by Meera Syal
Chila watched, horrified, as Chandni casually picked up a prawn with her fingers and ripped its head off with one quick snap. She looked down at the fork she was still gripping like a blunt instrument. Well, what was she supposed to use it for, then? She prodded a feeler hesitantly. The prawn shifted slightly and looked up at her with one sorrowful black bead of an eye.
‘The Village Dhaba in Mayfair does something like that,’ ventured Leila, who had upended her prawn and was scooping some horrible eggy stuff out of its stomach. ‘It’s basic khana, but presented in super small portions actually on the plate. None of those off-putting silver dishes on the table with everyone’s fingers in it, helping themselves.’ She deposited the frogspawn lump on one side and began prising the shell from its back. Small flakes of coral collected beneath her fingertips, but she didn’t seem to mind.
Chila put down her fork as quietly as she could, laying it back carefully in its proper place. She felt hot suddenly, the back of her neck ached and she was desperate for the toilet. But the thought of having to get up and walk past everyone, when they would know where she was going and maybe talk about what she was doing while she was away, kept her seated.
‘Not used to seafood, Chila?’ asked Chandni, hooking an amused eyebrow at Leila. ‘It is an acquired taste, I suppose.’
Chila swallowed, and placed her hands in her lap, clamping them together.
‘I don’t like eating anything with a face,’ she said finally.
‘What?’ The three women all shrieked at the same time.
‘Oh, but that is too, too funny!’ Leila said, laughing. ‘Don’t you think?’
Manju clapped her hands loudly, now she had been given permission, and Chandni nodded vigorously, trying to register amusement while using as few facial muscles as possible.
‘Darling boys, did you hear what Chila said? It was too awfully funny, really.’
The men swivelled as one, glasses halfway to their lips, tolerant expressions on their faces.
‘Do say it again, Chila darling!’
Chila opened her mouth but Chandni butted in. ‘She said, she doesn’t like eating anything with a face.’
Manoj and Asif pointed at Chila, shook their heads and said, ‘Very good’ a few times, before resuming their discussion.
Deepak fixed Chila with a long, loving stare which calmed her immediately. He winked at her and gave her a subtle thumbs up, and she swelled with pride. Funny, she felt like she did when she wrote that essay at school about Africa and took it home to show her parents. Her mum had barely registered the two crumpled pieces of A4, but Chila’s father had sat down in his armchair and read the whole thing carefully, his finger tracing the words as he mouthed them silently to himself. When he had finished, he looked up at Chila, his eyes brimming with tears.
‘You remember so much about Africa, beti?’
Chila had nodded back, perturbed by his reaction.
‘We had twenty acres, ten servants and sunshine, always sunshine. I was a fool to bring you here.’
This, Chila now realized, was probably the reason she had never dared write anything else again. She hated upsetting people. It was much better, in the end, to keep quiet and keep smiling.
‘You really are too awful, Chila!’ Leila nudged her, a little too hard.
Chila nudged back. ‘So are you, Leila. Really awful.’ A posse of waiters descended upon them and removed their dishes. Chila relaxed a little. She cheerfully helped herself to a bread roll, split it in half with her knife and carefully layered it thickly with butter. At least she knew how to eat one of these.
‘You’re really supposed to break the roll into pieces with your hands, and then butter each portion individually, strictly speaking,’ Manju said pleasantly.
Chila picked up a buttered half and chomped on it boldly. This was a good opportunity to try out one of her lines, now that she had broken the ice.
‘Well, it doesn’t really matter how it goes in. It all comes out the same way, eh?’
‘Indeed,’ stuttered Manju, while Leila busied herself with the water decanter and Chandni coughed into her serviette.
‘So, er, how do you occupy yourself, Chila? We don’t see you around much.’
‘Around?’
‘You know, the Tamarind lunches, Nehru Institute talks, Beena’s coffee mornings . . .’
‘Ah, well,’ said Chila, picking out a piece of bread from a back tooth, ‘I have my rounds to do, really. It’s a mad social whirl in Ilford.’
‘Really?’ Chandni said. ‘You do surprise me.’
