Gimhana, who was now dressed for work, came in and picked up his hairbrush. He caught her anxious expression in the mirror. ‘Relax,’ he said. ‘It all looks fine.’
He was taking Nayana’s visit in his stride, or appeared to be, anyway. She had noticed that he wasn’t his usual self sometimes though, lately, so perhaps he was worrying too. He was just so much better at hiding things than she was. ‘Do you think she’ll think it weird that your suits are all in the study? I mean, don’t normal couples manage to squeeze everything into their bedroom?’
He opened a pot of Brylcreem and ran some through his hair. It always impressed her how he managed to stop short of making it look greasy. ‘I don’t think she’ll find it strange. I have a lot of suits,’ he said, patting a last stray lock into place. ‘Besides, it’s our house. We can keep my suits wherever we want.’
Chaya sat down on the bed, whatever drive it was that gave her strength, suddenly draining away. ‘I suppose.’ She rubbed her face with her palms.
Gimhana frowned into the mirror. ‘You okay?’ He turned and looked at her. ‘What time did you go to bed last night?’
‘This morning,’ she corrected him. ‘About two o’clock.’
‘Again?’ he said. ‘Chaya.’
‘I know, I know,’ she said. ‘But I’ve got everything together. I want to get my application in this morning, so that when Nayana gets here, I’m free to give her my attention.’
‘That sounds sensible,’ he said. ‘But you need to get some sleep.’
‘Tonight,’ she said. ‘Tonight, I’ll sleep. Once my application is in and my niece has been safely collected.’ She yawned.
‘Make sure you do,’ he said. He looked around the room. ‘I think this looks great. All completely normal,’ he said. ‘The guest room looks good too. She’s going to have a great time.’ He came over and put his hands on her shoulders. ‘Relax, okay. It’ll all be fine.’ He smiled his ‘I’m here. I’ll look after you’ smile.
She nodded. ‘I hope you’re right.’
‘Besides,’ said Gimhana, straightening up. ‘I reckon a lot of married people are too tired to sleep together anyway.’ He grinned. ‘Especially after seven years.’
Chaya managed a smile. ‘Seven years. Isn’t that when you get the itch and start sleeping with other people?’
He looked surprised, then laughed. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s get breakfast.’
* * *
They sat opposite each other, the way they always did at mealtimes. It made it easier to talk. Over the years they’d split the territory of the table between them. Chaya’s side had academic papers piled on it at one end. The other side had Gimhana’s cooking and gardening magazines and the occasional file. Two Blackberry chargers sat side by side at the end.
‘This is weird,’ said Chaya. ‘I can’t believe I’m so nervous. It’s only Nayana, for heaven’s sake.’
Gimhana chewed thoughtfully before replying. ‘I guess we haven’t had anyone from home come to visit us before. It’s easier when we go to them. Now we have to worry about how our lives have marked our environment.’ His eyes roamed over the room. ‘I don’t think our house is that different to a normal one,’ he said. ‘I’m sure it’ll all be fine.’
Chaya sighed.
‘I can’t believe Nayana’s eighteen,’ said Gimhana. ‘I remember her when she was at our wedding. She was such a cute thing. How old was she?’
Chaya took a mouthful of cereal. She had bought the packet especially for Nayana’s benefit. Normally, neither she nor Gimhana had breakfast at home. It had been a long time since she’d had cornflakes, she’d almost forgotten what they tasted like. For a moment it reminded her of being at university. She forced her mind back to the safer territory of the present. ‘Ten, I think,’ she said. She thought about it, calculating. ‘Yes, about ten, nearly eleven.’
‘Wow,’ said Gimhana, shaking his head. ‘She’s quite the young lady now. It’s so hard to imagine sometimes.’
‘Yes,’ said Chaya. ‘It is.’
* * *
In his office, waiting for his computer to start up, Gimhana took out his phone and texted Zack again.
I miss you. Please, can we talk?
There was no response. There never was.
