She wondered when the Beloved date for the book club might be. There was no more information on the notice board. Would she be ready to discuss it in time? The book was about a mother, Sethe, and her daughter Denver, left alone in a house haunted by the ghost of Sethe’s first daughter, Beloved, who had brought heartache to the family for years. It reminded her of Helena’s house. That too was filled with a ghost; a ghost of Helena’s past, of Helena’s happiness, of the future Helena might not get to see.
Leonora took a deep breath, wiping away a mist of tears on her cheeks. She tucked the book back into her bag. A book club. It might be a good idea. A chance for her to talk, to make friends. She took a picture of the reading list and the sign about the book club too; she’d have a look for it, tomorrow, when Helena took her nap. She’d go tomorrow.
Chapter 10
MUKESH
BEEP. ‘DADA? IT’S ME!’ Priya’s voice was gleeful. ‘I’m really enjoying the The Wizard of Earthsea, but I have been reading quite a few books at once so I won’t be able to return it to the library with you. Mummy said you were going back today already so I wanted to call to say I’m very sorry if it will be late, and I can’t come over today because Mum got me some extra maths work to do for the holidays and I have to do that.’
She said all the words in quite a hurry, so Mukesh had to rewind and replay slowly to check he’d caught every detail, his pad of Post-it notes at the ready.
He’d been looking forward to seeing Priya; he’d got himself up and dressed earlier than usual because he was eager to talk to her about their books. He had even noted down a few key phrases. He wanted to ‘impart’ some wisdom from Hummingbird, just like Atticus, even if the wisdom wasn’t really his to impart.
Don’t take it personally, he heard Naina say, her voice jumping out from the pages. She’s young, she doesn’t want to hurt you.
He knew Naina was probably right. But going to the library with Priya had been easier. And it had felt as though he’d finally made a breakthrough with his granddaughter.
Mukesh sighed. He knew he had to go back to the library. He wanted to return the book and get another. But deep down, he wasn’t totally sure if he could manage it all on his own. He flicked through the book one more time, searching for a piece of Atticus’s wisdom to help him through this little moment.
As he approached the library an hour or so later, the book in his hands, Scout was running ahead of him dressed as a ham, taking Priya’s place, cheering him on, and wise old Atticus was striding beside him. As Mukesh walked through the glass doors, emboldened by his fictional companions, the first person he saw was the girl, Aleisha. She was hard at work, with headphones stuck in her ears again. He wandered up to her desk, Scout and Atticus now gone. A cough caught her attention, and he placed his book in front of his face, proudly peeping over her desk.
‘Hello? Mr Patel? You finished already?’
Once he had got into it, and got over himself, more importantly, it had taken him only two days to finish it. He was very proud of his achievement: he’d only watched one episode of Blue Planet in that time.
When he was nearly thirteen, my brother Jem got his arm badly broken at the elbow. He’d started slowly, wincing as he’d read that first line of To Kill a Mockingbird, for he’d felt Naina watching his every move.
It’s a good one Mukesh, it won’t take you long. Her voice rang loud and clear in his ear. He’d looked around, expecting her to be there. After trying to get comfortable in the living room, and then the kitchen, and then the garden, he had finally settled on Naina’s spot in their bed – it was perfect. There he could feel, just for a moment, what it was like to be her, tucked up with a book. But that niggling thought at the back of his mind had squeaked, ‘Fraud, fraud, fraud.’
He’d tried to adjust his focus to the feel of the pages.
The softness.
The ‘whoosh’ as they glided across each other.
The gentle snap of the gluey spine from time to time.
