This Stolen Life

by This Stolen Life (retail) (epub)

  ‘So, how long have you been working for Yamuna and Bim?’ he said.

  ‘Six weeks.’ Which was an age and not long all at the same time.

  ‘Are you enjoying it? Are they kind to you?’

  Madam was a little frightening at times, but she wasn’t actually unkind. Sir was… she didn’t really see him much. He was rarely home in the daytime and even if he was, he seemed to barely notice she existed. It was easy to avoid Sir. ‘They are kind.’

  Was she enjoying it? She looked at Louie, peacefully asleep. She loved him, she knew that already. Even if Mr and Mrs Gamage had not been nice people, she would have put up with it to be with Louie. ‘I am happy.’

  ‘I’m glad.’

  Another silence.

  ‘I saw you were reading,’ said Sahan. ‘Can you read English well?’

  This made Soma giggle. ‘I can read a little. Not enough to read a big book. But I will try to read to Louie. We can learn together.’

  ‘I can teach you,’ he said. He leaned towards her.

  She looked at him properly then and her stomach flipped, making her catch her breath. He had kind eyes. He wouldn’t hurt her. If he was teaching her to read… she would have to see him again. But what if someone saw them? Even though she knew there was nothing going on, Madam might think there was. That wouldn’t be good.

  ‘But, Madam—’

  ‘Madam need not know,’ said Sahan. ‘You only come to the park when she’s at work. I doubt Yamuna knows anyone here.’ He looked around. ‘We can meet there.’ He pointed to a bench in a more secluded area. It would be less obvious, but still not exactly hidden. When he looked back to her, she felt her stomach flutter again.

  It would just be him teaching her to read. He need never know that being near him made her feel this churn of panic and excitement. They could meet in the open, where nothing untoward could happen. Besides, if she wanted to stop meeting him, all she had to do was not leave the house. If he touched her, or tried to touch her, she would know to stop coming. She glanced sideways at him. He didn’t look like a bad man.

  Learning to read English would be so useful.

  ‘Then I’d like that. Very much.’ Feeling a rush of boldness, she added, ‘Sahan.’

  His smile widened when she said his name. They looked at each other and he seemed as lost in the moment as she was. Finally, he cleared his throat. ‘So, let’s have a look at your book, then.’

  He moved a little closer, but thankfully, not close enough to touch her. With all her senses screaming, she tried to concentrate and slowly, began to read.

  * * *

  In order to supplement his income, Sahan worked a couple of nights a week as a waiter in Mr Ghosh’s Indian restaurant. As he recovered from his encounter with Tamsin, he’d come to the conclusion that the strict confines within which he had been brought up meant that the real world was unnecessarily shocking when he met it. He needed to meet it on his terms, which meant breaking some of his father’s norms, like getting a casual job.

  When he was trying to find excuses to not go out on a Friday or Saturday, Nate had suggested he got a casual job, which would give him a handy excuse as well as providing extra income. Sahan had never even considered a part-time job before. His parents usually provided anything he needed. Besides, people who were waiters and shop assistants were poor and uneducated, weren’t they? They were in Colombo. No middle class kid would ever do a job like that. Nate and Cara had soon disabused him of this notion. It turned out that a lot of his fellow students were waiters, shop assistants and factory workers in the summer holidays.

  Applying for a job had been a learning curve. Not only did he have to get his head around the fact that there was nothing disreputable about having a low skilled job, he also found that he was being turned down for them. This shook his belief in himself even more. He has assumed that these sorts of jobs were there for him to take, if he’d ever wanted to. After all, he was smart and almost had a degree. The fact that he would need experience to be a waiter seemed preposterous. It wasn’t exactly rocket science. When, finally, he had got this job at Mr Ghosh’s restaurant, he had been pleased and dejected in equal measure.

  He’d finished setting up the tables and leaned against the counter, flicking through the photos his sister Priyanka had sent him through WhatsApp. Neither he nor his sister were allowed on social media, lest they posted something that embarrassed their father or his political party. WhatsApp was the best they got. Priyanka had been to a birthday party of a mutual friend and the familiar faces smiling out of the photos made him ache for home.

