Always you, p.3
Always You, page 3
Brunch with his parents had become a monthly obligation and I knew Nik hated the interrogation he had to endure about his life and valued my support.
‘OK,’ I acquiesced.
He planted a huge soppy kiss on my cheek which I quickly wiped away and I shoved him out of the door. ‘Will you go already. I’ve got food to make.’
He walked off, half turning to blow me a kiss and pose as if he was on an ad shoot: jacket slung over his shoulder, white shirt unbuttoned more than halfway down, his pecs dancing beneath the fabric. I giggled and waved him away.
I closed the door and went back upstairs and set to work on making the dolmádes.
‘Fold, fold, roll.’ My three-word instruction flowed from my mouth as I tried to process the events of last night. Eventful was an understatement. Nik and Toby were now barred from the school indefinitely.
But why had I lied to Nik about seeing Ash?
A sharp cramp interrupted that thought. I dropped the vine leaf and pushed the skin at my hip inwards, willing the pain to abate. I stumbled to the bathroom, ripping my food gloves off, and pulled out my prescribed medication from the cupboard above the basin. I swallowed a couple of tablets with several scoops of water from the tap.
Day Six. I scrunched my eyes tight and breathed through clenched teeth. The monthly pattern seemed to be changing. Maybe it was the spicy kebab Nik and I had shared late last night once we got booted out of the dance. The last GP I had seen had told me to record any flare-ups after eating certain foods to see if there was a pattern.
I sank onto the bathroom floor and let my mind wander to the Bollywood movie I had imagined yesterday: colours, music, dancing. Always dancing. Me and Ash together, like time had been suspended. I floated on the ridge of the pain as the minutes passed, allowing myself to believe in the fantasy of a happier time.
As the pain eventually eased, I returned to my tasks for the deli and made a mental note – avoid spicy kebabs in future.
Creeping down the stairs to the deli a couple of hours later, I slipped on my apron and switched on the lights. I made several salads in the small kitchen at the back and brought out some prepared meals from the fridges that Dad had cooked last night.
When I pulled up the blinds my heart lurched as I saw who was waiting outside, leaning on the window. Ash. Decked out in a navy-blue polo shirt and jeans, he had his arms folded over his chest as if he were nervously waiting for something.
When he saw me, a smile flooded his face – the creases by his eyes intensifying. I flipped over the Open sign and unbolted the door.
‘Hey.’ His voice was soft, almost apologetic.
I took in the sight of him for a second – the glimpse last night had been too fleeting. His face was as I remembered, but his shoulders and chest were broader, a day-old stubble caressing his jaw, hair a little wet as if he had just had a shower.
‘What are you doing here?’ I asked.
He pointed to the sign in the window. ‘You sell coffee, right?’
I laughed. ‘Yes, of course we sell coffee. Come in. I’ll make you one.’ I ushered him inside.
‘Thanks.’ He brushed past me, a hint of shower gel confirming what I had suspected.
I placed some beans in the percolator and pulled down the handle until it poured out into the portafilter. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ash drag out a chair and sit at one of the three tables we had tucked away in the deli. I guessed that meant he was staying.
Bringing him his coffee, I turned to go back to behind the counter when I felt a touch on my hand. Ash held it lightly – the tingle from his touch fizzing up my arm, igniting a warmth inside me that I hadn’t felt in years.
‘Do you have time to talk?’ he asked.
The ding of the bell above the door caused Ash to pull his hand away.
‘I’d love to, but I’ve got to work,’ I said, with a nod to acknowledge the customers.
His face fell. ‘Maybe later? What time do you close?’
‘Five thirty.’
‘I’ll be back then. It’s been what … six years?’
‘Seven,’ I said without hesitation.
He twisted his cup. ‘That’s a long time. We have a lot to catch up on. I wasn’t even sure you’d still be here.’
I tightened the belt of my apron. ‘I’m still here,’ I said with a note of resignation, spreading my hands out to take in the sweep of the room.
