‘So, you’re not a professor yet?’ said Ajith.
‘It takes a long time,’ she began. Seeing his grin, she stopped. She had told him all this before, he was just winding her up. ‘So no,’ she said. ‘Not yet.’
The veranda often caught a cooling breeze from the garden. Thatha brought a standing fan in, making it even better. The drinks arrived and Chaya sipped her tea and watched her niece and nephew in the garden. It was nice to be home. Strange, in some ways, but still nice.
‘So, how is London?’ Thatha said.
She tried to tell them about her life in England. It wasn’t exciting, the endless cycle of work and sleep, but the way Malini listened to her, you’d think it was impossibly exotic.
She was in the middle of telling them about the New Year fireworks, which she’d watched from the top of one of the science buildings, when someone banged on the gate. Out went Leela again and another car pulled up. Thatha’s brother and his family spilled out. There followed a bit of a scrum as Chaya tried to genuflect at the feet of her aunt and uncle, they tried to kiss the top of her head, little cousins tried to kneel at the feet of all the various grown-ups and the adults exchanged salutations over all the genuflecting heads.
This melee happened every time her relatives met. It was a sign of respect that when you met an older relative, you bowed in front of them to receive their blessing. This practice was dying out now, but Chaya’s family had always done it, so Chaya and Malini had learned to do it. Over the years they had refined the kneeling rigmarole down to a quick swoop that showed the necessary diffidence, but avoided having to actually get down very far.
Thatha and his brother looked very similar, but their wives could not have been more different. Amma wore her hair in a tight bun at the back of her head and wore saris or, at most, ankle-length skirts with smart, modest blouses. Chaya’s aunt on the other hand, had a Princess Di haircut (still!) and tended to wear calf length skirts and high heels.
Ajith brought out more chairs from the dining room and the circle of people around Chaya expanded. She had to repeat what little news she had. It amazed her that people could think her life was glamorous. The fact that it was just work, home, then work again, never seemed acceptable.
Not long after, there was yet another clanging at the gate. This time it was a grown-up cousin, with her family. More chairs were sourced from the rest of the house. Soon the veranda was crammed with people.
Everyone ended up staying for dinner. Leela had cooked Chaya’s favourite curries – devilled potatoes, pumpkin, beans and pork curry. They all ate together, eleven people crammed around the dining table designed to seat eight. Everyone was talking at once, sometimes in Singhalese, sometimes in English, mostly in a mix of both, changing from one language to the other mid sentence. Conversations flowed over, under and through one another.
Chaya nodded and joined in and laughed at the jokes, but as always, felt a little apart from the banter. Once, she had been a part of it, fitting easily into the flow, but ever since Noah, she had felt like she was something other. She could never fully relax, in case she said something that gave her away. Where once she had been open and free, now she had to make a conscious effort to blend in. Even though Noah was long gone, she still felt that distance and although she joined in the conversation, she wasn’t fully part of it anymore. And that hurt.
Chapter Nine
Gimhana – London, 2005
Gimhana was furious. He managed to swallow his anger and make it out of the office. The firm had just announced the new senior associates. Three of them. He wasn’t among them.
‘Jim!’ someone hurried after him.
Pah. Why did he expect them to give him his due? They couldn’t even be bothered to learn his name properly.
‘Jim, wait up.’ Barry caught up with him.
Gim stabbed the button for the lift and breathed carefully through his nose. Barry was his friend, one of the people who supported him. Life was unfair. He didn’t need to take it out on Barry. He let his breath out slowly, schooled his face into a neutral expression and turned. He was good at hiding what he was feeling. He’d had years of practice.
‘Hi Barry. Off to celebrate?’
‘Yes, I thought I might join the rest of them for a swift pint,’ said Barry pleasantly.
The lift arrived and they stepped in. When the doors closed, Barry said, ‘I’m sorry. It should have been you.’
It should have been. He put in the hours. He was good at his job. Better, in fact, than two of those people who had been promoted above him. He said nothing.
