Rani and Sukh

by Bali Rai

  ‘Rani! Do not answer back to me.’

  ‘God! I was only asking . . .’

  My mum relented a bit when she saw the hurt on my face. I thought about Nat in that split second. I wondered whether I should be the one applying to RADA.

  ‘The Bains are very bad people – our families do not like each other . . .’ she told me, as if that was enough to explain everything.

  ‘Why?’ I asked, pushing it further.

  ‘Nothing for you to know about – your father will kill me if he knows I have told you.’

  ‘Oh don’t be such a drama queen!’ I said to her, but something in her eyes made me realize that she believed her own words. She whispered her reply, keeping one eye on the kitchen door, scared that my dad might walk in.

  ‘It is a very old feud – something from the Punjab. They killed someone in our family and they have tried to take our business away here in England—’

  ‘Killed?’ I pretended to be shocked.

  ‘It is nothing for you to know, beteh,’ repeated my mum.

  ‘But—’

  ‘Now they are opening a shop opposite ours, in The Shires, and your brother is unhappy about it. They are just trying to be as good as us.’

  I waited, hoping that now she was talking, she would tell me some more. She did.

  ‘We opened a factory – the first one, and they copied us. We opened some shops and they did the same. We moved here to Oadby and bought a lovely big house and they did that too. It’s as though they are trying to be better than us at everything.’

  ‘Maybe they’re not doing it to upset us,’ I said. ‘Maybe they are just doing the same as us – trying to be successful.’

  ‘No! They are not like us. We are bigger than them.’ She looked as if she wanted to spit out their name. As if it was a nasty taste in her mouth.

  ‘How do you know what they are like if you don’t even speak to—?’

  ‘Enough! Are you taking their side against your own family?’

  My heart somersaulted and I felt sick, a strange metallic taste making its way up from my food pipe into my throat. I swallowed and held it back but I was feeling nauseous.

  ‘Now go and wash your hands. And never tell your father that I have told you anything,’ she whispered.

  I nodded, trying not to let her see that I was going to be sick. I turned and hurried out of the kitchen, running up the stairs and into my bedroom. I could hear shouting coming from the living room. I ran into my bathroom and threw up, my head spinning, and the metallic taste burning my throat. I threw up about four times and then I cleaned myself up, wondering whether I should call Sukh and tell him what was happening.

  RANI

  SUKH RANG ME back after he’d heard the message I had left him. He was dismissive of it all – joking about it.

  ‘It’s serious, Sukh. What if they find out about us?’

  It was the first time I had seriously considered what would happen if we were discovered since hearing all about the feud. Before I knew our family histories the idea that we would be seen by my brothers or my dad had already been scary. But now it was enough to make me feel sick to my stomach.

  ‘They won’t – and anyway this shop thing isn’t anything to do with my dad. I’d know if we were going to open a new outlet.’

  ‘It has to be . . . my brother mentioned your family . . .’

  ‘It might be one of my uncles. The whole family’s into the rag trade.’

  I hadn’t even considered that it might not be Sukh’s dad. ‘Oh,’ I said quietly.

  ‘Look – what happened is way in the past. We’ve already decided that it’s not going to affect us – not yet anyway. Why worry about it when it ain’t gonna happen, honey?’

  ‘But it might . . .’

  ‘Rani—’

  ‘No, Sukh,’ I replied, raising my voice. ‘You don’t know my dad or Divy—’

  ‘Divy?’

  ‘Yeah – my oldest brother,’ I told him.

  ‘Does he drive a black Audi?’ asked Sukh.

  ‘Yeah . . . why?’ For some reason I began to feel a little sick again.

  ‘I saw him down the park when we had a game once. Has he got a ponytail and a long black leather coat . . . ?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘That’s your brother?’

  ‘Sukh – you’re scaring me now . . .’ I said, worried that there was something else going on that I didn’t know about.

  ‘It’s nothing – honest. I’ve just seen him around,’ he replied, trying to reassure me.

  Something in his voice told me that he was hiding something. I was going to push it but then I let it go. My stomach felt rough again and I tasted that strange metallic tang again. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow,’ I told him abruptly.

  ‘Rani? You OK?’