  ‘Who’s that? The girlfriend?’ said a girl’s voice.

  Sahan looked up to find Deepthi, Mr Ghosh’s daughter, leaning on the other side of the counter, craning her neck to see his screen. Deepthi came by every so often to do the accounts for her father. She was seventeen, sharp and pretty, in a homely kind of way. She had looked at Sahan coyly from under her eyelashes in the beginning, until he’d made a pointed comment about how much she reminded him of his baby sister. After that she’d given up flirting with him. Which was just as well because old man Ghosh would have sacked him on the spot if he thought Sahan had any designs on his daughter.

  Sahan straightened up, putting some distance between them. ‘No, my sister.’

  ‘Oh, the famous baby sister. Let’s see.’

  He slid the phone across to her.

  ‘She’s cute,’ Deepthi said. ‘I thought she’d be younger.’

  ‘She’s the same age as you,’ Sahan responded. He took the phone back and slipped it into his pocket. ‘How’s it going deciding which unis you want to apply to?’

  ‘Oh you know. The olds want me to go to the local one. I want to go as far away as possible. The usual.’ Deepthi waved away the discussion.

  Mr Ghosh appeared from the kitchen. ‘I don’t pay you to stand around talking,’ he said to Sahan.

  Sahan looked across at the empty restaurant.

  ‘Tha,’ said Deepthi. ‘You don’t pay me at all.’ She went over to stand next to her father.

  His manner softened at once. ‘Ah, but someday, all this will be yours.’

  The phone on the bar rang and Sahan sprang to answer it. By the time he’d written down the takeaway order, father and daughter were sitting at one of the tables, looking over the receipts that Deepthi had logged.

  Sahan took the order to the back. Deepthi was a nice kid, but if he wanted to keep this job, he had to make sure he kept out of her way.

  * * *

  It was only once she’d pulled into the garage that the exhaustion hit Yamuna. She looked out towards the door and felt the weight of her bones holding her down. Her hands slid off the steering wheel and she let them fall to the seat either side of her thighs. A few weeks of work and she was already exhausted; this wasn’t a good sign. It was strange that she didn’t feel so bad when she was at work. The skills were coming back to her, even if her ability to retain information wasn’t. Conversations with colleagues had moved past questions about Louie and tended towards discussions about work, or even what was on telly, these days. She would have to start keeping an eye on what was on, just to keep up with it. It seemed years since she’d been able to laugh and joke like that. And she relished the feeling of competence, something she hadn’t felt in a very long time. It was so nice to be good at something again. She looked back at the house. Louie would be waiting. She should go in.

  It took counting to three and muttering ‘go’ to herself to get moving again. She hauled herself out of the car, rescued her bag from the back and trudged towards the house. When she opened the door, she heard Soma’s voice, drifting down the stairs, chatting in baby Sinhalese with Louie.

  What was wrong with her? She should be raring to go up to her son, not feeling a vague sense of dread. Perhaps it was because she was so tired. It was a shock to the system to have to go back to work. It would wear off. She hung up her coat, kicked off her shoes and made her way upstairs, picking up the pi
le of post on the way. She paused at a letter from the nanny agency. What now? Ripping the white envelope open, she found another cheap envelope inside. Stuck to it was a Post-it explaining that the letter was for Soma and had been sent to the agency via their Sri Lankan office. The girl had apparently not sent her new address to her people. Odd.

  In the playroom, Louie was sitting on Soma’s lap. He looked happy. He would have been fed and freshly changed.

  ‘Look baby, Amma’s here,’ said Soma, pointing to Yamuna. ‘Say hello.’ She held his chubby little fist in her hand and waved it gently. Louie blew a spit bubble.

  Yamuna smiled and wished she’d put a fleece over her work clothes before she’d come to see Louie. Still, baby drool was easy enough to wipe off. At least it wasn’t milk or snot. Soma stood up, holding Louie to her, and carried him over to his mother.

