‘There’s always a good story,’ I said.
The waiter placed a check before Keisha. I pulled out my wallet.
‘No, no …’ Keisha protested. ‘I’ll get it.’
‘Thanks, Keisha.’
‘To be honest, I got inspiration for this TV show from your ideas for Lionheart. That’s why I’m getting you on board too,’ Keisha admitted as we walked down the promenade. ‘I’ll be in touch soon.’ We parted ways on the sidewalk.
Minutes later, I jumped into a stuffy carriage on the southbound Bakerloo line at the Paddington Underground. An unusual sight near the farthest set of doors in the train compartment caught my eye. A pushcart was moving towards the doors. It overflowed with electric violet teddy bears.
Right from their bowties to the ‘I love you’ press-me heart pendants suspended from satin ribbon chains, they were exactly like the one Rosie had left behind at the Sawants’ two months ago, although they weren’t the same shade of purple. The bowtie and the ribbon chains were a few notches lighter than the teddies’ electric violet torsos, but they followed the same pattern of light and shade as I had seen in the purple teddy. A pale, veined hand gripped the handle of the cart. My gaze traveled to the tall, suit-clad passenger wheeling it off the train. I stared at that shock of blond hair – spiked, gelled and parted in the centre. The cartel kingpin guy … who was it? I caught a profile of the man’s face just as the doors slid close behind him. Carl Wright? Nimmy’s friend?
I raced to the nearest window to get a better look at the disembarking commuter.
A buxom woman with shocking pink hair jostled me from the side. ‘This is not a cruise on the Thames!’ she snarled.
I retreated to a pole near a door to the next carriage. A sense of unease rambled up my throat. Did Carl have something to do with Rosie’s unwelcome appearance at the Sawants’ last month?
4
The Undertaking
‘I saw Carl Wright on a train this afternoon,’ I informed Nimmy as we sat in The Phoenix with a bottle of Chianti later that evening.
Nimmy laced his arms behind his head and returned my gaze languidly. ‘Oh? What did he say?’
‘I didn’t speak to him. He was getting off the train when I hopped in.’ I proceeded to tell him the rest.
Nimmy jerked his head up as if he had been momentarily electrocuted. Then, he broke into guffaws. ‘Carl? Violet teddy bears? Why on earth would he push a cart full of stuffed bears in a business suit?’
‘I don’t know, Nimmy,’ I said. ‘I have a bad feeling about him.’
Nimmy narrowed his eyes. ‘I’ve known Carl for years, Sandy. He has nothing to do with Rosie.’
I gazed around me, drinking in the soft amber glow of the small, lively pub in Bayswater.
Nimmy reached across the table for my hand. ‘We’re planning a hike across the Snowdon Mountain in Wales during the holiday season. Rick, Carl, Sal and I. It would be lovely if you could join us. We’re staying with an old friend in Flintshire through Christmas. My family will be joining us there.’
‘I don’t think I can. I have a few course papers and some production work to catch up on over the hols. I’m not an experienced hiker either. And I can get a wheeze easily. Be careful with Carl though.’
Nimmy gave my hand a little squeeze. ‘Please do think it over. You could even join us later with my family. They aren’t hiking.’
‘Is Asha coming to Wales too?’
‘Ahhh …’ Nimmy shook his head. ‘A change of environment disorients her … even if only for a short time. Mum is actually hoping for a vacation herself … she hasn’t taken one in years.’
‘I guess everyone needs a break,’ I agreed.
A sudden flash of inspiration shot through my mind. ‘Nimmy …’ I began. ‘… I’m going to be involved in a show called Streetsmart for a TV series producer at the BBC. It’s a life skills series involving young people with special needs …’ I explained the programme agenda to Nimmy. ‘I think it would help Asha if she participated in the show. She could also continue training with the TV host off-air, if she likes. For free,’ I finished.
The wine-induced flush on Nimmy’s cheeks faded into a ghostly pallor. His tone seemed icy when he intoned, ‘Oh, I see.’
