The Colour of Love

by Preethi Nair

  The association of Rooney not fixing the bell and finding a girlfriend threw me and I wondered why I was standing there when there were so many things to be getting on with.

  ‘What time is it?’ Mrs Onoro asked.

  ‘Four o’clock.’

  ‘I make us some tea.’

  She came back with a tray. ‘What can I do my dear?’

  ‘I needed some advice.’

  She smiled proudly as if I had come to the right place. ‘I know keep many secret.’

  ‘Mrs Onoro, I’ve told so many lies, and I’ve made a big mess.’

  ‘Big mess, like when pig give birth, or big mess like …’ She struggled to find a comparison.

  ‘Yes, a big mess, like a really big mess.’

  ‘To get out of big mess you stand in the centre and you accept it,’ she said as if she had received wisdom from a fortune cookie.

  ‘What if I just put it all off for a day?’

  ‘It no matter. Big mess is big mess, today or tomorrow. Important thing to accept it.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Onoro, thank you.’

  ‘You no drink tea again?’

  ‘I’ll come back. I promise I will. It’s just that there is somewhere I have to be.’

  ‘Always running somewhere. That why big mess come. Better to stop.’

  ‘I’ll stay next time. I will.’

  She was right, it didn’t matter if it was today or tomorrow, the most important thing was to accept it. I went home to get ready for the exhibition.

  My mum was in the sitting room waiting to talk to me when I arrived.

  ‘Can’t stop now, Ma, I’m running really late and the guests will be arriving soon,’ I said, running upstairs.

  After coming out of the bath I couldn’t find the hairdryer. It had been by the mirror five minutes ago.

  ‘Ma, have you seen the hairdryer?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The hairdryer, have you seen it?’

  ‘I’m not allowed to come, then?’ she asked.

  ‘Come where?’

  ‘To see the Japan man?’

  I imagined her standing in the centre of the gallery, waiting like she did at Heathrow airport, clutching onto her possessions and obstructing the guests, and a sense of panic filled me. ‘But Astitva Ek Prem Kahani is on. You never miss that for anyone, and anyway it’s a work function and full of boring people.’

  ‘Raj’s mother is going there. You are saying now she is better than me?’

  ‘Raj’s mother is only going there because she invited herself. Didn’t she, Dad?’

  ‘No big thing, Kavitha, soon she’ll be part of their family anyway,’ he shouted up.

  ‘Ma, I promise you, I’ll make it up to you if I can, I’ll make it all up to you.’

  ‘You have a surprise for me for the wedding?’ This is what happened, this is how the whole mess started in the first place. I would say one thing and she would interpret it the way she wanted to. ‘I knew it. I knew there was something going on. It’s a very big surprise?’

  ‘It’s not what you think and I want you to know that whatever happens, I love you and Dad very, very much.’

  She wasn’t listening and went into her bedroom, opened one of the drawers and pulled out the hairdryer.

  ‘Thank you, beta, thank you, I know you will never let me off.’

  ‘Down, Ma, down.’

  ‘Yah, I’m going.’

  ‘No, the word’s down, and anyway, about the surprise, it’s not what you …’

  She was halfway down the stairs, telling my dad about the forthcoming surprise.

  Forget about letting her down, I was going to leave her in the recess of a quagmire she would never find her way out of – and my dad, what would I do to him?

  ‘Good a the luck, Nina,’ he said as I was leaving.

  ‘What, Dad?’

  ‘Good a the luck. We know you been working very hard for this Japan man.’

  Guilt, angst and nerves all knotted in my stomach ready for one volcanic explosion, but all I had to do was to get through the evening.

  I got to the gallery at six-thirty. Michael was there with Emanuel, organising the waiters.

  ‘Ms Savani, all set?’ Emanuel asked.

  ‘Yes. Thank you.’

  ‘Nina, there are a few things that I need to check with you. Would you mind coming into my office for a moment?’

  ‘Sorry about not answering any of your messages,’ I said once the door shut behind us.

  ‘I figured you would be running about today. Come here, Nina.’

  ‘No, Michael, we have to talk.’