  ‘You have a letter.’ Yamuna took Louie and handed Soma the envelope in exchange. ‘Has he been okay?’ She gave the boy a quick kiss on the cheek. He got spit on her. ‘You know you can ask your family to write to you directly. We don’t mind you getting letters.’ She looked at Soma for the first time.

  The girl was staring at the envelope and didn’t reply.

  ‘Soma?’

  Soma stuffed the letter into a pocket and looked up. ‘Yes, Madam. Let me tell you about Louie’s day.’ She launched into her report of the day, speaking fast as though afraid Yamuna would interrupt. ‘I wrote it down in the book,’ she said and darted towards the exercise book that Yamuna had bought for the purpose.

  The idea was that Yamuna could look back over the week and see that everything was okay. Weirdly, even though she could barely remember what she’d said two minutes ago, Yamuna had perfect recall of every bite, nap and poop that Louie had taken in the last week.

  ‘He slept a long time,’ she said, when Soma had finished. With her, he never napped for more than forty minutes. She wondered what Soma did to him to drive him to somnolence.

  ‘I took him for a walk in the park.’

  A slight quirk in Soma’s voice made Yamuna look up. ‘You must have walked a long time.’ She watched the girl carefully and noticed that she seemed a little flustered. She was probably wanting to go off and read her letter.

  ‘No. Well, a bit,’ Soma said. ‘Whenever he looked like he was going to wake up, I walked more.’ She moved away and started to pick up toys. ‘He should be able to stay up for another hour now. If you want to play with him.’

  ‘I’ll be the judge of that.’ Yamuna hitched Louie to her hip and marched down the stairs. He was her son. Who was Soma to tell her what he was ready for? She stormed into the kitchen and stopped. Louie blew another spit bubble and neatly dropped dribble down her collar. ‘Ugh. Louie. Stop that.’

  She found a sheet of kitchen towel and wiped his face and her neck. ‘Don’t do that, silly boy.’ She looked around. What now? She had the baby. What did she do with him? She strapped him into his high chair. He grizzled at her.

  ‘All right, all right.’ She found him a toy and plonked it on the tray in front of him. This seemed to calm him down. Yamuna put the kettle on. She stood by the work surface and stared at the kettle. Her shoulders ached. It felt like a weight was pushing down on her. She bowed her head and tried not to cry.

  Hesitant footsteps approached. Yamuna blinked hard to beat the tears back. In front of her the kettle started to boil.

  Soma scuttled into her line of vision. ‘Madam, let me get you your tea.’

  Yamuna left the girl to make the cup of tea and went back to sit next to Louie. ‘Thank you,’ she said, without looking up. Perhaps she was being unkind in her dislike of Soma. After all, the girl had done nothing wrong. She watched Louie happily batting his toy and sighed.

  Louie looked up, spotted Soma and gave her a gummy smile. A proper, spontaneous smile. She had never seen him look so pleased. How come he never did that with her? Clearly, her being back at work suited Louie too. So she’d made the right choice to leave the child-rearing to someone who was good at it and go back to work. That was a good thing. So why didn’t it feel like it was?

  * * *

  For the rest of the evening, the letter in her pocket burned in Soma’s consciousness as she tried to carry on as normal. Who was writing to her? Was someone coming to find Somavathi? Her resemblance to the real Somavathi was only passing. Now that her hair was gone, she looked even less like her. Anyone who knew the real Somavathi would never be fooled for a minute.

  When, finally, Louie was asleep, she bolted the door to her room and sat on the bed. The letter had been sent via the agency. The familiar rough brown paper envelope and the stamps showing national monuments from Sri Lanka made her want to cry.

  She stared at it for a long time, not wanting to tear apart this fragile new life she was building for herself. Finally, because it had to be done, she ripped the envelope open and pulled out a carefully folded piece of foolscap paper.

