by Fern Britton
Henry scowled at her. ‘We’d rather go without, thank you.’
Deflated and confused, Sennen shook her head. ‘This is not how I hoped it would turn out. I’m sorry. I’ve come in all guns blazing and not thought things through at all. Maybe … maybe we could let this lie for a bit. Sit on it. Have a think. But I want you to know that this is something I would really like to do for you.’
‘Thank you,’ said Ella, ‘but perhaps it’s all just a bit too sudden.’
‘Yes. Sorry.’ Sennen picked up her bag and took Deborah’s hand. ‘Thank you. For everything.’
‘My pleasure. The money will be in your account by this afternoon.’
Sennen looked at her children. ‘May I take you out to lunch?’
‘You must be joking,’ mumbled Henry, looking at the floor.
Ella glared at him then turned to her mother. ‘Yes, please. I would love to have lunch.’
Sennen was grateful. ‘And you too of course, Kit?’
Deborah saw them all out as Henry fumed silently.
Deborah walked quietly back to her desk and sat down. ‘That was the worst meeting I have ever had.’ She kicked her shoes off and drained her coffee. ‘Well done.’
‘What is she thinking?’ Henry was biting his thumb. ‘She may as well give it all to the cats’ home.’
‘Instead of you?’
Henry gave a shamefaced grimace. ‘I’m sorry I left you this morning. Without saying goodbye.’
‘I didn’t notice,’ she said coldly.
‘Ah. So last night didn’t happen?’
‘No, it didn’t.’
He looked at her lapel. ‘Although you do have a tartare sauce stain on your jacket, evidence that it did.’
Deborah placed her hand defensively on the stain.
He looked at the rubbish bin by her desk. ‘And a pair of torn tights in your bin.’
‘I don’t have time for you, Henry. Last night was a mistake.’
‘Oh dear. I rather enjoyed it.’
She shot a look at his smugly handsome face and put her head on her desk in shame. ‘I have a terrible hangover,’ she mumbled.
‘Me too.’ He stretched his arms above his head. ‘If you’re not too busy, how about we take the afternoon off and blow away the cobwebs?’
Sennen walked Ella and Kit down to a small fish restaurant on the corner of the harbour. Rosemary had suggested it and she was waiting outside. She greeted Sennen with a kiss. ‘How did it go? No Henry with you?’
‘No,’ said Sennen,
‘But you’re okay?’
Ella put her arm around Sennen’s shoulders and replied, ‘Yes. We are okay but ready for a glass of something cold and white.’
The cheery waitress put them at a window table. The day was warming up and she had opened the sliding windows onto the view of passers-by and the harbour. Sennen took in a lungful of the salty air curling around them.
‘I shall miss this when I go back home.’
Ella was dismayed. ‘You’re not going soon, are you?’
‘I have to go back eventually.’
The waitress arrived, causing a distraction as she handed them menus. ‘Fish of the day is on the marble counter.’ She pointed to a counter in the centre of the room, heaped with ice and an abundance of seafood including lobster and crab.
‘Anything to drink?’
Rosemary chose a bottle of Sancerre for the table, then took Sennen to choose her fish.
The restaurant was filling up with more lunch customers.
Voices bounced off the white ceramic tiled walls and their chair legs scraped the ceramic floor.
While they were alone, Kit took Ella’s hand, ‘Ella, why don’t we announce our engagement to Sennen today? It’ll be some good news for her.’
Ella bit her lip. ‘I don’t know. I don’t want her to think I’m trying to keep her from going back to India … although …’
Rosemary and Sennen returned. ‘We’ve chosen the monkfish,’ Rosemary told them, ‘How about you two?’
‘Dover sole, I think,’ said Ella, closing the menu.
‘Me too,’ smiled Kit. He squeezed Ella’s hand conspiratorially and readied himself to break their news but the waitress arrived to take their order.
When she had gone, Rosemary wanted to know how the meeting had gone. ‘An art school? That’s marvellous and would do so much for Trevay,’ she exclaimed.
