The Reading List

by Sara Nisha Adams

  That evening, as Izzy was tucking the list away with the others (the one underneath said simply Baked beans (lo salt), ice cream, sausages, sausages veggie, cat food), she glimpsed a title that stirred something: Rebecca. Her dad had had a Reader’s Digest copy bound in red leather with gold lettering that he’d inherited from his own mother – he read it every year because it was his mother’s favourite book.

  ‘This book reminds me of her, Izzy,’ he’d said to her, when she asked him why he was reading the same story again and again. ‘You like to re-read your books, and I do too.’

  It was beautiful, the book – and she’d loved seeing her dad pick it up so often. He turned each page so carefully. He never opened it wide enough to bend the spine. It was precious to him. The day he’d finally given it to her, she knew that she was old enough and trusted enough to read it; she’d felt like a grown-up that day. But, for fear of damaging it, of getting her sticky fingerprints on it, of ruining her father’s precious copy, she’d never passed the first page.

  She wandered to her kitchen, where her only bookshelf was kept (she’d never asked her landlord why the shelf was screwed to the wall, here of all places), and began to rummage through the books. This time, she couldn’t quite picture the list writer, and it niggled at her, this unknowing … But perhaps reading the books themselves – some again, some for the first time – would help her to get a clearer picture of who they might be?

  She was sure she, or her flatmate Sage, had another paperback copy of Rebecca somewhere. She’d seen it. A black cover, with gold writing, all curly, and a rose. Red and bright, luxurious. But she couldn’t find it anywhere. She turned the list over, about to give up, when she spotted Harrow Road Library emblazoned on the back. The books had been scrawled on the back of a renewals slip: ‘Return date 11/03/2016’. The pixelated text had almost faded to nothing. Aha, she thought to herself, as though she was an evil villain or successful detective from a TV show. She knew that library, and she knew one university student who used it quite a lot. She pulled out her phone, dropped a WhatsApp to Sage, Hey, can you get me Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier from your library plz?

  Sage’s reply was almost instantaneous, Get it yourself lazy bones. Come see the banging library vibes your missing out on.

  Izzy read each title on the list once more and took in that line: Just in case you need it. Unlike every other list she’d found, this felt as though it was intended to be discovered. This list was a letter from a stranger – and Izzy wanted to find out what it meant.

  Chapter 12

  MUKESH

  BEEP. ‘DAD, GOOD LUCK today! You’ll be good, and remember to stretch properly. I hope those fitness DVDs arrived in the post for you – I didn’t hear back from you. Sorry we didn’t drop them round, we’ve just been so busy; the twins are on the go all the time and it’s hard to find a spare moment. Twins, say good luck to your dada.’ ‘Good luck, Dada! Don’t fall over!’ the twins chorused in the background.

  BEEP. ‘Hi Papa, it’s Rohini, remember to eat properly before you go and keep your blood sugar up. Have one of those packet chais or something, yeah? And enjoy it – the walk, not just the chai. Remember to wear a vest too, it will help with the sweat patches.’

  BEEP. ‘Hi Papa, it’s Vritti. Good luck today. Sending you loads of love. Hopefully see you soon, yeah? Anyway … I’m really proud of you. For doing this. Seriously.’

  Today was the day he’d been dreading: the day of the sponsored walk. Mukesh stared at his book, the voicemails from his daughters ringing in his ears. His heart was pounding. He couldn’t be sure it was because of his own nerves, or whether he’d become jittery because of Rebecca. He’d been lost in its pages late last night and it was haunting … scary. It was about a woman, in love with a wonderful man, just married. The start of a happy story, Mukesh had thought at first, until it became clear that the ex-wife, the dead wife, Rebecca … she would never be forgotten, and this new lady would forever live with the ghost of the past. It was terrifying.

  Mukesh gulped loudly – swallowing his fears. He was clutching his canvas bag with his Canderel, a spare sachet of chai just in case and a water bottle. Mukesh, Naina’s voice filtered through the air. You can do this, okay? It is good, it is for charity. Just imagine I’m there walking beside you. He clutched his book to his side; Naina used to carry a book with her wherever she went, in case she got stuck in a lift on her own, or if there was a queue at a supermarket with no one to chat to. For Mukesh, having the book with him today was both a method of avoiding chatty conversations with mandir volunteers, and it felt like Naina, a small part of her, was with him. A lucky talisman.

