The Reading List

by Sara Nisha Adams

  Instead, she pulled out Zac’s business card – she got the sense that sometimes he was as lonely as her. She wanted to talk to someone, someone who might not judge her for feeling lost and alone. She typed his number in, followed by a short message: Hey, it’s Aleisha – the library girl – how are you?

  Chapter 22

  MUKESH

  THE PHONE TRILLED AND trilled, once, then again, then a third time. He was confused, and then a little panicked. It was eight in the morning, usually his daughters called at this time but only once, waiting for it to go to voicemail. They didn’t call again and again. He shuffled out of bed, just in case it was an emergency.

  ‘Hello?’ his voice was shaky as he answered.

  ‘Papa? Hi!’ Vritti said, a little too loudly for the morning. She sounded bright, chirpy.

  ‘Good morning, beta.’

  ‘Are you still coming by today? For lunch?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Mukesh had completely forgotten. ‘Yes, I am looking forward to it! Are we going to one of your cafés?’

  ‘No, I thought it would be easier for you to come to mine. Deepali and the twins are coming too.’

  ‘What about Rohini and Priya?’

  ‘Papa, you know my flat’s not big enough. Rohini is at work, anyway.’ Mukesh was relieved that Rohini wouldn’t be there – he could just about deal with the Nilakshi conversation with Vritti and Deepali, but adding Rohini to the mix would make it much harder. ‘I can come and pick you up if that’s easiest?’

  Mukesh shook his head. He thought of the demons he’d conquered during the trip with Priya to central London – he could do this.

  ‘Papa?’

  ‘No, no. I will get the Tube.’

  ‘It’s a long way … you sure?’

  ‘Totally sure! I know the Tube. I used to know the timetables and the routes off by heart. I will be fine.’

  ‘Okay, I know. See you later, Papa! Jai Swaminarayan.’

  Mukesh was looking forward to going further afield today, looking forward to seeing his daughters – despite the impending doom about the Nilakshi situation. He might even try reading some more of Pride and Prejudice on the train. But the font was so much smaller than the other books and he worried it would make him feel twice as queasy. It was funny, so far he’d discovered that Mr and Mrs Bennet have five daughters – a gaggle of strong-minded and exuberant women that reminded him more than a little of his own three – and Deepali was so much like Lydia Bennet. He knew he was being cruel, but it was true! Gossipy and self-involved, Lydia shared a fair few character traits with the youngest Patel sister. The shock on her face when she’d seen Nilakshi open the door; yes shock, but there was a hint of glee too, wasn’t there? He could tell Deepali had already been imagining herself disclosing the scandal to Rohini and Vritti when she got home. He thought about Rohini then – was she most like the main Bennet sister, Elizabeth? Queen Elizabeth! Bright, intelligent, but always one to judge someone straight away – that was quite like Rohini. And Vritti – was she Jane, who always gave people the benefit of the doubt – or was she Mary? He didn’t really know much about Mary – she was plain. And he didn’t think Vritti was plain at all. And finally, there was Kitty – quite cheeky and silly, always getting into trouble and mischief. Mukesh was glad none of his daughters was like Kitty – she would have run Mukesh and Naina ragged.

  He thought again of gossipy Lydia-esque Deepali. What was he letting himself in for? He took a deep breath, needing to prepare, and he tapped his pocket. He had his keys, and crucially his 60+ Oyster card – Harish always called it the ‘old persons’ Oyster’, but Mukesh knew to give it its proper name, as TFL would want him to. He was ready to go.

  Apart from the swish new bathroom, Vritti’s flat hadn’t changed much since he had last been here. It was a fairly modern block of flats, with a lift up. ‘So good that she has a lift, Dad!’ Deepali had said. It was bright to make up for the fact that it wasn’t spacious; and it was airy to make up for the fact that there wasn’t a garden, though there was a small balcony covered with plants – all green, no flowers.

  The flat itself was minimal with lots of art on the walls. Vritti had never had much stuff. She’d never wanted much stuff, unlike the other two. But Mukesh wondered if this flat really felt like a home. Could it feel like a home without piles of merchandise from the mandir in every corner, the pink Tupperware used for prasad recycled as candle-holders, pots for safety pins and a salt and jeeru container? Without the family photos and pictures of Swami Bapa haphazardly framed and hung on every wall? Without Naina’s saris everywhere?

