Secrets and lies, p.19
Secrets and Lies, page 19
Did Sam seriously think Lily was fool enough not to see that this trip had been set up purely for Sam’s brother to slaver all over her? And what a slobbering idiot he was, all mooning eyes and breathless ‘Lily this’, ‘Lily that’. As for those other two—the Dodgy Duo, as Lily had already mentally dubbed Zeba and Natasha for their god-awful flirty behaviour—they couldn’t have been more snotty if they’d tried. Rubbing her nose so horribly in the fabulous lives they led, compared to her own lonely one. She’d had it with their persistent cold-shouldering and meanness, she thought. ‘You will not cry, Lily D’Souza, you will not cry,’ she hissed sharply to herself, keeping one hand on her clogged throat. A sales assistant materialised from the dark interior of the shop. ‘You are wanting some help, baby?’ he grinned. ‘Come, come inside. I will show you everything. Come, na?’
Lily saw red paan-stained teeth and a lascivious expression and turned tail. She fled as fast as she could, running down the corridors of M-Block and out into the sunshine where an auto-rickshaw nearly careered into her, screaming its tinny horn angrily as it drove on. What was it with this world? she thought. Either they wanted to exploit you or they were trying to kill you!
She looked over her shoulder and saw that the shop-man wasn’t following her. Taking a deep breath, she spotted what looked like a gift shop in the next block. ‘Giggles’ it said over the door. The shop next door was a card shop called ‘Sniggers’. Well, if those didn’t cheer her up, nothing would. She was damned if she was going back to the cottage straightaway. The Old Bat had been tickled pink at the idea of Lily being invited out by Samira Hussain and her gang. ‘Oh that’s marvellous, they’re such a lovely bunch of girls, I’m so pleased for you, darling,’ she had said.
‘Maahvellous! Lahvley!’ Lily mumbled mockingly. What did she, her so-called grandmother, know? And who was she to decide who was of worth and who wasn’t? Lily wondered what her grandmother would say if she went back and told her that the faultless, chaste Samira Hussain had invited her only to pimp on behalf of her brother. That would no doubt make Principal Victoria Lamb keel right over in shock.
Lily wandered through the gift shop, inspecting the small clay trophies marked ‘For My Best Friend’ and ‘World’s Greatest Mum’. She stopped next to one that showed a figure in a tartan dressing gown and slippers, pipe in his mouth and goofy expression on his face, with the words ‘World’s Best Dad’ written on the pedestal beneath. Lily shot a look over her shoulder and, when she saw that the woman behind the till was busy serving a customer, she picked up the small figurine and, with all her might, smashed it against the wall in a swift blow. Wiping a bit of crumbled plaster onto the back of her jeans, she then quickly exited the shop. Her action was both puerile and futile but Lily felt much better for indulging in such mindless violence, closing her eyes as she turned her face up to the sun and swallowing back the inevitable tears.
Chapter Sixteen
LONDON, 2008
Sam anxiously scanned the members’ room at the Tate Modern. It was buzzing as usual, people carrying trays of drinks and salads to the tables lining the room as autumn sunshine lit up the dome of St Paul’s in the distance. She was five minutes early but that was preferable to being late, in her view, especially when meeting Anita and her new man. She wondered if she ought to first visit the toilet to touch up her lipstick. The last thing she’d want was to let Anita down when meeting Hugh for the first time, especially since her friend was increasingly sounding—for the first time ever—quite genuinely in love. She wondered whether Hugh had heard as much about her and Bubbles as they had of him, but thought not. Journalist couples probably spent all their time discussing world affairs and other high-minded things. Hugh was, Sam decided, very unlikely to notice if she had put lippy on or not. It had been far more imperative to pore over the papers all morning in order to practice intelligent things to say—which Sam had diligently done, even voicing aloud to her mirror her views on the credit crunch and Obama’s chances of success in the forthcoming US election, formulating her thoughts this way and that as she had got dressed.
There they were, around the corner, seated on one of the sofas overlooking the river. Sam’s heart gave a little lurch as she saw Anita, oblivious to all around her, exchange a lingering kiss with a grey-haired man. She was clinging with both hands to the collar of his fleece jacket while he tenderly held her head on both sides, his fingers laced into her hair. Sam couldn’t even remember when she and Akbar had last kissed like that, their entire beings smouldering with longing.