Trying to get back to the book, and away from his nagging imposter syndrome, Mukesh pictured tall, broad, authoritarian Atticus in his small bedroom on his IKEA rug (selected by Vritti). Within a few pages, Mukesh learned that Scout and Jem’s ‘courteously detached’ father was a widower, and he had raised his children alone, with the help of Calpurnia their cook. As his eyes ran over the words, he could feel a lump begin to rise in his throat. Mukesh wasn’t a lawyer, wasn’t a pillar of the community, didn’t bless his children with his wisdom. He wasn’t tall, broad and authoritative like Atticus. But Mukesh knew what losing your wife felt like too. Mukesh sat up straight, his attention now firmly focused on this man, this powerful, kind and fair man. As the story went on, Mukesh wondered how Atticus could continue with his life so boldly. Was any part of him stuck in the past, hiding from his wife’s death? He could feel his self-consciousness lift, and he continued, intent on discovering Atticus’s secret to success. How had Atticus moved on with his life seemingly unscathed?
After a slow start, Naina was proved right later that same evening. Mukesh hadn’t been able to tear himself away – he had felt himself taking on Atticus’s life lessons, putting himself in Scout’s shoes, seeing the world through her eyes. The ‘fraud, fraud, fraud’ was nagging at the back of his mind, but the story had well and truly taken over.
Mukesh lowered the book to reveal his face to the librarian – a huge grin brightening it, the memories of turning the final page, the sense of pride he’d felt then, returned to him. He took off his hat, and rearranged his hair, all blustered and flustered from the wind. ‘Yes! I finished it!’
‘Would you like to return it?’ the librarian asked, and he handed the book over, nervously. He didn’t want to let go of it, but he allowed her to ring it through her system.
‘That’s all sorted for you,’ she smiled back at him. He waited, not sure what to do next. He wanted to talk to her about it, but he didn’t know what to say, or where to start. He could feel his cheeks starting to blush – what if he said something stupid?
‘Erm,’ he started. ‘Walking in someone else’s skin.’ His voice came out all croaky and quivery.
‘I’m sorry, what was that?’
‘Walking in someone else’s skin, you know – that’s what Atticus says,’ he stammered.
‘Oh yes, I remember,’ she said, her eyes sparkling.
‘I think that’s what stayed with me most. It is very wise. Atticus, he’s very wise.’
Aleisha nodded. ‘Definitely.’
They looked at each other awkwardly. The silence hung between them.
‘When I finished it,’ the girl started, ‘I was so enraged, and so desperate to talk to someone about it.’
‘Me too.’ Mukesh nodded vigorously.
‘Well …’ The girl looked at her phone on the table. ‘I’ve still got some of my lunch break left, shall we have a chat about it?’
Mukesh could feel Naina prodding him, and he nodded again, warily. She led him over to a table by the window. ‘Feel free to sit here, Mr Patel,’ she said, very kindly.
‘Mukesh, please,’ he whispered back. He didn’t know where to start, but she was watching him, waiting for him to go first.
‘That line about stepping into someone else’s skin … well, we were in Scout’s skin, the little girl in the story,’ he said, slowly. It sounded like something someone would say in a book group, or in an English class, he thought: ‘We see Atticus through her eyes, don’t we?’
The young lady smiled, and Mukesh couldn’t tell if she agreed or if she was pandering to him.
‘I think that one line is very interesting – because if people could step into Tom Robinson’s skin, maybe they wouldn’t be so awful to him, accusing him of something he never did, when that lie could have ruined his whole life. And not as awful, but what if Scout and Jem could see what it was like to be the old neighbour Boo Radley, maybe they would have been kinder to him as well. He was a lovely soul … maybe just lonely. People
don’t always understand lonely people.’ The words rushed out of him, like he wanted to get them out of the way. Maybe, if he spoke quickly enough, she wouldn’t notice him saying silly, stupid things.
Aleisha nodded again. ‘You’re right, but … it’s literally impossible, that’s the thing. People just live their lives, they can’t ever fully get … you know … understand someone else or what they’re going through.’ She spoke slowly, as though trying to put her own thoughts together. He wondered if she was just trying to make him feel less of an idiot.