I went to the group that had just come in and didn’t even notice Ash leaving. My mind whirred. What did he want to talk about? I didn’t want to go back to the last time we had seen each other – it was too painful.
I swept the broom around the last remaining diners, hoping they would get the message that I was closing. Dad had helped with the lunchtime crowd as usual but now he would be happily playing cards and backgammon with his friends at the Hellenic Greek centre – a hall in a neighbourhood a few miles away from ours, where a large group of men in their fifties and sixties liked to congregate to talk about the old days and drink ouzo.
I checked my watch. Quarter to six. There was no sign of Ash. I guessed something must have come up. Oh well, there was no point in dwelling on what he had wanted to talk about.
I still had a couple of hours free before I was due at Nik’s. My feet throbbed and I was looking forward to reclining on the sofa upstairs and having a cup of tea. It would also give me time to run through some practice interview questions.
As I went to turn off the light, a tap on the window made me turn. Ash stood outside looking contrite. I unbolted the door.
He held his hands flat against each other as though he was praying. ‘I am so sorry. It was a struggle to get away. Family.’ It was a one-word excuse, but I understood without any need for an explanation.
‘That’s fine. I wasn’t waiting long.’
He comically swiped his hand across his forehead. ‘Phew. I thought I might have missed you.’
‘I actually have plans this evening but—’
‘Of course.’ He nodded. ‘You’re busy, I understand. But … do you have time for one drink?’ His eyebrows raised. ‘We could go to the Village Green, for old times’ sake.’
I took in his pleading look. ‘Sure. Let me lock up and freshen up a bit. I smell of grease and oil. I’ll meet you round the side in a few minutes.’
His shy smile warmed my insides. I battled to suppress the feelings that his presence was stirring in me. If I closed my eyes, I would be in that meadow again, with him – our hands entwined, grass in our hair, sun on our faces.
After a change into a vest top and skirt, I grabbed my bag and headed down to meet him. The sun was still warm enough for no jacket.
As we walked down the road towards the pub, we didn’t look at each other. So much time had passed, I guessed he didn’t know where to begin and neither did I.
I turned and caught him looking at me, but he pursed his lips and shoved his hands into his pockets.
‘I guess the obvious first question is, why are you here? I mean, back in Birmingham. I thought you live permanently in Mumbai.’
‘I do.’ He rubbed his chin, his face looking sombre. ‘I’m back for a few days.’
‘Surely you didn’t come all the way from India for the reunion?’
He laughed. ‘Definitely not. I came back because … well …’ He clenched his hands. ‘There’s no easy way to say it. My dad is dying.’
I stopped suddenly and turned towards him. ‘Oh, Ash. I’m so sorry.’
He shrugged and carried on walking. ‘That’s what he believes, anyway. I still have hope. It’s leukaemia. He’s being stubborn. Refusing treatment. My mum is beside herself. She begged me to come to try and talk some sense into him.’ He held his palms upwards. ‘He is convinced his life is in the hands of the gods and we can’t disrupt their plans. My parents usually come to see me in summer. I have not been back here since … well since I left after university. But how could I not come now? I got the reminder about the reunion and thought that maybe, well, I wondered what it would be like to go back.’
‘But you didn’t stay long.’
He didn’t elaborate and I sensed the awkwardness between us. Had he seen me kissing Nik? He must have.
‘Do you work at the deli every day?’
‘Only Saturdays but I help prepare the food in the morning like always and I do lock-ups too. I’ve worked as an assistant curator at the museum for a few years now.’
He nodded enthusiastically. ‘I’d love to hear about it.’
I filled him in on my day-to-day life – the documenting of findings, school tours, hours spent staring into a microscope. The more I talked about my role, the more I realised I had stagnated there – this promotion was essential for progression.
Before long, we reached the pub and Ash held the door open for me.
