She spun round. ‘Amma,’ she began, but her words dried up. She had known what to expect, but it was still a shock. Amma’s hair, now totally white, was escaping from its bun. She was still neatly wrapped in a sari, but her blouse was too big for her. Her collarbones stood out and her neck sagged with wrinkles. There were dark circles around her eyes. She had aged ten years in less than twelve months. Her face was etched with a permanent sadness.
When she recognised Chaya, she frowned. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘It’s you, Chaya.’ She put her hands on her hips. ‘What,’ she said, as though speaking to a naughty child, ‘is this I hear about you leaving your husband?’
‘Amma…’ Chaya stepped forward, one arm outstretched towards her.
‘I can’t believe I raised such a child!’ Amma clasped her hands to her chest, like a heroine in a Bollywood film. Her fingers seemed to claw into the hollows between ligaments. ‘What is wrong with you, child? We spent so long finding you someone to marry. Now you leave your husband to run off with another man? Didn’t I teach you any values?’
Chaya stared, confused. When Malini said that Amma might have the wrong idea, she hadn’t been exaggerating. How did she get out of this?
Amma raised her hands, imploring to the sky. ‘What did I do wrong?’ she cried. ‘Aney!’ She gripped her hair and started pulling at it. ‘Aney!’
She had been nervous about seeing Amma, but this was worse than anything she’d expected. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She stepped forward, not sure what she could do to help.
Leela limped in from the kitchen, alerted by Amma’s shouting. ‘What’s going on?’ Gimhana appeared in the doorway.
Amma stopped wailing and stared, her rant completely derailed at the sight of him. Her hands slowly came away from her head. Gimhana smiled as though nothing untoward were happening. ‘Ayubowan Amma.’ He genuflected in front of her.
Still staring, Amma automatically laid a hand on his head, blessing him. ‘Thunsaranai,’ she muttered.
Gimhana stood up again and beamed at her. ‘What has my wife done to upset you?’ he said, coming over to Chaya and putting his arm around her.
Amma’s gaze flew from his face to Chaya’s. She looked back at Gimhana, looking thoroughly confused. ‘But…’ she said. ‘She… She left you. Didn’t she?’
Gimhana laughed. ‘Really Amma, does that look likely to you?’ He removed his arm from round Chaya and went over to her. ‘Perhaps you should sit down.’ He helped her into a chair. ‘As you can see, Chaya and I are very much together.’ He waved an arm in Chaya’s direction. ‘Maybe you had a bad dream and that’s what you’re remembering.’
Watching, Chaya was torn between relief and outrage at what Gimhana was doing. He was diffusing a very painful situation, but he was doing so by manipulating Amma’s fragile grasp of reality. She heard a small sound and glanced across to see Leela standing there with her mouth open, staring at Gimhana. Amma might be fooled, but Leela wasn’t.
Amma looked at the floor and shook her head. ‘Perhaps…’ she said unsteadily. ‘Perhaps you’re correct, Putha.’ Having decided that this was right, she looked up. ‘Chaya Duwa. Forgive me.’ She held a hand out, in a placatory gesture. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m fine, Amma.’ If this was how things had to be done, she may as well go along with it. She went and knelt by her mother’s chair.
Amma put her hand to Chaya’s cheek. ‘You look thin,’ she said. ‘Are you eating enough?’
Chaya’s throat constricted so that all that came out was a whisper. ‘I’m eating enough.’
Amma looked at Leela, who was still staring. ‘Leela,’ Amma said. ‘Bring some tea.’
Leela jumped. ‘Yes, Nona.’ She bowed her head, shot another glance at Gimhana, and limped off to the kitchen.
Amma watched her go and shook her head. ‘Poor Leela,’ she said. ‘She’s getting a bit forgetful now. She’s getting old, you see.’ She smiled. ‘I guess we all are.’
Chaya nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
Amma touched Chaya’s shoulder. ‘I’m sorry about before,’ she said. ‘I get… confused, sometimes.’ She smiled. ‘Your Thatha is very patient with me, he’s always helping me with things.’
Tears filled Chaya’s eyes. Thatha had been dead for nearly a year now.
