Chapter Eleven
Sahan leaned his elbows against the counter, thinking about Soma. Her English was coming along nicely. She was still hesitant to speak, but she could understand quite well. When she got it wrong, she would lower her eyes and bite her lip. The thought of it made him smile. A lot of things about her made him smile. Even the way she said his name. Especially the way she said his name. Sahan, like it was meant to be said. He realised that very few people pronounced his name properly in England. Most people called him Sahaaan, with extra vowels at the end. The only person who said it properly, who wasn’t family, was Soma.
He felt a flare of guilt at the thought of his family. They wouldn’t like his hanging around with Soma – they would worry about him falling in love and wanting to marry her. Soma was completely unsuitable for him. There were rules about that sort of thing. He had to marry someone from the right sort of background – upper middle class, same caste, ideally Buddhist too. These ‘rules’ went deeper than edicts about social media. They were so fundamental that Sahan had never bothered to question them. They were within the bedrock of his parents’ world view. To break them would be to say he didn’t care about them – which was something he would never do.
He wasn’t actually doing anything wrong, was he? All he was doing was teaching her to read and helping her with her English. That was a kind and altruistic thing to do. Paying it forward, like Cara had said. He was helping Soma better herself. That was all. ‘Hey, Sahan, take over the takeaway orders, will you.’ His colleague’s voice snapped him back into the real world.
There was a new takeaway driver leaning against the back door, waiting for the next order. A quick glance told Sahan that the man wasn’t Indian, or Pakistani, but Sri Lankan. He couldn’t tell how he knew. He just knew. The driver looked him up and down and grinned.
‘I’m Kemasiri,’ he said, nodding to Sahan.
‘Sahan.’
‘Sri Lanka?’
‘Yes.’
They looked at each other. Sahan took in the cheap trousers, the hair smoothed back with oil, the discoloured teeth and immediately assigned Kemasiri to a social class below his own. This was not the sort of man he would talk to back at home. A driver or a gardener or something.
He caught his train of thought just in time. He was doing it again. At some point in their friendship, Cara had told him that he was a snob. It was something he’d absorbed from the people around him at home and it had been there for so long, it was an innate part of him. He was trying to change, but it was hard work. He had to remember that things were different here. Here, sons of doctors and lawyers mingled with children of cooks and shopkeepers and cleaners. Being poor didn’t automatically make someone stupid. Nate’s dad worked in a canning factory and Nate was going to be a doctor. Here, Sahan was a student who worked as a waiter. Who was he to dismiss this guy as ‘just a driver’? He gave the man a polite smile.
‘Good to meet you,’ he said. ‘I’ll catch up with you later, yeah?’
Kemasiri moved his head to acknowledge him – something partway between a nod and a shake of the head. It was a particularly Sri Lankan gesture that Sahan hadn’t seen since he’d left home. Seeing it now, against the backdrop of his workplace unnerved him, as though the balance of the world was slightly off. He ignored the feeling and went back out to work.
They didn’t meet again until Sahan took his break. He sat on a stool at the back of the kitchen and tucked into his thali, plate balanced on the edge of a counter. Indian restaurant food wasn’t what he considered to be real curry, but it would do. He’d got used to the heavier flavours now. Besides, it was free.
Kemasiri came in, bringing the smoke from his last cigarette with him. He leaned his elbows on the surface next to Sahan and started talking. Sahan, still eating, made listening noises and nodded.
He learned that when Kemasiri wasn’t working at the restaurant, he was a personal driver for a businessman of some description. ‘I only work here once a week,’ he said. ‘When my boss doesn’t need me.’
Sahan nodded, glad that his meal relieved him of having to think of a response. He got the distinct impression that Kemasiri didn’t have many people to talk to.
‘Heh,’ said Kemasiri. ‘His wife thinks he’s away on business, visiting one of his companies down south. Really, he’s got a mistress out in Goole. I drop him off and then get the night off. So I work here.’
‘Aren’t you tempted to actually have a night off?’