‘I always used to think that when I was a young man, when I first moved here,’ he took a deep breath. The book had made him think of it, how out of place he felt in Wembley when he first arrived, how everyone looked at him and his family differently for a while, for ever. ‘I moved here from Kenya, you see. With my wife and our little girls. We wanted to start a brand-new life here – we had family here, always talking about all the opportunities, the jobs. But when I got here, it just felt lonely. I wondered why people were so unkind to me. I thought to myself, why didn’t they know who I was, that I was just like them? No matter what I did, what I said, no one even tried to understand me. Some of our neighbours were really lovely – but other than that, everyone else saw us as just different from them, impossible to understand. So they didn’t even try.
‘I’m sorry,’ Mukesh shook his head, trying to banish his thoughts. ‘This isn’t anything to do with the book. What am I babbling on about? My wife always told me I was a babbler.’
‘No, no, you’re not babbling. I think you’re right,’ Aleisha said, smiling kindly. ‘No one can ever really understand what other people have gone through. But people should try.’
For a moment, it was hard for Mukesh to align the grumpy person he had met a week or so ago with the young lady sitting in front of him today. He wondered whether, if he’d walked around in her skin that day, he might have understood her behaviour a little better.
‘So when I read this book … er, ages ago,’ she hesitated for a moment, her eyes darting around the room. She reminded him of his youngest, Deepali, who did the same thing whenever she was nervous, or fibbing. ‘Ages ago now … well, it makes you feel things. I’ve got a big brother, and we’re really different to Scout and Jem, but like reading about them as kids made me think of me and Aidan as children. Being silly. Seeing the neighbour as like a figure of fun and stuff. I’m sure we did stupid stuff like that when I was young, like the whole world was a big game to us.’
‘It’s true! I liked them both. I liked the story very, very much.’ Mukesh nodded emphatically. ‘I like Atticus a lot too! He was a very clever man.’
‘He was so good!’ Aleisha lit up. ‘I just … all the court-case stuff with Tom Robinson, like it was so emotional and mega-tense, but I loved it. I’m applying to do law at uni—’
‘Law?’ Mukesh gasped, his face lighting right up. ‘You are very, very clever! No wonder you are such a big reader.’
Aleisha laughed uneasily. She shrugged her shoulders, immediately shy again. ‘Not that clever, I just work hard.’
‘Well Atticus is a very good lawyer, but you, you’ll be even better!’ Mukesh clapped his hands together and they laughed at one another.
Their chatter petered out to silence, an edge of awkwardness creeping in. ‘Well, thank you for all your help,’ Mukesh said again. ‘I liked that one, so what do you recommend next? You said you could tell me which one!’
The girl paused. He noticed her hands crunching into one another, one finger twisting round and round the other.
‘Erm, maybe you might like Rebecca – it’s by Daphne du Maurier.’
‘Whatever you recommend I am sure I will like!’
She hopped up from her chair and headed to the shelves – she found the copy immediately. He thought it was very clever, how Aleisha knew where every book in the library was placed. She took it over to her desk, and Mr Patel clambered out of his very comfy armchair to meet her there.
‘My wife loved to read,’ he said, filling the silence, as she tapped in the code.
‘What did she like?’
‘I don’t really know. She always had a book with her. I never knew what. She died, you see. A couple of years ago. I … she was the reader. I have never really read much, until now.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ her voice just louder than a whisper. She looked at him, gave him room to continue.
‘She was my wife, I should have paid attention to the books she liked. I liked to watch her read, but never asked her what was happening in her books. I feel silly starting to read story books at my age.’
‘It’s never too late to read stories.’
‘Stories feel so weird. Like seeing someone else’s life that you are not meant to. Being nosy!’
Aleisha scanned his library card in. ‘I’m sure your wife would be so impressed with how quicky you read To Kill a Mockingbird!’
‘I think she would be too.’ He nodded, solemnly.
‘What job did you used to do? Or what do you do now?’ She looked up sharply, probably hoping she hadn’t offended him.
‘Oh, dear, I definitely do not do anything now. Too old and creaky! I was a ticket-master at Wembley Central. Now I don’t really do anything.’
‘A ticket-master?’
