Gail gasps, leans forward and wraps her arms around me, holding me tight. ‘Fine, Mum,’ she cries before stepping back to her husband’s side, who puts an arm around her shoulders and squeezes. ‘I’m fine now.’
I nod at him. Take care of her when I can’t. He nods back. I think we have an understanding.
‘Good,’ I murmur.
I turn to Robert, squeeze his hand and bring it to my lips. The wrinkles on our faces are a testament of the years that we have spent together: raising a family, battling through good times and bad. This is my husband, whom I love. Maybe my diseased mind fools me into forgetting him sometimes, but I am comforted by the fact that somehow my heart will always find a way to recognise him.
Love does overcome.
Focusing on the banner above our heads, I realise that tonight is a celebration of fifty years of our marriage, commemorating the day that I chose to spend the rest of my life with my best friend and perfect lover.
‘Happy anniversary, darling,’ I whisper.
The corner of his mouth quirks up and the movement spreads until it is a huge grin across his face, a happy light making his eyes twinkle. ‘Happy anniversary, my love. Thank you for coming back to me.’
‘Always,’ I reply fiercely, tears burning my vision.
But I smile bravely.
Because for now, for this moment, for this night, I am his again.
The Truth About The Other Guy
Rhoda Baxter
Rhoda Baxter
RHODA lives in the East Yorkshire, where the cake shops are excellent. When she was choosing her A-levels, she wanted to take English as her main subject, but her parents suggested that she study science –so that she could get a ‘real job’ –and write in her spare time. Which, funnily enough, is what she does. So it turns out her parents were right. Again.
She writes romantic comedy with a touch of cynicism. Vik from this short story is a character from her next book, Doctor January, which will be published by Choc Lit in 2014.
You can find out more about Rhoda, her books and other obsessions on her website, www.rhodabaxter.com (which is home to the Inheritance Books blog feature), or you can catch her on Twitter (@rhodabaxter) or Facebook.
The Truth About The Other Guy
Aasha sat in the back, slightly out of breath, and tried to do her lipstick while the car was moving. In front her mother was fussing, her bangles clinking as she searched in her sparkly peach handbag for the party tickets. Her father muttered under his breath about how many times she’d asked him about those bloody tickets.
Out of the window, she saw people setting off for a fun night out. Her old friends would be going out about now. So would Greg. And his glamorous new girlfriend. She’d never realised how many of her friends were Greg’s friends first. Well, now she knew. They got to go out while she got to spend New Year’s Eve with her parents. Going to a Sri Lankan party in London. Great.
She looked over at her father’s silhouette and felt fourteen again. She put the lipstick in her clutch bag and sighed. If she’d known then, that ten years later she’d be sitting in the back of her parents’ car, going to the same party she’d been to every year until she’d left home, she’d have committed suicide. This was crap. It couldn’t get much worse.
‘I’m glad you could come,’ said Ammi.
‘Me too.’ May as well be nice. Ammi had been so thrilled when Aasha accepted the invitation, it had been quite touching.
‘Did the new shoes fit?’
She stretched out a foot. The shoes were dainty and the perfect red for the sari she was wearing. The high heels made her feet look long and feminine. It made a change from the Doc Marten boots she usually wore. She wished she’d taken the time to paint her toenails. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Thank you. They’re lovely.’
Her train had been late. So, instead of having lots of time at home to get changed, she’d had to brazen her way into the station hotel’s toilets, get changed into her sari and run back through the concourse just in time to jump in the car.
‘Actually, Aasha, there’s something I need to talk to you about.’
Aasha tensed. That tone of voice never heralded anything good. ‘Yes?’
‘There’s someone at the party I’d like you to meet.’
She closed her eyes and groaned. ‘Not again, Ammi. I told you, I don’t want you to find me a husband.’
Jewellery tinkled as Ammi turned in her seat. ‘You haven’t already got a boyfriend, have you?’ She looked more hopeful than worried. Aasha wondered whether she would feel the same if she’d known about Greg. Probably not.