  ‘I know but let’s leave it till later. I just wanted to give you this and to wish you the very best for tonight,’ he said, handing me a box.

  It was a paintbrush with my name engraved on it. ‘For when you decide not to hide behind someone else.’

  Forget about hiding behind someone else, I just wanted to go and bury myself somewhere. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Keep your nerve and you will be fine,’ he said, holding my hand.

  Despite the soft music, the sound of wind chimes and running water, all I could hear was the thudding noise my heart made as we went back to the gallery. I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  ‘Which papers did you say were coming?’ Emanuel asked.

  ‘They haven’t all confirmed but we are expecting quite a few,’ I replied, trying to sound confident, as if I had it all under control.

  Bonsai tree/wardrobe man’s agent was the first to arrive, followed by Gina and a group of people.

  ‘They’re mostly art students and are just gonna go around hyping. Nina, I can’t stay for long as my shift begins soon but come around tomorrow when you’ve done the deed.’

  I nodded, almost detached from everyone and everything, pretending it was happening to someone else.

  Between seven-thirty and eight a steady stream of people came. They were regulars on the circuit who went from exhibition to exhibition, strutting in a panoply of colour as if they were trying to outdo the paint on the canvas. Most of them didn’t come to see the paintings and made it obvious by wearing ridiculous tinted glasses that they couldn’t possibly see out of. They were there to see who came into the room and who was watching them. You could tell them any old rubbish as long as you dropped a few important names in. A bit like my dad in this sense they had very selective hearing, but theirs was sometimes made worse because of the substances they had snorted.

  A few ‘darlings’ and air kisses blew across the room; some went around appearing to study the pictures as if they warranted a huge amount of intellectual thought and then added their pretentious comments. Others were fascinated by the fact that Foruki hadn’t turned up to his own exhibition; I could hear all kinds of speculation as to who he was and what his concepts were.

  ‘Emperor’s descendant …’

  ‘Prince …’

  ‘One of the Mykoto sons …’

  ‘That’s his agent over there …’

  I circulated among them all, people that I knew, people that I didn’t, and told them whatever I thought they might like to hear about the artist. The professor from the radio show was in one corner of the room studying the footprint. A few journalists came, asked questions, drank more wine, and photographers took pictures. Emanuel greeted the guests he had invited. Michael circulated, talking to people and occasionally glancing at me as if to say everything was going well.

  Drink flowed, the waiters took the food around and the sound of the river and chimes were drowned out as the room became more and more crowded. There were several influential people from the art world present, but no Mangetti. My boss, Simon, was there.

  ‘Good turn out, Nina. Tell me again where you came across this chap?’

  ‘Last year in Japan.’ I told him what I had told everyone.

  ‘I can’t recollect you going to Japan.’ He wouldn’t as I never took holidays, just worked. ‘OK,’ I wanted to say, ‘OK, it’s al
l made up. There, I’ve never been to Japan.’ But then I spotted Raj and his mother coming in.

  ‘Excuse me, Simon, I’ve just seen some people that I have to say hello to.’

  ‘I’m sorry, baby, we’re a bit late. Mummy had to get something done.’

  ‘Remember – Nina, not baby,’ I added quickly.

  ‘My fingers,’ Raj’s mum said, swishing her nails in front of me. ‘It took a long time to stick on the jewels.’ She pointed to some tacky sparkly bits. ‘But I’ll know now for the wedding time to leave at least two hours.’

  ‘Where’s your ring?’ Raj asked, looking at my fingers.

  ‘Some people here don’t know I’m getting married. Remember what we talked about before?’

  ‘You won’t even know that we are here.’

  And then I heard a familiar voice. I glanced up and wanted to curl up in a heap on the floor. ‘What are you doing here, Jean?’

  ‘I wanted to wish you luck.’

  Raj’s mother lingered as if she needed an introduction.

  ‘Raj, if you want to take Mummy around to have a look at the pictures.’

  ‘And this handsome man is …?’ she asked.

  ‘This is Jean, a friend of mine.’

  ‘So nice to finally meet a friend of Nina’s,’ Raj said, extending his hand. ‘Raj Mehta.’

