Gimhana clicked his tongue in sympathy. ‘I hadn’t thought of that. How boring for you. Perhaps you should agree to one of the men, then you get to have a go at looking at their garden…’
Chaya’s step faltered and she shot him a glance. Was that amusement?
He ran through what he’d just said. ‘Not a euphemism,’ he said.
‘I see.’ She gave him her tight little smile. So it was amusement, then. There was a sense of humour buried under that layer of defensiveness.
‘I’ll let you in on a secret,’ she said. ‘I’m not really interested in gardens.’
He was puzzled for a second. Was she trying to tell him something?
She caught his eye. ‘Oh. Er… also not a euphemism.’
He laughed and she smiled back. He liked this woman.
Chaya was nice. In fact, her family were nice too. They seemed very keen and hopeful that Chaya and Gimhana would get on. Her mother had insinuated that she’d been looking for someone for Chaya for a while now. It was said jokingly, but he hadn’t missed the glance Chaya had given her mother. He was still not sure what her angle was. Did she want to get married? Or was her mother pushing her into this?
He was starting to feel bad again. He’d thought that this whole marriage search would help him with his work. At work, you had to look after number one if you wanted to get ahead, but this wasn’t just about work. It involved real people with real feelings. He actually liked Chaya. He could have been friends with her and he didn’t like the idea of being a dick to her.
‘Look, Chaya,’ he said. ‘I… I don’t know how best to say this, but I don’t think this is going to work out.’
She looked up and an emotion that might have been disappointment flitted across her face before she returned to her normal, slightly forbidding expression. Now, he felt worse.
‘No?’ she said.
‘I mean, you’re lovely. And your family are great. But I’m…’ He shrugged. ‘I’m sorry.’
She pressed her lips together and turned away. She took a leaf from a nearby croton bush and rubbed it between her fingers. ‘Okay. Thanks for telling me.’
‘It’s nothing personal,’ he continued. ‘It’s just that… I really don’t think I can do this whole arranged marriage thing.’ He was staring ahead, frowning. Up to now, he hadn’t said anything to the women themselves when he turned them down. He always left it to Ammi. Was this what it felt like? He was an awful coward.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, again.
‘I understand,’ said Chaya. Her voice was tight. ‘Shouldn’t you be saying all this to your mother?’
She sounded annoyed. He didn’t blame her, really. He sighed. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘You’re right, of course. I’m just too… I don’t want to hurt her feelings, you know.’
Chaya nodded. ‘Hmm.’
They followed their mothers round to the rose plants. They didn’t speak to each other again until it was time to say goodbye.
* * *
Afterwards, Chaya and her parents sat down to their usual cup of tea and discussion of how the meeting had gone.
‘They’re nice people,’ said Thatha, nodding. ‘What did you think of the boy, Chaya?’
‘He’s nice,’ said Chaya, carefully. ‘But I got the impression he’s not very interested.’
‘Really?’ said Amma. ‘You two seemed to get on really well. His mother seemed to think so too.’
Chaya thought about what Gimhana had said. She didn’t want Amma to get her hopes up. It would make it that much more disappointing when the rejection finally came. ‘Seriously, Amma. He said he didn’t think it would work out…’
Amma wasn’t listening. She helped herself to a slice of cake. ‘You know,’ she said, thoughtfully, ‘from what Mrs Herath said, Gimhana might be flying back on the same flight as you. Maybe you could sit next to each other and really get to know each other by the time you get to London.’
Chaya sighed.
Chapter Twenty
Gimhana – Colombo, 2005
Gimhana glared out of the car window and felt bad. This was even worse than usual. The fact that two strangers who were meeting for the first time were unlikely to like each other enough to meet again was an understood risk with this marriage brokering business. His parents knew that and the parents of the girl knew that. He was always careful not to show any encouraging signs, even though he was naturally curious about people. This time was different. Although they were both clearly not interested in each other as sexual partners, there was something there. An understanding, almost. He had met her when they weren’t weighed down with the huge expectation to get to know each other and they’d accidentally got on.