‘It’s not fair, I know,’ said Barry. ‘But remember what I told you last year. It’s not just about the work. It’s about fitting in, too. It’s a very traditional place. If you want to make it here, you have to embrace that side of things. Old-fashioned family values.’
Old-fashioned. Gimhana nodded. A year ago, Barry had told him that if he wanted to get ahead, he needed to get married. It had seemed like too much of a leap then, but now…
The lift reached the bottom floor and they walked out together.
‘Look,’ said Barry quietly. ‘If you want to leave, I can guarantee you a good reference.’
Gimhana took a swift glance around the main foyer. There was no one from the office around. ‘And if I don’t want to leave?’ he said.
‘Then you’re going to have to… squash certain rumours,’ said Barry. ‘Get a girlfriend. Better yet, get married.’
He tried so hard to pass for straight. He was pretty sure he succeeded most of the time. He wondered if Barry knew.
As though anticipating his question, Barry said, ‘You’re a good-looking man. You seem to be permanently single and people talk,’ he said. ‘Your private life is your business, but if you want to get ahead in this particular firm…’
It was a good place to work. They had a great employee benefit package and very low staff turnover. There was a generally warm atmosphere. It was a great place to work, in fact, so long as you fitted in.
He sighed. ‘Thanks Barry.’
Barry patted him on the shoulder. ‘You’re good,’ he said. ‘You deserve to be recognised.’
‘Thanks.’
‘So, you coming to the pub then?’
‘I… can’t. I have a dentist appointment. Pass my congrats on though, please.’
‘Of course,’ Barry said. ‘Hope the dental appointment goes well.’
As he walked away, Gimhana’s anger gave way to despair. He had hoped Barry was wrong, but he wasn’t. It was an old-fashioned firm, in many ways. They were slowly opening up to people of different ethnic groups, mainly among the secretaries and support staff. The only non-white fee earners were Gimhana and another Londoner who was of Vietnamese descent. He had known all this when he took the job. At that time, he hadn’t been in a position to refuse the offer. Now he was too invested to move on and start again.
He cursed under his breath. He was going to have to find a wife. He didn’t want to, but it looked like he didn’t have much choice. As he clattered down the steps to the underground, he reflected that it was a good job he was going to Sri Lanka soon. He could ask his mother to look out for someone for him. The thought brought with it a hint of a smile. His mother would love that.
Chapter Ten
Chaya – Colombo, 2005
After breakfast the next day, she wandered, barefoot, into the veranda and sat in a wicker chair.
As it was still morning, there was a hint of dew in the air. In a few hours, when the sun got to work, the world would be sweaty and airless and the plants would lie gasping in the heat, but for now, it was cool and pleasant.
A tin bell clanked. A cow was outside the gate, munching up the grass that grew on the roadside verge. From where she sat, she could see its tail swishing. She thought of Oxford, where everything was segregated; cars on the road, people on the pavement, cows penned into fields. Here, even in the suburbs, the cows wandered around, trimming the grass in public places and
getting in the way of the motorists. It was utterly disorganised and elegant at the same time.
The bus rattled past in a cloud of dust and diesel smoke. The cow paused in its munching for a bit, then carried on, moving out of sight. Once the bus had passed, tranquillity returned. Chaya laid her head back against the wall and breathed in the smells of her childhood; cinnamon, garlic and onion frying in the kitchen, the trace smells of roses and frangipani, the hint of diesel, the sour undersmell of the roadside drain. She felt herself unfurling, spreading out to reach the rustling trees, the cawing birds and the vast, cloudless sky.
For the first time in what felt like forever, she could do… nothing. The tension in her shoulders eased, like knots untying. She suddenly felt centred, as though she’d found the place where she fit best. This must be what it meant to feel at home. She wished she could bottle that feeling and take it back to England with her.
The sharp beep of a horn made her jump. She opened her eyes to see Leela running up to the gate with the keys. Malini drove her car in and parked in the car port, where Thatha’s car usually was. She emerged from the car looking fresh and groomed, as though she hadn’t just spent the morning shepherding children into school uniforms and fighting Colombo traffic to get them to school on time. Even in casual clothes – she was wearing jeans and a white cotton shirt – Malini looked like she was ready to be photographed. It had always been like that. Malini was the pretty one, Chaya was the clever one. These were their roles in the family.
