I awoke to see Chris dressing on the other side of the room. I sat up.
‘What time is it?’ I said.
‘Time we were at the beach,’ he said. He wasn’t unfriendly, but I wasn’t sure he was that thrilled I had stayed the night without asking. He was so laconic, so slow to express any kind of emotion, that it was difficult to tell if he was annoyed or not.
‘I didn’t want to disturb you,’ I said, ‘by saying goodbye. And it felt rude just to go off like that …’
‘I should have explained,’ he said. ‘I always meditate, afterwards, to dispel the sadness.’
‘The sadness? But it was amazing!’
‘But “after sex, every animal is sad”, as the old Latin proverb goes. Or better still: After the ecstasy, the reckoning.’
I swung my legs over the side of the bed, looked around the floor for my clothes, loath to continue the discussion if Chris was going to get all heavy on me. Not that I didn’t agree: I knew exactly what sadness he was talking about, and I admired him for doing something positive about it. But I didn’t want the memory of our night together to be infected with melancholy; Chris could meditate all he wanted, it wouldn’t take away the joy of it all, or make me want him again any the less urgently.
19
WHEN MUM APPEARS at Christopher’s side for the beach meditation the next morning, she invokes quite a few double-takes and spiteful side-glances from our fellow students. I open my eyes several times during the session to catch one or two of the others in a state far removed from karmic bliss – giving Mum the evil eye, one might almost say. At breakfast the atmosphere is leaden – quite the opposite of what it was yesterday morning. But Mum seems heedless to it all, she’s so obviously loved-up; already, I can tell, she considers him and her to be an item.
I decide there and then to leave, with or without Mum. I can’t stay here, not with my feelings for Christopher as they are. It would have been hard enough to see him hooked up with any of the women here, but I know in advance that I couldn’t physically stand to see him and Mum together for the next five days. And beyond that, what? What is going to happen next? I don’t want to be around to find out. Either they’ll get together properly, if Mum has her way, or he’ll turn out to be a Lothario and she’ll get her heart trampled all over.
Back in our room, she tells me she spent the night with him.
I choke back sour laughter. ‘No shit,’ I reply. ‘You’re gone all night, and then you show up clinging to him like a leech. I’d kind of worked things out for myself.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘I suppose I should have warned you, but it was all so sudden. We just –’
‘I don’t want to know,’ I interrupt. ‘Please, just stop talking about it. Only …’
‘Only what?’
‘Only … I don’t know. Just be careful, that’s all.’
‘Be careful of what?’
‘Of Christopher.’
‘What about him?’
‘Well, haven’t you noticed how all the other women in the group flirt with him, to one degree or another?’
She opens and closes her mouth like a fish. ‘Well … yes, I suppose they do like him. But he’s a charming man and a great teacher. They admire him.’
‘They more than admire him, Mum.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘Well, I … I couldn’t sleep the night before last, and I went for a walk and happened to go past Christopher’s room. There was … I heard another woman in there with him.’
She pales, stares at me, then pulls her chin up, looks assertive, combative. ‘That doesn’t mean a thing,’ she says. ‘There could be any number of reas –’ She stops herself. ‘What did you hear anyway?’
I shrug. ‘Laughter. Giggling.’
She looks relieved. ‘Well, it could have been anything,’ she says. ‘Someone going to borrow a book perhaps. Remember, he did offer at the class that day. In fact, weren’t those his exact words: “If anyone wants to borrow any of B. K. S. Iyengar’s works, you know where I am.”’
‘But at eleven o’clock at night?’
‘Well, yes, perhaps that is a little late, but this is hardly an orthodox set-up is it? It’s all very free and easy.’
I frown. Perhaps it’s a bit too free and easy, I think, and I look hard at Mum.
‘Listen,’ I say more gently. ‘I really don’t want to stay here any more. There’s something … I don’t know, something bothering me about the whole place. I think you should come with me.’
‘What?’ Incredulity breaks out on her face. ‘Leave, after what’s happened with me and Chris? You’ve got to be joking.’
