by Preethi Nair
I didn’t agree with that because I couldn’t have planned any of this, not even subconsciously. ‘If that’s the case you won’t believe in signs, then?’
‘Signs?’
‘Oh, forget it.’
‘No, tell me.’
‘Maybe another day.’ Signs were dangerous territory. If he suddenly came out with a Matisse quote at that moment, I wouldn’t know what to do.
He asked me about the scar that he had seen on my arm and I told him about my sister and how she had left.
‘You never tried to find her?’
‘I went to Manchester a few times, but nothing.’ The more I spoke to him, the more uncomfortable I felt. It was as if he was unravelling layer upon layer and eventually he would get to the real me.
‘Come on, let’s go, it’s getting cold,’ I said.
We left Green Park, walked along Cork Street looking at pictures in the gallery windows, and then I felt it was time to go home; back to reality.
There were four messages from Raj, each of them sounding more and more frantic. I switched my phone back off and eventually called him when I got back home.
‘Where the hell have you been, Nina?’
‘Out with a friend.’
‘Your mother said you went out with your artist. Did you?’
‘No, I went out with someone who’s helping me put together Foruki’s exhibition. You don’t know them.’
‘How can I if you don’t introduce me to anyone?’ he shouted.
‘Well it’s not like you’ve introduced me to your friends.’
As soon as I said those words, I knew what he was going to say.
‘When do you want to meet them? Wednesday? Are you around then or are you going to be consumed with your Foruki.’
‘Are you jealous of him? There’s no need to be, really.’
And then he calmed down. ‘Baby, it’s just that I hardly get to see you these days and I thought the weekends were for us.’
‘They are, but today I went out and I had my phone switched off… and that’s it.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘So Wednesday, is that good for you – and I’ll get everyone together.’
‘It’s fine.’
‘You can bring your friends along too.’
‘No, I’ll let you meet them another time.’
‘Really missed you today, wanted to talk to you,’ he said.
‘About what?’
‘About nothing. That’s what makes it feel so special; that I need to talk to you about nothing.’
‘Well, I’m back now. Don’t think I’ll be going anywhere.’
And that was the sad truth, it was never going to go anywhere with Michael and not just because I was marrying Raj. Even if I wasn’t I don’t think I would have had the strength to love again or go through any of that, not after Jean Michel. Everything I had could be put on the line for my work, but not for my heart.
On Monday I went in early to the studio, put the music on full blast and began working on a new canvas. If I had to paint deception what colour would I give it? I slapped on some dark greens. What’s worse, deceiving yourself or someone else? Red came to mind and so I picked up the red paint-pot. If you start by deceiving yourself, you inevitably end up deceiving other people. What if you didn’t really mean to deceive anyone and found this big massive whopper of a lie in front of you and then everywhere else you looked there were more and more lies all created because of the need to be what other people wanted you to be. Red found itself on most of the canvas. There was no escaping it: the facts were that I was getting married to a man who I did not love and was organising an exhibition for a man who did not exist, and both of these lies had to work because there was too much at stake for them not to. If I tried and just stayed focused for a few more weeks, I could get through it. The thought of what lay ahead was more than I could handle right now.
I put my suit on and went to the office. Raj called to say that he’d fixed Wednesday evening with his friends and then Michael called to check if I could make it to the restaurant’s official opening the following day; there would be an array of people from the art world. It would be another opportunity to spread the word about Foruki.
‘Beta, priest is coming to talk to you tomorrow, make sure you are home early,’ my mother said when I returned home.
‘But I can’t.’
‘You must. Raj and his family are coming as well. You can tell your boss you need to leave early – you’re working very hard, he will understand, just say for your wedding.’
I had to be there for the launch. There was no other option.
‘Can’t we make it another day?’
‘No, all arranged, he’s coming at seven o’clock. Make sure you are here.’
I went around to Mrs Onoro’s house.
‘Nice to see you again, Nina. You good girl. You promise to come see me soon and you come. I make tea.’
We sat drinking tea and talking about her family back in Japan and about Hikito.
‘Mrs Onoro, when you first met Hikito, did you know he was the one for you?’
‘We good friend first, we no do no pankie.’
‘Pankie?’
‘Hankie.’
I wanted to laugh.
‘But there definitely something first time I saw him, but I no want man then I want friend.’
I knew how she felt.
‘A friend of mine is opening a restaurant tomorrow and I wanted to ask you if you could write something that conveys luck.’
‘You want me to write good luck?’ She looked bemused.
‘If there’s a way of saying it in Japanese or if there is a Japanese character you can use.’
‘I see… let me think.’ She went to find a pen. ‘Here,’ she said handing me a piece of paper. ‘More or less that say “Go for it” in Japanese, no point in writing proverb. No one remember that. Which friend this for? It man friend?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oohhhh.’
‘It’s not like that.’
‘What it like?’
‘We’re good friends.’
‘I see. You happy with man you marry, no?’ she asked suspiciously.
I nodded.
‘I not sure you happy.’
It was time to leave before she delved any further.