‘It feels right,’ agreed Sennen, ‘only Henry thinks it’s a waste of money.’
‘I’m sure he’ll come round,’ said Ella loyally. ‘He doesn’t like things changing too quickly. It took him a long time to settle in London after leaving here and he had a lot of grief counselling when Granny died.’
‘Did he?’ asked Sennen. ‘Oh, poor boy.’ She put her head in her hands. ‘I hadn’t thought of how Mum’s death would affect him. Affect both of you.’
‘It was very hard.’ Ella thought back. ‘Losing Poppa was awful, but we stuck together and Henry helped Granny get through. They were very, very close. When you left, Granny became everything to him. He remembered you, you see. It was easier for me because I didn’t.’
A weight of guilt and regret lowered itself onto Sennen’s shoulders, pressing down on her neck, pushing her into her chair so that she physically slumped. ‘Of course, yes.’
The waitress arrived with the monkfish. ‘Roasted monk-fish for two with crushed potato and watercress sauce.’
Kit prepared again to announce the news of their engagement, but, with ineffable timing, the waitress reappeared.
‘Two Dover soles with buttered leeks and shrimps.’
She placed them in front of Kit and Ella and standing back, clasped her hands. ‘Is there anything more I can get you? Some bread? More water?’ She looked at them. ‘No? Well, call me if you need anything.’
Sennen had lost interest in her food. ‘Ella, I can never explain how sorry I am to have made such a mess and taken so many wrong turnings. If I could turn back time I would never have left you. Sorry is just not a big enough word. All I can say is that I am here for both of you now, for as long as either of you need me or want me.’
Ella’s eyes began to brim with tears. ‘Don’t, Mum. What’s done is done and I want to get to know you now. Properly. Henry will come around.’
‘But I have missed so much. Birthdays, Christmases. Mum and Poppa.’
Kit took his moment. ‘Sennen, you haven’t missed it all. Ella and I are engaged to be married … if you don’t mind?’
29
Agra, 2010
Every time Sennen admired her curtains she couldn’t help but remember Kafir. He was very handsome and his courteous nature and charm were very attractive. If she wanted a man, he was certainly the type she would go for but a man was the last thing she wanted. She was happy as she was.
This morning she was going down to the market to buy some trims and tape for a set of curtains she was making for a new client. She picked up her cotton shoulder-bag, threw a shawl over her shoulder and let herself out of her room.
She wondered if she should knock to see if Tanvi needed anything brought in, then decided against it. It was early and Tanvi liked a lie-in.
Sennen stepped out into the heat of the morning sun. The market was already set up and looked fresh and inviting in the shimmering haze. She stepped off the uneven kerb and walked into the heart of the stalls. A couple of blond dogs with curly tails trotted behind her. They walked as if doing dressage; slightly sideways, crossing their back paws with each step. She addressed them. ‘Good morning, girls, and how are your puppies today?’ The smaller dog with long nipples looked at her with expressive eyes. ‘Hungry? Shall I get you something? Come on, then.’
The dogs followed Sennen, as they did most mornings, to a busy stall selling pouches of pet food.
‘Namaste,’ the young man behind the wooden crates greeted her. ‘More food for the dogs? Every day you feed them. You are their mother.’ He smiled his toothy grin.
‘Chicken chunks in gravy. Very delicious.’ He laughed and licked his lips.
‘Their favourite. Thank you.’ The dogs scampered off behind the stall into the shade and she followed. There was a sheet of tattered canvas hanging from a wall by two nails. The two dogs immediately wriggled inside their shabby home where Sennen could hear the puppies whining. She knelt down and lifted the canvas.
‘Here you are, then.’ She opened the pouches and the dogs waited patiently as she emptied the food into two plastic bowls that she had put down weeks ago. ‘There now. Dinner is served.’ She ruffled their ears as they tucked in, and counted the bundle of puppies mewling in the dark recess of their home. All six were still there. ‘See you tomorrow, girls.’
She replaced the canvas flap and stood up. First job of the day accomplished.