‘Shall we sit in the beer garden?’ he said. ‘It’s quite stuffy in here.’ He tugged at the neckline of his polo shirt.
‘OK.’
‘What can I get you?’
‘Something refreshing.’
‘The usual?’
I smiled, surprised that he remembered after all this time. ‘Yes, but without the vodka.’
Out at the back of the pub, the atmosphere was convivial – large beer barrels were spaced out on the grass with punters sitting in front of them swigging drinks from plastic cups. Outdoor lights lined the perimeter of the fence and were also strung in criss-cross patterns across the garden – ready to be switched on once day turned to dusk. I settled at a barrel close to the back, far enough from the chatter of families enjoying the balmy summer’s evening – their kids’ raucous cries filling the air as they ran around in the children’s area at the far side.
Ash came out a few minutes later with a beer for him and a glass of cranberry and grapefruit juice for me. It was a mixture that always raised eyebrows from the barman, but had been my favourite drink since Ash and I had come up with the combination one day after my first A-level exam and I had needed to offload.
‘I had forgotten how much a pint of beer costs here,’ he said.
‘You’ve been gone from England too long.’
He nodded. ‘I have.’
I took a sip of my drink through the straw – the tartness of the grapefruit juice catching on the roof of my mouth. Stirring it, the ice cubes clinked against the sides. It was a measured movement because I had no clue what to say. Apologise straight off the bat?
I stroked the glass, my finger growing wet as it wiped off the condensation. ‘The last time I saw you, Ash—’
‘It doesn’t matter. I put you in a very awkward position and I am sorry.’
‘You have no reason to be sorry.’ I shook my head. ‘It’s me that should be apologising to you.’
‘Perhaps we can call a truce. There’s no need to hash out what was said back then. Too much time has passed now. Too many things have happened.’ He clutched his glass, a faraway look in his eyes.
And too much pain.
I wasn’t sure I could ever forget what had happened that night in Cambridge – the last time we had been together. But my absence after that time in the coming weeks when he had so desperately needed a friend had haunted me for years – too long a time to offer any credible excuse.
‘I tried to get in touch … but I understand why you’ve kept your distance. I’ve missed you, though.’ I whispered the words, not daring to look back up at him.
‘I’ve missed you too,’ he said, his voice deep and measured, ignoring my first statement.
He moved his clenched fist across the barrel and let his little finger stretch out. It was then I clocked the absence of the plaited bracelet he had once worn around his wrist – a friendship bracelet I had made him during a sewing class in Year Eight. It had been frayed at the edges when I had last seen him wear it in Cambridge.
Slowly but surely, I moved my hand across to meet his in the middle of the table and let my little finger clasp his. Our eyes met as the lights around the garden flickered on and his smile sent butterflies skittering through my stomach.
‘Forever?’ I said hesitantly.
‘For always,’ he murmured. After a moment, he pulled his hand back and cradled his beer before taking a swig and looking around the pub garden. ‘Do you remember when we came here after your exams? The relief you felt.’
‘Yeah. Me in floods of tears because I thought I had messed them all up. You helping me drown my sorrows even though you were still in the middle of yours. You know what else I remember?’
‘No, what?’
‘The time we hid that box – the one we thought would survive the apocalypse.’
‘Oh my.’ He laughed. ‘Yes, I remember. Surely it’s been twenty years by now.’ He flicked his fingers one by one, counting under his breath. ‘We should be dead.’
I reached out and pinched him on the arm.
‘Ouch.’ He rubbed his skin. ‘What was that for?’
‘I’m just checking you’re real; that a meteorite didn’t hit the Earth and we are all robots.’
‘Well, I felt that, so yes I am very real.’ He shook his head. ‘I can’t believe we fell for what he said.’
‘You mean Nik?’
His face darkened. ‘I saw you with him last night. I had no idea that you were … together.’
I didn’t want to go into details about our relationship. ‘He was the one who persuaded me to come. I wasn’t keen. You know how I feel about dances.’