‘The TV series will be a great platform for Asha to learn a lot more about herself and people around her. You told me she couldn’t go to school regularly. Working probably does her good now, but these workshops and some off-air training will help …’
Nimmy leaned towards me and locked my lips with his. All my thoughts melted away as his tongue explored mine with an urgency that made me yield. ‘It’s Christmas time, baby,’ he whispered when we disentangled ourselves. ‘You’re way ahead of your pace. Don’t fuzz your pretty little head up with these heavy thoughts. Sit back and enjoy the wine.’
Later that night, I was idly skimming through an agenda for a lecture programme, when I heard a knock on my bedroom door.
‘May I come in?’ Nimmy called.
‘Yes,’ I replied after a moment of hesitation.
Nimmy entered, set for bed in black pyjamas and an old ‘Frankie says relax’ T-shirt. Something stirred inside me as I drank in the contours of his physique through the faded fabric of the tee.
‘Aren’t you sleeping yet?’ I asked when I found my voice.
‘You look beautiful in pink,’ Nimmy commented, eyeing me intensely.
I glanced down at my thin, satin nightgown and blushed.
Nimmy scrambled onto the bed next to me. ‘I’ve grown used to having you around. Nine days without you is going to be pretty hard,’ he murmured.
‘I’ll still be here when you’re back,’ I pointed out, thinking about the two research papers I had to write once LSE let out for the winter break.
‘You will, won’t you?’ he whispered, running his hands through my hair.
Instinctive shudders ran down my spine.
I curled up into a tight ball. ‘I’m tired. Let’s discuss this tomorrow, please.’
‘I’m not here to make you change your mind. Here’s what I came in for …’ He slipped a hand into the pocket of his pyjamas and brought out a sheer velvet box. I gasped as he opened it and slipped a simple gold solitaire ring on my finger.
‘I love you, Sandy. Will you be mine?’ he whispered.
‘Nimmy!’ I cried. The line between dream and reality was quickly blurring. As our eyes locked, I realised he was the reason I was able to wean myself away from the pain of Saahil’s demise and rebuild a promising future in London. Was he proposing to me? I bet he was, but I felt it would be too uptight on my part to seek his confirmation.
‘Where did you get the ring from?’ I asked instead.
‘Ernest Jones,’ Nimmy said proudly. ‘I found one of your rings on the breakfast counter downstairs. I used it as a sample to figure out your size.’
‘I love it,’ I said softly.
My stomach fluttered as Nimmy drew me into his arms and planted his lips on mine. I wavered just for a moment as he gently peeled off my nightgown. Soon, we were making love quietly as Polish singer Marek Grechuta crooned Nie Dokazuj from my media player in the background. I blanched at the initial discomfort that seized me. For all intents and purposes, my relationship with Saahil had been chaste and I was still a virgin. But Nimmy’s tender patience with me laid all my fears to rest.
‘Nimmy,’ I murmured as we lay spent in each other’s arms several hours later. ‘It’ll help Asha if she participates in Streetsmart.’
Nimmy rolled over and lay facedown on my lap. ‘That wouldn’t be in our best interests, dear.’
‘It’s okay, baby. Let’s sleep now,’ I cooed, rubbing my cheek against the stubble on his chin.
I remained wide-awake as Nimmy drifted off next to me. Eventually, I walked over to my window and drew the blinds out. A faint sliver of dawn peeped out from the blanket of a cerulean sky. Wouldn’t be in our best interests? Is Nimmy worried? Is he hiding something? What on earth does
he mean?
5 December
The curl of a white rose petal flitted into my line of sight as I opened my eyes next morning. A tiny vase with a long-stemmed rose sat by my bedside. A short note and a steaming cup of coffee accompanied it. The bed dipped in the space next to me. It mustn’t have been long since Nimmy returned to his room. I smiled and read the note.
‘Had to leave for work early today. Some crappy releases to attend to. Will return home soon to be with you.
Love, N.’
I stroked the gold ring on my finger and stretched with the euphoria of a canary set free to explore the unchartered depths of a straddling horizon. After freshening up, I sipped my coffee and gazed outside the window.
I have to find out what those teddy bears are all about, I decided. Nimmy didn’t seem to have a clue about what his friend was up to and I owed it to him to ensure that Carl wasn’t playing any hanky-panky with the Sawants.