She walked back into the market and on through the teeming tide of shoppers who were pushing each other along or swerving to avoid those who had stopped to inspect a display of green beans, ripe tomatoes, mangoes or herbs.
Women in jewel-coloured saris, men in white shirts, ill-fitting trousers and dusty sandals, children laughing and twisting amongst familiar legs. This was her place.
Turning left, leaving the human river behind, she entered a more shaded, cooler part of the market. It was less busy and all the nicer for it. Here there were proper shops with solid walls and shuttered fronts. It was the haberdashery quarter of Agra.
Several of the shopkeepers greeted her by name. She stopped to swap pleasantries but headed on, knowing exactly where she wanted to be. And there it was.
‘Namaste, Mr Kuranam.’
The proprietor, rotund and serious, looked up, smiled and clasped his hands to his belly. ‘Namaste. You have come. I am keeping some very special fabric for you.’
‘Did it arrive?’ she asked excitedly.
He wobbled his head. ‘From Jaipur. It is the very best. Let me show you.’
He walked into the murky depths of the shop, past the shelves bulging with bolts of exotic fabrics. She followed him.
He pulled out a large roll and thumped it down on his cutting table. The noise was muted, absorbed by the density of material around them. He unrolled it with pride. ‘Look.’ He rubbed the end between his fingers. ‘Pure cotton and linen.’
She did the same, but knew not to look too impressed. ‘How much?’
‘I give you very good price.’ He wobbled his head and smiled. ‘Very good.’
‘Mr Kuranam, you know I am a poor woman.’
He laughed. ‘But the lady you are making these curtains for is a rich woman.’
‘But if I charge her too much, she won’t use me any more and I will be poorer still.’ She grinned. ‘And I won’t be able to be your best customer.’
‘Oh, Miss Sennen, you are naughty lady. Let me think.’ He took a pencil from the pocket of his immaculately ironed shirt. ‘How many metres?’
An enjoyable amount of bartering ensued, during which he tried to persuade her to buy several metres of Black Watch tartan – ‘Queen Victoria’s favourite’ – but Sennen stuck with her original purchase and got him to throw in thread, lining and tape.
Mr Kuranam made a huge show of flapping open a large carrier bag and putting everything inside. ‘You will never make me rich, Miss Sennen.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ she laughed, momentarily losing concentration as she backed out of the shop. ‘See you soon.’ She fell, catching her foot awkwardly and falling hard on her left hip and elbow.
Mr Kuranam moved to comfort her. ‘Come. Sit in my shop. A glass of water? Are you hurt?’
Sennen took his helping arm and checked herself over. ‘I’m fine. A bit bruised, probably, but I’m fine. Thank you.’
‘Would you like a chai? There is the café on the corner.’
She recollected seeing it. ‘Yes, I think that would be a good idea.’
He insisted on helping her cross the road and finding her a seat in the shade. In rapid Indian he ordered and paid for a chai.
‘You will be okay now. Just the ticket?’
Sennen gave a small laugh. She loved the way many Indians still used British idioms. ‘Yes. Just the ticket. Thank you, Mr Kuranam.’
When he was satisfied that she was absolutely fine, and distracted because there were two potential customers hovering by his shop, he left her to her chai.
Her hip was rather sore but undamaged, she was certain. She lifted her sleeve and checked her elbow. The skin was scuffed and a small bruise was blooming, but otherwise there was nothing to write home about. She pulled her sleeve down and picked up her drink.
‘Good morning,’ said a vaguely familiar voice.
She looked up. Standing with the sun against his back, forming a golden halo around his head, was Kafir.
‘Hello,’ she said.
‘Are you okay? I saw you looking at your elbow.’
‘Oh, it’s nothing – I fell out of a shop. Literally. But I’m fine.’
‘Would you like to have it checked with the doctor?’
‘Absolutely not. Chai is the best medicine.’ She held her cup up to show him.
‘May I join you?’ he asked. ‘I was wondering if I would see you today – I am on my way to visit Auntie.’
‘What a coincidence.’ She smiled, moving her large carrier bag from the empty chair beside her. He shouted an order for lemonade and sat down.