Once he’d worked out that Chaya wasn’t looking for a convenient sham marriage, as he was, he had assumed that the meeting was something they both did to comfort their parents, but with no actual expectation from either of them. He’d been wrong. Chaya had been annoyed. He should have seen that coming. It wasn’t so unexpected. What was unexpected was how disappointed that made him feel. Was he so lonely that the prospect of friendship was so precious?
Then there was the matter of his parents. They had clearly thought this was the end of their search. That they’d found a wife for their troublesome son. That was bad.
His mother was talking about how well she’d got on with Chaya’s mother. ‘And she says her daughter is very career-driven and shy and that’s why she’s still single.’ She leaned forward and said, ‘So, Gimhana…?’
The problem was, she’d seen him talking to Chaya at the party. She had assumed that there was a spark already. To Ammi, this meet up was a mere formality. It was like they’d bypassed the first date and jumped straight into a second one.
‘I don’t think so,’ Gimhana said. He beeped the horn at a tuk tuk, leaning on it for an extra long blast.
‘What?’ She put a hand on the back of his seat and strained forward, as though trying to see his face. Since she was sitting directly behind him, she wouldn’t be able to. She moved and tried to look at him through the rearview mirror instead. ‘Why not? She seemed like a very nice girl.’
Why not? He ran through his usual lists of objections – they had nothing in common, they didn’t really understand his ambition, they had unrealistic expectations about life in the UK… none of them worked. He could say something disparaging about Chaya herself, but that didn’t seem right either. ‘I don’t think she wants to get married,’ he said. ‘I think she’s only there because her parents are pressuring her.’
Her mother scoffed. ‘That’s not the impression I got. You are far too cynical.’
‘Anyway, if that’s the case, we’ll find out. But aside from that, is there any objection?’ said his father. There was an edge to his tone. He had been getting increasingly tense with each passing meeting. Did he suspect? Not for the first time, Gimhana wondered how his parents would take it if he just came out to them.
Ack. But he couldn’t. They might hate him. ‘I don’t… I don’t think we’d get on. She’s too ambitious and work-obsessed.’
‘But so are you. You’d get on perfectly,’ said his mother.
‘Two workaholics aren’t a good idea in a marriage.’
In the tense silence that followed, his parents exchanged a glance. His father shook his head. ‘This is ridiculous, Gimhana. Are you actually interested in getting married or not? Every girl we’ve introduced you to, you have some objection about: not driven enough, too driven, too quiet, too loud. What is this, Putha? Have you any idea how much work we have had to do to arrange all this?’
‘I’m sorry. I just—’
An army checkpoint loomed up ahead. His father cursed. For a second, Gimhana thought he was swearing at him, and was shocked, then realised they were being waved down. He slowed the car to a halt.
Looking out of the window, his eyes were level with the machine gun one of the soldiers was carrying. An older man leaned in at his window.
He lowered his w
indow and the hot air rushed into the air-conditioned interior, bringing with it the smell of the muddy lake that lay on the far side of the road.
‘ID please.’
Gimhana dug his Sri Lankan ID card out of his pocket. His parents did the same. He collected them all and handed them out through the window. The man’s gaze locked on to Gimhana’s. For a second he felt a trickle of fear. Homosexuality was still illegal here. If these guys knew, what would they do to him? Turn a blind eye? He thought of the beatings at school. Perhaps it depended on who was there to witness it. He tried not to hold his breath. And waited.
The man checked the ID cards, eyes flitting from each card to the faces in the car, and handed them back. He waved them on.
Nobody spoke for a few minutes. The war was in abeyance, but the checkpoints were a stark reminder that things weren’t entirely safe.
Finally, his father said, ‘I think we have to give up this search for a bride nonsense. Come back and talk to us when you know your own mind.’