‘What would I do all evening? I have a room above the boss’s garage. I can’t go there. There’s nothing else for me to do, so I earn some money.’ He made a sign for cash with his fingers. ‘How about you, son? What do you do when you’re not working in this place?’ Kemasiri looked around him with apparent disdain. He was small man, with a ferret like intensity to his eyes. Sahan felt a twist of dislike. He told himself it was merely his class snobbery getting the better of him again.
Sahan shifted in his seat. ‘I’m a student,’ he said. ‘At the university.’
Kemasiri sniffed. ‘Oh. One of those. Very fancy.’
Yes. One of those. Sahan didn’t bother to respond. Snobbery, it seemed, could cut both ways. The chip on Kemasiri’s shoulder was nothing to do with him. He wasn’t going to apologize for being middle class. He looked down at his plate and wondered if he really wanted any more. The quicker he finished, the sooner he could get away.
‘So what are you doing working in this place?’
‘Earning some extra money. Same as you.’
Kemasiri laughed. ‘Underneath the polish, we’re all the same, eh, son?’
The use of ‘son’ annoyed Sahan. It was as though the man was trying to establish superiority over him. Which was ridiculous. Okay, the man was older than him, but not by a whole generation. This guy was a driver. He probably worked for someone like Yamuna or Bim. Sahan’s parents had drivers. He had spent most of his childhood being driven around by them. It wasn’t snobbery on his own part, this guy was just rude. He made no response.
Kemasiri didn’t seem to notice anything amiss. ‘There aren’t many Sri Lankans around this way,’ he said, wistfully. ‘Not like in London. Or even in Leeds. There’s never anyone to talk to.’ He nodded, as though agreeing with himself. ‘There’s the boss and a couple of guys he does business with.’ A small smile. ‘One of them has a new girl working for them.’
Sahan tensed. Was this guy talking about Soma? He had to be careful not to respond or let slip that he knew her. She was his cousin’s maid. He couldn’t mention her at all. To anyone.
‘Pretty little thing,’ Kemasiri continued, staring thoughtfully into space. ‘Her haircut is a bit strange, but I suppose it’s not a big thing. It’s not like we have much choice of Sri Lankan women around here.’ He gave Sahan a nudge, as though making him a co-conspirator.
When Sahan didn’t reply, Kemasiri said, ‘but servant girls aren’t for the likes of you, eh?’
Sahan picked up his plate with the remainder of his meal. ‘I have to go,’ he said. ‘I’ve finished my break.’
He escaped to front of house, leaving Kemasiri leaning against the counter.
As he prepared a drinks order, he wondered at how strongly he felt about what Kemasiri had said. What if he was talking about Soma? Sahan really didn’t like the way Kemasiri talked about her as though she was a target for his romantic aspirations. Kemasiri didn’t like her, clearly. He didn’t even know her. He had met her once and was interested because there was no one else. Soma wouldn’t be interested anyway. Would she?
He picked up the nozzle to dispense the soft drinks. Kemasiri was the same social class as Soma… maybe she would be interested. The idea made Sahan’s dinner churn inside him. Cola overflowed from the glass. ‘Oh. Shoot.’ He put the nozzle back in its place and found a cloth to mop up the tray. Mr Ghosh gave him a stern glance as he went past.
Sahan tried to focus on his job. What Soma did in her spare time was no business of his. But the though
t of her, biting her lip and looking up at Kemasiri made him feel a harsh churn of emotion. He tried to ignore it.
He would take care to avoid Kemasiri in future.
* * *
Louie stirred in his cot. Soma, who had come to check on him, stood and watched him by the blue glow of the nightlight. He was so adorable when he was asleep. He was adorable when he was awake too. Hard work, but adorable. Louie’s mouth sucked at an imaginary dummy for a few moments before he relaxed back into deep sleep, his mouth falling into an open pout.
She was suddenly reminded of another baby, blue tinged and still. Her half brother who died before he was born. When he died, something of her mother had died with him. Nothing had been the same since. If he had lived, would he have been adorable like Louie? Would her mother be like she’d been before? Would her stepfather have stayed sober enough to keep himself in check? Would Jaya’s life have turned out differently?