  Naina had always loved this flat though – it represented a life she just couldn’t have because instead she’d raised three children, and three grandchildren, and kept a home as well as a job too. She loved this flat because her daughter had made it her own, and Naina had always prided herself on letting her daughters do what felt best for them, and making a space in the world for themselves. ‘Because if you don’t, who will?’ she used to say.

  Vritti was standing at the door ready to greet him as he came out of the lift. Her arms were open wide, as they always were whenever she was greeting family, friends. Ever since she was a little girl, she’d loved to play the host.

  ‘Dada!’ Jaya and Jayesh, Deepali’s twins, chimed in unison from behind the door. Mukesh clamped his hands over his ears, hoping he wouldn’t end the day with earache as the two little ones hugged his legs.

  Deepali stepped towards him as he headed for the kitchen. ‘Hi, Dad. Ooh nice T-shirt. But aren’t the sleeves a little short for you at your age?’

  Mukesh only saw Lydia Bennet, in her fancy frock, staring out at him from Deepali’s eyes.

  ‘Hello, Deepali. No, I had a fashion adviser pick it out and this is exactly the right length.’

  Aleisha had helped him to pick out some new T-shirts and ordered them on the library computers. She had told him which arm length would suit him best. She chose the colours for him too. She selected one in an olive green that he wasn’t sure would suit him; she said it was a ‘wicked’ colour at the moment. ‘Wicked’ wasn’t necessarily something he’d consider for himself, but he went with it. She was young, she’d nearly got a job in Topshop, so she definitely knew what she was talking about. She picked a navy blue one too – ‘because you can never have too much navy blue’, she’d said – and a white one as well. She called it the ‘summer staple’.

  Dressed like this, like a trendy person, he felt as though he fitted in. In this sporty top, he was suddenly ageless, invincible. He thought of Nilakshi as she waited in the living room while he tried his new purchases on in his bedroom, walking out to show her – he called it ‘fashion show’ because Naina used to. ‘Ooh,’ Nilakshi had said, right on cue. ‘Very snazzy.’

  ‘Looks great, Papa!’ Vritti said. ‘Come sit down!’

  The table was set already. It was clear and white with a lovely bouquet of flowers set in the middle – Mukesh just knew Vritti had nipped out and picked them up that morning. They were fresh and colourful. It was a habit she’d picked up from Naina, and their first neighbour in London, who had turned up on their first day in their new home with a bunch of big daisies, greeting them with, ‘Flowers for you! Lovely fresh blooms make a home.’ Vritti would beg and beg Naina to go and fetch some new flowers whenever the old ones were on their last legs.

  Deepali sat down immediately, sighing, exhausted after constantly running around after her twins – he felt a quick pang of guilt for his Lydia Bennet comparison. His daughters weren’t little horrors as children, were they? He always remembered that time so fondly – they were angels, that’s what Naina said, always helping around the house, and they would sit nicely when they were meant to and eat whatever they were given.

  The twins Jaya and Jayesh, on the other hand, looked like angels, but instead liked to spend their time running up and down the house, crawling up and down the walls, and on rainy days they would get their felt-tip pens and draw on any surface they
could find. Deepali’s once perfectly decorated house had suffered because of it. She always said as long as they were happy that’s all that really mattered.

  As soon as the kids got their plates, they inhaled their chips and chicken nuggets. Pranav, Deepali’s husband, was not a vegetarian and therefore the kids weren’t either. Naina had been upset that Deepali hadn’t convinced her entire nuclear family to follow their vegetarian Swaminarayan beliefs, but Mukesh didn’t mind so much. Chicken nuggets would be much easier to make than mung beans, he thought, though he had just discovered halloumi fries, which were pretty easy too.

  ‘How have you been, Papa?’ Vritti asked, fetching some cutlery.

  ‘Fine, yes, same same as always,’ he said. ‘What about you both?’

  ‘Ah, Dad,’ Deepali said. ‘Rohini said you’ve been going to the library?’

  ‘Yes! I have read so many books.’ He whipped out Pride and Prejudice from his jacket pocket – he hadn’t read it on the Tube, but he liked carrying it with him, just as Naina always used to. ‘It’s very good.’

  ‘Pride and Prejudice?’ Deepali giggled. ‘I can’t imagine you like it!’