‘No.’ Aasha blew out her cheeks. ‘Of course not.’ Greg was scruffy, not Sri Lankan and, possibly worst of all, a smoker. Ammi would have had a fit if Aasha had ever brought him home.
‘So, you need some help.’ Ammi settled back in her seat. ‘He’s a nice boy. I met him at the temple a few weeks back. He’s –’
‘Ammi. I don’t want to meet someone “suitable”.’ She made quotes marks in the air. ‘I want to meet someone I like. OK? I don’t need you to line people up for me.’
Despite Aasha living in London all her life, Ammi still insisted that she should have a suitable Sri Lankan man, which wasn’t exactly a realistic thing to expect. Aasha’s solution had been to keep her boyfriends and her parents well apart, living a sort of divided life. Since the whole fiasco with Greg, this separation began to bothered her. She rationalised it by thinking of it not as proper lying, just as omitting a few things.
Ammi wasn’t finished. ‘You’ll like him.’
‘You don’t know that.’
‘I know you and I know you’ll like him.’
She hated it when Ammi did that ‘I know my little girl’ thing. ‘Thathi –’ she began.
‘Don’t ask me,’ said her father. ‘This is between you and your mother. I just drive the car.’
No wonder Ammi had been so pleased. She’d seen the chance to do some matchmaking, as though Aasha were a piece of furniture that needed to be sold off. If there were an eBay for Sri Lankan brides, Ammi would have put her on there. She was about to say something about it, when she realised that there probably were online ‘meet a bride’ sites. Best not to give Ammi ideas. Oh god.
‘I don’t want to meet him.’
‘You don’t know anything about him yet,’ said Ammi. ‘I’ve spoken to his parents, they seem very nice.’
Aasha folded her arms and glared out of the window. Ammi had been so sure of Aasha’s feelings that she’d sorted everything before Aasha had even met the guy! Well, not if she had anything to do with it. ‘I won’t speak to him.’
‘I’ve told them you’ll be there and I’ll introduce you,’ said Ammi. ‘So you have to speak to him.’
She pursed her lips. She’d see about that.
‘You look so beautiful in that sari and those shoes, he’s bound to fall in love with you, instantly.’
She’d see about that too.
The party was in a council hall somewhere in the suburbs. By the time they got there, the car park was almost full. Thathi found a space at the far end.
‘Come on,’ said Ammi. ‘And don’t pout. It makes you look ugly.’
Aasha’s scowl deepened. How dare Ammi treat her like she was ten years old? She had no intention of going along with this plan. The first thing to do was to get out of this ridiculous princess get-up.
Halfway across the car park, she said ‘Wait, I forgot my phone. Thathi, give me the car keys a minute, I’ll be right back.’
Thathi shot Ammi a quick look, then tossed Aasha the keys.
‘We’ll be waiting for you,’ Ammi called after her.
Thankfully, they were too keen to get into the warmth to come with her. Aasha opened the boot and in the dim light, located her Doc Martens. There wasn’t much she could do about the sari, but the shoes could go.
She needed an excuse for changing into them. She could lie, but if she didn’t want other people to lie to her, s
he couldn’t lie to them. A quick search revealed the toolkit Thathi always kept in the car. She pulled out the spanner. Grabbing hold of one of the lovely red shoes, she whispered, ‘I’m sorry,’ and brought the spanner down on it. There was a satisfying crack as the heel came away from the shoe.
She pulled the laces tight on her boots and let the sari fall over them. It was so much warmer wearing these than the high heels. And more comfortable. And far less elegant. She grabbed her clutch bag, locked the car, and marched to her parents.
Ammi was standing by the coats, talking to someone Aasha didn’t recognise. The breeze through the door made their saris flare, bright against the drab seventies brickwork. Aasha shucked off her fleece and hung it up. She immediately felt cold and vulnerable, like a butterfly longing for the safety of its cocoon. She wished she hadn’t let Ammi talk her into wearing a sari.
Ammi spotted the boots immediately. She grabbed Aasha’s arm and steered her into the hall. ‘What happened to your shoes?’ she hissed.
‘One of the heels is broken.’ It was true.