‘You are up early,’ he said.
‘It’s a habit now. I can’t sleep in. It gives me a headache.’
‘Me too. But it means I go to bed too early. I am not much of a night owl.’
‘Me neither.’
Kafir’s lemonade arrived and, as he took a sip, she took a sly glance at him. Today he was wearing a pale blue turban, navy polo shirt and chinos. His dark beard framed his lips and accentuated their fullness. He was lovely. ‘So, what have you been buying?’ he asked, putting his glass back into its china saucer with a clatter.
‘Buying more curtain fabric, but for a client this time.’
‘May I see?’
Sennen opened the bag and he peered in. ‘Not my cup of tea,’ he said.
‘Nor mine. A bit too overpowering.’
‘You know that Auntie says I need new curtains?’
‘But you don’t think so?’
‘I didn’t, until I saw how nice yours looked the other evening.’
‘Well, if ever you need some, I’d be happy to do them for you. Mates rates.’
‘Mates rates? Lovely jubbly. That’s funny. Do you like that comedy programme?’
‘Only Fools and Horses? Gosh, I haven’t seen it for years but my father adored it.’
‘Do you remember the one where the man falls through the bar? It is very funny.’
She laughed ‘Oh yes! David Jason. He’s a Sir now.’
‘The Queen knighted him? She must like the programme too.’
‘I can imagine her and the corgis sitting down to watch it, can’t you, gin and tonic in one hand.’
‘Crown in the other.’ Kafir laughed louder.
‘Are you a royalist?’ Sennen asked.
‘Not really, but there is something very charming and old-fashioned about them, don’t you think?’
‘They aren’t my thing.’ Sennen stirred her chai.
‘Auntie loves them.’
Sennen exhaled loudly. ‘Don’t I know it. I’ve seen her commemorative plates.’
‘You are honoured.’
‘So you are on your way to see her now?’
He looked surprised, as if he had forgotten, ‘Ah yes! I shall walk you there, if you would like the company.’
She had never walked through the market with a man before. Handsome or otherwise. Maybe it was her imagination, but it seemed as if, walking togethe
r, they drew respectful glances from the passers-by. Women certainly noticed him and she wondered if, when they slid their eyes to her, it was in admiration, envy or surprise that she could walk with such a man.
As he talked by her side, she felt different. Taller. Prettier. She listened to his stories of growing up on this street and the history behind some of the older buildings. She hung on to all that he said and tucked them carefully away in a new box in her brain, to bring out and lovingly examine later.
Finally, they got to her building and they walked up the stairs to her landing. ‘Let me put your bag in your room, and then I shall take up no more of your time.’
She fumbled for her key in her bag and he gently took it from her and unlocked her door. ‘Where would you like your shopping?’
‘Just there. On the floor. Thanks.’
He gave her her key and they said goodbye.
She watched him cross the wooden floor to Tanvi’s room opposite.
His long, lean, elegant body bewitched her.
‘Bye,’ she said.
He turned and smiled at her. ‘Bye.’ Then he knocked at Tanvi’s door and Sennen closed hers.
She couldn’t wait for chai at Tanvi’s the following Wednesday, but Tanvi didn’t mention him and Sennen’s natural reticence made it impossible to ask.
She found herself not leaving the house too often or for too long, in case he came calling. At least, it meant that she finished making the new curtains quickly, much to her client’s happiness.
She thought about Kafir most of the time and was irritated that she knew so little about him. He was an economics graduate and a teacher, but where did he live? And, the stomach-churning question, did he have a girlfriend?
A month passed. She continued her weekly routine of chai with Tanvi, cooked a small dinner party for a few of the house residents and fed the stray dogs and growing puppies who were almost weaned. Of Kafir, though, there was nothing.
It was Tanvi who eventually brought him up. ‘Kafir has been asking after you.’
Sennen’s grip on the kettle almost slipped. ‘Oh yes?’ she said carefully.
‘I have been telling him for weeks to ask you about his curtains but he is too shy.’
‘Oh.’ Sennen couldn’t hide her disappointment.