  ‘It isn’t maybe my cup of cha, but the cover is nice.’ He held it up. ‘Your mummy always liked paintings like this – it feels very proper, like a good old book.’

  ‘Isn’t it basically nineteenth-century smut?’ Vritti laughed, sitting down at the table.

  Mukesh’s face blanched. ‘Smut? Really? I am only a quarter of the way through. I haven’t seen smut yet.’

  ‘Just you wait,’ Vritti winked.

  ‘How is Nilakshimasi?’ Deepali asked, passing Vritti’s colourful salad around. The question smashed into the table like a grenade. Vritti fell silent. Mukesh didn’t move an inch. Even the twins seemed to freeze, their chicken nuggets mid-air.

  The reason he was really here, of course. Mukesh looked around the room, hoping that some invisible person might be able to answer for him. Vritti’s eyes were fixed firmly on her plate.

  ‘She is good, yes,’ he murmured.

  ‘Lovely to see her the other day,’ Deepali said. ‘I didn’t want to ask, but how is she after you know … what happened to her husband and son? So tragic. Mummy would have been devastated if she knew.’

  Mukesh took a deep breath. Typical Lydia Patel, he thought to himself. How would Mr Bennet deal with his daughter talking to him like this? Lydia was always causing all kinds of fuss, ruining the family name on a whim. He wracked his brain. Mr Bennet would never get into this situation in the first place, would he? He was always so stern – he commanded respect in a way that Mukesh probably didn’t.

  ‘I’ve heard she’s getting over it rather quickly!’ Deepali exchanged a glance with Vritti, but Vritti frowned at her in response, shaking her head slightly.

  Deepali was talking as though Nilakshi was just anyone, not their mother’s best friend. She had looked after them when they had been little, she had been by their side when Naina was ill, and she had driven them to and from Northwick Park Hospital when they were too tired to drive themselves. And now all Deepali cared about was the gossip.

  ‘You have to move on with life,’ Mukesh said, more sharply than he had expected. ‘Grief can trap you for a while, and you have to be bold to step out of your comfort zone.’

  Vritti stepped in, trying to draw a line under the conversation. ‘Now, pile up your plates please!’ she chirped. ‘Hope you like it.’

  Mukesh did as instructed, but as soon as he picked up the salad bowl, Deepali pulled it out of his hands. ‘I’ll do that, Dad.’ When he reached for the bottle of water to pour into his stainless steel cup, especially for him, Vritti took it out of his hands, and said, ‘Let me help you, Papa.’ He gave in.

  When his plate was fully loaded, and his cup was up to the brim, he picked up his knife and fork, feeling slightly awkward holding them between his fingers, knowing he was being watched, but slowly he began to eat. And within moments, his two daughters had almost forgotten that he was there, as though he was a ghost at the table. ‘Papa’s boiler is sometimes not working, we should get someone to look at it.’ ‘I don’t think it’s healthy the amount of mug he eats. I hope he is getting the chance to eat something else too.’ ‘I want him to start cooking new things – I just don’t have the time to teach him.’ ‘He doesn’t go to the mandir to eat a lot any more, he should. They give balanced meals.’ ‘He seems all right most of the time.’

  ‘Talking of Nilakshimasi,’ Deepali said, even though they all knew that Vritti had put a stop to this line of enquiry, ‘Pranav’s friend is also Swaminarayan and he heard that there is a lot of gossip about Nilakshimasi, spending time with men. You don’t want to be the reason she gets a reputation, do you?’

  Mukesh froze.

  ‘Hold on,’ Vritti said. ‘Let it rest, Deeps.’

  ‘Papa, is Nilakshimasi looking to remarry?’ Deepali smiled sweetly.

  ‘Nilakshimasi is about Papa’s age – she’s not going to be remarrying,’ Vritti said, matter-of-factly. ‘Now just move on, Deeps.’

  ‘I should hope not! That’s not our way,’ Deepali huffed.

  Mukesh looked at Vritti, and she rolled her eyes for his benefit. Deepali missed it entirely.

  ‘Dad,’ Deepali said. ‘How often do you see her? When I saw her in your house, was that the first time?’

