waist.
‘There,’ he said, stepping back to admire his handiwork. ‘Nothing to it, see.’ He looked her up and down. ‘You look fabulous.’
Chaya walked carefully over to the mirror, but she could only see her shoulders in it. She took it off its hook and gave it to Gimhana. He held the mirror for her, so that she could check for herself. The blouse was cut with a sweeping neckline, which showed off her slim neck whilst creating the illusion of a cleavage hidden under the swathe of material across her chest. The sari itself sat beautifully on her and he was right about the colour – the reds and golds gave her brown skin a warm glow. She nodded.
‘You’re good,’ she said. ‘I’ve never managed to set pleats on a sari. Ever.’ He gave a little bow, making her chuckle.
‘Can I get back into my jeans now?’ she said, hitching the fabric up as it threatened to slide down her shoulder.
Gimhana rolled his eyes. ‘Yes. Then we can eat, right?’ He let himself out so that she could change.
* * *
Later, they sat on the floor, on either side of the coffee table, eating curry and rice with their hands. They discussed which films they wanted to see and Gimhana told her a Singhalese joke that made her laugh so unexpectedly that she nearly choked on a piece of lamb. He insisted she keep the leftovers, with strict instructions that she was to eat it all by Tuesday.
After he’d gone, Chaya folded away the saris and washed up the dinner plates. She reflected on her relationship with Gimhana. He was a good friend now. The fact that he was a man only ever came up if she was out in public with him. In private, she was comfortable with him. Almost as comfortable as she felt with Sara.
Gimhana was the first man since Noah to get beyond her defences, even in that small way. She shook her head, trying to get rid of the thought. After a few minutes, she threw open the window to get rid of the smell of spices and scrubbed the bedsit until it shone.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chaya – Oxford, 1995
Chaya had to call home. She’d been putting it off because of her conversation with her tutor. How could she tell her parents that she was failing? She waited until it was evening in Colombo, dug out her international phone card and called them.
The first thing Amma did was to give her an update about the baby. It seemed both baby and Malini were doing well.
‘Do you want to speak to her?’ Amma said.
‘Malini? Oh yes please.’
‘No, I meant the baby. We’re looking after her for a bit so that Malini can have a sleep. Here,’ Amma’s voice moved away, cooing, ‘talk to your aunty, baba.’
There was a snuffling noise on the phone.
‘Hello?’ said Chaya, awkwardly. How did one talk to a baby over the phone? ‘Hello baby Nayana.’
More snuffling, possibly a little hiccup. She could almost feel the tiny person at the other end, listening ferociously. ‘How are you?’
‘Aww,’ said Amma, her voice suddenly clear again. ‘She likes you.’
‘That’s… great.’ She drew breath and steeled herself. She had to tell them about her grades.
‘Oh, Chaya, before I forget,’ said Amma.
A distraction. Brilliant. ‘Yes?’
‘We’ve had someone approach us with a proposal…’
Alarm bells rang in her head. A proposal meant that someone had suggested a potential marriage match for her. They were trying to fix her up with someone who was ‘suitable’.
‘A proposal?’ she said, trying to keep the dismay from her voice.
‘Wait, wait, I’ll put you on speaker, so Thatha can hear,’ said Amma. ‘How does this work?’
There was a beep and her father’s voice said, ‘Can you hear me?’
‘Hello Thatha.’
‘Anyway,’ Amma jumped back in. ‘This boy. He’s a doctor, he’s twenty-seven, educated in the US, sounds like a very nice boy.’
Chaya stared at the living room wall, trying to think of the correct response. She had known this would come, but she’d hoped they’d wait until after her studies were finished.
‘Of course, he understands that nothing would be possible until after you’ve finished your degree,’ Amma carried on. Her bangles jingled as she waved her hand. ‘And he’s fine with the idea of you going on to do a further degree.’
‘But…’
‘And we’re aware that he is a bit too old for you.’
‘Yes,’ she clutched at the excuse, gratefully. ‘Too old.’
‘The thing is,’ said Amma, ‘we didn’t want to turn him down without checking with you first.’
‘I’m only nineteen!’ It came out louder than she’d expected.
‘Yes, yes, we know that,’ said Amma, hurriedly. ‘It’s just that, now you’re at Oxford, the offers are coming in really often. We can keep turning them away until you’ve finished your degree, if you want, but if there’s someone really nice, you might want to consider it.’
She looked down at her hands. She couldn't tell them about what her tutor had said. Not now. She had to knuckle down and pull this back on track. Then there was Noah. She couldn’t tell them about Noah, but she couldn’t let them get their hopes up about getting her ‘settled’ either. She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again. All she could do was get herself a few years’ reprieve. Maybe this thing between her and Noah would fizzle out by then.
‘I want to concentrate on my studies at the moment,’ she said, softly. ‘After my degree, I want to do a PhD. If possible, I’d like to stay at Oxford, or go to Cambridge or London for it. It will be a lot of work, I don’t want to be distracted by marriage and babies and things.’ She was distracted enough already. ‘Also, I might find someone myself,’ she added. ‘I might meet a fellow student that I like. It would be much better.’
There was a tense silence on the phone. She heard a car horn beep somewhere in the distance. It was very strange being on speakerphone.
‘Okay,’ said Amma. ‘We can understand that. That would be good.’ She sighed. ‘But be careful, Duwa, there are some terrible and sneaky men out there.’
Chaya smiled. ‘Well, if they’re after my money, they’re in for a shock.’
Amma ignored that. ‘And make sure whoever you
meet is suitable. You know, Singhalese, Buddhist, …’
Chaya held back a sigh. ‘Yes.’
Amma said, ‘I suppose we could live with someone lower caste, if they were well educated… but they’d have to be a doctor. At least.’
‘Right.’ She couldn’t carry on like this. She had to say something. ‘What if … I met someone who wasn’t Sri Lankan? How would you feel about that?’
‘Oh, you won’t though, will you?’ said Amma, her voice quickening. ‘You’re a sensible girl.’
In the background, Thatha cleared his throat. He hadn’t said anything so far.
‘Hypothetically, I mean,’ Chaya added, quickly.
The baby made a noise. She wished she could see what was going on. Her parents were probably exchanging one of those looks that spoke volumes to each other. She heard rustling and the jingle of bangles and Amma said, ‘You talk to her.’
Chaya could hear the slap-slap of Amma’s slippers as she walked away.
There was an awkward silence. Finally, Thatha said, ‘Chaya. Is there something going on that we should know about?’
She was struggling to keep up with her workload, she had a boyfriend she couldn’t talk about. There were a few things, yes. She didn’t reply.
‘Chaya,’ he repeated, sternly. ‘Answer me.’
She couldn’t lie to him. She couldn’t tell him the truth. ‘It’s… difficult,’ she said.
‘I see.’ His voice sounded hard. ‘Well, I did wonder. You’re young and far away from home. It’s understandable, I suppose. We should have expected it when we sent you. Although, I expected better from you.’
She didn’t reply.
‘I expect you to have grown out of these things when you finish your degree,’ he said firmly. ‘We didn’t do all this to send you away for you to waste your time. Is that understood, Chaya?’
‘Yes,’ she muttered. She understood. He was saying ‘have your fun, but when you come back to real life, you have to forget all about him’. It was an unexpected amount of leeway that wasn’t normally given to a girl.
A Convenient Marriage Page 13