by Fern Britton
At five thirty came Tanvi’s recognisable knock. ‘Come in,’ called Sennen from the kitchen. Tanvi came in with a twinkle in her eye and a tall, very handsome, man in a pink turban behind her.
‘Hello.’ Sennen walked towards him, her hand outstretched. ‘Thank you so much for coming to help me. It was your auntie’s idea.’
He had the smoothest skin she had ever seen on a man. The whites of his eyes were like mother of pearl, his pupils like liquid chocolate.
He smiled broadly, showing perfect teeth. He put down the small stepladder he was carrying, took her hand and shook it. ‘I am Kafir. What my aunt orders, I do.’
Tanvi touched his arm and looked at Sennen. ‘Didn’t I tell you she was very pretty? And almost as tall as you.’
He had the grace to look embarrassed.
‘What have I said?’ asked Tanvi. ‘I only say what I see.’
Sennen waved a hand towards her kitchen, ‘Would you like something to drink?’ she asked.
‘That would be kind,’ he said, ‘After I have put up the curtains, maybe?’
He set up his stepladder and Sennen held them still at the bottom, acutely aware of his long, strong legs so close to her face. She found herself noticing how nicely his jeans fitted.
‘Here …’ He handed down to her an end of the first curtain. His hands were beautiful. ‘Now if I can just …’ He reached over and unhooked the other end. ‘Can you take this? It is a bit dusty.’
‘Goodness knows how long they have been there,’ said Sennen.
‘I will go and get a duster,’ said Tanvi, ‘I have one in my room.’
Alone together, Kafir, still on the ladder, looked out at the view. ‘You have a better view than Auntie and a bigger balcony.’
‘Tanvi says that her view is better. She likes the garden, but I like the noise coming up from the street. I sit and watch life go by.’
‘So you are nosey?’ he said, looking down at her, smiling. He really did have lovely teeth.
‘A bit,’ she laughed.
‘Here we are, here we are.’ Tanvi came back waving a long-handled feather duster. She passed it up to Kafir.
‘Better stand back down there,’ he told the two women, ‘I may disturb a few spiders.’
Within ten minutes, the three of them were standing back and admiring their work. ‘Very nice,’ said Tanvi. ‘Your sewing skills are excellent.’ She looked at Kafir. ‘The curtains in your house need updating. Sennen could do them for you.’
Kafir politely shook his head, ‘My curtains will do as they are, and why would Sennen wish to make me new ones.’
‘It would be something to keep her busy.’
Sennen was loading a tray with samosas and lemonade and heard what Tanvi had said. ‘It’s true. I could do with small jobs to keep me occupied.’ She picked the tray up. ‘Shall we have this on the balcony?’
There was a short flurry for the moving of the tea table outside and shaking the yellow bougainvillea blossoms from her outdoor chairs.
Sennen handed around the plate of samosas and poured glasses of fresh lemonade.
‘May I ask what do you do?’ asked Kafir, munching a samosa.
Tanvi interrupted and told Kafir all that she knew about Sennen’s work.
He listened attentively. ‘So that is how you have come to be in Agra?’
‘Yes. More lemonade?’
‘Thank you.’ Kafir lifted his glass towards her and she poured some more. ‘These samosas are very good,’ he said taking another.
‘She is a very good cook too,’ Tanvi said. ‘And she’s still young.’
Kafir quietly rebuked her. ‘Auntie, you must know you are embarrassing Sennen and me. Please.’ He drew his finger over his lip. ‘Stop talking.’ He turned once more to Sennen. ‘What did you study at university?’
Sennen laughed ruefully. ‘I left school at sixteen and started to travel. I am qualified for nothing.’
‘But you are a seamstress?’
‘Well, yes, by default.’
‘Do not talk yourself down. You have a creative skill that we are losing in schools. Too many parents want their children to be doctors or solicitors.’
Sennen put her glass down. ‘So may I ask what you do?’
‘I teach.’
She smiled. ‘Medicine or law?’
‘Neither. Economics.’
‘He got his degree at the London School of Economics in London,’ Tanvi pitched in proudly.