His mother said, ‘Oh no, we can’t—’
‘The boy is clearly not ready to settle down,’ his father snapped.
He had to say something. ‘It’s true,’ Gimhana said. ‘I’m not fully ready. I’m hoping to become a partner in the firm and I’m putting in ridiculous hours. I don’t know that I have the time to have a girlfriend. I barely have time to have friends.’
‘But you’re not getting any younger,’ his mother wailed.
‘I know, Ammi. I know. But it’s not so bad for men, is it? We can wait another year or so and have another go.’
There was a grumbled assent from his mother and a sceptical harrumph from his father. Gimhana sighed. All he’d done was kick the can down the road a little bit. Unfortunately, that was all he could do.
Chapter Twenty-One
Gimhana – Colombo, 2005
Gimhana was a seasoned traveller by now. He knew to wear comfy jeans and layers. The airport in Colombo was air conditioned, but getting onto the plane involved a bus ride in the hot, damp air. He let the ground hostess check his ticket and passport and was shown into the departure lounge.
Looking around, he spotted Chaya. He’d known they’d be on the same flight. He had decided that he’d try to talk to her. He didn’t know if she was gay or not, but she was the only woman who had come close to being a viable bride of convenience. If she was a lesbian, then… perhaps they could make this work.
She didn’t see him approach. She seemed to be deeply engrossed in what she was doing. He stopped and watched her for a second. There was a stillness about her that wasn’t normally there. She was working and work calmed her. He understood that. This, he thought, was the crux of what made him think they could be friends. Outwardly, they were as different as they could ever be, but inside… inside, they had a lot in common.
‘Chaya,’ he said.
She looked up, frowning. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘It’s you. What do you want?’
He was taken aback at the strength of her animosity. ‘Oh dear. What have I done to deserve that?’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Have you any idea how much your mind games have upset my amma?’ she demanded. ‘I don’t mind being messed around, but your mother was so convinced you were happy that my amma got her hopes up and… well. It’s not fair.’ She looked away.
He winced. ‘Ah,’ he said, ‘I’m sorry. Really I am… Can I sit down?’ Chaya sighed and indicated the seat next to her.
He sat down. ‘I really am sorry, you know. I didn’t mean to upset your mother. Mine was pretty annoyed with me too.’
Chaya gathered her papers together and didn’t reply.
‘I told her. You were right, I should have told her at the start.’
Chaya paused in her paper shuffling and looked at him, eyes narrow. ‘Told her what, exactly?’
‘That I wasn’t really ready for all of this and that I was too engrossed in my work to think about marrying.’
‘I see,’ said Chaya, thoughtfully. ‘Was that the truth?’
He met her eyes and knew that she was asking him a deeper question. Did she know? How did she know? Perhaps she was the friendly lesbian he’d been hoping to meet all along? But she would have said, or given some indication, wouldn’t she? He looked away. Could he risk telling her?
Chaya put her papers in her bag and turned to him. ‘I’m sorry, it’s not my business. It’s between you and your family.’
‘No, no. It affected you. It gives you the right to tell me off… a little.’ He gave her a small smile. ‘But I think you might have to stop now, though.’
She hesitated, her face softening a little. ‘Okay. Fair enough.’
They sat next to each other, staring into space for a moment. He had to know. He had to know. But how to ask without giving too much away?
‘So,’ he said. ‘What happened with you? If you don’t mind my asking. I got the impression you’ve got no more interest in actually getting married than I have.’
Chaya didn’t look at him. ‘I’m married to my work,’ she said. ‘I don’t have time for someone else in my life.’ She straightened the papers in her lap, even though they were already in a neat pile. She blinked rapidly.
Oh. Like that, was it? Heartbreak. Well, he knew how that felt too. He had moved on, but it seemed that maybe she hadn’t.
‘Who was she?’ he said, softly. ‘Someone who didn’t love you back?’ Chaya didn’t respond. She screwed her eyes shut.