Chaya waved, not bothering to get up. Malini dropped into a chair opposite her. ‘How’s the jet lag?’
‘Been worse,’ said Chaya. She tipped her head back and closed her eyes again.
Amma bustled in. ‘Oh,’ she said, stopping in the doorway. ‘Look at the two of you. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you both sitting in the veranda like that.’
The two sisters looked at each other and smiled.
‘I’m so proud of you both,’ Amma said. ‘Malini has given me such wonderful grandchildren and Chaya is doing… such great things.’
Chaya shook her head, still smiling. Her mother still had no idea what she did.
‘It’s good to have you both together.’ Amma joined them, moving a third chair, so that she could sit with them. ‘So Chaya, do you have plans of things to do?’
‘No,’ said Chaya. ‘I am going to relax. Read books. Eat stuff.’ She smiled. She’d earned this break.
‘I was thinking,’ said Amma, ‘it might be nice for us to go and have a facial and a hairstyling at the new salon I’ve found.’
Chaya frowned. Since when did Amma do pampering treatments? Hair cuts, yes, but facials?
‘I’ve booked us all in for an appointment in two days’ time,’ Amma said. She gave Malini a pointed look.
Malini put her phone away. ‘I’m really looking forward to it,’ she said quickly.
Chaya didn’t doubt that. Now that the children were in school, Malini did the odd bit of modelling. Having kids hadn’t ruined her figure, it had just made it curvier. Amma often sent Chaya newspaper clippings of Malini looking wistfully into the distance in some designer sari blouse or salwar kameez set.
‘You could do with a haircut,’ Amma said, looking thoughtfully at Chaya. ‘Perhaps you and Malini can go do some shopping afterwards. Get a nice outfit for the party. There are some really nice things in Odel.’
‘That sounds like a great idea.’ Malini’s expression was a little too innocent. Amma, too, seemed a little on edge. Chaya looked from one to the other. They were up to something. She could tell.
‘What’s going on?’ she said, glaring straight at Malini. She was the easier one to crack.
Malini looked at their mother meaningfully.
‘What?’ said Chaya, sitting up. ‘Tell me.’
Amma rolled her eyes. ‘Chaya, darling,’ she said. ‘You’re thirty years old now. And we—’
Malini cleared her throat.
‘I,’ Amma corrected herself. ‘I thought it would be nice if we introduced you to a few people. There’s this young man, he’s come over on holiday from Germany. He seems very—’
‘No. Amma.’ Her voice was too loud. She made an effort and lowered it. ‘Don’t try to set me up. We’ve been through this before. You know I don’t want to get married.’ Amma had tried to set up meetings with people who were in London before. She’d always found excuses to avoid them.
‘But we’re worried about you, darling. You are all alone over there, working so hard. Look at you. You’re all skin and bones. You’re not looking after yourself and you’re working too hard. You need to settle down, get married. This being on your own is bad for you.’
‘I told you. I don’t need to get married. I can manage perfectly well without a man.’
‘Oh, but darling, you’re thirty now. It will only get harder and harder to find a match for you. I don’t want you to end up alone.’ Her voice dropped as though just saying the words out loud were dangerous. ‘A spinster.’
Chaya looked at Malini, who said, ‘It’s just an introduction, Chaya. What’s the harm?’
‘I don’t believe this,’ she said. ‘You set me up.’ But then she saw the anxiety in her mother’s earnest expression. This was important to her. She glanced at Malini, who raised her eyebrows.
It was only an introduction. It wasn’t worth arguing about it and ruining the whole of her holiday over it. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘I’ll meet this guy. But don’t expect too much. I don’t need you to find me a husband. I’m doing just fine without one.’
The look they gave her told her that they thought otherwise.
‘Well then, if that’s settled. Let me make some phone calls.’ Amma pushed herself to her feet. ‘I am sure you’ll like him, anyway. He seems very good. And if not, there are a few other options on my list.’