  ‘Jean Michel Duval. When’s the big day?’ Jean asked.

  Raj looked at me, surprised; nobody there was supposed to know that I’d let my fiancé come along to the launch. Why had Jean done that? Maybe now Raj would let his guard down and tell people we were getting married.

  ‘Please don’t do this to me,’ I thought. ‘Please just go away, all of you.’

  ‘Next month,’ Raj replied.

  ‘Mummy, Raj, there’s someone I would really like you to meet,’ I said spotting Gina.

  ‘Gina, this is Raj and his mother. Gina works for Ravi Shankar.’

  ‘I do?’ She glared at me. ‘Yes, I do. Nice guy.’

  She led them off to another part of the room. Raj’s mother went reluctantly.

  ‘Nina, I know you don’t love him. You were with …’

  ‘You don’t have the right to tell me anything and if you’ll excuse me, I have guests to see to.’

  I wasn’t enjoying any of it, trying to keep people apart so they wouldn’t say the wrong thing, keeping an eye out for how much Raj and his mother were drinking so they wouldn’t let anything slip, trying not to say the wrong things myself, waiting anxiously for Mangetti. It all felt like one long nightmare.

  Michael was safely at one end of the room and I could hear Raj’s voice booming at the other.

  ‘See, Mummy, he probably had some Asian influence here. Maybe spent some time there …’

  Gina came over to me saying she had to leave, her shift was about to begin.

  ‘Definitely doing the right thing,’ she said, nodding towards Raj’s mother.

  ‘I just want all this to be over.’

  ‘It will be, soon,’ she replied.

  It was half past eight, Mangetti still hadn’t arrived and I kept glancing over to the entrance. Michael walked over to me as if to reassure me. He put one hand on my shoulder.

  Raj was looking at me and was coming over. ‘God, please don’t let this be happening,’ I thought. My head began doing the jerking thing.

  ‘Nina, what’s wrong?’ Michael asked.

  ‘Baby, Gina doesn’t work for Ravi Shankar really, does she? She said he’s doing some interesting work with sculpture at the moment.’

  ‘She does. Ravi’s diversifying into other areas.’

  ‘But baby,’ he said again.

  The room fell silent. All I could hear was the word ‘baby’, amplified and resounding around the room.

  ‘Gay,’ I turned and whispered to Michael. ‘Arty type.’

  But then Raj squeezed my hand. He had promised: no physical contact, no hand-squeezing, no terms of endearment – not while I was working – but no, there for all to see, he gripped it tightly.

  Michael stared at Raj.

  ‘Raj, this is Michael. Michael, this is Raj.’

  ‘Her fiancé,’ Raj said, holding out his hand.

  Now two words reverberated around the room: ‘baby’ and ‘fiancé'.

  ‘Right,’ Michael managed.

  Then there was a pause that I wanted to be swallowed by. Michael looked at me with incomprehension and then his face hardened. ‘I’ve come to check how it’s all going and if you needed anything but I can see that you have everything under control so I’ll leave you to it.’ He turned and left.

  ‘Very nice of him,’ Raj commented and began prattling about something else.

  Just as I was about to stop him, Raj’s mother staggered over. ‘Ravi Shankar is exhibiting next month, Gina said she’ll send me an invite. Raju, you’ll take me home now. Nina, wonderful evening.’

  ‘Thank you. Raj, don’t come back for me. I’ll get a cab,’ I said, thinking that I had to find Michael.

  ‘No, baby, I’ll drop Mummy – she’s only staying at the flat in Victoria – and then I’ll come back for you.’

  ‘There’s no need, really. I’ll be seeing you tomorrow.’

  As they were getting their coats, I ran downstairs. I caught a glimpse of Michael leaving, called out his name and then ran after him when he didn’t turn around.

  ‘Michael, I can explain. It’s not how it seems.’

  He turned and looked at me. ‘Leave it.’

  ‘No, you have to let me explain.’

  He continued walking and ignored me.

  Distraught, I went back up to the gallery. Mangetti hadn’t yet arrived. Where was he? Maybe he was stuck in traffic. He couldn’t not come; not after this. The guests were leaving.