  ‘Yeah – I’m just feeling a bit queasy. It’s all that fried food at the wedding – I’ll be fine.’

  ‘Look, if there’s anything wrong—’ he began, before I cut him off.

  ‘Gotta go, beautiful boy,’ I said bravely, hoping that he would believe I was in a good mood and not about to throw my guts up again.

  ‘OK. Love you . . .’

  ‘Me too . . .’

  I rang off, chucked the phone on my bed and ran to the bathroom.

  Later that evening I tried to get my mum to tell me more but she refused to budge. In the end I sat in the living room with my dad, watching television and hoping that he would start ranting about what was going on. He’d had a few drinks already and was holding another one as I sat there. I watched him out of the corner of my eye, his face glum and his bottom lip protruding like a sad child.

  ‘You OK, Dad?’ I asked.

  He looked at me and I could see that he was tearful. ‘Beteh, you do not know what you mean to me,’ he said.

  ‘I do, Dad,’ I replied, suddenly feeling all emotional.

  ‘Nah, beteh – it is not for your understanding . . .’ He looked at his drink, swallowed some and then began to speak in Punjabi. ‘So much happened to us before you came along. We had to deal with so much—’

  ‘Dad . . .’

  ‘You know – once, a long time ago, I lost two of my friends. Together. At the same time . . .’

  ‘Who?’

  He drank some more and looked away at a picture of Guru Nanak, which hung on the wall above the fireplace. ‘The Lord took from me my best friend and someone else . . .’ he slurred.

  I wanted him to carry on, to finally tell me in his own words about the sister he had lost, the aunt that I had never been told about. But he just started to cry and I couldn’t handle it. Dads were strong and jolly and full of fun. They didn’t sit around drowning their sorrows in whisky and telling sad tales, at least not in my perfect world. It got too hard for me to sit there, so I stood up, trying not to cry. My dad got up too and gave me a hug that nearly crushed the wind out of me. I could smell the whisky on his breath.

  ‘You are my only daughter,’ he said, ‘my only . . .’

  And then suddenly he exploded with rage, letting go of me and throwing his glass at the wall. ‘Let them try and take you away! Let them!’

  My heart did yet another somersault. For a split second, my world with Sukh crashed before my eyes and I thought, believed, that he knew about us . . .

  ‘Daddy-ji, I—’

  ‘Kulwant . . .’ he said in a whisper, slumping into the sofa and beginning to cry.

  I looked at him, tears flowing down my cheeks and then looked away. I wanted to tell him right there and then. I felt guilty and scared and as though I had let him down . . . but the story that Parvy had told me was right there at the forefront of my thoughts and part of me got angry. I wanted to ask him about it; to ask why they had destroyed those two young people over love. Over something so meaningful and natural . . .

  Sukh’s face entered my mind then and I left the room, walking slowly up to my bedroom, listening to my dad sobbing, as he remembered a time when he had been best friends
with Sukh’s dad, and the two of them had bragged about seeing snakes and hunting for witches . . .

  RANI

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING Nat opened the door to her mum’s house in her underwear and smiled. ‘Hey, sexy girl,’ she said, looking out into the road.

  ‘Put some clothes on, you tart,’ I told her, embarrassed for her, and secretly envious of her body.

  ‘No one can see me,’ she replied. ‘Anyway – it’s no worse than opening the door in a bikini.’

  ‘Nat – it’s way different.’ God, I wish I had that stomach, I thought as I stood there.

  She ushered me in and closed the door before walking me into the lounge. ‘Sit down – I’ll just go and get dressed,’ she told me, with a smile.

  She returned five minutes later in a pair of beige combats, white trainers and a tight white T-shirt with a red love heart on it. Sitting down on the sofa beside me, she tucked her feet under her and asked me what was wrong. I started by telling her what was going on with my family – the way my brother had talked about the Bainses and then the episode with my dad, right down to the tears and everything. When I’d finished, Nat sat for a while and said nothing, which was amazing for her.

  ‘There’s more too,’ I said, after a while.

  ‘More? I’m gonna have to write this all down, babe.’

  ‘I’m fat,’ I said, looking away.

  ‘Rani . . .’