‘Yeah, I’m rushed off my feet most days. What with . . . you know, visiting and . . . driving places, and that.’
Chila’s mind was racing. She knew they would not appreciate the daily activities that she found exciting, visiting the brand new Tescos in Gants Hill where you got your groceries packed for you, having tea and samosas with her friend, Geeta, who worked in a jewellery shop and let Chila try on diamond and pearl tiaras when no-one was about, feeding old rotis to the swans at Snaresbrook Ponds, where she always had a good natter with the old ladies who ambled over from their residential home across the road. There had to be something else.
‘Actually, I am being filmed for a television programme at the moment. That just takes up so much time.’
‘You’re an actress?’ Chandni sat bolt upright, her nostrils quivering.
‘You’re not a model surely?’ Manju said.
‘My dear, such excitement!’ said Leila. ‘Do tell.’
‘Um, well, it’s both of us, me and Deeps actually,’ Chila launched in. Deepak heard his name and turned round quizzically. ‘A friend of mine, Tania, she’s a director. And she’s making a very important programme about . . . about people in love, and how they met, how they make things work. So of course, she asked me and Deeps to, um, give away our secrets.’
The women were really impressed, Chila could tell by the way they whispered to each other and giggled behind their hands. Deepak was looking a little strange, she thought, but that was probably because he had never heard her manage so many words in front of his friends. She could do it. She had proved it now.
‘So, Deepak darling, we always said that profile was wasted on the stock market.’ Leila waggled a playful finger at him. ‘You must tell us when your screen debut is. We wouldn’t miss it for the world.’
‘Oh, we’ll have a party when it’s on,’ Chila said, flushed with success now. ‘I’ll cook and we can all watch it together! That would be awfully good fun, wouldn’t it, Deeps?’
Deepak nodded slowly, before draining his glass in one smooth gulp.
‘You should have told me before mouthing off in front of everyone. God, you really showed me up, Chila.’ Deepak was striding towards the car while Chila struggled to keep up, her slingbacks skidding on the pavement. ‘You told me you were just talking to her about this stupid programme. I didn’t know you’d agreed to be in it. And what right did you have to volunteer me as a bloody guinea pig, huh?’
Chila felt tears pricking her eyes. She had been doing so well and now this had ruined all her afternoon’s efforts.
Deepak waited for her to catch up, his eyebrows a single slash, like a furry scar, across his forehead. ‘This is typical of her,’ he said almost to himself. ‘Flashes her dimples and everyone bows down before her, without thinking. She’s always treated you like her favourite pet. Throws a biscuit and you bloody jump, don’t you?’
Chila concentrated very hard on not walking on any of the lines on the pavement. Maybe if she placed a sandalled foot exactly in the middle, he would calm down. It was working. He was walking more slowly now. Maybe she would risk taking his hand, to show this was just a silly row over nothing at all.
‘Jaan?’ she said quietly. ‘I wouldn’t have done anything behind your back. I thought you knew, you know, you and Tans being close.’
Deepak halted and spun round, catching Chila by the wrist. ‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’
; For a moment, Chila did not recognize him. The features were familiar but someone mad and cold had borrowed his eyes, someone she did not know, who made her feel sick with fear.
‘Deeps?’ Her wrist was being bent back slowly. She thought she heard ice cracking. ‘She’s your friend as well,’ Chila whispered, her voice breaking. ‘I thought she’d ask your permission first.’
Deepak let her go abruptly. A single tear spilled down Chila’s cheek, leaving a snail’s trail through her foundation. Deepak saw it, and returned to his body.
‘Oh, shit . . . oh, God, I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have shouted . . . Come here.’ Deepak enveloped her, holding her close, feeling her pulse flutter where her wrists lay helplessly at his chest. They were both shaking. Remorse rose into his throat, flooded him. God, he hated Tania. Hated the way she managed to throw her shadow from so far away. He had promised to protect this woman pressed against him, shuddering. He had promised himself he would keep his promises, from now on. He felt as if his survival depended on it. His salvation stood weeping in his arms.
‘It’s still early. Want to go shopping? Catch a movie? You choose. Anything you want, baby.’