  Getting off the bus at the mandir, he saw the group of people outside in the courtyard, all wearing matching T-shirts. He’d have to wear one too. On cue, the ever-annoying Harish strode over to him at the bus stop, a neatly folded T-shirt in his hands.

  ‘Kemcho, Mukeshbhai,’ Harish said. ‘Please, this is for you. Are you ready for the walk?’

  Mukesh nodded meaning ‘absolutely not’. In the temple forecourt, he was surrounded by many of the people he usually tried to avoid. Not because he didn’t like them. Most of them were perfectly nice people, though a handful of them had rather odd, harsh views about politics, immigration, the National Health Service, who was deserving of certain privileges and who was not, which he always felt rather hypocritical and un-Hindu of them, but these were the ones who delighted in sharing their thoughts with anyone who would listen (he thought of the people of Maycomb) – while others seemed happy to simply boast about their children, or even their friends’ children … Mukesh felt strongly that unless they were blood relatives in some way, there was absolutely no boasting potential.

  ‘Mukesh!’ Chirag called over to him. Chirag was another youngster who didn’t address his elders formally and politely. Respect for your elders seemed to have vanished, for him anyway.

  ‘Hello, Chirag,’ Mukesh replied. ‘How are you? How is your papa?’

  ‘Papa is fine, he’s not coming today any longer. He has a bit of a cold.’

  Mukesh cursed under his breath – why had he not thought of something like that? Anything to get out of this walk.

  ‘That is a shame. Would have been nice to see him. It has been a while. A good long while.’

  ‘You don’t come to the mandir much any more?’

  He tried to respond with, ‘Yes,’ but what came out instead was, ‘Yes, I come on special occasions with my daughters, but I pray at home a lot as well. I do not need to be at mandir to pray and be faithful to God.’

  Chirag’s eyes widened. ‘Mukeshfua, no,’ he said. ‘Please, I didn’t mean that at all.’

  Mukesh saw the horror in the boy’s eyes. ‘I should come more,’ he babbled hurriedly, trying to ease the awkwardness. Mukesh clutched the book for dear life, hoping it might help him channel Naina. ‘Enjoy the walk.’ He waved at Chirag and walked away towards the entrance of the mandir, wondering what uncomfortable conversation he would find there. Naina would have known what to do, what to say, in any and every moment. Everyone loved her – the women at the mandir, the men, all the volunteers. She had been the community-minded one, and she had done this walk every single year. Now, being here, surrounded by people … he could feel her, couldn’t he? He could feel her spirit.

  ‘Excuse me, sir,’ a small boy in an oversized reflective vest said, as Mukesh tried to enter the mandir. ‘The queue for the walk is back there.’ He pointed back towards the crowd of people he had just tried to escape from.

  ‘I want to go into the mandir.’

  ‘Are you not here for the walk?’

  Mukesh really wanted to say no. Right on cue, again, Harish appeared, out of nowhere.

  ‘Get in line, my friend,’ he said to Mukesh. ‘You will walk with me, no?’

  Mukesh nodded and followed Harish, looking back at the boy, pleading. The boy shrugged.

  They reached a woman with a clipboard. ‘This is my friend Mukeshbhai – he
is going to be Sahilbhai today.’ She ticked Sahil’s name off the list without a second thought. Here we go, Mukesh thought to himself, taking a deep breath.

  As everyone got ready, and once the sadhus had performed the ceremonial prayers and rituals, the ribbon was cut and the walk officially began. Harish’s best friend Vivek was at the front, holding up a red umbrella to lead the way.

  Mukesh squeezed his book, for good luck, and Naina’s voice came to him. His talisman was working! Well done, you did this. You’re actually here! She was laughing. He felt his body flood with energy, and that optimistic spirit Naina always had too. She’d be happy he was out ‘meeting’ people – he hadn’t done this kind of thing for years. Maybe the library had been the first step out of his comfort zone. For a little moment, he held himself taller, prouder. He even felt a little invincible.