She made her way past the bar and chairs laden with shopping bags and coats, slipping off her own duffle. Autumn had come early again and, without waiting for it to get too cold, Sam had already pulled out her bulky jackets and boots with relief. Being able to cover up was one of the good things about the approach of winter, summer fashions being the bane of her life—all those skimpy spaghetti-tops and minuscule shorts making her feel positively elephantine.
She was spotted as she reached their table and Anita reached out for a hug, laughing and extricating herself from Hugh’s embrace.
‘Hugh, meet my dearest friend in the world, Samira Hussain,’ she said, and, turning to Sam, added just a tad shyly, ‘Sam, this is Hugh Appledawn.’
Sam laughed as she shook hands with Hugh. ‘Do you know, she insists on using my maiden name, even after ten years of marriage!’
‘I don’t see why not,’ Anita said, ‘that’s the name I knew you by for nearly twenty years until Akbar came along.’
‘Oh, Akbar sends his apologies, by the way, couldn’t get away from work. He’d sure have liked to have met you.’ Sam smiled at Hugh, hoping her white lie wouldn’t be obvious to him, even though Anita was rolling her eyes behind his back.
‘Likewise,’ Hugh replied. ‘Anita tells me he’s a corporate lawyer. I recognised the name Koehler & Gunn from a story I did in the City once.’
Sam hoped he wouldn’t mention the details for she was very unlikely to know anything about it. Luckily, Anita was gathering their orders—a pot of tea and scones for Anita and Hugh to share, hot chocolate and a slice of coffee-walnut cake for Sam.
‘There’s no point waiting for Bubbles, I suppose,’ Sam said, looking at a group of people coming through the door.
‘I’m happy to wait,’ Hugh said.
Anita waved their concerns away. ‘She’ll be late, for one, and then when she does turn up all she’ll want is Perrier with lime. We might as well get on with our drinks. Hugh’s booked us tickets to see a movie at the BFI so we won’t be able to stay too long, unfortunately’
‘I noticed that the posters were carrying warnings about “strong real sex,” whatever that means, and it convinced me that it was a must-see!’ joked Hugh.
Anita responded in a hammed-up posh accent, ‘Darling, would you care for some strong real sex tonight?’ making both her companions smile.
‘I get the “real sex” thing on the poster—as opposed to pretend sex, I suppose—but what’s “strong”?’ asked Sam.
‘Hmmm, maybe it’s drawing out the difference between the sort of passionate sex a new couple would have, to the kind of gentle, languid stuff that a couple who’ve been together for years are more likely to have. I’d call the first “strong” and the second “mellow” or something, you know,’ Anita said, adding, ‘three ardent thrusts and it’s strong!’
‘How the hell did we get into this conversation anyway?’ Hugh smiled. ‘Sam, my apologies, I don’t usually launch into a full-scale discussion about sex when in new company. I’m so sorry.’
‘I know,’ Anita concurred as Sam pursed her lips and shook her head in mock-disapproval. ‘But you must be warned, Hugh, Sam’s one of the few people privy to my darkest thoughts. Even…’ she dropped her voice to a droll whisper, ‘even my confession that I do actually have sex on the brain a bit these days!’
Sam was suddenly faintly embarrassed but saw Hugh and Anita exchange a private look that seemed to silently speak volumes. They were far too lost in each other to even notice her discomfiture. She took a sip of water, wondering briefly whether Anita had forgotten that Sam and Akbar had no sex at all these days, let alone ‘gentle, languid sex’ night after night.
Bubbles arrived alongside the tea and cakes in her usual breathless head-turning style, loudly demanding a glass of Perrier with ice on her way to the table, quite forgetting that the Tate Modern bar was self-service. She looked scrumptious, Sam thought, like an iced cupcake in a cream Chanel top with a peach mohair cardigan thrown around her shoulders. She wore Gucci glasses perched on her glossy hair and was trailing clouds of her favourite Amouage perfume. She threw her arms around Hugh exuberantly.
‘Oh, what a cutie you’ve found, Anita! I approve totally,’ Bubbles cried loudly, flinging her bag and packages down on a chair before delving into a Harrods bag to emerge with a small exquisitely packaged gift for Hugh.