I glanced at my mobile phone: 8.30 a.m. I whisked open my laptop, retrieved EuroFirst’s mainline number from Google and called the office.
I was transferred to Carl’s direct number.
‘Yes, who’s this?’ He sounded busy and curt.
‘Carl, uh, this is Sandy … from LSE. We met at the Royal Standard a few months ago. I … is this a good time?’
‘Sandy?’ Carl sounded blank at first. Then his voice came flooding back to me with considerably more warmth. ‘Oh, it’s you. Nimmy’s guest.’
‘I’m terribly sorry for bothering you at work.’
‘Not at all,’ Carl said politely. ‘How can I help?’
‘Um, I saw you on the train yesterday,’ I started. ‘On the Bakerloo line at Paddington. You were pulling along a cart full of teddy bears that were dazzlingly violet.’
My words were met with a long silence from Carl’s end. The faint warble of a morning birdsong whistled through the window into my ears. ‘You there?’
I heard a sharp intake of breath before Carl’s voice came through. ‘Yes.’
‘I was just curious, Carl.’
‘It’s uh … I’m sorry, San. I’m reviewing some data for a deliverable, as I speak to you …’
‘No worries,’ I replied. ‘I thought to say hello to you on the train yesterday, but it was far too crowded. I was surprised to see you with a bunch of teddies though. Violet teddy bears aren’t that common, huh?’
‘I was attending a friend’s daughter’s birthday party last evening,’ Carl replied distantly. ‘The teddies were return gifts for all their guests. I got them from a lady in Canterbury. Made to order. She specialises in making teddy bears of colours that you wouldn’t find in an ASDA or Superdrug store, if you know what I mean.’
‘Interesting. What’s her name?’
‘Evie Mardling. Up in Kent.’
‘So, you got off work early yesterday, huh?’ I questioned with deliberate nonchalance.
‘Had an afternoon meeting in Marylebone. Headed to Paddington right after.’
‘I see. Well, I hear you’re going to Wales. Have a great trip. Happy hols!’
‘And you,’ Carl said.
I hung up. What name had flashed on the departure board when I waited for the train at Paddington, yesterday?
Ah, Elephant and Castle.
Wasn’t Marylebone the other way? If Carl had really headed to Paddington from Marylebone, he should have been on a northbound train. Why was he on a southbound service from Queen’s Park up north?
I frowned. Carl’s story didn’t convince me.
‘Jeff called this morning. SIGNAL is partnering with Lionheart!’ Keisha shrieked jubilantly when we met in the BBC Broadcast Centre’s sprawling lobby at noon that day.
‘That’s incredible!’ I squealed.
A petite woman in a carmine crew-necked pencil dress joined us in the lounge.
‘My colleague, Charlotte Hale,’ Keisha introduced. ‘Former Valley girl and Albion’s Oprah Winfrey. She was an educational research fellow at Cambridge before she founded Topaz, five years ago. It’s an educational development outfit.’
‘I’m a huge fan of your show!’ I smiled as we shook hands. ‘It was the first I heard on radio when I moved here.’
Charlotte grinned broadly. ‘Why, thank you!’
‘Charlotte has also authored a couple of special ed books. I especially loved Spun Gold,’ Keisha added. ‘White Lights is her latest. I’m going to get my hands on it this weekend. Charlotte is lending advisory support for the Lionheart campaign. We’re also hoping to rope her in as an anchor for Streetsmart.’
The supremacy of Charlotte’s celebrity stature left me wondering what Keisha could possibly see in a fledgling like me. ‘I look forward to working with you,’ I told Charlotte meekly.
‘Lunch?’ Charlotte suggested, jerking a thumb towards a set of glass doors opening out to a row of garden-side cafés and restaurants.
‘I’m famished,’ Keisha seconded.
We headed towards a Starbucks around the corner and ordered sandwiches and lattes before settling at a table.
‘I’m thinking of a week-long national tour involving workshops with special needs groups. Jeff has agreed to fund all expenses,’ Keisha said.
‘We first need clarity on what themes these sessions will address,’ Charlotte advised. ‘I’d recommend focusing on techniques to improve survival skills that will help these people live independently.’