He scratched his ear self-effacingly. ‘Auntie, I’m sure Sennen knows many people who went to the LSE.’
‘I don’t,’ said Sennen. ‘In fact, I’ve never been to London.’
She told him about her early years in Cornwall, painting a rather exaggerated picture of herself that was less than true and entirely missing out the existence of Henry and Ella.
‘How wonderful that your parents let you go,’ he said.
‘Yes, well, they are artists and rather bohemian. They encouraged me to experience the artist colonies of Europe,’ she lied.
‘When did they last see you?’ asked Tanvi.
And before she really knew what she was saying, Sennen said, ‘Oh, I’m sorry to say they are no longer with us. I don’t really like to talk to about it but they were very loving, kind parents.’
Tanvi leant forward and gently took Sennen’s hand. ‘Well, now you have me and our weekly chai afternoons.’
‘Oh yes. My mother would have loved your recipe for the gulab jamum. Now tell me all about you, Kafir.’ And, as simply as that, Sennen had rewritten her past and made her parents ghosts.
‘Well,’ said Kafir standing up some time later and collecting his stepladder, ‘I have taken too much of your time.’
Sennen stood too. ‘You have been very kind. Let me give you something for your time.’ She went to her purse on the disguised bed.
‘To see you happy with my work is enough.’ He smiled and went to the door. ‘Come along, Auntie. Let us leave Miss Sennen.’
As she closed the door on her visitors, thanking them both again profusely, she looked at her room and its new curtains. The colour was just right.
The evening had been just right.
Something inside her had shifted a little.
As if someone had poured a little oil on to a rusted bolt.
22
It was the cramp in Henry’s calf that woke him. His face was squashed up against the arm of Granny’s old sofa and he was dribbling on one of Ella’s hand-embroidered cushions. His unsquashed eye felt sore and he rubbed a hand over it. It was gritty with the dried salt of last night’s tears.
It all came back to him. His awful behaviour at the vicarage. Drowning his sorrows. He had cried. He was an idiot.
He tried to stand on his cramped leg and limped painfully to the kitchen. He needed some paracetamol.
He poured a glass of water, necked the painkillers and went back to the sofa.
How was he going to make amends to Ella after he said all those terrible things yesterday?
Ella woke up very chirpy. She had slept well, having made the decision to meet her mother without Henry. What was stopping her? She rolled over and spooned Kit, stroking his tummy to wake him up.
‘Morning, Kit,’ she whispered into his ear.
‘Morning,’ he said guardedly. He wasn’t certain where this was leading.
‘Sorry about last night.’ She nibbled his neck.
‘Okay …’ he replied slowly.
‘I’m going to forget about Henry and see Mum by myself.’
‘Riight.’
‘Would you come with me?’
‘I don’t know. Do you want me to?’
‘Of course. She’s going to be your mother-in-law.’ Ella shifted her weight and sat on top of him.
‘Oof,’ he said, ‘you’re heavy.’
‘Tell me you’ll come to see Mum or I won’t get off you.’
‘Get me a cup of tea and we’ll talk about it.’
She kissed
him and jumped off the bed. ‘Thank you.’
‘I haven’t said I will yet.’
‘You will.’
Snuggled back in bed and drinking tea, Ella talked about her childhood. ‘It was good, really. Better than if Mum had been around, probably. She was so young. I can’t imagine what it was like for her. Seventeen and with two children. I sort of don’t blame her for running away.’
Kit, wisely, said nothing. He drank his tea and listened.
‘When Henry and I got chickenpox, he started crying for Mum. I think that’s when I realised I didn’t have one. Granny and Poppa were so good to us, though. They took in all these funny art students and taught them everything they knew about art and pottery. Those students really loved Granny and Poppa. Henry and I would get a bit jealous sometimes.’ She twisted her red curls round her fingers as she talked. Kit watched her.
‘You got your mum’s hair.’
‘I know. That was a shock. Having never seen even a photo of her, I had no idea. Do you think she’s attractive?’
‘Yeah. She’s all right.’
‘I wonder if I will look like her at her age,’ she mused.