As she pressed it into his hands, Sam could see how overwhelmed the poor man was. He’d soon need to get used to Bubbles’ extravagant generosity if he intended staying with Anita. Sam looked at his face, now reddening slightly with all the attention Bubbles was lavishing on him. She certainly hoped he would stay with Anita. He seemed absolutely lovely and was now throwing a helpless look at Anita to check the propriety of accepting a gift from someone he barely knew.
‘It’s fine, sweetie, take it. Bubs will never speak to you again if you don’t,’ Anita warned.
Bubbles’ gift turned out to be an exquisite woollen Louis Vuitton scarf, for which she earned a warm kiss from Hugh before he promptly wound it around his neck, now barely able to conceal his delight, though still glancing at Anita for approval. When she nodded appreciatively, Sam noticed how chuffed Hugh looked. He seemed oddly boyish for forty-something, but sweet and kind and rather nice looking too with all that crisp grey hair—Sam hoped with all her heart that Anita would have the sense not to lose him. Anita’s love life so far had been tumultuous to say the least, or nonexistent, which was probably worse, and made Akbar refer to her derisively as ‘lesbo’.
As teas were poured and forkfuls of cake and scones passed around, the girlfriends quite effortlessly drew Hugh into their circle. And Hugh, for his part, despite never having laid eyes on anyone even remotely resembling Bubbles before, felt that vast quantity of love wrap around him as snugly as his new scarf. Unable to keep up with the rapid-fire conversation full of reference points he didn’t entirely get, he leant back on the sofa, sipping his coffee, marvelling at the easy dynamic that seemed to operate between these quite dissimilar women. Even he could tell from this very first meeting how unalike the three were. Of course, he too had kept in touch with a few classmates from his grammar school in Dudley who were now working in London, meeting up with them for an occasional jar or game of squash. But what Anita and her friends shared apparently transcended normal friendships. He could see it in the way they effortlessly anticipated each other’s tiniest needs—like a spoon or a glass—without a word being exchanged. He’d only ever seen his parents do that kind of thing before, and they’d been married over fifty years!
‘My personal trainer will kill me,’ he heard Bubbles say as she waved away Sam’s offer of a bite of her cake. ‘Hey, did I tell you about him? He’s Italian. Giovanni. He’s Jude Law’s personal trainer actually, recommended to Binkie by James. He was actually employed for Mummy-Papa to try and lose some weight, but they couldn’t be bothered so I’m using him now.’
‘What do you need to lose more weight for, Bubs?’ Sam asked, mildly remonstrative. ‘You’ll just disappear.’
‘What is important is to be fit, not merely lose weight,’ said Anita.
‘Yeah, exactly,’ Bubbles said. ‘I might be thin, but I really do think I should up my fitness. Well, so Giovanni says.’
‘Well, he would, wouldn’t he?’ Anita growled. ‘I mean, the Raheja millions won’t exactly be a turn-off to a penurious personal trainer.’
‘Exercise can do no harm, I say,’ Bubbles insisted.
‘I worry that you’re getting rather addicted to this whole business of fitness, Bubs,’ Sam said. She turned to Hugh. ‘Do you agree that it’s all too easy to get hooked on exercise, Hugh? I think it can work almost like a drug sometimes, taking over your brain a bit. You’re not an exercise junkie, I hope?’
‘Nah,’ Hugh replied, ‘although I wouldn’t mind being a small junkie in that regard. I really should be doing more than just the occasional weekend jog around Clapham Common.’
‘I think Sam’s right,’ Anita put in. ‘You meet these people sometimes whose chief source of conversation is their latest faddy exercise machine or the PB they achieved in the morning. Crashing bores who refuse to drink and still look ready to pass out before the entrée is served because they’ve been at the gym since 5 a.m.’
‘They’re even worse when you get them as couples,’ Sam observed, ‘like Dippy and Tilly—remember those two we met at the Asian Achievement Awards?’
‘Heavens, I remember them and how, when pressed, they fessed up to being Dipankar and Tillotama actually!’ Anita grinned. ‘God, yes, I do recall them describing their epiphanous bonding moments while jogging on Richmond Common.’
‘Like listening to a couple talking about a shared orgasm, wasn’t it?’ Sam giggled.
‘Ooo, I can take it from Anita but it’s not like you to be catty, Sam!’ Bubbles said.
‘Honestly, those two really did manage to get my goat that evening,’ Sam said. ‘It’s not just the way they were but that they operated like brand ambassadors for their lifestyle, telling me essentially that I should aspire to be like them.’