‘Yes, I sold people tickets. I knew people, I knew their faces, and I would always try to ask their names – I knew who had to get what train and when. People were less grumpy then. People weren’t so busy. There were very few mobile phones, not like today, so people looked up when they walked around instead of down at their hands,’ he nodded towards Aleisha’s iPhone, face down on the table. ‘Speaking was all you could do then. I would call out to some people if I knew they might be late for their train.’ He raised his hand. ‘“Your train is here, miss!” I would say. People always thanked me then.’
‘Literally can’t imagine people speaking to each other in London. Not sure I’ve ever said more than a few words to people on the Tube.’
‘I know, I find it sad. Often I say hello to people and they just look at me like I am crazy.’
Aleisha nodded knowingly. ‘That man over there,’ she whispered under her breath and pointed to a young gentleman sitting in a thick black hoodie. ‘We call him Crime Thriller guy, it’s all he reads. He came and spoke to me a while ago, like just making conversation, I found it so strange. And this is actually my job. I work here.’
They giggled together then, and Crime Thriller looked up for a moment; they both quickly averted their gaze. Mukesh felt as if he had been let in on a secret.
‘My wife, she would have liked you,’ he said once he’d got his breath back. ‘She likes young women who are kind, clever and focused. And readers! Just like her.’
He noticed he had switched into present tense; the girl had noticed too.
‘Here’s your next book, Mr Patel!’ She handed Rebecca to him before he could say anything else. Mukesh clasped it in both hands, placed it in his shopping bag slung over his shoulder, and wandered outside. He didn’t turn round to say goodbye until he was already out of the door. Framed by the doorway, cut in two by the divide in the glass, he waved with one hand. The girl waved back, just as enthusiastically.
The girl was right – Naina would be proud, not just because he’d read a book quickly … but because today he took himself out of his comfort zone, and for a few moments of his day, he’d made a brand-new friend. He looked at his feet, to check he was still fixed firmly on the ground and he wasn’t just day-dreaming. Satisfied this was all very real, he turned back around and shuffled away.
PART III
REBECCA
by Daphne Du Maurier
Chapter 11
ALEISHA
A FEW DAYS LATER, Aleisha jumped at the sound of her phone ringing. It was seven in the morning …
‘Aleisha,’ Thermos Flask’s morning voice croaked. ‘Any chance you’d be free to cover for Benny today? He’s been taken ill after a s
tag do last night. Kyle will be in too.’
‘You mean Benny’s hungover?’ she yawned.
‘Probably – still, best he stays away. I don’t want any dodgy moments in the aisles.’
Aleisha glanced wearily over to her bedside table, where Rebecca sat, waiting for her. ‘All right, yeah. Let me check with my brother, otherwise I’ll be there.’ She was grateful for the opportunity to just sit in the library today, put some books back on the shelves. Last night had been a bad one for Leilah. Aleisha had woken several times in the night to hear her mum shouting out, and then to the sound of Aidan trudging back and forth to her room; his footsteps slow, soft. Exhausted.
When she arrived at the library, it was quiet with only two regulars, including Crime Thriller guy in his usual spot, and the elderly Indian lady who loved to chat, but there was no one demanding her attention. As the glass doors closed behind her, the sounds and smells of Wembley, and the memories of Leilah’s fractious night, all disappeared.
But as she was walking up and down the fiction aisles, putting the returns back on the shelf, she saw a figure hiding around the corner. It brought her back to earth with a thump. Mia. Aleisha would recognize the back of her head anywhere, with the slightly sloppy undercut, one long earring in her left ear, a short stud in the other.
She hurried past, ducking behind the sparse ‘W’ fiction shelf, keeping her eyes trained on her feet, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.
‘Aleisha?’
Oh fuck.
Aleisha turned around slowly, trying to be casual, trying to plaster a natural smile on her face. Really, she just wanted the ground below her to open up and suck her in.
‘You actually work here?’ Mia’s face communicated her confusion, but her tone made it doubly clear.
The Reading List Page 10