‘I do,’ he said sadly, sweeping a few crisp crumbs off the barrel.
‘I wonder if it’s still there. The box. Wasn’t that our plan: to open it after twenty years?’
‘I think it was.’
We held each other’s gaze and his warm smile tickled my insides.
‘Shall we go and see if it is still there?’ I asked.
‘Go to Stockland Park with a shovel and dig it up?’
‘Good point. We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves. It is still quite light.’
He bit his bottom lip, lost in thought.
Those lips. Kissing them had been a mistake. I only wished we could roll back time and I had not ruined everything by kissing those lips. That kiss changed everything.
Love changed everything.
‘How about later tonight?’ Ash said, breaking my thoughts. ‘You said you have plans, but maybe you could meet me afterwards, say eleven? I’m going back to Mumbai tomorrow. My family duty is complete for now. Dad is visiting the local hospital next week for his first round of chemo. This would be my only chance to do it with you.’
I hesitated. Saturday nights were my nights with Nik. There was no way I could tell him I was not staying after dinner because I had plans with Ash. I knew how he felt about him, and I had learned long ago never to get involved with whatever had caused them to become sworn enemies. Perhaps I could come up with something important I had to do back home. Staying over had become routine but it wasn’t fixed.
The idea of sneaking around to go to the park under a veil of darkness brought that night twenty years ago into sharp focus. No one knew what we had done. It was always our secret. And I was good at keeping secrets.
‘OK, let’s do it,’ I said.
Chapter 6
When we were eight
‘I’m going to sneeze,’ Ash said.
‘Pinch your nose,’ Lina whispered.
‘I can’t. Then I’ll get dust in my throat, and I’ll start coughing.’
The dust mites under Lina’s parents’ bed were tickling her nose too and scratching at the back of her throat but she knew they had to keep as quiet as church mice. Why it was only church mice that were expected to be quiet often baffled Lina. It was a phrase her mum always used when she dragged Lina and her big brother Alex to the Greek Orthodox church on a Sunday. The incense the high priest waved continuously made her sneeze, so she had learned to hold her nose.
‘Do we have to stay under the bed?’ Ash asked, his nose twitching.
‘Sssh,’ Lina said a lot more loudly than Ash had uttered those words. Footsteps from outside the room got nearer and a door creaked.
‘Lina, are you in here?’ The tone in her dad’s voice made Lina fear she was in trouble. Ash laid a hand on hers and squeezed it but when she turned to look at him, she realised he had clutched it for his own benefit. There was fear etched on his face and he was biting his bottom lip. Lina wondered if Ash had ever done anything naughty.
The door closed, and the footsteps faded.
‘We’re going to get in trouble,’ Ash said, his voice trembling.
‘Wait,’ Lina said, shuffling away.
Ash grabbed the sleeve of her jumper. ‘Where are you going?’
‘I want to show you something and I need to go get it.’
‘But what if they find me?’
‘They won’t as long as you don’t sneeze, or cough.’
Lina slithered out from under the bed like she was getting herself out of a rope net on an army assault course. She scampered around, opening the drawers from the chest in the corner of the room and the bedside table. No luck. There was only one other place it could be: the wardrobe. She opened the door and got inside, pulling it back as far as it would go. It never closed because it was broken.
In the darkness she rummaged, deep behind her mum’s collection of sweaters and shoes. She often snuck in here when she was scared. The smell of her mum’s perfume was always comforting and the soft wool she enveloped herself in was what she thought sinking into a giant marshmallow would be like. Not that she was often scared, she wanted to add. Nothing made her scared.
There it was. In the deepest right corner of the wardrobe. The wooden box. Her mum had once brought it to her bedroom to show her the contents. Jewels and rings and necklaces filled the velvet-lined interior. The letters ‘ES’ had been engraved on top and she had asked her mum what they stood for, but she couldn’t remember the explanation she had been given because her pounding heart was drowning out her thoughts.