‘I’m just trying to protect you.’
She’s struck silent for a moment, then her eyes become slits and she steps a little closer to me. ‘That’s bullshit,’ she almost spits. ‘You’re jealous, that’s what it is. You said it yourself – all the women here want Chris. You gave yourself away.’
I’m cringing inside at being found out, and even more at Mum having guessed that I have feelings for the man she’s sleeping with.
‘That’s rubbish. He’s bad news, that’s all, and I don’t want you to get hurt.’
‘You’re the one who’s talking rubbish, and there’s no way you’re forcing me to leave. I … I’m falling in love with Chris and you’re not going to spoil that for me. I’m sorry if I got there first, but you never had a chance anyway – he likes older women.’
‘Well, he would say that, wouldn’t he? He would tell you what you wanted to hear, if it helped to get you into his bed. I wonder what he told the woman he spent the previous night with, and all the women before that?’
‘Oh shut up, just bloody well shut up.’ Mum raises her hand and for a moment I even think she’s going to strike me. I’ve never seen her like this, have hardly ever even heard her swear. Then she sits back on her bed, starts to cry.
I turn to my wardrobe, pull out my rucksack and then begin to make piles of my clothes on my bed, in a hurry now just to be gone. I have no idea where to, but the further away from Christopher and Mum the better.
20
I FEEL A sort of pride, which I know to be pathetic, on arriving at the beach session with Chris rather than with Nadia, on making it obvious what’s happened between us, particularly given that I’m the oldest woman in the group by a few years. I feel a bit bad for Nadia too, that I didn’t think to go back to our room first and forewarn her. Not that it’s particularly her business who I do or don’t sleep with, but I suppose it would have been polite to tell her first. And she may have been worried upon waking up to find me gone – although my recent performances have probably made her a little more sanguine in such circumstances.
She looks uncomfortable and, yes, cross, when I show up with Chris, and some of the other women give me the most fearsome stares, really quite hateful, which is when I realise what a catch he must be. But I tell myself that the prize is worth any amount of flak and animosity they may have lined up for me. I close my eyes and don’t open them again until the end of the session, although I know that not everybody is doing the same. I can feel eyes on me as I try to reach a higher plane of consciousness where nobody can get at me.
After being given the silent treatment at breakfast, I go back to my own room with Nadia and tell her that Chris and I are an item, although even as I say the words it crosses my mind that I haven’t actually discussed this with him, that I’ve taken it for granted that we will carry on, perhaps because we didn’t just have sex but spent the night together, albeit without him exactly agreeing to my staying there.
The outburst that follows shocks me, and it rapidly becomes clear to me that Nadia, although she claims to be trying to protect me, is actually jealous, that she – like everyone here – wants to be Chris’s lover. I try to explain to her that he prefers older women, but she counters that by telling me I’ve fallen for a line, that Chris will tell anyone what they want to hear. I can’t believe that of him; can�
�t believe that a man so passionate about the environment and social awareness would be such a cad when it comes to personal matters. Nor can I allow myself to countenance what she tells me about having overheard another woman in his room the night before last. I simply will not believe that he’s the kind of man who would line women up like that, who would have his students coming through his room like so much human traffic. She’s wrong, and part of me seethes at what her jealousy makes her say to try to stop me from seeing Chris. She even seems to think, at one point, that she might persuade me to leave.
And so it becomes a choice between Chris and my daughter, and Chris wins out. He has to, on principle as much as anything else. But for the rest of the day I feel empty inside. Perhaps he was right, about ‘the reckoning’. Only falling out with one’s own child is a little more serious than a twinge of post-coital melancholy. And there’s another niggle in my brain: was Nadia telling the truth about there being another woman in his room two nights ago, and if so, who was it?
21
IT’S A LONG schlep back northwards to Kanha National Park, but I’m in no rush. The travel, always slow in India, is rather therapeutic, and I’m thinking that some time in a natural setting and away from too many people will give me the space to sort my head out. It would be wonderful to see some tigers too, more or less in the wild, but I’ve been told that that’s rare even here – in the very place that inspired The Jungle Book and where some of the world’s most significant tiger research was carried out.