Chila didn’t look up at him. She was afraid she might see the monster still lurking in some fold in his face. She felt the bass of his voice through his chest, like the growl of an animal. She made up her mind they would not, after all, get a dog.
‘Decided where you want to go tonight, honey?’ Deepak crooned, smoothing a stray wisp of hair from her temple.
Chila spoke into his tie, her eyes closed. ‘I want to see my mum.’
Sunita replaced the telephone receiver and pressed her hands to her temples. She had been trying Social Services for half an hour, and she had a direct line number. She now understood why all the chairs were bolted to the floor in government offices. If she wasn’t so tired from lack of sleep, a night of pacing the upstairs hallway with Sunil throwing up in her hair, she would quite fancy picking up her orthopaedic swivel stool and chucking it at the next person who dared to walk in here and ask her for help.
She fished in her bag, pushing through old tissues, receipts, furry boiled sweets and a laddered pair of pop socks, and brought out her hand mirror. God, it was worse than she’d imagined. The cruel magnifying lens made each pore look like a lunar crater. There it was, the rugged terrain of her face, dustbowls under her eyes, mountains of whiteheads around her nose and a healthy thicket of black bristles sprinkling her chin. What was it about your hair as you hit thirty-five? One moment, you were moussing and gelling and teasing, the next, you were in a depilatory war, waxing and yanking and shaving as fast as possible, while the enemy crept all over you, setting up camp in the most unusual places.
That morning, Sunita had found her first white pubic hair. She had only discovered this after she’d taken it for a bit of panty fluff and attempted to yank it out. Akash had heard her yell of pain and knocked on the bathroom door, asking if she was all right. What could she have said? ‘Don’t worry about me, just dyeing my nether regions, out in a tick!’ She had recently begun to spend more and more time in the bathroom. Firstly, it was the only room in the house with a lock on the door, and secondly, she needed to start the day with a good pluck. Which was the nearest she got nowadays to any kind of physical pleasure. She snapped the mirror closed and got up. She deserved another tea break.
‘Excuse me? Miss Bhandari?’
Sunita looked up into a pair of amused brown eyes. She sighed inwardly. The young man noted this and smiled apologetically. He was quite cute, she thought idly; she liked a bit of stubble. Jeans, nice jacket, maybe he’s Kashmiri, with those light hazel eyes and milky skin. And young enough to be her nephew, if not son. At least he hadn’t called her Auntie.
‘Could you see my colleague, Mr Ali? He’s just over there.’ Sunita was already picking up her bag.
‘Actually, it was you I wanted to see. I’m Lakhvir Singh, from Hackney Disability Unit? We’ve spoken on the phone a couple of times and . . .’
Sunita dropped her bag, flustered. ‘God, I’m sorry, I thought—’
‘No, you would, me hovering around your desk like that.’ He was on his knees next to her, picking up the debris from her upturned bag. ‘Please, let me.’
Sunita winced as he folded up the grimy tissues, keeping one for the boiled sweets which he wrapped up and handed to her. ‘Were you saving these?’
Sunita grabbed whatever she could and stuffed it away. Her knees clicked loudly as she hauled herself to her feet.
‘You were asking for some policy information on home carers?’ Lakhvir continued, producing an envelope from his pocket. ‘I know it’s hellish trying to get through and as I was passing . . .’
Sunita took the envelope, which was warm. This embarrassed her, for some reason. God, control yourself, woman! she told herself. Try not to look like some desperate menopausal harpy. ‘That’s really kind of you, thanks a lot. I’ve got so many clients coming in desperate for some home help with dependants, not sure what’s available. Our local authority’s pretty backward in this area. They seem to recommend tying old people to chairs so they don’t touch anything and sending round some bad-tempered do-gooder once a fortnight to take the wrapper off the meals on wheels dinner.’
Lakhvir laughed, slapping his thigh. ‘You got them sussed then! How do you cope, Miss Bhandari?’
Sunita put her hand over her chin, hoping the bristle wasn’t too lively today. ‘It’s Mrs, actually. The sweets are for my kids.’
