‘I… then… I am very pleased to meet you, sir.’
‘Please, not sir. I am not that old?’
‘They’ve been calling me madam since I got here.’
‘Ouch.’
We laugh. His study of my face becomes more intent and I await the inquisition. I should have prepared answers. I wonder what else Jag has said about me? Did he just sell me as the heart surgeon? What about my kids? Divorce? A glass slides in front of me garnished in citrus peel and cucumber.
‘Thank you,’ I gesture to both the bartender and Arjun and we clink glasses.
‘I like how yours came with a side salad,’ he jokes.
I grin broadly. ‘All vitamins. So, how was the wedding ceremony?’
‘My dear, it’s been a long day. We’ve been here since nine this morning. The actual ceremony and prayers took over an hour because my brother likes a show, then there was lunch and now dinner in a moment and then dancing. Quite frankly, were it not for the fact I know how good these caterers are then I’d be ready for bed.’
I beam at hearing him talk so honestly. ‘It must be lovely to see your niece get married though?’
‘Oh, Meera is a darling girl but my first house was cheaper than this wedding.’’
I laugh. ‘And her husband, what is he like?’
‘Nice boy. A little bit of a square though. He normally wears glasses but Meera didn’t want them in her photos so forced him to wear contact lenses for the first time. So the poor boy’s eyes are bulging like his pants are too tight.’
I laugh straight from the belly and take a long sip of my drink, conscious he is staring.
‘You’re different to the girls Jag normally goes for.’
‘Because I’m… ’
‘Normal?’ he says roaring with laughter. I like that he assumes this so soon after meeting me.
‘We were starting to question the boy’s taste. I’ll assume Jag has told you about the cake girl? His fiancée? Chay?’
‘In passing.’
He leans into me. ‘When she called off the engagement, we nearly threw a party. She is here today. She made the ridiculous cake in there. I swear, you could climb it and reach the moon.’
I laugh but try and steer him back.
‘She’s here?’
‘With about five hundred others so I wouldn’t worry. Look for the miserable one with the face like a codfish and a laugh like a dying parrot. She wasn’t good for my Jag.’ His attention is suddenly taken with someone behind me. ‘Speak of the devil, why have you changed?’
I turn to see Jag approaching us, frustrated I didn’t get to learn more about the mysterious Chay but also pleasantly distracted. I won’t lie, usually I see Jag in scrubs and trainers so Jag in a dinner jacket is a good kind of different. He smiles but also looks similarly stressed that I seem to have entered into conversation with his father. Behind him is a younger woman dressed in a beautiful gold trouser suit, cradling a young child.
‘I see you’ve met my father?’ he says.
‘Jag, that is no way to meet a beautiful young lady. Asha, tell him…’
‘Dad, we’ve been looking for you everywhere.’ She hits him playfully with her clutch then turns to me. ‘I am the little sister, Emma. Lovely to meet you. And this is Zahra.’ A little hand waves at me. Arjun giggles drunkenly but he’s got brownie points from me for calling me young.
‘Emma, you look stunning,’ says Jag. ‘Dad, you look drunk.’ He slings an arm around his father’s shoulder. ‘You just disappeared from the room.’
‘I’m preparing myself. I saw the table plan and they’ve got me next to your uncle’s wife. I need the alcohol or I may have to drown myself in the dhal.’
Jag closes his eyes, slowly. I find it all incredibly endearing. His father rises from his stool and Asha steadies him.
‘Jag, take Zahra and I’ll take this old boozer.’
‘Emma, it was my pleasure madam.’ I giggle and he hugs me warmly. ‘Asha, let’s not cramp what little style he has. Where is your mother?’ He links arms with his daughter and they totter towards the bar entrance.
‘Is he alright?’ I ask, watching as Zahra settles into his chest.
‘Yes. I’m sorry. He’s a character.’
‘He was very charming.’
‘It’s just I’m ushering him around. I’ve also got two cousins who are at war with each other so I’m trying to separate them and Zahra isn’t too well. It’s all a little manic.’
I put a hand to the back of Zahra’s neck, switching into doctor/parent mode. ‘How old? She’s a little warm.’
‘She’s three. Asha thinks it’s teeth but she says her tummy hurts?’
I sit them down and hand Jag my drink. ‘Down this.’ He does as he’s told. I grab his hand. ‘Possibly the excitement of the day? She could just be overtired? We can keep an eye?’
He smiles knowing that my words have a calming effect. Seeing him in concerned cuddly uncle mode is also deeply adorable.
‘Can you drown in dhal?’ I ask.
‘I guess if you were in a bathtub full of the stuff.’
‘You’re wearing a suit?’
‘That I am. I was going to wear scrubs but Mum said it didn’t go with the cake.’
‘I’ve heard about this cake.’
He smiles at me and there’s a moment between us, one that’s becoming familiar. This feels like a date. We’re all dressed up. No one’s falling down stairs or throwing bottles around. There’s even a man on the piano. Jag looks at me for a second longer.
‘You really do look very beautiful,’ he says.