Amma looked alarmed. ‘Why are you crying?’ she said. ‘Is something wrong? Are you ill?’
Rubbing the tears away, Chaya shook her head. ‘No, I’m not ill.’ She moved forward and hugged her mother, gently, so that her bones didn’t creak. ‘I’m just… so glad to see you.’
Amma patted her back and kissed the top of her head. ‘I’m happy to see you too, my Duwa.’
Leela came in with tea and smacked it down on the table with a clatter. She left, glaring pointedly at Gimhana, who pretended not to notice.
Amma frowned. ‘She hasn’t poured the tea,’ she said, looking at the tray. ‘And there are no biscuits.’ She clicked her tongue. ‘I don’t know what’s got into Leela today.’ She looked towards the kitchen. ‘Leela,’ she called.
‘It’s okay,’ Chaya said. ‘I’ll pour it.’
They drank their tea and made small talk. Afterwards, Chaya took the tea things into the kitchen, where Leela was slowly chopping vegetables. She looked up when Chaya came in. ‘Is it true?’ she said.
Chaya put the tray by the sink and picked up the wash cloth. ‘What?’
‘Malini baby said… it wasn’t you who left for another man, was it?’
Chaya didn’t look up. She carefully washed a cup. Leela had known her all her life. She would spot a lie if she faced her. ‘No one has left anyone,’ she said, keeping her focus on the washing up.
Leela sighed. ‘Baby, I hope you know what you’re doing. Because secrets never stay hidden. Once a corner is seen, the rest will be dragged out sooner or later.’
The concern in her voice wrung something out of Chaya’s heart. These were the people she loved. In trying to keep them happy, she had created a lie so big that it could hurt them even more. Suddenly, the plan she and Gimhana had come up with didn’t seem such a great idea anymore. She carefully put another cup upside down on the draining board. It slipped and clattered back into the sink. She fished it out and checked it for cracks.
‘Be careful,’ said Leela quietly.
They both knew it wasn’t the cup she talking about.
Chapter Seventy-Two
Gimhana – Colombo, 2013
When they got back to the hotel, Gimhana washed his face and changed his shirt. The humidity had made him sticky. The air was so close, it was bound to rain soon.
He came back into the room to find Chaya staring out of the window, fingers drumming lightly against her thigh. She was still tense. This trip was difficult for them both, but Chaya was struggling more than he was. Which was ridiculous because he was the one with the most to lose. All she had to do was play the deceived innocent and she’d be relatively unscathed. He, on the other hand, would face all kinds of stigma, potentially even violence, who knew? Back at home… Back at home, Chaya’s job would be completely unaffected whereas his would be made difficult. Oh, there was a non-discrimination policy, of course. But there were ways, weren’t there? After all, did he want to be that guy? The one who made trouble by complaining? It was hard enough being the brown one among the partners. He didn’t want the burden of being the gay one, too. His search for alternative employment was going slowly and there was no guarantee he’d find anything better. No, he had to make this work.
He joined her at the window.
They had a sea view. The sky looked thunderous and the steely grey ocean had been whipped up into frothy waves. Trees waved as the breeze picked up. Everything outside seemed to be in motion. Inside the room, everything felt very still.
‘I thought that went rather well,’ he said.
Chaya didn’t turn around. ‘Only because you made her think she was going crazy.’
Oh, what? ‘She’s confus
ed anyway,’ said Gimhana. ‘I only made her happy. Where’s the harm in that?’
Chaya stared out of the window for a moment before replying. ‘It just didn’t seem right.’
‘Well, I didn’t see you rushing in to stop me,’ said Gimhana. ‘We agreed on this plan, remember?’ He turned away and went to the safe to retrieve his laptop. He had taken time off work for ‘personal reasons’, but he couldn’t afford to give the firm grounds to accuse him of slacking off. ‘I think,’ he said, turning the device on, ‘we’re doing rather well with our plan. We might just be able to get away with it.’
‘We’ve been getting away with it for years,’ Chaya muttered. Abruptly, she turned away from the window. ‘I’m going for a walk,’ she said. ‘I need to think.’ That didn’t sound good.