  The letter was written in carefully rounded Sinhalese. It was from the dead girl’s mother. It spoke of concern. Was she alright? The agency had said she was safe in her employer’s house, but she hadn’t written and the family were worried. Why did she not write? Why did she not wire money home, as she’d promised? What had happened to the girl they knew?

  The words swam in front of her eyes, forcing her to stop reading. She put it down and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

  Here was a girl who was loved. Someone who was being missed. While she herself would not be missed at all. Her mother might have grieved her disappearance once, but since the baby died… her mother barely noticed her. What little affection there was left had been poisoned by her stepfather. Slowly, she had lost her friends. By the time she ran away, she’d had very little to leave behind.

  For one yearning moment, she wished she could see her mother. Not the dead eyed woman she was now, but how she had been… before. But all that was gone now. With one snap decision that morning on the beach, Soma had stolen a future; a whole life that was better than her own could ever have been. The real owner of that life was dead. But she hadn’t stopped to think that there would be others who would be affected. Of course Somavathi’s family would search for her. How stupid not to realise that.

  She tried to read the letter again, but couldn’t. Somewhere far away, a mother was searching for her daughter. At some point, they were going to find her. What happened then? How could she tell them that their daughter was dead? That she had stolen her identity? This poor woman thought her daughter was still alive. Someone else was living her daughter’s life. For the first time Soma saw herself and what she had done as other people would. She was a monster.

  She couldn’t tell them the truth. Because once the secret was out... What then? They would surely tell the police and she would be sent to prison. Prison was preferable to home. All this – the life she’d built for herself, little Louie, the secret and much dreamed about visits to park to see Sahan – would be lost. Fear cut deeper than the cold outside. Her head pounded, making her ears buzz. The scars on her ribs throbbed. Soma curled herself into a ball and wept.

  Later, much later, when she’d run out of tears, she sat up. Tears were Jaya’s territory. She was Soma now. She had to think clearly. She read the letter again. In the words she read desperate worry. Fear. What could she do? Could she write to them, pretending to be Somavathi? She recoiled at the thought. Pretending to be Somavathi in front of people who knew nothing about her, like Madam and Sir, that was one thing. But to pretend to a dead girl’s parents…to make them think she was still alive. That was wrong on a whole other level. No, she couldn't do that.

  Could she send them money, like Somavathi would have done? She could. That might help assuage the guilt. But any contact was dangerous. It would give them more clues to follow, more chances to realise something was wrong. She was bound to slip up and raise suspicion.

  The only way she could get away with what she’d done was to shut herself off from Somavathi’s past.


  Somavathi’s mother didn’t know she was dead and was clearly trying to reach her. When she didn’t get a response, she would try harder. She might try to send someone out to look for her. It was a matter of time.

  Soma folded the letter over and over, smaller and smaller until it didn’t bend any more. Something was coming, but there was nothing she could do to stop it. If she had to run away again, she would do it. Until then, she just had to keep her head down and hope that they gave up. In the meantime, she would keep a bag packed, with some of her money safely tucked in it, so that she could get away at short notice. The idea of being alone in this strange country was terrifying, but it was better than what was waiting for her at home.

  * * *

  Yamuna woke up to the sound of a muffled scream. She leapt out of bed. Beside her, Bim sat up. ‘What’s going on?’

  Yamuna’s first thought was that something had happened to Louie. She flew up the stairs and into the baby’s room. She flicked the light on. Louie lay in his cot, seemingly asleep. She leaned over and checked that Louie was breathing. He was. A wave of relief ran through her. Her heart slowed down a fraction.

  Another shout came from the next room. There was a sharp knocking from the landing outside and Bim’s voice said, ‘Girl. What is wrong? Open this door.’

  Yamuna rolled her eyes. Bim had forgotten Soma’s name. She turned the light out in Louie’s room and pulled the door to behind her.

  There were no more screams, only the sound of sobbing. Bim stood on the landing, looking baffled. Yamuna put her hand on his arm and moved him out of the way so that she could tap on the door.