He sighed, put his phone back in his pocket and logged into his work inbox.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chaya – London, 2013
A quick check on her Blackberry showed Chaya that the flight was on time. Not wanting to keep Nayana waiting, she left for the airport in plenty of time and ended up a good half hour too early. She ducked into the bathroom and checked herself in the mirror. Her hair was cut in a smart chin-length bob and sprayed into submission so that it looked sleek. She leaned forward and checked her make-up. Even with a decent amount of concealer, you could see the bags under her eyes. She had become quite adept at putting on subtle make-up now – a hint of eyeshadow, a touch of lip gloss, just enough to highlight what was good, without being obvious. Details were important. This was something she’d learnt from Gimhana; take care of the details and the big picture looked after itself.
A South Asian lady in a sari with a cardigan over it came and stood next to her. She looked tired and was probably at the end of a long journey. She looked sideways at Chaya in the mirror, appraising her. Next to this old lady, with her tired eyes and wispy salt and pepper hair, Chaya looked like a creature from another time. Chaya smiled and nodded to the lady and was given a bemused glare in return. She shrugged and went out into the foyer.
The arrivals board told her the plane had landed. It would still be a while before everyone made it through to the exits. She got herself a cup of coffee and joined the crowd of people who were drifting towards the arrivals gate. The flight came via the Middle East, so the crowd was mostly Sri Lankans interspersed with Arab faces.
Chaya found a decent spot from which to watch. She carefully shielded her coffee against the jostling that was sure to start soon and fixed her eyes on the gate.
The last time she’d seen Nayana was when she went back for Thatha’s funeral. She didn’t like to think about it. Chaya and Malini, both torn with grief themselves, had had to practically carry Amma up to the crematorium. For a moment Chaya had a flash of remembrance; the dust rising from the sun-baked ground, the animal wails coming from Amma who was slumped, sobbing against her. It had been eight months, yet it seemed simultaneously like years and only days ago.
A small child walked into the side of her leg, breaking her from her reverie. She looked down. The little girl looked up at her with huge brown eyes, then gave her a gap-toothed smile, giggled, and ran back to her mother. Chaya looked up and caught the mother’s eye. The woman mouthed ‘sorry’ and Chaya waved it away with another smile.
She returned to her coffee and contemplation. Nayana coming to stay had been Ajith’s idea. When Nayana had expressed a desire to follow her grandfather’s footsteps into the hotel industry, Ajith felt, with some justification, that after being sheltered from everything for so long, Nayana was too naïve for it. His solution was to send her to her aunt for a couple of weeks in the hope that the experience of travelling alone would be useful. It would also give her a chance to practise her English.
People started to trickle out of the exit, pushing trolleys towering with suitcases and boxes, some tied up with coconut rope. The press of people around Chaya got heavier. As more passengers came out, the semblance of order disintegrated. A child broke free from under the cordon and hurtled towards a man who left his trolley to swing his son up and kiss him. The boy was soon followed by his mother and brother and the family formed a tight little island in the middle of the flow of passengers. Soon the whole corridor was blocked with knots of people hugging, kissing cheeks and slapping each other on the back.
It took Chaya a few moments to spot Nayana. She was pushing a trolley with one suitcase and a backpack on it. For a moment Chaya was struck by how like her mother she looked. Nayana had Malin
i’s fine features, but without the hint of roundness that had always bothered Malini. From Ajith, she had inherited height and hair that was thick and straight. She carried herself with that unconscious grace that teenagers have. Two boys who were following their parents gawped at her, but she didn’t seem to notice.
Chaya waved, but Nayana didn’t spot her in the crowd. She stood still, gripping her trolley and looking around, occasionally rising on tiptoe to see better. Chaya ducked under the now defunct cordon and weaved her way through the bodies until she was next to her niece.
‘Nayana?’ she said, touching her on the elbow.
Nayana jumped and turned round. ‘Chaya Punchi!’ She grinned and dropped into an awkward genuflection. Chaya acknowledged it with a light touch on her forehead. Suddenly, she didn’t know what to say. Her niece was in her custody now, her responsibility. She didn’t know how to look after a teenager. She smiled, a little self-consciously, and said, ‘Shall we go?’ in Singhalese. Reaching across, she took the trolley and set off at a determined pace, anxious to get herself and Nayana out of the crowded airport and into the relative calm of her house.