  ‘I’ve put weight on. I asked Sukh about it but he just told me I was beautiful and he always does that.’

  Nat shook her head and moved closer. ‘You’re not fat, Rani.’

  ‘I am,’ I insisted. ‘I went away for that wedding and ate too much and now I’m bloater-girl and my belly’s swollen and my tits are sore and—’

  ‘Easy, easy, Rani. Take a breath before you turn blue, babe.’

  ‘And my stomach’s been playing up, although that’s probably due to the fact that I’ve been given food poisoning by my silly aunt who didn’t cook the food properly . . .’ I continued, after taking a breath as instructed.

  ‘Are you due on?’ asked Nat, shifting so that she was facing me.

  ‘Yeah – in a couple of days . . .’

  ‘And you’ve been taking precautions?’ she said seriously.

  I looked at her, blinked and then realized what she was on about. ‘I’m not pregnant,’ I told her, as my mind filled with images of the toilet bowl in my bathroom. I’d been seeing a lot of it since the weekend.

  ‘Rani – condoms can split—’

  ‘Well, that’s not happened to us. I’m not pregnant!’ I protested.

  Nat took my hand and smiled. ‘You’re probably just a bit hormonal – it’s the same every month. You get all tearful over silly little things and you tell me you’re fat.’

  ‘No I don’t,’ I protested, as tears welled in my eyes and I looked down at the water-retaining, blubber-covered excuse for a body that I had been born with.

  ‘See? You’re just rubbish sometimes,’ said Nat, proving her point.

  ‘I know – I can’t help it,’ I admitted.

  ‘No worries, babe – it’s one of the reasons I love you so much.’

  She leaned across and planted a big kiss on my lips. ‘Now, we going to sit around here feeling sorry for ourselves or are we going to go into town, drink alcohol and look at really expensive clothes that we can’t afford?’ she said, pinching my cheek.

  ‘Can’t we just hang out for a bit?’ I asked, not ready to face the world just at that point.

  ‘Yeah, all right – we can pop into town later. Do you want a drink?’

  I told her that I wanted a cup of tea, and as she was making it I sent Sukh a text asking him what he was up to.

  SUKH

  SUKH PRESSED THE SEND button on his phone and then put it back into his jacket pocket. He put the jacket in his sports holdall and placed it in the boot of his cousin Ranjit’s Vectra, which was parked down by the side of Victoria Park on an overcast but humid Saturday morning. Ranjit was sitting in the driver’s seat, door open, with bhangra, hip-hop style, pounding the bass bin.

  ‘What time we kicking off?’

  Sukh looked round and saw his mate Jaspal, standing beside him in his football kit, complete with his boots.

  ‘Not for half an hour – the other team ain’t even here yet, Jas.’

  ‘Oh, right. Thought it was about now.’

  Sukh smiled. ‘You wanna take those boots off, Jas. You’ll kill the studs walking about on the pavement – scuff ’em down.’

  Jas looked down his long, spindly legs at his Adidas Predators and then back at Sukh. ‘We may as well go on the grass and have a warm-up,’ he replied.

  Sukh went to the boot and got out one of the three footballs he could see. He tossed it to Jas, who tried to control it on his chest but the ball bounced off at an awkward angle and rolled into Victoria Park Road. Jas swore and clattered after it, before returning to Sukh.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, giving the ball a whack so that it shot high into the air and landed with a soft thud on the grass.

  Sukh followed Jas onto the grass by the side of the football pitch. Cars were parked all along the road and other Asian lads sat listening to bhangra, got changed or stood around smoking and drinking from cans of Coke and Fanta. Ahead of Sukh, the park stretched out into the distance, across other football pitches, a cricket match, down towards the university, with its tall buildings, and way over to De Montfort Hall to the right. To the left of the uni stood QE sixth-form college, where Sukh was hoping to go after the summer: A levels in Politics, Psychology and Economics. He thought for a moment about his GCSEs and nearly started worrying about his results. But his thoughts were cut short by the football, which whacked him on his left thigh, leaving a stinging sensation.

  ‘You knob!’ he shouted at Jaspal, who just stood and giggled at him like a pre-teen schoolgirl.