‘I believe you.’ He smiled.
There. That told him. Now he could file her away under M, Married, Mother, Matronly, Much too ugly to consider so thank God she’s taken. She had forgotten how nice it was to be smiled at, without being asked a question about dinner or civil rights immediately afterwards. She pondered the unfairness of hair again: how unshaven men looked so yummy, while unshaven women looked like warthogs wearing lipstick. They should have done a seminar on that in the women’s group. Something practical that would have helped her in later life. Like how to stop strange, rather good-looking men staring at you in an intense and unsettling manner.
‘Mrs Bhandari,’ he said gently.
Sunita’s breathing quickened. The man was getting fresh with her! She almost wanted to turn round and check that Rosie from reception wasn’t standing behind her, with her Wonderbra and slaw-jawed expression. No, he was definitely looking at her, and moving closer. I am in my favourite film, she thought, the one I haven’t seen yet but which always has a scene in it just like this one. Take off your glasses, Miss Bhandari, and could you just shave your chin? Thanks . . . Why, Miss B, you’re beautiful!
‘It’s Sunita,’ she said, as huskily as she could.
He put his hand on her arm. Her flesh rose up to meet it, goosepimples galore.
‘Sunita,’ he said, musically, she fancied, ‘do you mind if I just—’
‘I am married,’ she reminded him quickly, wishing she hadn’t.
Lakhvir snaked a hand around her back and plucked something dangling from her sleeve. ‘Sorry, it’s been driving me mad since you stood up.’ He held out a wrinkly stained pop sock which hung limply between them, like a shameful secret. ‘Were you saving this as well?’
Sunita took it wordlessly as her heart jumped into a lift and asked for the basement. ‘I’ll show you out, Mr Singh,’ she said brightly.
She was still stinging as she marched through the shopping centre, reliving every toe-curling moment. How could she have been so pathetic? So . . . predictable? She imagined him back in his office, surrounded by a group of grinning youths, telling them the one about the hirsute seductress and the pop sock, over and over again until they rolled on the carpet, begging for mercy. The humiliation Sunita could cope with. Somehow, it had become part of the fabric of her life, certainly through her work, dodging insults and sometimes fists from across her desk. It was the quiet storm she rode at home, every time Akash patted her rump, as if saying goodnight
to a friendly beast, and turned over to sleep, while she lay awake in the darkness, willing her desire to roll over and play dead, and let her sleep too. What worried her, what made her walk faster and without purpose, was how easily she had responded to another man, without thinking. It wasn’t even a big come on, more like a twinkly dig in the ribs. In fact, be honest here, Sunny, she told herself, the man was just being friendly. Is that all it took, a few kind words and a flirty grin and she would flip onto her back, like some eager puppy, legs in the air, wanting her tummy tickled?
She felt bestial, hungry. She passed a bakery and surveyed the array of enticing meringues and moist chocolate éclairs. That would do for a start.
She ate walking along, without tasting anything. She could not get rid of another flavour, something bitter coating her tongue. It returned every time she recalled Lakhvir’s face as he was leaving. What was it that lay in the curve of lip as he said goodbye? She forced down a large lump of chocolate and oh God, did not want to remember but she did. It was pity. She saw herself in miniature in the orb of his eye. She looked grateful, even for mercies as small and misunderstood as the ones he had thrown down before her. It was only pouncing upon crumbs that made her realize she was being starved, slowly, to nothing.
She swallowed the last morsels of éclair and broke into a slow trot. She talked to herself, in rhythm with her footsteps. I have a husband who I wanted to marry and I love, I have two perfect children, I have a job, it’s not what I hoped for but as much as I can expect, I am lucky, I should be happy, I ought to be happy, I will be happy. She stopped, feeling a stitch sew up her left side. She was in front of a boutique. DAZE said the neon-pink sign. She could feel that her breath, instead of slowing down, was getting faster. Not here, she panicked, not now. I don’t even know where I am. There was a silver dress in the window, glittering under a spotlight. A mere slip of a dress for a slip of a woman. Spangles and sparkles, Sunita said, Nikita’s favourite words at the moment, and went inside.