Soma shook her head. She mustn’t think of such things around Louie. She shouldn’t think of that old life at all. It was gone. Left behind. She need never go back there again.
She tiptoed quietly out of the room, leaving the door ajar so that it didn’t make a noise when Madam came up to check on Louie before she went bed.
In her own room, she closed the door and locked it. The bolt reminded her of Sahan. She liked that she could associate him with something that kept her safe. With a fingertip, she moved the bolt head so that it lay flat. There wasn’t any need for it, really. No one had ever tried to come up here. This room was a safe place. So was this house. That man would never find her here. She thought of the letters. If he did find her, she would run away again. It was time she let go of her fear of him.
She sat on her bed and admired the television that Madam had helped her choose from the charity shop. It was small and chunky and the picture wasn’t as clear as on the one downstairs, but it was the first television she’d ever owned. She watched it for a bit, flicking through the channels, trying to find something that could hold her attention. After a while, she gave up and turned it off. From under her pillow, she pulled out a book about some children called The Famous Five that Sahan had given her. It was slow going, but she was getting faster at reading now. The more she read and watched TV, the easier it was to understand people. What had originally sounded like babble with the odd word of sense, was now more intelligible. She still couldn’t understand exactly what people were saying sometimes, but at least she knew what they were talking about.
Sahan tried to make her speak English when he was with her. Soma smiled. The mere thought of Sahan made her heart beat pick up. It was hard to believe that someone so clever and handsome chose to spend time with her. She didn’t flatter herself that he thought of her as anything more than a little distraction. People like him didn’t fall in love with people like her. Maybe he felt good about taking a poor girl under his wing and teaching her to read and speak English. Whatever the reason, she was grateful for it.
Madam would disapprove, of course. She would say that Soma was getting ideas above her station. No one would blame Sahan, obviously. He would just step away and get on with his life. In fact, he would move on in a few months’ time anyway, when he finished his exams. Over time, their conversations had moved on from focusing on the reading. He’d told her about the jobs he was applying for. It all sounded impossibly exotic to her. London, Scotland, Sheffield, Teesside, places she’d heard of, but had trouble believing were real. When he got his job, he would leave and his project of teaching her to read would end. Every time he said he had an interview, she was torn between hope and despair.
He only told her these things because he had no one else to talk to, but sometimes they felt like intimacies. Little snippets of information that tied her ever closer to him bond by fragile bond. He sometimes asked about her life, but she tried not to tell him anything significant. The more he knew about her, the bigger the risk that he’d realise something wasn’t right. Besides which, she would much rather hear about him.
Climbing into bed, she stretched her legs out under the duvet. She was getting used to this life now, even if she still slept with the light on. She would never get used to the cold and the cruel wind that cut through whatever she was wearing, but even that was getting better now that her hair was growing back. She touched her head and let the soft new hair tickle her fingers. It was unbelievable how lucky she had been: finding the handbag, the fact that Madam was a kind woman, her passing similarity to the real Soma… it was lucky that rich people never really looked at the people they employed. So, so, lucky.
Hopefully, her own family would believe she was dead. Even if her mother tried to look for her, her stepfather would sabotage any real search. She had nothing to link her to her old life any more. With every day, she became more and more used to being Soma. With her bank card and passport, it was now easier than ever for her to be Soma. Soon no one would ever remember that she had once had another name. Not even her.
Since Madam paid her wages into her bank account, Soma carefully saved most of it, apart from the odd wodge that she took out whenever she tagged along with Madam to the shops. This she stashed under her mattress, just in case. The numbers weren’t huge, until you converted them into their worth in rupees. She was collecting up a nice little nest egg. The letter from the agency had said the job was for two years. When she had to go back, she would have enough money to rent a room in Colombo for some time. She could find a job there. She need not go back home ever again.