  They spent about twenty minutes knocking the ball around between them, juggling it from foot to foot and trying to perform the tricks they’d seen real footballers do. As they did so, more and more young men from both teams arrived by the side of the pitch, and eventually the players got themselves ready for action. It was a Saturday League game for under-eighteens and Ranjit had picked the team: Sukh was starting the game this time and he was looking forward to it. Three other games were being played and, one by one, they all kicked off as the sun broke through the gloom and the temperature began to rise.

  Sukh played well for the first half, setting up four clear chances, one of which gave his team a deserved half-time lead, but then Ranjit, eager to give as many players a run-out as he could before the round of summer tournaments kicked in, took him off. Sukh didn’t complain. He was tired and thirsty, and he joined the other substitutes and supporters on the touchline, where he stood drinking from a carton of warm orange juice, watching the match unfold. The second half dragged a bit, with only one more goal scored by Sukh’s replacement, an older lad called Manny. It ended two–nil, and slowly both sets of players began to trudge off towards their cars.

  Sukh was waiting for Ranjit to finish taking down the goal posts when he saw Tej and Manj walking over from the direction of the pub on London Road. Both of them looked half cut already and Sukh hoped they were just coming over to say hello before going on their way. Some hope. Manj, holding a bottle of lager, grabbed Sukh around the shoulders with his free arm.

  ‘SUKHY!’ he shouted, pulling him in close. ‘What you sayin’, man?’

  ‘All right, Coz,’ replied Sukh, trying to get away.

  ‘Aw kiddah?’ added Tej, throwing a fake punch at Sukh’s stomach.

  ‘I’m all right, Tej. Can’t you say hello in English?’

  Tej grinned and drank from his bottle. ‘English-Pinglish! Fuck it!’ he shouted, before taking another swig.

  ‘We’s goin’ over to another game, Sukhy. The senior side are playin’ the enemy,’ added Manj.

  ‘Bloody Sandhu FC,’ said Tej, grinning again.
r />   Sukh thought about Rani. Part of him wanted to tell his cousins that he was going home, that he had things to do, people to see. But he also wanted to go on over to the other game and see what happened. To watch the feud play itself out, looking at it through his newfound knowledge. He turned to his cousins. ‘Cool – I’ll come over, but I ain’t getting into no shit because of you two,’ he told them.

  ‘Trouble? Us?’ laughed Manj.

  ‘Trouble–schmubble,’ added Tej.

  Jaspal and a few of the other lads were still hanging around and they joined Sukh and his cousins for the walk over to the senior game. Sukh trailed behind the rest with Ranjit, wondering why he was going along, yet unable to stop himself. As they approached the pitch, Sukh realized that there were at least sixty people gathered round, split equally on either touchline. He found a space on his own side and glanced across the pitch to the other team’s supporters. Divy Sandhu was standing with a group of three other men, wearing his leather coat, his hair tied back in a ponytail, talking into a mobile. The men with him were laughing and gesturing across the pitch, occasionally shouting out insults in Punjabi. Tej, Manj and a few of the others threw back their own insults. None of them seemed particularly interested in the game itself, which was scrappy. As Sukh watched, Divy pocketed his mobile and turned to one of his crew, gesturing across the pitch as he spoke. The man he spoke to nodded and said something to the other two, and the three of them began to walk around the pitch towards the opposing fans. Sukh looked at Tej for a reaction, but Tej hadn’t noticed – he was busy calling the referee names. Sukh saw Divy say something to another couple of lads and then join them, as they too headed for where Sukh was standing.

  He turned to Manj. ‘Yo – you better check out what’s coming,’ he told him.

  ‘Wha’?’

  Sukh nodded towards the group of Sandhu men walking around the pitch, their faces set in stony masks.

  Manj saw them and poked Tej on the back. ‘Tej – better get some lads together. We got some trouble . . .’

  Tej realized what was happening straight away and called out some names. A few of Sukh’s cousins and second cousins gathered together, one or two of them emptying their bottles of lager onto the grass and holding them at their sides. Tej put a hand into his jacket and pulled out a cosh. His eyes were blazing and he pushed Sukh out of the way, making his way towards the fast-approaching Sandhus.