Not having Mum around any more means I can check in to a shared log hut and not feel that I’m selling out. Not that they’re at all bad – each has six bunks but plenty of space, and an adjoining shower and loo. They’re clean and well maintained, with a wooden terrace where one can sit and appreciate the peacefulness of the reserve. I imagine myself sitting out there with a cool drink, writing in my journal. Despite all my copious note-taking, I’ve never kept a diary before – my life has never seemed interesting enough to record. But with my fall-out with Mum over Chris, and my recent experiences in Mumbai – Asha’s face in particular surges into my mind, her lovely lips forming the barely audible word ‘Stay,’ as her hand falls on my ankle – I wonder for the first time not only if my experiences are worth the trouble of writing down, but whether some of this buzzing confusion in my mind might be eased by my putting my thoughts down on paper. If it might help me work out what it is that I want.
I’m just about to head for the small provisions shop near the huts for some chocolate when a couple walk in laden with heavy backpacks and look around them. Noticing me, the girl, blonde and green-eyed like Carla, smiles, says: ‘Are any of these beds free?’
‘I’ve only just arrived myself,’ I say, ‘but none of them seem to be taken.’
‘We’ll chance it then,’ she says. ‘OK, Dean?’
The guy with her nods. ‘Fine by me,’ he replies, slipping the rucksack from his shoulders. ‘I’m just glad to get this thing off.’
I watch him as he moves, admiring his strong brown limbs. Like the girl, he’s fair-haired, deeply tanned, and his body shimmers with little blond hairs. He’s wearing shorts and a vest top; on his feet are heavy walking boots. His hair flops down over his face, bleached blonder at the front by the sun, but I can make out a sturdy, square jawline and eyes the blue-green of the Arabian Sea. He’s gorgeous, and I feel a spike of envy at the girl for having netted herself such a prize.
But my envy dissipates immediately when the girl steps forwards, having divested herself of her own backpack, and, shaking my hand, says, ‘I’m Sue, by the way. And this is my brother, Dean.’
I look at him again, feeling my cheeks flush. Suddenly knowing that he’s available, or at least not travelling with someone who has a claim to him, makes me feel timid, tongue-tied. He’s smiling at me, and I love the fact that beneath the unkempt hair, beneath the stubble and the grime of travel, he has bright white teeth and an overall feeling of cleanness. Like I said, I like my men grungy, but only on the surface. Underneath it all they have to have a pride in their bodies, a good standard of hygiene.
‘You travelling alone?’ asks Dean, and my belly somersaults. I feel, when he looks directly at me, pinning me with his aqueous gaze, when he addresses me in his slightly dry, husky voice, as if I’ve lost my moorings and am adrift in time and space. It’s both a wonderful feeling, a delicious giddiness like when you’ve drunk champagne, and a frightening one. But on balance I feel good, relieved that someone has come along to take my mind off Christopher. This, I feel, is a sane enthusiasm – Dean is closer in age to me, and also isn’t surrounded by hoards of acolytes desperately vying for his attention.
I nod, not wishing to talk about Mum, at least not for the moment.
‘Heading south or north?’ he says.
‘South, basically. That is, I was in Goa, so I’ve made a diversion back up north. But I plan to end up in Kerala, at some point.’
‘You don’t sound like you’re too rigid,’ says his sister, her voice approving. ‘We’ve met so many people with these huge itineraries, these six-month plans, lists full of things to tick off.’ She looks at Dean. ‘We’re much happier just kind of going with the flow, aren’t we?’
‘So you don’t have any plans at all?’ I say.
She shrugs, lifting one hand to her head to smooth down her hair, and I notice for the first time that she has really quite magnificent boobs. Like her brother, she’s wearing a vest top, and I see as she raises her arm that she has no bra beneath it. Her breasts are large but very firm. Her vest rides up with her movement, revealing a taut, flat, brown belly. She’s on the tall side, too. I think again of Carla, standing in the shower, bringing herself off as I watch, and I have to close my eyes for a moment and block Sue out, afraid that my eyes will give me away, will reveal my thoughts and fantasies.