‘We’ll need to identify our target locations too,’ I interjected.
‘It’d be best to start with special schools, not-for-profits and care centres,’ Keisha chimed in.
‘Why would care centres be interested if we’re talking about de-institutionalising their residents?’ I asked.
‘A lot of those centres offer outpatient services. Many are owned by local authorities,’ Charlotte explained. ‘It would be a feather in their cap if they had more residents move on to live independently, don’t you think?’
Keisha pulled out a folded A4 sheet from her tote bag and handed it to me. ‘That’s a list of objectives I’ve identified for Lionheart and the tour in particular. Feel free to add your inputs to the campaign plan and run them by us. I’m headed to Bergen for Christmas but I’ll be available on email. Charlotte will be in town though, won’t you?’
‘I may be in Prague for a couple of days around year-end but I’m here otherwise,’ Charlotte said.
‘Okay. I’ll do some research before getting started on a proposal,’ I said.
‘If you’re looking at places that may be interested in organising a talk or enlisting volunteer services, I know a bunch of special schools and care centres,’ Charlotte offered. ‘One of our rookies made that list when Topaz was working on a green paper campaign. We hardly used it though. We had to communicate more with the government. Not that the government is terribly accountable. But I’d definitely recommend reviewing that list.’
‘That’ll come in handy,’ I said earnestly.
Charlotte rose. ‘When I get a chance, I’ll have my secy, Megan dig it up from our backend server and email it to you then. Got to go now … have a cool Yule, girls!’
My Dad rang me as I headed to the White City Underground.
‘Congrats on your first paycheque in London, Sandhya,’ he chirped.
‘Thank you.’ I smiled, remembering the fee that Pinwheel Interactive had credited into my bank account this morning for my work on that CEM summit white paper for Aiden McLeod.
‘Yes, it was an interesting gig – and it helps not having to use much from my loan account at one go,’ I added.
‘Now, this BBC show and that mental health campaign will give you some solid experience outside India,’ Appa said.
‘It’s a campaign for the rights of the disabled, not the mentally ill,’ I corrected gently.
‘I’m so proud of you, baby.’
‘I couldn’t have done this without you and Sri,’ I said softly.
Then, I excitedly went on about Charlotte and Lionheart’s partnership
with SIGNAL. When we rang off, I realised that I was glad I hadn’t harped on the Sawants’ quirks to my Dad since arriving here. The Sawants were good people after all, and I was grateful to Asha for catalyzing my involvement in the Lionheart campaign, which in turn had fetched me this opportunity with Streetsmart.
Now, it is my undertaking to get Asha on the Streetsmart TV show.
‘Why are you so bent on getting Asha involved?’ Ashok Sawant demanded later that night. Shailaja and Nidhi accompanied him in the sitting room, ‘Your father’s move to send you here was a big decision. Especially with your asthma …’ he went on, ‘And here you are, getting into the sleazy television business and gallivanting around the city when you should do no more than read for your classes and come right home!’
I felt like an ill-fated employee seated across belligerent managers who were closing in to give the boot under the pretext of unacceptable behaviour. It may have been a tad better if Nimmy were around but he was predictably still in the office.
‘How can you call it sleazy?’ I replied defiantly. ‘The BBC is a public service broadcaster. The production team for this TV show is consulting expert educators …’
‘And my daughter will not be a guinea pig!’ Ashok roared.
‘We can’t expose Asha like this!’ Nidhi cried, terrified.
I stared at her. My mind swam with an image of the man in the limousine I had seen her with a few weeks ago. Was she really as blinkered as Shailaja and Ashok? Or was she just playing along?
‘Is it because anything that isn’t “normal” is a taboo to you?’ I shot back, beside myself with fury.
‘Mind your tongue, especially when you’re speaking to elders, Sandhya,’ Shailaja admonished.
‘That’s not the only reason,’ Nidhi said reluctantly.
‘What else is it then?’ I yelled.
Ashok rose from his seat and raised an outstretched palm as he approached me. For a moment, I thought he would strike me. But he dropped his hands to his sides when he stood directly before me.
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