  That was, until he tried to make conversation with Harish – always a thankless task, even for the invincible. Mukesh desperately hoped if he pelted him with questions, Harish would eventually get bored and walk faster to get away. ‘Harishbhai, how is your eldest grandchild doing applying for university?’

  ‘Ah, Bhagwan,’ Harish waved his arms melodramatically. ‘It has been a nightmare, bhai – but I am still hoping he will get into Bristol or Bath. Very good universities. He did not get into Cambridge. We believe he is just too bright, also much too sociable and well rounded. He would not be suited to the purely academic lifestyle there.’

  ‘Ah, yes, I can only imagine how stressful. It was not like this when my girls were young.’

  ‘No, no it was not. Parents all care too much now. My son is constantly googling chances and predictions based on his son’s estimated grades and to see which university is best. When he was going, we let him make the decisions – we just said work hard, do what is best.’

  ‘Yes, that is what we told my girls too – they all turned out brilliantly.’

  ‘I never even went to parents’ meeting. Now, when my son was on a business trip, he video-called his wife so he could be there at the same time and hear what was happening. He bought extra data especially.’

  ‘Is that a bit over the top, bhai?’

  ‘No, Mukeshbhai,’ Harish looked horrified. ‘Not any more. This all means so much for our future – for our country’s future now. Our children and grandchildren have more chances now. We have given them that. Neel is going to be a lawyer, you know. He will be the first lawyer in the family. I have high hopes for my granddaughter too. She likes medicine. I hope she will be pharmacist. Probably not doctor. She is very squeamish.’

  ‘A lawyer – very exciting! We must keep in contact. Never know when you need a lawyer.’ He thought of the only other soon-to-be lawyer he knew, Aleisha, and felt a smidge of pride.

  ‘I imagine your Priya will be one, ne? Always with her head in a book. If she can read lots, she can be a lawyer.’

  ‘She is young still.’

  ‘But she is thinking now about the future, ne?’

  ‘Priya wants to be a writer or a bookshop worker.’

  ‘But for a real job, I mean. Not hobby.’

  ‘They are real jobs.’

  ‘But I mean what about lawyer? Neel can tell her about the course when it is time for her to study.’

  ‘She doesn’t want to be a lawyer.’

  ‘Doctor? Businesswoman? Na?’

  Mukesh shook his head.

  ‘Don’t worry, my friend. My Neel wanted to be a football player and a fireman at her age. They grow out of these things. I’m sure you do not have to worry.’

  ‘I am not worrying,’ Mukesh said firmly.

  They both fell silent, not knowing where to go next with the conversation. Harish rolled his eyes. If he was trying to be discreet, he wasn’t trying very hard. Harish waited a polite three minutes before breaking off to join another group, talking excitedly and loudly about the cricket.

  Mukesh was pleased to be alone, and could feel his energy cascading back to him, ready to keep going, to do Naina proud. Before he could speed off, Naina’s closest friend at the mandir, Nilakshiben, trundled over to join him. Naina and Nilakshiben, once upon a time, had been inseparable.

  A year ago, Nilakshi had lost both her husband and son in a car accident. Nilakshi’s husband, Prabhand, had been a kind, but reserved man. He kept himself to himself, but Mukesh always remembered his smile – it would light up a room. His son, Aakash, had inherited that same smile but used it all the time – he was a charmer; so intelligent too. Losing both of them, in one go, it had devastated the whole community. The sadhus had known Prabhand very well and led the temple in prayer for him after his death. Mukesh had attended, because Naina would have wanted him to, and because Mukesh missed Prabhand’s smiling face already. Nilakshiben had cried, sitting far back, while men who had never even known her husband or her son sat right at the front, under the gaze of the sadhus. He had felt sad for her, but had never known what to say. When Naina had passed away, Nilakshi and Prabhand had both been a great comfort and support to Mukesh. Mukesh felt ashamed, knowing he had never been as much of a comfort for Nilakshi when she needed it most.

  ‘Mukeshbhai,’ she walked next to him, smiling – she was keeping a very brisk pace for someone so small.

  ‘Nilakshiben,’ he smiled back. ‘It is lovely to see you.’

  ‘Yes, what a surprise! I didn’t expect you to come to this.’