  ‘I’m always here for you,’ Jean said as he was about to leave.

  The irony wanted to make me shout at him: at that moment in time, standing there in front of me, he was the only one who was there – but where had he been when I needed him?

  He waited for a comment.

  ‘Bye Jean,’ I whispered as he turned his back.

  Half an hour later they had all gone. The room was empty with only the mess of dirty plates, empty glasses, beer bottles and scrawled up napkins. I sat in a corner looking at the buddha and I cried. All of it for nothing: the planning, the scheming, the lies, all for nothing. It had been a crazy idea, what was I thinking of? How naïve to believe that Michael and Raj wouldn’t meet each other and to think that Mangetti would actually show up. How stupid to think that the mess I had created wouldn’t unravel before me.

  ‘Oh Ki, it’s a mess, a big, big mess.’

  I could hear footsteps coming up the stairs. I wiped my tears.

  ‘Michael?’

  It was Raj.

  ‘What’s wrong, baby?’

  ‘It was for nothing, all for nothing.’

  ‘It was a success, lots of people came. OK, Foruki wasn’t here but you said you didn’t expect him.’

  ‘No, it’s all been for nothing. Creativity takes courage, remember, you told me that and that’s all I did. I took a leap of faith, seeing flowers when there were none, that’s all I did.’

  He seemed confused.

  ‘Creativity takes courage. Henri Matisse. That’s who you quoted the very first time we met.’

  ‘Did I?’

  ‘Yes you did. You said it the first time we met, remember?’

  ‘Oh yes, got that from a book I was reading on developing confidence. It said that …’

  ‘But it was the sign, my sign, you and me,’ I cried.

  He looked like he had absolutely no idea as to what I was talking about.

  ‘What about hands?’

  ‘What hands? What are you talking about, Nina?’

  ‘You said that hands meant a lot to you. What do mine tell you? What does that picture on the wall tell you? Or did you just pluck that out of the air as well?’

  ‘Nina, maybe you’ve had a bi
t too much to drink. We’ll talk about this later, when you’re a bit more rational.’

  ‘I’ll never be rational. I’ll never be who you want me to be, you don’t even know who I am. This, all this, is me. ME.’

  ‘Nina, let’s just get you home.’

  ‘I can’t marry you.’

  He stood still. ‘What?’

  ‘I can’t,’ I cried. ‘I can’t. I tried, I really did, but I can’t.’

  ‘It’s been a long day, you’re tired, Nina, you’re not making any sense.’

  ‘I can’t go through with it. It’s not you, it’s me.’

  ‘Nina, be practical. The wedding is next month.’

  I sobbed.

  ‘What about Mummy, the preparations? Listen, baby, it’s nerves. We all have them.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Raj.’

  ‘You can’t do this to me,’ he shouted.

  ‘I’m sorry, really very sorry.’

  He had his head in his hands.

  I walked around Green Park in the dark; no Michael, no Raj, no Mangetti, nothing. All of it had been for nothing. I had left Raj feeling as worthless as I once had. We couldn’t subconsciously instigate scenarios and bring them into our lives. I wouldn’t have wished this on my worst enemy.

  It was eleven o’clock when I arrived at Gina’s house. She wasn’t in. Michael wasn’t picking up his phone; I had left countless messages. With nowhere else to go I made my way back home. What was I going to tell my parents? How was I going to break it to them? All their expectations detonated in one night.

  They were sleeping when I got in. There was food left for me in the oven: three circular rotis with peas and potatoes. Both my parents were snoring peacefully so Raj’s mother had obviously not called them. It could wait until morning; things always seemed worse at night.

  I crawled into bed too tired to cry any more, too tired to reflect but unable to sleep.

  In the morning, things seemed no better. My parents stirred at about five-thirty. That was the time my mother got up to do her prayers. Before she got started, my dad sent her downstairs to make some tea and when she brought it back up I thought it was probably best that I did it then.

  My hands were shaking, my throat was dry.

  ‘Beta, you’re up already,’ my mum called out on hearing my footsteps. ‘Did you eat anything last night?’