‘How old is she?’
‘I’m not sure. About …’ She did some mental arithmetic. ‘I’d say about forty-one or two.’ She stopped. ‘I don’t even know when her birthday is. Or what sign she is.’
‘Weird.’
‘Yeah. She’s missed all my growing up. Henry’s growing up too. She won’t know how well he did at business school or how well he’s doing now. Or about the time he fell off his skateboard and broke my arm.’
‘Really?’ asked Kit.
‘Yeah. I just happened to be in the way. Poppa was so good. Whizzed me off to the cottage hospital in Bodmin and got me fixed. I milked it like anything. Henry had his pocket money stopped for a month.’
‘Poor Henry.’
‘Poor me, actually. It bloody hurt.’
‘Come here,’ said Kit, lifting his arm so that she could nestle against his shoulder. ‘It must have been very hard for your grandparents, but they did a fantastic job. I really like Henry.’
Ella looked up into his eyes. ‘What about me?’
‘You’re not so bad.’
Ella’s phone rang. ‘Hello?’
‘Hi, Ells, it’s me.’
Ella rolled her eyes and mouthed to Kit, Henry, then said aloud, ‘Hi.’
‘I’m really sorry about yesterday.’
‘You should be.’
‘I’d like to come back to Trevay?’
‘Why?’ Ella didn’t want to make this easy for him.
‘Because …’ She heard him sigh with frustration. ‘Because I want to apologise to Mum in person. And get to know her. Like a civilised man should do.’
‘Hmm,’ said Ella.
‘Don’t make this difficult. Ells, please.’
‘When are you thinking of coming?’
‘Tomorrow? Can I stay with you?’
‘I’ll have to ask Kit.’
‘Well, could you let me know? Then I’ll arrange it with work. I’m due a bit of extenuating circumstances.’
‘I was thinking I might see Mum on my own first,’ Ella said airily.
‘Oh. I see. Of course. I understand.’
‘I’m going to phone Deborah today and sort a meeting out.’
‘Will you let me know what’s decided? I really do want to make amends.’
‘Yeah, well. I’ll bell you later.’
Sennen still hadn’t heard from Kafir. She’d woken, very early, after a dream that he was on the next flight to Cornwall, bringing Aali and Sabu with him.
She checked the time on her phone – 5.45. The start of her day, but Kafir would be well into his. He would have given the children breakfast, taken Aali to school and Sabu to the nursery he loved. She imagined Kafir planning what he would cook them for dinner. Aali liked everything, but Sabu was picky. He liked rice and flatbreads and chicken, but most vegetables he shunned. Sennen smiled to herself, thinking how Kafir would get so cross after making a special cauliflower curry or vegetable bhaji. Sennen always had a supply of tarka dal in the freezer for Sabu. She hoped now that there was still some left. She had better put lentils on the list. She checked herself. What was she thinking? She was not there, in India, not able to feed her own children. The thought inevitably took her onto the hamster wheel of anxiety that turned towards Henry and Ella. She hadn’t been there to feed them, either. She had no idea of their likes and dislikes. The wheel turned another circle and took her to a place of self-flagellation. How could she have done what she’d done to all four of her children? Who was she? What was she? The emotional pain in her gut speared through her, made her restless.
Getting out of bed, she got up, got dressed and let herself out of the sleeping house as quietly as she could.
The harbour was as still as a millpond, the reflections of the fishing boats and pleasure boats shining in its glassiness.
A couple of gulls cackled above her and flew out over the water.
She stood against the harbour wall and listened. She heard another seagull, high among the slate roofs and chimney pots, skittering on the tiles, the gentle lapping of the sea against the hulls of the boats, the whistle of man walking his dog.
She closed her eyes and breathed in. Immediately, she was twelve. Poppa was looking over her shoulder and guiding her hand as she drew the line of a fishing boat in pencil, on her sketchpad.
‘Remember what you know about perspective. That boat is face on to you. Think how big it is in comparison to the back … That’s it.’ He stood back and watched her childish work, her tongue between her teeth as she concentrated. ‘You’ll be giving your mum a run for her money,’ he had said.