‘Shall I come?’
‘No. I need some space. To think.’
He tried to assess how keyed up she really was. Perhaps going for a walk would do her good, let her vent some of that nervous energy that was fizzling beneath the surface. ‘Don’t go too far,’ he said. ‘It looks like rain.’
Chapter Seventy-Three
Chaya – Colombo, 2013
The hotel was built on a promontory that stuck out into the Indian Ocean. It meant that the seaward side of the hotel had access to beaches and rock pools on either side of the headland. Chaya walked down some steps, onto the beach. Overhead, the sky had lowered so that it was almost skimming the top of the hotel. She passed the beach restaurant where a few hardy diners were still sitting at the tables, sheltered by the coconut thatch umbrellas. The beach itself was deserted because of the angry sea and the taste of rain in the air.
Chaya looked at the frothing waves and headed, instead, for the rocks. They started suddenly, sprouting black boulders out of the sand and climbing up from the beach towards the towers of the hotel. At the lower end, the seawater sprayed in the air as the surf shattered against granite. She scrambled, sandals skittering over the slick surface. The wind had picked up and was whipping the coconut trees in a violent dance. Above her, she could see the balconies of the hotel. Somewhere up there was her room, where Gimhana would be working. From outside, on the rocks, the hotel seemed like a mirage. A thing from another world where nothing was what it claimed to be.
A fat drop of rain landed on her head. She climbed further, higher, but closer to the hotel. Globs of water started to fall, faster and faster. She climbed, half blinded by the water that ran down her face, higher still, until she reached the top. From her slippery perch, she shaded her eyes to get her bearings. Ahead was a short drop that ended in a fringe of frangipani trees in the hotel garden. Perfect white garden furniture glistened in the rain.
Behind her the sea boomed as the first wave of the storm crashed against the rocks. She turned round to face it. The ocean, usually flat and blue, was a boiling, ugly thing. It was as though the face of serene perfection had been lifted and she was seeing it as it really was.
It reminded her of her life. All she’d wanted was for her family to be proud of her. She had done everything, everything in her power to give them that. She had worked hard, studied long hours, taken every opportunity. She had given up anything that she thought would distract her. She had given up the love of her life. And she had broken herself.
She thought of her Thatha, who had died believing she had a perfect life. She remembered him talking about his daughters – Malini, the pretty one with the perfect family, and Chaya, the clever one who was a lecturer and married to a successful lawyer. She remembered the way he’d glowed when he said it. ‘My girls. They’ve both done well.’ He had been proud of her. Lightning streaked across the sky. Water ran down her hair and clothes. She looked at the sea and flinched at the crash of thunder. Thatha had been proud. She smiled, grimly. One out of three wasn’t bad.
Chapter Seventy-Four
Gimhana – Colombo, 2013
Gimhana was completely absorbed in his work when someone knocked. He muttered a curse under his breath and went over to open the door. A man in a hotel staff uniform stood there, looking profoundly uncomfortable.
‘Yes?’ He hadn’t ordered room service.
‘Sir, your wife,’ said the man urgently.
For the first time, he realised how long Chaya had been gone. ‘What about my wife?’
‘She’s on the rocks. We’re afraid she might…’
Thunder crashed outside. Gimhana shoved his feet into shoes and followed the man out.
He shouldn’t have let her go out. She’d been weirdly quiet on the way back and she wasn’t taking her anxiety medicine. There was no way of knowing how bad she was feeling. He should have paid more attention.
They got to the garden and pushed past a small knot of people. The man pointed. This part of the gardens ended with a rocky outcrop. Normally, it was a picturesque feature against the gentle blue sea. Now it was a rain-slicked hulk of black against the thunderous grey. Standing at the highest point, hands clasped in front of her, was Chaya.
‘Oh. Shit.’
Chapter Seventy-Five
Chaya – Colombo, 2013
By now the storm was in full swing. The wind lashed more rain at Chaya, almost pulling her off her perch. She put her head back and stared into the rain, watching the drops fall from far, far above. Her ears were full of the sound of water. Playing in the monsoon. She had always loved to do that. She held out her arms and let it all wash over her.