‘My word!’ Hugh chuckled. ‘Perhaps they mistook your politeness for interest. I’ve never met anyone—after my parents, of course—who’d tell me how to live my life. And even they gave up on that in my teens.’
‘Parents, spouses and teachers are the only people allowed to tell you what to do,’ Anita said emphatically, ‘and even that only within reason.’
‘And only nice old teachers, like Lamboo,’ Sam added.
‘Lamboo was Victoria Lamb, our school principal,’ Anita explained, turning to Hugh.
‘That’s not a very Indian name,’ he queried.
‘She wasn’t Indian,’ Sam clarified. ‘But Irish, although back then we all thought she was English. She was a terrific teacher. How we adored her.’
‘She could make even Shakespeare interesting, I remember,’ Bubbles said, with a small shiver of disgust as she said ‘Shakespeare’.
‘Every school in India should rightly have a head like old Victoria Lamb,’ Anita declared. ‘She was St Jude’s. Had been there forever, too. I certainly can’t remember a time when she wasn’t there, and I joined the school aged seven!’
‘And she’s still at Jude’s—isn’t that amazing?’ Bubbles added.
‘Really?’ Hugh asked. ‘She must have been one of those that stayed on after India became independent, like the Greta Scacchi character in Heat and Dust. Well, what made your Miss Lamb stay, do you think?’
‘Don’t think we know the answer to that really,’ Anita replied. ‘Somehow we never got around to asking her.’
‘Well, it would have been a bit rude to ask, wouldn’t it? Like, what are you still doing here when all the rest have gone? And Irish nuns and teachers were not uncommon in Delhi schools in our time. Mostly because of the Catholic church’s missionary work,’ Sam explained.
‘Lamboo certainly cut a lonely figure sometimes, I must say, despite being surrounded by girls all the time,’ Anita recalled.
‘Has anyone replied to her letter yet?’ asked Bubbles.
Sam shook her head. ‘We’ll do a joint letter once I’ve told Akbar.’
‘You are coming, aren’t you, Sam?’ Bubbles asked, looking worried. ‘I won’t go without you.’
Anita elaborated for Hugh’s benefit again. ‘We’ve all had letters from Miss Lamb inviting us to some sort of reunion.’
‘School reunions are usually a hoot,’ Hugh said, failing to notice the women exchanging quick looks as he was looking at his watch. ‘Much as I hate to break up this jolly little gathering, I think we need to leave now, Anita, if we don’t want to be late for our flick,’ he said, smiling at Bubbles and Sam.
‘We may stay for a bit, but you carry on. Don’t be late for your movie,’ Sam said. She got up and gave Hugh a warm hug, adding, ‘It was truly lovely meeting you. My dear friend Anita has needed someone like you to sort her out for a long time.’
‘What do you mean, “sort her out”?!’ Anita spluttered before breaking into a smile and giving both her friends big hugs. ‘Sorry to be rushing like this, my darlings, but today was the only day both Hugh and I had off this week and I didn’t want to delay his meeting you any more.’
Anita yanked on her coat and Sam saw Hugh straighten its collar at the back as they turned the corner. She sighed before sitting down again and turning to Bubbles. ‘He’s nice, isn’t he?’
‘Very sweet,’ Bubbles agreed vehemently.
‘I do hope Anita doesn’t drive him round the bend. He might be a bit too affable for her. She’ll just gobble alive anyone who doesn’t stand up to her.’ She glanced at Bubbles who was still standing and now looked a bit distracted. ‘You don’t have to rush off, do you? Stay and have another drink?’
Bubbles shook her head. ‘Sorry, Sam, but I need to go too. Have my appointment with Gio, you see. The personal trainer guy I told you about.’
Sam smiled. ‘Oh, it’s Gio, is it? Watch you don’t let yourself get seduced by the attentions of an Italian Casanova, my sweet, they do love Indian women, you know…’ She collected her things and got up, not noticing Bubbles’ blushes as her friend hunted in her jacket pocket for her phone to call her driver. They made their way out of the members’ room and went down the escalators to the ground floor. Bubbles’ car and driver were waiting for her in the small alleyway behind the Tate, but Sam turned down Bubbles’ offer of a lift. ‘I’m okay. I should try to walk over the river at least…it’s only at this point that I ask myself why I went and put all that cake in my tummy,’ she said ruefully.