She screwed her closed eyes up tightly and shook herself. It was too late for regrets.
She walked around the harbour and down the narrow lane that connected with a network of smaller lanes crouching behind the sea. The old butchers, that had had the greengrocers next door, now knocked into one big ‘holiday clothes’ shop. The windows displayed jolly blue and white striped T-shirts, shorts, summer dresses and warm jumpers. She saw her reflection in the glass and realised how odd and foreign she must look in her long Indian skirt and scarf. Perhaps she should treat herself to a little shopping? Become a person of Trevay again. Yes, after breakfast when the shops were open, that’s what she would do.
She crept back into the house and checked her phone. Nothing.
She switched on the radio, ran a bath and thought about what her new wardrobe of clothes should look like.
Breakfast was quick, just a coffee and cereal. Amy wanted to engage her in a discussion about sausages versus chipolatas for breakfast but Sennen made an excuse and escaped to the shops.
She needed some jeans. She went into the first shop that had clothes in the window and spoke to the young male assistant. ‘How do people wear jeans nowadays? I mean, of my age. I want to look as if I understand fashion without looking laughable.’
He was a nice-looking boy with a cheeky face and wispy beard. His hair was shaven around the sides with a long top bit caught in a ponytail. ‘What do you mean laughable? You look great. I love the Indian vibe you’ve got going on.’
‘I have lived in India for a long time. But I’d like to look a little more local. Less foreign.’
‘Cool. Whereabouts in India?’
‘Agra. Do you know it?’
‘Nah. I’ve been to Goa, though. Really cool place.’
‘Yes. I have been there too. Very hot.’
‘Yeah. It was. So what size are you?’
‘A medium I’d say.’
He gave her a funny, mocking look. ‘I mean jean size.’
‘I have no idea.’
He ran his eyes over her. ‘You look like a 28-29 waist and you’ve good long legs so …’ He riffled through a pile of jeans and pulled a pair out. ‘These are straight legs, but I’ll see if I’ve got some boyfriends or skinnies. Do
you like high or low rise?’
‘I have no idea what you’re saying,’ she laughed.
‘Go in the changing room and try these first.’ He chucked her the jeans and obediently she took them to the changing room. She pulled up the zip, straightened the legs and gave herself a good hard stare. She was so used to seeing herself in the loose Indian trousers and tops that she loved, she was amazed to see that her stomach was, if not exactly taut, flatter than she had thought. She turned to the side and observed her profile. Her bottom looked smaller, her hips too.
She heard the assistant outside the curtain. ‘How are they?’ he asked.
Nervously, she drew the curtain back; her dress, that she hadn’t bothered to take off, was hoiked up around her waist.
‘What do you think?’
‘Too big. I’ll get the size down. Length’s good and I like the low rise on you.’ He handed her another two pairs. ‘Try these. One’s boyfriend, the other’s skinny.’
‘Okay.’ She pulled the curtain back, stared at herself again. She felt a change. Maybe there was a glimmer of the person she had been or could be?
The young man came back and slipped the new, smaller jeans through the curtain.
She tried the boyfriends first.
He didn’t like them. ‘No. Hand them back. With your figure, I think the skinnies are best for you.’
Obediently, and thrilled by his compliment, she wriggled into the skinnies.
‘Proper rock chick,’ he said when she revealed herself. ‘All you need is some flats or a pair of ankle boots – preferably with spiky heels – and you’re good to go. Now just try the smaller straight ones.’
In the end she had the skinny’s, the straights, a pair of Superga trainers, a couple of lovely soft cotton tops that fell, very fetchingly, off one shoulder, and a cream, cable-knitted sloppy joe pullover.
At the till, clutching her bag of goodies, she said, ‘Thank you so much. You have been very kind.’
He handed her the receipt. ‘Enjoy. You know where I am if you want anything else.’
She left the shop feeling ten feet tall. Her mind was on getting herself a pair of ankle boots when she heard her name being called. She looked in the direction of the voice and saw a woman, her own age, waving at her across the road. ‘Sennen? It’s Rosemary!’ the woman shouted.