‘Wait a minute, there’s a list?’ This was an ambush. Chaya glared at Malini, who had the grace to look embarrassed.
‘Of course,’ said Amma. ‘I made a list, just in case you said yes.’
Chaya drew breath to protest, furious that they’d tripped her up like that.
‘None of us is young anymore and Thatha’s heart is weak,’ said Amma. ‘All I want is to see my two girls both settled while your Thatha and I are still alive.’ She pressed a hand to her heart. ‘When Chaya is married, then my job is done. I can die happy.’
Chaya sighed. How could she argue with that? When Amma had disappeared into the house, Chaya hissed to Malini, ‘I can’t believe you stitched me up like that.’
Malini shifted uncomfortably. ‘I know you don’t want the same things I did, but she does have a point, Chaya. You don’t look well. You work too hard and… there’s more to life than a career.’
‘But it’s my choice,’ she said. ‘And I choose to do something worthwhile with my life.’
Malini’s mouth set into a hard line. Chaya winced. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that raising a family isn’t worthwhile. It really is. But it’s not for me.’ She smiled, trying to make amends. ‘I’d be rubbish at it anyway.’
Malini shook her head. ‘No, you wouldn’t. You’re really good with my two.’
‘That’s because they’re not mine. I love them dearly, you know that. But I wouldn’t want to be responsible for them full time.’
‘Oh nonsense. No one is ever prepared for kids. The biological clock will kick in at some point.’ Malini leaned forward. ‘What are you so afraid of?’
Chaya stared out at the garden. What was she afraid of? She had given everything she had to her work. At first, she had wanted the career so that she could make her family proud of her, make her worthy in the way Malini seemed to be. And then her career had become the thing she wanted in its own right. She had given up Noah for a combination of family and ambition and if she slacked off now, it would have all been in vain. She needed to keep her focus. Noah had moved on, that chapter of her life was closed. Her career was all she had left.
‘I’m n
ot afraid,’ she said.
Malini made a sceptical noise. ‘Maybe just be open-minded. See where it takes you. You never know, you might like the guy.’
‘Like him enough to marry him? I doubt it.’
‘You’re not looking for love, not immediately anyway. You just need someone you’d be comfortable being with. Love will grow,’ said Malini. ‘At least, it has for my friends who had arranged marriages.’ She gave a small laugh. ‘The arranged ones are doing a bit better than some of the love matches.’
Chaya looked over at her. ‘Everything okay with you?’
Malini looked up. ‘What? Oh, yes. Everything is fine. Ajith is… well, he’s Ajith.’ She gave that fond little smile that she always had when she talked about him. ‘I meant a couple of my friends.’
Chaya nodded. She knew about those. Malini had told her in one of the many long emails she’d sent. Malini and Ajith were a textbook happy marriage. They seemed so close. ‘How did you know?’ she asked. ‘When you met Ajith, how did you know he was the one for you?’
Malini laughed. ‘It was so long ago, I can’t remember. I suppose it was a gut feeling. I just knew.’
‘Gut feeling,’ said Chaya. That wasn’t a helpful measure. ‘Right.’
Chapter Eleven
Chaya – Colombo, 2005
Chaya had been back in Sri Lanka only two days and already the suitors were arriving. Amma had persuaded her to wear a sari for the meeting.
Amma came in. ‘Aren’t you ready yet?’ she said. ‘They’ll be here any minute.’
Chaya looked at her watch. ‘They’re not due for another half an hour.’
‘They might be early.’ Amma tweaked the sleeves of Chaya’s blouse so that it sat better on her shoulders.
‘That’s not going to happen. Is it?’ Chaya jerked her shoulder. ‘Sri Lankans are never early.’
Amma frowned. ‘I hope you’re going to behave in a more ladylike manner when they get here. You have to be charming and polite. Don’t be too forward. Men don’t want a woman who’s too forward.’ Amma picked up a brush and started fussing at Chaya’s hair. ‘And don’t go on about your education too much. You don’t want to intimidate him.’
A Convenient Marriage Page 5