  Mr Bennet would never put up with this. Mr Patel just gulped. ‘She is my friend. I see her every week, every few days. We keep each other company. What is your problem with that?’ There, he’d said it, and now he waited for the chair to eat him alive, salad and all.

  Deepali didn’t respond.

  Mukesh suddenly wished he could be at home with Nilakshi, telling her about how awkward this all was, and wondering whether she might teach him some more recipes, because Deepali and Vritti were probably right – he did eat mung too often.

  The phone rang then, cutting through the tension.

  ‘Hello?’ Vritti said, picking up the handset. ‘Oh, it’s Rohini,’ Vritti said to the room, as though she was in some kind of pantomime, but her face flushed and she looked embarrassed. ‘Ha, Papa and Deeps. And the twins.’ She nodded a little bit more. ‘Papa, Rohini wants to speak to you,’ she said, and handed the phone over.

  Rohini spoke extra loudly just for him; he could see Deepali, Vritti and even the twins listening to every word.

  ‘Dada is going to be told off by Rohinimasi!’ Jayesh stage-whispered to his sister. ‘Mum told me she was going to call!’

  Mukesh gulped again. He was being cornered.

  ‘Papa, have you been spending much more time with Nilakshimasi than you should have been?’

  ‘Hello Rohini, lovely to speak to you too,’ he said sarcastically, his eyes jumping from Vritti, looking uncomfortable, to Deepali, triumphant.

  ‘I bumped into Hetalmasi on the way to work, and she asked me if you two were now a couple.’

  ‘That is not true, and why would Hetalben know?’ Mukesh was outraged. He was being spied on – he hadn’t seen Hetal from the temple for months!

  ‘I want you to be careful, Papa. We all know that Nilakshimasi is lovely, and kind, but we don’t know what she wants from you. And it is important that people don’t think that you are being disrespectful to Mummy in any way!’

  Vritti stood up. ‘No one would ever think Papa is being disrespectful to Mummy,’ she said forcefully.

  In the earpiece of the phone, Rohini’s voice came again: ‘I’m not saying we would but some people have funny ideas. Not everything always seems so innocent.’

  Everyone was quiet for a little while.

  ‘Papa, you love Mummy. We all know that. And you’re allowed to be happy, but I’m worried some people will talk, say shameful things. And Nilakshimasi, I don’t know if she can make you happy.’

  Mukesh stood up, still holding the phone to his ear.

  ‘I am lonely, Rohini,’ he said, looking Vritti and Deepali in the eyes. ‘My wife died. My wife is
gone. Her memory is still in here, and here,’ he touched his heart, and his head, ‘but she is gone. You all have your own lives, you are busy. You have no time for me unless I can be useful. And when you do, you just fuss and fuss and fuss. And you don’t listen to me! You don’t actually have conversations! You just leave me voicemail messages and never expect me to call you back. You used to speak to your mother, you used to care for her. If you care for me, too, and if you understood that I want a friend … well, Nilakshiben has been kind to me.’

  His heart was pounding. He could feel the skin on his head prickling with sweat. His hand holding the phone was moist; he held tighter, hoping it wouldn’t slip and fall. His ears thudded with his own blood. Vritti and Deepali looked at him. Vritti seemed pleased, trying hard not to let a smile curl the corners of her mouth, but Deepali looked sad, pitying.

  Mukesh shrank back into his seat. He had enjoyed feeling big, vast, powerful, for that moment. And now, with one look from his youngest daughter, and hearing a sigh through the phone from his middle daughter, he felt small again, like a child.

  He passed the phone back to Vritti, who held it at arm’s length. ‘Vritti, thank you for a lovely lunch. I must go now. Goodbye. Jaya, Jayesh, bye!’

  Jaya and Jayesh were watching TV now, chicken nuggets decimated in front of them; they weren’t listening.

  ‘Deepali, bye,’ Mukesh continued. He collected his hat, shaking. He shuffled his way out of the door and shut it behind him.

  He stood in the corridor a moment, trying to get his breath back, find his bearings, hoping that one of his daughters would come after him. They didn’t. On the other side of the door, their conversation continued without him.

  ‘He felt ambushed. It was clearly a set-up,’ Vritti hissed. ‘He’s not an idiot. Who calls up their sister randomly to ask to speak to their father to see if he’s in a relationship? I knew it was a stupid idea, but you never listen to me! Why can’t you let him enjoy his life?’