‘Mrs Onoro,’ I said hugging her, ‘I’m happier for seeing you. Thank you very much for this.’
The following day I covered a small canvas with a red background, and once it had dried I painted the Japanese characters Mrs Onoro had given me in black. Signing the painting with my own initials, I wrapped it up in brown paper, got changed back into my suit and went to the restaurant.
Christophe was rushing around and said Michael was upstairs in the gallery. I went up and he was dealing with wardrobe man and his agent. The agent was arguing with Michael because wardrobe man wasn’t happy with where his installation was placed. It was supposed to be an enormous replica of a Bonsai tree made of wood, with cups, saucers, plates and cutlery hanging off it. The agent was arguing because it wasn’t bang in the centre of the room.
‘As I said it’s a critique of how things that are seemingly small have a huge impact, and that’s why it’s got to go in the centre, not the side, not here, but in the centre.’
They turned to look at me when I walked in.
Michael introduced us. The agent gave me the once-over when Michael said I was representing the Japanese artist Foruki. Wardrobe man was polite enough and shook my hand.
‘If you’ll just excuse me, gentlemen, for one moment,’ Michael said, leaving them.
We went next door to his office.
‘I came because I can’t make it this evening.’
‘Why not?’
‘Family engagement that I can’t get out of but I brought this for you.’ I handed him the parcel.
His poise and professionalism momentarily left him as he ripped it open like a child and then he laughed. ‘A Japanese character,
not signed by Foruki but you.’
‘You know it’s my first painting signed as me.’
‘It’s very, very much appreciated that you’ve given it to me,’ he said, kissing me on the cheek.
It felt as if there were a hundred butterflies in my stomach. ‘You’d better get back to the bonsai tree,’ I said hastily.
‘Nina, please come back later and stay for one drink if you can,’ he said. ‘It would be a good opportunity for you to meet people and introduce Foruki’s exhibition.’
And it was ridiculous but I was annoyed that he had said to come because of Foruki.
After tidying up my studio I went back to Artusion and on the way called my mum to say that I would be slightly late. She went hysterical and made no sense, so I asked her to put my dad on the line and I explained to him that I had to do something for an important client and my job depended on it. Nothing could come in the way of my employment, not even a priest. He told me not to worry and that he would keep the guests entertained. That was what was worrying me but maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to further expose Raj’s mother to my dad. It might make her think twice about the family she was allowing her only son to marry into.
Artusion was packed with guests. The PR lady was running around Emanuel Hikatari; they were both trying to coordinate the press who wanted pictures of wardrobe man next to the Bonsai tree. There were several influential personalities from the art world present as well as celebrities who made their way into the press shot of wardrobe man on the pretext that they thought his work was fascinating and needed to tell him. I circulated among them all, listened to the chitchat and brought up Foruki’s name where appropriate. Michael was extremely busy. He appeared very charismatic talking to his guests and came over to greet me when he saw me; and though I knew I could have mingled for a while longer I thought it was time to leave; they would all be waiting for me at home and Michael had guests to see to.
It was totally ridiculous. I felt jealous of all those beautiful women hovering around Michael. How silly to think that he would feel something towards me other than pity. That’s probably what Jean had felt. Why was I thinking like this anyway? I wished there was a little button in my head that said stop. Stop thinking about him, you’re getting married. By the time I got to the semi I had pushed all thoughts of Michael to the back of my mind.
Everybody had already congregated at home when I arrived forty minutes late. Raj’s mother was furious at being kept waiting and held up her watch. My dad gestured with his hand as if to say he had done a good job in keeping them all entertained.
‘I’m so sorry, the tube was stuck in a tunnel and I couldn’t call.’
The priest somehow managed to get up off the sofa and my mother signalled to me to bow down and touch his feet. He wore a type of loincloth and his bandy legs were exposed so while I was down there I caught a glimpse of the war wounds that he’d once told us about. Seeing as I was down anyway, I touched Raj’s mother’s pedicured feet, but my future father-in-law stopped me as was customary in that whole routine.
‘Where’s your ring?’ Raj’s mother asked.
Everyone turned to look at my finger. It was in my suit pocket. I had forgotten to put it back on. What could I say?
‘Sometimes, when it’s quite late and I’m travelling home, I take it off because … because I don’t want to attract muggers.’
‘The muggers,’ my dad shouted. ‘Everywhere, even tried to take television set from me.’
‘We don’t have that problem in Sutton,’ Raj’s mother commented sniffily.
I reached inside my pocket and put the ring back on.
‘And what’s the red things in your hair, Nina?’ Raj’s mother asked.
‘I don’t know, Mummy.’ Oh God – had I gone to Artusion with paint in my hair?
My mother came over and had a good inspection. ‘It looks like paint.’
‘Paint?’ my dad shouted.
‘I was at an artist’s studio today, it might have come from there.’
‘But how?’ my mother asked, continuing the investigation.
‘Dropped or splattered?’
‘Were you with Foruki?’ Raj asked suspiciously.
‘No.’
The priest continued slurping his tea. ‘Would you like any biscuits with that or some mix?’ I asked in an attempt to get away from their questioning.