Through helping Madam to cook, she was learning how to make dishes she’d never heard of before. Her favourite was lasagne. She loved the way it went from a gloopy red mess and sheets of pasta to a bubbling, golden treat. If she observed and learned enough, she could probably get work as a cook.
She’d gone from having nothing, to suddenly having prospects. She liked that. The big weakness in her plan was Sahan.
It was a risk, meeting him. An extra danger that might ruin everything. She couldn't get complacent. If he found out the truth about her, he would be furious. He would tell Madam and that would be the end of everything. She really should stop meeting him. It wouldn’t take much – changing the times she took Louie to the park would do. When she failed to turn up a few times, he was bound to give up and go away. She could end it, quietly, just as it had begun. He would probably end it soon enough anyway. But while it lasted… she smiled and wrapped her arms around across her chest… oh, while it lasted it was pure happiness.
Thinking about a life without her chats with him made the world lose colour. Even if it meant nothing to him, to her their meetings were a bright spot in the greyness. To be with him was to risk losing her hard-won happiness. But to destroy their relationship before it had even begun was to guarantee unhappiness. She thought of his voice and smiled. Yes, she would have to be extra careful when she was with him, but he was worth the risk.
* * *
Sahan ambled downstairs, rubbing his eyes. The essay he was working on was nearly done. He rolled his shoulders to get rid of the tension. In the kitchen, Nate, Cara and Cara’s best friend Bex were finishing off a couple of bottles of wine. Bex gave him a tipsy grin and waved. ‘Hi Sahan.’
He smiled politely back and put the kettle on.
‘We’re thinking of going to the pub for last orders. Fancy it?’ said Nate.
Sahan looked down at his bare feet. ‘I dunno. I’ve got a bit left to do on my essay.’
‘I’m sure you’ll need a break after all the time you’ve put into it,’ said Cara.
He could take a break. There wasn’t that much left to do… he looked up to find Nate had stood up and was pulling Cara to her feet. ‘Come on, mate. It’s just a swift pint.’
His eyes felt sore and his brain felt like it had been pummelled. A break from his books suddenly felt very attractive. ‘What the heck,’ he said. ‘Just give me a minute to grab some shoes.’
They set off in the crisp night. Nate and Cara strode on ahead, leav
ing Sahan to walk with Bex. He kept a good gap between them and tried to relax. Bex was nice enough, and not all that scary, really. Glancing sideways at her, he acknowledged she was pretty too. Tall and slim with shoulder-length hair. She was the sort of girl who threw herself into everything she did. They might have been friends, if she didn’t keep trying to flirt with him.
They chatted about what a pain exams were and how they really interfered with enjoying the nicer weather. She started telling him about a play she’d been to see. He let her talk and let his mind drift, comparing Bex to Soma.
Next to Soma’s neat features, Bex seemed like an ungainly giantess. Too tall, too gangly, too… fake. Soma wore so many layers of clothing it was sometimes difficult to tell what shape she was, but her face was a study in emotion. It was as though every thought she had was there on display. The naked joy when she saw him, still undiminished after weeks of meeting in the park and talking. The love she showed when she looked at Louie. Even though she was twenty-five, she had an almost childish naivety about her sometimes.
The only way he could help her was to teach her English. She was a surprisingly fast learner. He wondered if, given the chances he’d had, she would have proven herself far cleverer than he was. For a moment, he indulged in his fantasy where he could train her, Henry Higgins style, into being a middle class girl. Someone he could introduce to his parents.
He dug his hands into his jacket pockets. Oh, it was madness. He knew it was. She was a servant. Not someone he should be talking to. He never mentioned her when he spoke to his family. He just made it sound like he was studying too hard to have a social life. His parents didn’t even know about his job at the restaurant. They would be horrified if they did.
‘Helloo. Earth to Sahan?’ Bex’s voice brought him back to reality.
‘What? Sorry, I was miles away. Thinking about… work.’
Bex gave him a mischievous smile. ‘See, you did need a break. Good job you came out.’
This Stolen Life Page 11