But somehow, the ambiguity doesn’t sting as much anymore. I’m enjoying the quiet of the valley. The fresh air and the long walks by the lake have allowed me a sense of stillness that’s hard to come by in London, and being around my extended family has been strangely restorative. Yet there are moments – every time there’s a power cut or a relative drops in unannounced or I have a craving for sushi – when I just want to jump on the next flight out. I could go anywhere – Bristol, where I was born, or London, where I built my career and bought my own house – or I could just stay here, peaceful and sushi-less. It feels like I’ve left little pieces of myself everywhere, and for the first time ever, it doesn’t bother me.
In the distance, I see the lights go on around the lake and I get up. Mosquitoes start prickling my skin. I take my empty cup and go inside.
I switch on my laptop and scroll through my emails. I sent my CV to a couple of recruitment agents last week but so far I haven’t come across a role that feels right. I skim through the new email from Daphne at Style Jobs.
Sales Director
Niche brand retailing via Colette, Galeries Lafayette, Selfridges and Harvey Nichols
Generous salary + relocation package, private healthcare
Flexible working hours
Paris
Paris.
It has always been a dream.
I run through the pros and cons in my head. Ultimately, it comes down to one thing: Roy. He hates Paris.
Roy has been calling me non-stop for weeks now and I have been stalling, delaying giving him an answer. He’s apologized more earnestly than ever before, sworn he’s changed, told me he’s seeing an NHS-recommended therapist. He’s doing everything I wanted him to do. And I want to believe him, I do. It would be so easy to step back into my life in London, the one I so meticulously created. But I don’t know if I fit into that life anymore. It feels small, somehow.
I think back to what my mother said. It isn’t love that’s been holding me back, I realize. It’s the memories. Love is fleeting; it’s the forgetting that takes forever.
I type up a quick reply to Daphne and send it off before I can change my mind.
Maybe I do deserve more.
MIA
Tuesday, 19th April
Delhi
I’m about to lift my carry-on and put it in the overhead locker when the man in front of me speaks. ‘Let me get that for you.’
French men really are quite cute.
‘Thank you,’ I smile and sit down, eyes glued to the window.
I put on my seat belt, the conversation from last night replaying in my head while the overhead speaker crackles. I had finally told Roy I wanted a divorce. Predictably, he wasn’t happy but I held my ground. I knew I would still have to see him; to cut him off completely would be wrong. But all the same, it was time to stop putting him first.
A moment later, the air hostess appears. I glance at her drinks tray.
‘They do say one glass is okay,’ she says, following my gaze. I peel my eyes away from the wine and shake my head.
‘I’ll be fine, thank you,’ I say. I lean back and close my eyes, my hand resting lightly on my stomach. I smile.
We’ll both be just fine.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Thank you
To my agent, Annette Green, who believed in my writing from the beginning and made it all so so real. I couldn’t have wished for a kinder or more enthusiastic agent.
To my editor, Vicki Mellor, who knew exactly what I was trying to say even when I didn’t and, with her talent, insight and patience, made Roy and Mia’s story come to life.
To my very first reader, Anvi Mridul, who took time out of her very busy life to read multiple early drafts and quickly went from being my little sister to my most astute critic and tireless cheerleader.
To Richard Skinner, whose wisdom and encouragement gave me the confidence to think of myself as a writer.
To everyone from the Faber Academy June 2016 Writing a Novel class for their enthusiasm and continued support.
To my early readers Anjola Adedayo, George De Freitas, Alice Feeney, Giles Fraser, Maria Ghibu, Daniel Grant and Alison Marlow for their friendship and generosity, and for asking all the right questions.
To Manesh Mistry, Sally Romartinez and Rodney Shek for the laughter and for reminding me to (occasionally) have some fun.
To Samara Brackley and Tony Wong for helping with police and procedural matters.
To my family in India for putting up with all the unanswered Skype calls and texts and treating me like a bestselling novelist before I had written a single word.
To my family in London, Linda and George De Freitas, for holding my hand in my darkest moments and cheering me on through the happiest hours. I wouldn’t last a day without you.
And finally, to Mummy, Papa, Rishabh and Prachi. Everything I have and everything I am is because of you. This book is as much yours as it is mine.
First published 2019 by Macmillan
This electronic edition first published 2019 by Macmillan
an imprint of Pan Macmillan
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www.panmacmillan.com
ISBN 978-1-5098-8627-2
Copyright © Trisha Sakhlecha 2019
Design by Mel Four, Pan Macmillan Art Department, Cover Images © Shutterstock
The right of Trisha Sakhlecha to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
You may not copy, store, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damage.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
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Your Truth or Mine? Page 28