‘We’ve asked him already,’ my mother said. ‘He’s been waiting for you for the last hour.’
‘So let’s not make him wait any longer.’
Raj and I sat down on the floor in front of him and he explained what the wedding ceremony would entail, what he would do and what all the symbolism meant. Then he went off track slightly and started talking to us about a young couple who he had married the year before who were having difficulties. ‘It is not easy, but you must work hard. Western notion is romantic but it does not last. It is hard work, commitment and the understanding which do.’
My dad nodded vehemently and glanced over at my mother to see if she were in agreement.
The priest then branded the word ‘affair’ about saying that this was the Western way out of a problem and I promptly barricaded the thoughts of Michael flooding my head.
After wolfing down more savouries and declining the invitation to stay for dinner, he said it was time to go; he had to be off as he had taped EastEnders. My mother helped him up and then we had to do the feet routine all over again.
‘Such a nice couple,’ he said, pinching our cheeks. ‘I know you’ll be very happy together.’
This was my cue to put my hands together in prayer pose to thank him for the blessing and perhaps for Raj to slip some kind of donation into his hands for the temple funds.
‘It is not necessary,’ he said, taking the money.
Raj’s mother wasn’t very impressed by him and after he had left she said she hoped he did not ramble on as some of her guests were English and they wouldn’t understand him.
‘The English they likes the rambles,’ my dad retorted. He then went on to tell us about a passenger he had driven that day who was carrying what looked like an Indian rice sack, which she had paid £30 for. ‘You have been the fooled,’ I told her. He turned to Raj’s mother. ‘But now it’s the fashion. Give them the rambles, they likes it.’
Surely Raj’s mother wanted to break down at some point and take her son back?
I had to organise a van to transport the pictures to Artusion; another addition to the list of things to do. What was becoming increasingly urgent was to find titles for the paintings. I sat for hours looking at a blank canvas, hoping that something would come, but all I felt were doubts and more doubts. How had it all got to this stage? There wasn’t even the possibility of postponing the wedding; everything was pretty much organised and there wasn’t a valid reason to delay things. I went to the office and sorted through the RSVPs and drew up a guest list. What if nobody came to the exhibition? I debated whether to chase the people who had not responded but then I thought it would make Foruki seem desperate: he was supposed to not care who turned up.
The phone rang. It was Radio 4; they were doing a series to coincide with the opening of the Tate Modern and wanted me to join a discussion about the relevance of the Turner Prize.
I was shocked. ‘I’m sorry to be rude but where did you get my contact details?’
‘You do represent Fuki, don’t you?’
‘Foruki, yes.’
‘You were speaking to the producer about him and she said you were a good person to have on air as you were quite vociferous in your views. You said that the Turner was about hype, egos and personalities and that you represent an artist who doesn’t even use his real name as he doesn’t want to be known.’
‘Was it an exhibition?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘When I spoke to your producer? Was it at an exhibition?’
‘I don’t know.’
I couldn’t go on radio, people would recognise me, and anyway w
hat would I say? ‘I would love to participate but I’m incredibly busy at the moment. Maybe another time?’
‘It shouldn’t take too long. Just half an hour of your time tomorrow?’
Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad; the only people I really didn’t want to listen to me were Mum and Dad and this was hardly likely as any radio programme they listened to had to have Hindi songs blasting out of it. And Raj would be at work. Thinking that it might be an opportunity for Foruki to have a bit of exposure before his exhibition, I reluctantly agreed.
Michael hadn’t called. We usually spoke almost every day but I didn’t bother to call him either. It was best for everyone if we kept our relationship strictly professional from now on. He was kind and courteous to me as he was to everyone; I saw that yesterday at the launch. It was just in his nature. What was I thinking of?
Later that evening I went to meet Raj and his friends. He had chosen our Italian restaurant in Covent Garden and I had got there early. I was absolutely dreading it and so had had a few drinks before they came.
Pinkie, Saf, Mel, Din and Hitin came in a group headed by Raj. I felt envious at seeing them all together and then felt guilty about feeling that way so I overcompensated with the friendliness. He introduced us all. Pinkie, one of the girls, had her arm around Raj. I wasn’t jealous of this, not even annoyed; in fact I wanted her to tell me at some point in the evening that they were having a passionate affair and that she was madly in love with him but she didn’t. I also wanted to dislike them but I couldn’t as they made me feel very welcome in their group, going out of their way to include me in a past that I didn’t share with any of them.
‘Raj talks about you all the time, Nina. Are you excited about the wedding?’
‘Yes.’ Realising that my answer sounded flat and that it needed to be resuscitated, I started talking nonstop about the dress, the venue and how I was trying to find out where Raj had booked for the honeymoon.
‘It’s a surprise, baby,’ he said, leaning over and kissing me.
And then we talked about how we met and what each of us felt when we first saw each other.
‘I knew from the very first moment I saw her,’ he said. ‘You pretty much knew too, didn’t you, baby? In fact it was just after the second date that we decided to get engaged.’