* * *
The next day, Chaya took Nayana on a whistlestop tour of London. They walked around all morning, taking photos of Nayana next to various monuments. Finally, they ducked into a café for a cup of tea and a slice of cake.
‘I think that’s most of the major places,’ said Chaya, as she finished her coffee. ‘Is there anywhere else you’d like to see?’
Nayana swirled her drink in its cup. She looked up. ‘I’d quite like to see Westminster Bridge,’ she said.
‘Whatever for?’
‘I want to see where Gimhana Bappa proposed to you.’ Nayana smiled.
‘Ah.’ Chaya nodded. After they’d been to buy their engagement ring, she and Gimhana had ended up on Westminster Bridge. They’d stopped to look at the sunlight and tourists on the river and Gimhana had commented on what a romantic spot it would have been to propose. Never one to let a good idea go to waste, he had taken her back there the next night and formally presented her with the ring. It had been a cold and overcast night, but when the story was repeated to friends and family, the stars twinkled on the water and the moon was bright in the sky. The juxtaposition of reality and fiction amused Chaya; it was Gimhana all over. She smiled. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Drink up and I’ll take you there.’
They joined the flow of people walking across Westminster Bridge. A group of boys swaggered past. One of them winked at Nayana and blew her a kiss. Nayana looked at her aunt. ‘Boys are the same everywhere,’ she said, flushing slightly.
‘Yes,’ said Chaya. ‘They are.’
They stopped at the middle of the bridge. ‘Here we are,’ Chaya leaned her elbows on the railing. ‘Those are the Houses of Parliament.’ She pointed. ‘That thing over there is the London Eye.’
They stood there side by side, watching the light glint off the slow-moving water. A boatful of tourists slid down the river, a couple of them waved to the people on the bridge. Nayana waved back. People continued to flow behind them. Nayana gazed at the river, her eyes wide as she took it all in. Chaya looked at her niece and thought how beautiful she was. Barely eighteen, she was both adult and child at the same time. How did Malini cope with the burden of looking after something so precious and vulnerable? There was so much to protect her from. She resisted the urge to put an arm round the girl and shield her from the crowd. Was this what it was like to be a parent? She let her gaze slip down to the river. She was glad she and Gimhana had decided not to have children.
Nayana sighed. ‘You’re so lucky.’
‘Pardon?’
‘You… you’ve got a really cool life and you live in a really cool city. You’ve got the career you’ve always wanted, a nice house, great holidays…’ She trailed off, suddenly looking embarrassed. Chaya stared at her. She and Gimhana had worked hard to portray the perfect life. She hadn’t realised how well they’d succeeded.
After a few moments she said, ‘Actually, a lot of it was down to hard work.’ Nayana gave her a thoughtful look and then nodded as though conceding that perhaps hard work did come into the equation. Her eyes suddenly lit up. ‘What about marrying Gimhana Bappa?’ she said. ‘Meeting the right man was luck, wasn’t it?’
Chaya’s lips tightened for a moment, then she managed a smile. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That was a stroke of luck.’
* * *
They caught the bus back across town. As Nayana pressed her face against the window, drinking in the sights of everyday London, Chaya watched her niece and thought about how she’d held her as a toddler. Nayana was the only person in Sri Lanka she’d told about Noah, yet she would have no recollection of the secrets her aunt had whispered to her as she paced around the room, trying to soothe her to sleep. Chaya always found the fiction of her life hardest when it came to Nayana. Yet Nayana believed everything as true. She had no reason not to.
Chaya looked at her engagement ring and turned her hand so that it caught the light. Since her engagement to Gimhana, she’d half-heartedly been to counselling and whole-heartedly read countless self help books. She’d started taking care of how she looked, altered the way she moved, learned to be better at conversation. Even though she wasn’t working any harder at work, she seemed to be having more success, and she put it down to her new, more sociable, persona. She felt almost in control of her mental health. Almost. She knew that she wasn’t being herself, but somewhere along the line she’d forgotten what her real self was like. All she could do now was polish her new self until it shone.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chaya – London, 2013
‘I’m going to phone Amma. My amma, I mean. Your achchi,’ said Chaya. ‘Do you want to talk to her?’