Ammi narrowed her eyes. ‘Hmm.’ She stopped and looked around the room.
The hall was decorated with Sri Lankan flags, batik prints, and, incongruously, notices about the Girl Guides. Baila music played from a sound system in the corner, loud enough and jaunty enough to make people tap their feet unconsciously as they talked. Ladies in saris and sparkly salwar kameez mingled with men in hideous jumpers and teenagers in the latest from Topshop. Kids chased balloons around islands of adults. It was like being zoomed straight back to her childhood.
‘There they are.’ Ammi gripped Aasha’s hand a little too hard. ‘Now, be nice.’ She set off, like a galleon in full sail, with Aasha trailing in her wake.
The group included of one Ammi’s friends and two youngish men. One of them was tall and wore his shirt buttoned up to the top. The other guy was slightly shorter and was in jeans, a shirt and a blazer. There was an aura of suppressed amusement about him, as though he was about to laugh. He looked at her from head to toe, spotted her shoes and looked up again. Aasha looked away.
Ammi’s friend greeted her with a kiss on the cheek and a lavender scented embrace. ‘Aasha, so nice to see you again.’
‘Hello, aunty.’ The nice thing about all older ladies being called ‘aunty’ was that it didn’t matter that Aasha couldn’t remember the lady’s name.
Ammi took up introductions. ‘This is Sanath,’ she said, indicating the tall guy. ‘He’s a banker.’
‘Hi. Nice to meet you.’ He spoke with a slight South London accent.
‘You too.’
They shook hands. There was an awkward pause. Aasha looked at Ammi. No one introduced her to the other guy. He gave her a friendly nod and resumed his conversation with the person standing next to him.
‘So,’ said Sanath. ‘I hear you work for a law firm.’
‘That’s right.’ Aasha looked around for a means of escape. The bar was impossibly far away. Besides, she didn’t drink alcohol in front of her parents, although she was never sure why not.
Sanath cleared his throat, preparing to speak again. Thankfully, the doors opened and the food arrived, distracting him from whatever he was going to say. Caterers brought in enormous pots and laid the buffet on a long table. A queue formed almost immediately.
Ammi and Aunty engineered things so that Aasha was standing next to Sanath in the queue. From behind him, Ammi was making encouraging head movements. Aasha sighed and turned to see who was on the other side of her. It was the other guy.
‘Hi,’ he said. ‘I like the shoes.’
She looked down at her scruffy boots peeking out from under the folds of the sari. ‘Thanks.’ She lifted her gaze and saw the corners of his mouth twitch. ‘I’m Aasha.’
‘I know,’ he said. ‘I’m Kaushalya, but most people call me Vik.’
‘Vik? Sounds like something you rub on your chest.’
He smirked. ‘I live in hope.’
She giggled. This guy was more fun than Sanath. And talking to him annoyed Ammi. Bonus.
Aasha sneaked another glance along the queue to Ammi: she was now eyeing up the food. The smell of chicken curry wafted over, making her stomach rumble. The food was the best thing about these parties.
Vik handed her a plate. She mumbled her thanks.
The smell of spices drifted up as lids were lifted and tureens stirred. Aasha heaped on a spoonful of cashew nut curry. Delicious. The chicken curry looked red and fierce. She took a more cautious portion of that. She didn’t want to talk to either of the guys. She just wanted to be left alone.
‘What sort of lawyer are you, then?’ Vik said, suddenly.
‘I’m not any sort of lawyer. I’m a paralegal. Family law, if you must know.’
He held a lid open for her while she served herself some rice. She really wanted to turn away and sulk, but there was something about his twinkling eyes that made it difficult to look away. Eventually, she said, ‘What about you? What do you do?’
‘I’m a student. I’m doing a PhD.’ He followed her to a table and sat beside her.
‘So, basically, you’re clever, but you’re broke.’ She was being rude but she didn’t really care. Oddly, Vik didn’t seem to mind.
He grinned. ‘Yep. How about you?’
‘Me? I’m mediocre. And broke.’
‘My ideal woman, then.’
