by M. C. Dutton
Jazz had the weekend off and planned to sleep most of it. He got his fish and chips and was going to eat them in front of the rest of the test match in Australia, along with a good few vodkas, as he didn’t have to get up in the morning.
As he put the key in the door of De Vere Gardens, Mrs Chodda opened her kitchen door. For a moment his heart stopped. He really, really didn’t want to meet another marriageable woman and her mother – not tonight. Mrs Chodda smiled and said she just wanted to say good evening. She hadn’t seen him for a while. Endearingly incorrectly, she said that their footbridges hadn’t crossed recently. Jazz smiled and said, ‘I think you mean our paths haven’t crossed recently.’ They both laughed at her English. Jazz asked her falteringly, not wanting to seem that interested, ‘How is your niece these days? I haven’t seen her for a while.’ Mrs Chodda noted the interest immediately. ‘Oh, you mean Amrit. She has gone back to India.’ She saw Jazz’s face fall, although he recovered quickly. She smiled knowingly and said, ‘She has gone to a family wedding. She will be back in one month’s time.’
Jazz tried to hide his smile but she noted it instantly.
Mrs Chodda had never considered Amrit to be a suitable wife for Jaswinder; after all, she was a divorced woman with a son, rather than a good young virgin. But now she saw the interest, she would work on her plans. Jazz might think he was clever but Mrs Chodda was streets ahead of him. He should enjoy his success for the moment; he would have to face his biggest challenge soon. Mrs Chodda was on his case.
Jazz thanked Mrs Chodda and kissed her unexpectedly on the cheek. Going up the stairs, he suddenly felt pretty good. So her name is Amrit! What a fabulous name, he thought. A month wasn’t long. He reckoned he could sleep for a month given half a chance. The thought wasn’t that funny but he started laughing and just couldn’t stop. Perhaps he would buy her a welcome home present. He would think on that one. For now he would sit back and enjoy a drink and some thoughts about a pretty, feisty girl who was in India.