‘I guess we’re just vaguely drifting down south too,’ she says. ‘Meandering. There’s no rush, no real plan behind it all, but I wouldn’t mind some time on the beach in Kerala. I heard it’s a lot less hectic than Goa.’
Dean has turned away from us, to rummage in the rucksack he’s laid on his bed. Straightening back up, he turns to us, waving a little tin in his hand. ‘Just going out for a smoke before dinner,’ he says.
Sue smiles affectionately at him, and we both watch him as he strolls out, his body as supple and confident as a big cat’s. When I turn back to Sue, she’s looking at me in what seems a slightly odd, appraising way, her lovely feline eyes a little narrowed. But I quickly decide I’m probably imagining things, or that that’s the way she looks at everyone she’s just met. As she unpacks her stuff, I sit on my bunk and we chat idly about the places we’ve been to so far, and about our lives back home. Sue tells me that she has just finished a degree in digital photography and hopes to make enough money from snaps she takes during this trip to set up her own studio when she gets back to the UK. Her younger brother, who often models for her, she tells me, is taking a year out from a sports management degree.
There’s plenty to talk about, and after she’s finished packing we head for the canteen-like restaurant together, to carry on getting to know each other over dhal and rice and vegetable curry. Dean, I discover, is much quieter than his older sister, without being unfriendly: she tends to dominate the conversation and, although I love her vivacious chatter, I find myself hoping that I get the opportunity to talk to Dean alone. Only then will I know if I stand a chance.
Above all, I’m keen to find out more about their plans, even if they contend that they don’t really have any. If they are heading in the same general direction as me, with the same ultimate destination in mind, they might be open to taking a fellow traveller on board. I’m feeling a little apprehensive at the prospect of making my way around by myself, and if I can hook up with like-minded souls, then all the better. Especially if there’s the prospect of a romantic entanglement with one of them.
But the last thing I want to do is scare them away by comin
g on too strong or by seeming too desperate. If it’s going to happen, it has to be at their suggestion or invitation. Having said that, there’s nothing stopping me from planting the seed in their minds.
We all turn in early, shattered by our respective bus journeys to Kanha, mellow from the beers and the company, and most of all mindful that we have to be up at dawn if we want the chance of going out on an elephant and seeing a tiger. At five the next morning, we are standing beside one of the beasts, watching our driver check the attachments on the huge six-person seat on its back. The reserve is not busy, and Sue, Dean and I are lucky enough to have one of the animals and drivers to ourselves. Though sleepy eyed and tousle haired from bed and lack of coffee, we are all excited at the prospect of going out. Seeing a tiger is far from guaranteed, but as the dawn mist clears, we may – according to our guide – be treated to sightings of panthers, hyenas, sloth bears, Indian bisons, barking deers, porcupines, mongooses, parakeets and more.
I position myself so that when we are helped up onto the pachyderm’s back, I’m on the same side of the seat as Dean, hoping that I might get a chance to chat to him, to get to know him a little better, especially as Sue will probably be busy taking photographs. She’s already fiddling with her Nikon, oblivious to my subtle machinations, so it’s looking hopeful.
We mount, and I settle into my place beside Dean, as planned. In the half-light he smiles at me in anticipation of our adventure, and I smell his morning breath in the space between us – honeyed and not at all sour, like a child’s. My own breath catches in my throat at our proximity: though still more stubbled, he’s godlike, with a bone structure to die for. It strikes me that though they are both indisputably lovely, he and Sue don’t really look that alike, beyond the superficial similarities of their colouring. Though her frame is athletic like his, her face is softer, plumper, less delineated. And those large breasts tell me that her svelteness is probably less genetic than striven for, paid for in hours at the gym or spent pounding the pavements in jogging kit.
Chilli Heat Page 11