Aasha couldn’t help laughing. She glanced across the table and caught Ammi watching her. Good. Vik was the complete opposite to the sort of guy her mother would choose for her. In fact, he wasn’t much like the sort of man she usually chose for herself, but she was enjoying his company. He was making her laugh. She’d done precious little laughing over the past year. It was nice to be lifted out of the dark.
‘How come you’re here?’ she said. ‘At a New Year’s do, I mean.’
‘I have no friends.’ Then, noticing her expression, he added, ‘My two best friends started going out with each other a few months ago. I’d normally hang out with them, but now…it didn’t seem appropriate. So when Aunty asked me if I wanted to come to this, I thought, why not.’ He smiled. ‘I figured the food would be good and I might meet a pretty girl.’
‘Oh yeah? How’s that working out?’
The look he gave her had a strange intensity. To her surprise, she felt a fluttering in her stomach. She hadn’t felt that in years. Not even, she suddenly realised, with Greg.
‘Dunno,’ he said. ‘It’s too early to tell.’
Aasha dropped her gaze from his. She didn’t want him to see the confusion in them. Her flirting with him was only meant as a ploy to annoy Ammi. She wasn’t supposed to actually mean it.
Once the food was cleared away, someone turned up the music. The dance floor filled up with little kids, teenagers and drunken uncles. Aasha stuck to the sidelines in case she got dragged on to dance. She didn’t want to step on anyone’s toes in her big boots.
She looked around for her parents. Ammi was talking to someone while keeping a wary eye on Aasha. Thathi was sitting with some other men, having an animated discussion about cricket, probably. Aasha sighed. At least they were having fun. This was their world. She didn’t really belong here. Her world was…her world was the one she’d known with Greg. She didn’t belong there any more either. So where did she fit in?
She scanned the room until she spotted Vik, who was listening politely to a couple of aunties. She had spent the whole meal talking to him. It had been…fun. He took her prickly comments with humour. And he laughed. A lot. When he did, his face lit up from the inside. There was something about him that made her feel safe. As though nothing in the world would ever hurt her again. She could get used to that.
Now that she was able to observe him properly, she realised he was quite handsome in a slightly mussed up way. She watched him, enchanted, until he looked up and spotted her. He smiled. She looked away, her face suddenly hot.
It got closer and closer to midnight. This time las
t year, she’d been outside, huddled into Greg for warmth. He’d had his arm around her. She’d known that, at the stroke of midnight, he would kiss her. This time last year seemed like a lifetime ago now. This time last year she’d been about twelve hours away from heartbreak.
She looked at her watch: 11:40. All around her people were preparing to toast the New Year. The room was sweltering. It was surreal being here in this sweltering room, surrounded by saris and spices. This was not how she was supposed to see in the New Year. She was supposed to be clutching a glass of champagne, staring squiffily at the crisp black sky, waiting for that first gong. This was wrong. This was just another way the world could tell her what she’d lost.
Ammi had gone to the toilet. If she was going to escape, this was the time to do it. Aasha made for the door and slipped out into the car park.
It was freezing outside. Her sari was completely inappropriate. Hairs stood up on her bare arms. The cold bit the inside of her nose. She knew she should go back inside, but couldn’t face it. She wrapped the sari tighter around her shoulders instead. It didn’t make any difference. She shivered.
‘You’ll freeze.’ A voice behind her made her jump. ‘I saw you sneaking out,’ Vik said. He offered her his jacket. ‘Here. Take it. Saris aren’t meant to be worn in near zero temperatures.’
She took it and slipped her arms into the sleeves. The warmth was a relief.
‘Are you OK?’ he asked.
It had been one thing talking to Vik in the crowded hall, under Ammi’s annoyed glare. Then she had been able to relax and let his infectious good humour flow through her. She could even eye him up without getting too close. Things were different out here in the frosted night. Here, she felt suddenly shy. The pause was awkward.
Vik cleared his throat. ‘Are you enjoying the party?’
‘Yes, thanks.’
Another pause.
‘What will you do in the new year, Aasha?’ He put his hands in his pocket and leant against the wall behind him, his face turned up towards the sky.
Truly, Madly, Deeply Page 28