They were back home from another day of sightseeing. Nayana was curled up in a chair looking at the day’s photos on her digital camera. She looked up. ‘Depends what mood she’s in.’ A sad smile flickered across her face. ‘If she’s normal, then maybe…’
Chaya nodded. She understood how Nayana felt.
Thatha’s loss had hit Amma hard. Even though they’d known he had a weak heart for years, his sudden death still blindsided everyone. After the initial outburst of grief, Amma seemed to contract into herself, attempting to shut out the real world. Chaya, of all people, understood how she felt. She spent days and nights with Amma, talking to her, encouraging her to eat, trying to coax her out. Eventually, Amma resurfaced but she was not the person she once was. Some days she was ‘normal’, when she was hopelessly saddened by Thatha’s absence, other days she forgot who people were, still other days she was paranoid and angry at the world. Malini had suggested that Amma move in with her, but Amma had refused, preferring instead to stay in the house where her late husband’s presence echoed.
Chaya imagined the telephone ring bouncing off the walls and furniture in the living room. She wondered if Amma would answer it, or just leave it to ring. Leela was still there, but she was getting old too.
‘Hello?’ said Amma’s familiar voice.
‘Amma, it’s me.’
There was a pause. ‘Who is this?’
‘It’s Chaya.’
Another pause. ‘Ah,’ she said. ‘Chaya. Of course. Sorry, Duwa, my mind was on something else.’
‘How are you, Amma?’ Chaya said, cautiously.
‘Oh, I’m fine. How is England?’
Relief crept over Chaya. It sounded like Amma was having a good day. ‘It’s good,’ she said. ‘We’ve got Nayana visiting us.’
‘That’s nice,’ said Amma absently. ‘How is Gimhana Putha?’
‘He’s fine too. Working hard, you know how it is.’
‘You must look after him. Make sure you cook him something nice when he gets home.’
Chaya suppressed a smile. ‘I will.’ She wondered if she should fetch Nayana. Amma seemed to be normal.
‘Listen Duwa,’ said Amma. ‘I have to go. Your thatha is going to come hom
e early today and we’re going to the cinema.’
Chaya’s heart sank. Not entirely normal then. Amma frequently retreated to a time just before Thatha’s death. At least that way she was happy. ‘Are you going to see anything nice?’ Chaya said, carefully.
Amma named a Singhalese film that had been showing several years earlier. ‘It’s supposed to be very good. Now that you girls have gone, Thatha and I are trying to go out more.’ She gave a girlish giggle. ‘We went to the theatre last week.’
‘Really? Was it fun?’
‘Oh yes. It was fantastic. Now, I really have to go and get ready.’
‘Okay Amma, you have a good time. I’ll call you again next week.’
‘Thunsaranai Chaya.’
Chaya put the phone down and closed her eyes. She pictured Amma, all dressed up and waiting for her husband who would never come.
Nayana popped her head round the door. Seeing that Chaya had hung up already, she raised her eyebrows. Chaya sighed and shook her head. Nayana sighed too and withdrew her head. Nayana had been very close to her grandmother and found her decline difficult to bear. Now Nayana avoided contact with her grandmother. Chaya wished she could do the same and remember her parents the way they had been before, but she knew that was impossible.
* * *
Later that evening, they had a ready meal for dinner. Normally, Gimhana cooked, but Nayana had wanted to try shepherd’s pie, so Chaya had bought one.
‘What do you think?’ she said. ‘Is it what you imagined?’
‘It’s nice,’ said Nayana, taking a tentative mouthful. ‘I expected a bit more… something.’ She slowly took another tiny mouthful.
Chaya nodded. Without needing to be told, she knew why Nayana was playing with her food. ‘There’s a jar of katta sambal in the spice cupboard,’ she said.
A Convenient Marriage Page 22