‘Chaya,’ said Gimhana gently. ‘It takes one to know one, you know.’
She opened her eyes and looked at him. ‘I’m not…’ she dropped her voice so that only he could hear. ‘I’m not gay.’
‘Oh,’ he said. ‘I see.’ He should have expected that, but he was still disappointed.
She nodded. His eyes met hers and he saw the desolation, the sadness. She had loved someone and lost him and never got over it. The prickliness, the constant sense of movement, those were all her ways of trying not to think about the pain, short-term coping mechanisms that had become so ingrained that she couldn’t manage without them.
On an impulse, he put his hand over hers, gave it a quick squeeze and let it go. ‘I’m sorry.’
Chaya froze. For a second she went completely still. Not even breathing.
An announcement crackled over the tannoy, informing them that the gate was opening for boarding. There was a general scrum as people tried to get to the gate before everyone else.
Chaya blinked. Gimhana gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. He leaned forward to pick up his bag.
‘What about you?’ she said, so quietly that he wasn’t even sure he’d heard right. She hadn’t moved to get her bags. She was sitting very straight, hands gripping the paperwork on her lap, looking straight at him. He had asked her a personal question, he owed her something back.
‘Me?’
‘Did he not love you back?’ she said, quietly.
He held her gaze for a moment. ‘No,’ he said, levelly. ‘He didn’t.’
He’d expected something huge to happen, but nothing did. People continued to rush to the gate. Chaya remained seated. She carefully put her paperwork into her satchel. Finally, she looked up. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
Her eyes met his and there was understanding there. Somehow, that was comforting.
‘We should get to the gate,’ she said, looking around. The seats around them were empty.
‘Listen,’ said Gimhana. ‘We’re not going to be sitting next to each other, so…’ He pulled out his business card holder and extracted a card. ‘Here’s my card.’ He found a pen and wrote down his mobile phone number on the back. ‘Call me. Whenever you like. I think we could be friends.’
She took the card and handed him hers. ‘Keep in touch, Gimhana.’ Her eyes smiled at him. ‘It’s been nice meeting you.’
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chaya – Oxford, 1995
Chaya was on time for her meeting with Dr Goldworthy, but typically, her t
utor wasn’t ready for her. She sat on a shabby chair, whose faux leather had split from years of students sitting on it. The corridor housed eight tutors’ offices, four on each side. In the middle of the corridor, there was a space that divided the rooms into two blocks of four. This space held the coffee machine, the sink, a rack of outdated magazines and the only window. A square of natural light fell just short of her legs. She stretched a leg towards it. The sunlight warmed her foot and made her think of home.
The door opened and Baz, her lab partner, came out. He shut the door behind him and grinned.
‘How did you do?’ she said.
‘He says if I do a bit more work, I should be able to get my two-one.’ Baz was clearly very pleased with himself.
‘Well done.’ She needed to get a two-one or a first, if she was going to be able to do a PhD. Baz rarely went to lectures and often borrowed her notes to copy. If he was going to get a two-one, she must be doing okay.
‘Anyway, good luck.’ He strode off down the corridor, his shoes squeaking on the lino.
Chaya got up from the uncomfortable chair and knocked.
‘Yes.’
Dr Goldworthy was not what she’d expected from a tutor. He was in his late thirties with close-cropped brown hair. In spite of his efforts to look smart, he always had a slightly bewildered air about him, as though he were a boy playing at being a grown-up. This impression of naivety was misleading, something that always became evident after a few minutes of his questioning.
‘Ah, Chaya.’ He looked up from the papers he was sorting. ‘Sit down.’
Dr Goldworthy liked to hold his meetings sitting with his chair in front of his desk. The students had to sit on a saggy old sofa and balance their folders on their knees.
‘Ah, here we are.’ He pulled a sheaf of papers out of the mess on his desk and started leafing through them. ‘Hmm,’ he said, frowning.
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