Water drenched her, weighing down her clothes. Warm rain ran down her arms and back, washing away the lies she’d told to everyone and to herself. She had lived her life trying to twist herself to fit other people’s dreams. It hadn’t been a bad life. She’d been very convincing. She’d even convinced herself that it was what she wanted.
Now that the illusion was destroyed, she finally saw what she had lost in the process. Her eyes streamed with tears and monsoon. She didn’t want to pretend any more. She couldn’t change the past, but she could start afresh on the future. There didn’t need to be a drumroll or cymbals. She could make just little changes. It didn’t matter what they were, so long as they were based on what she really wanted. But what did she really want? Did she even know anymore? She thought about what Malini had said. Without Gimhana, was she really still somebody? Everything in her career, she had built herself. She had stood up for her work, even in the combative environment of academia. She had earned her place. So, yes, she was still somebody. It would be harder if he wasn’t with her, but she’d cope.
And Noah? For seventeen years she’d thought that the one thing missing in her life was Noah. In a flash of understanding, she saw her nervous breakdown in a new light. It wasn’t heartbreak caused by her split up with Noah. It had been a breakdown caused by the combination of that with everything else. She had been an undergraduate at one of the most punishing and stressful universities in the world and struggling to keep up. She was far away from home and trying to navigate between homesickness and independence. On top of all of that, she had been in a relationship she had to keep secret. The pressure had been too much and she’d buckled. Breaking up with Noah had only been the last straw.
She pushed her hair away from her eyes. Everything that she had been certain of was now gone. She should have been petrified, but she felt oddly calm. She was never calm. The panic was bound to come in a bit. But for now…
Voices came out of the roar of the rain. Someone was calling her name. Frowning, she turned and looked behind her. Gimhana was scrambling up the rocks from the garden. He looked up and stretched out a hand. ‘Don’t move!’ he shouted. ‘I’m coming for you. Don’t move.’
She stared at him, so dramatic with his white shirt plastered to him in the rain. He found a safe place to stand and reached his arms out to her. ‘Take my hand,’ he said, blinking to keep the water out of his eyes.
Chaya hesitated. She didn’t want to leave this rock, where things made sense. Gimhana moved his hand, his eyes frantic with fear. Fear of what? Lightning flashed again
and she realised he was frightened for her. He was probably right to be. She sat down on the rain-slicked rock, reached down and put her hand in his. His fingers clamped round hers and he pulled her off the rock. She fell and collided with him, almost sending them both down into the frangipani trees.
Over Gimhana’s shoulder, she could see a small knot of hotel staff standing at the doorway, carrying large umbrellas and towels. They didn’t step out into the rain, but stood there watching. Behind them some hotel guests had stopped too. Everyone enjoyed a moment of drama.
Gimhana held her tight against him. ‘It’s okay,’ he said in her ear. ‘I’ve got you now. Let’s get down slowly.’ He sounded like a character in a soap opera.
Chaya looked at his earnest face. Then she began to laugh.
* * *
Afterwards, she sat on the bed, legs curled under her. Her hair was wrapped in a towel. She undid it and rubbed it over her hair. Outside, the storm still raged.
Gimhana came out of the bathroom, now in dry clothes. He stopped at the foot of the bed and looked at her, head cocked to one side. ‘How’re you feeling?’
She studied him right back. He was a good friend. He had supported her through difficult times and helped her find ways to cope when things got too much. Had she ever loved him? Maybe, in her own way, she had.
‘Chaya?’ he said, worry lacing his voice. He sat on the end of the bed.
‘Gim,’ she said, carefully. ‘I want a divorce.’
He stared at her for a moment, frowning. ‘Oh dear, I think you’re in some sort of delayed shock.’
The last person who had said that to her was Noah. The memory resurfaced. Her stomach twisted. She accepted the pain with only the smallest flinch.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I mean it.’
‘But the plan is working,’ he said. He moved up the bed until he was sitting next to her. ‘We can sort this out and go back to the way things were.’
A Convenient Marriage Page 28