  ‘Harishbhai persuaded me to walk in Sahil’s place. He has hurt himself somehow.’

  ‘Ah. Of course. Harish is very persuasive! And persistent.’ She gave him a look that said, ‘you know what I mean’.

  ‘I missed a few satsaangs recently. Meenaben is upset with me. So, if it’s okay, can I walk with you? She wouldn’t dare venture up here.’

  ‘Sure. But remember Harish is still very close by. Meena tells him everything.’

  ‘I expect she does. But he is easier to handle.’

  The sponsored walk took in the sites and sounds of Neasden and Wembley, plodding through residential streets full of houses once painted a maroon-red, now a dusty brown, huffing and puffing up and back down the footbridge that crossed the North Circular, allowing them to enjoy the beautiful view of its everlasting traffic jam, with the stadium’s halo floating in the distance, and past rows and rows of shops, fruit and vegetable stalls, money-exchange shops, and chicken shops already crowded with people. Mukesh took the walk slowly, but surely. At one point Nilakshi had to clutch his hand and pull him gently along. But the view, of the stadium, of the Wembley skyline – it felt as if he was discovering Wembley anew. Naina had always loved to walk. Now, despite the dull ache in his calf muscles, he could see why. He was in pain, he was not fit enough for another three kilometres, but he was so proud he’d even got this far.

  Nilakshi was encouraging, kind, chatting away as they walked. She made him feel as though he might be in some way capable of finishing. With each step, he felt the book in his bag spurring him on. And he kept listening out for Naina too, telling him he was doing well. But Nilakshi was here walking beside him, and Naina was nowhere to be found. Suddenly, Mukesh’s mind flew to Rebecca – the story of the new wife coming in to replace the old, living forever in the dead wife’s shadow … he shook the thought from his mind. These books … they were playing havoc with his imagination.

  He tried to keep his mind one step ahead. He tried to channel his positivity into moving each limb, one at a time. He tried to hold onto this feeling of being alive. Until reality, and his breathlessness, soon caught up with him. ‘Nilakshiben,’ he said, bending down, his hands on his knees, ‘I think I will have to stop here and get the bus home.’

  ‘You will miss out on the certificates. And most importantly the prasad!’

  Mukesh shook his head, ‘I think prasad is the last thing I need right now – all that sugar might give me a heart attack.’ He looked to the floor. His legs were on fire. He was breathing as deeply as he could, but the air filtered into his lungs in rasps. He couldn’t fini
sh the walk, but he had walked … further than he’d been in a long time, and he’d been around people, so many people, for longer than he had in years. This was progress, wasn’t it?

  ‘Mukeshbhai,’ she said, ‘I will go and talk to Harish and let him know. He will understand.’

  She wandered off. Mukesh watched as people slower than him overtook, smiling and waving. The majority were men, now lagging behind, where once they had been at the front, separated from the women. They were wearing cotton linen trousers, sandals with Velcro straps and good soles. The outlines of their vests were visible under their bright temple T-shirts. Mukesh knew this look well – it was a look he liked to sport himself – the accepted uniform of the over-60s Hindu male.

  He watched for Nilakshi’s light blue Punjabi trousers in the sea of white and cream and navy. He couldn’t see her. She was too far away now. Unable to take another step, he sat himself down on the wall of someone’s house, separating their unkempt front garden from the busy dual carriageway in front. Mukesh felt every car pass – a brush, a whoosh of air, of wind, hot and sticky and stale – polluted. He hadn’t really believed it until now but he could taste every bit of smoke, every fume, as it entered his lungs.

  He thought of Naina again. Is this what had killed her? Dirty air? He’d heard somewhere that bad air had carcinogens. Cancer-causing things.

  He remembered her booming laugh when he’d come downstairs with a T-shirt on back to front. Suddenly, the memory was replaced by an image of her in the hospital, a ghost of the woman she had been.

  A second later, Nilakshi returned with a bottle of water.

  ‘Harish says go home. He gave me this to pass on,’ she presented him with the water. ‘Sounds like an achievement to me – a bit of fresh air, and no need to talk to Harish after this is all over! It’s like you planned it. How will you get home?’