‘So do you. I mean handsome. Like nice to look at. You know?’
He laughs. ‘Come on Doctor C, Little Z. Let’s do this. You OK?’
I notice his black and gold brocade bow tie catching the light and I adjust it a little. ‘We’re golden,’ I whisper.
‘What was that?’
I shake my head. I put my hand out and he links his fingers into mine but then a cough. My eyes widen. It’s deep, from the diaphragm. Zahra puts her hands over her mouth. I know this sound too well. A little person set to blow. I move my seat back so she’ll aim for the floor but instead she turns from her uncle and throws up over most of my lap.
Jag’s eyes read horror. I look up and laugh. ‘And this is why we should wear scrubs, everywhere.’
‘Are you alright my dear?’ I’m stood in the bathroom of Jag’s parents’ room at The Dorchester. The taps are golden, literally, and the walls lined in marble. Now is the time for a selfie, a special one to send to Lucy as I am stood here in a crop top and petticoat about to be dressed in a sari. I’ve not had my belly button out since… never. While my sisters flaunted their stomachs in their teens and didn’t mind a bikini, I was always the covered one-piece sister. But the only other option tonight was to wear my dress with a big giant circle of vomit in the middle, the shadow making it look like I’d wet myself. I’m not angry per se – kids choose their moments – but now I’m about to share an intimate moment with Jag’s mother and sister which I really hadn’t prepared myself for and this evening hasn’t even started. I exit the bathroom quietly. Asha looks completely distraught.
‘I am so so sorry. My husband is with the girls now in our room. I can’t apologise enough. Here, I wore this earlier today. It’s clean and non-vomity.’
I laugh it off. ‘It’s kind of an occupational hazard for me so please don’t worry.’
Next to her is Jiya, Jag’s mother, a vision in turquoise and silver. I see her give me the once over, holding a navy jewelled sari in her hands.
‘Turn around for me my dear.’ I don’t really know what they’re doing but they tuck material into the petticoat and encourage me to spin. I do as I’m told and see Jiya arrange pleats into the material and swathe lengths of it over my shoulder. She stands back to admire her work.
‘That is a lovely colour on you,’ she says.
I look in a mirror beside me, it’s certainly different. ‘I won’t offend any
one dressed like this? Cultural appropriation and all?’ I ask them.
Asha shakes her head. ‘Nah, cultural appropriation would be if you went to a French wedding in a beret, holding a baguette. We’re usually quite flattered when someone wants to play along. It’s respectful. What do you think, Mum?’
Jiya eyes me curiously. ‘Are you really a heart surgeon?’ she asks.
‘MUM!’ replies Asha, aghast.
‘I am.’ I feel as if she is trying to catch me out. Would they have given their approval if I’d had another profession? What if he’d brought Lucy to this wedding?
‘Please ignore my mother. She’d also like to know your monthly salary, your religious status and whether you’re a virgin.’
Jiya hits her daughter around the head playfully.
‘I am just curious. You’re very young.’
‘I’m thirty-five.’
Asha rolls her eyes. ‘You’re so nosey. The fact my daughter threw up on her and she’s still here tells me everything I need to know.’ Jiya looks more thoughtful at this comment.
‘Imagine if one of my girls threw up on Chay?’
Jiya laughs. ‘She would have cried blue murder.’
That name, again. A knock on the door gets our attention and Asha goes to answer it. Jag stands there and steps back, a little bemused. He points at me.
‘Are you OK?’
‘Yes?’ I reply.
‘Mum, Asha – go, aunties are asking about us. I’ll take it from here.’
They nod and take their leave while Jag and I stand here. He still looks confused.
‘Was my mother alright? Was she horrendous?’
‘She asked me about my intentions and showed me your naked baby pictures.’
‘She did?’
‘No.’
‘You still look amazing.’
I blush. ‘It’s actually very comfortable.’
‘I’ve heard that.’
He takes my hand, leads me out of the room and we walk along the elaborate, carpeted corridors to the lift.
‘So how is this rating compared to our other dates?’ he asks.
‘I feel like our siblings are conspiring against us.’
He laughs nervously. It’s a bright lift covered in etched mirrors and visions of us from every angle. I’ve not seen myself in such detail. I smile. He could bring me to the fanciest hotel in London or feed me hummus next to a river and I think I’d still get that same feeling standing next to him. There is silence as we think about what to say next to each other but he beats me to it.
‘I need to do something because later won’t be the right time…’
And that’s when he leans over, cups my cheek and kisses me. And I’m not sure why but this time it feels right. I can’t breathe for the intimacy, the feeling of his breath near mine, the gentle way with which his lips melt into mine. It’s not a long, drawn out kiss. It’s short but damn near perfect. The lift doors open. And it’s a small magical moment as he takes my hand, the biggest of grins on his face and weaves his fingers into mine leading me through to the ballroom: a wondrous space of high ceilings, ornate decor, and sparkling floral arches. We hear drums and the loud blare of music. I stand there to soak it all in, silent. He just kissed me. On the lips. And this is unlike any wedding I’ve seen in my life. The hum and volume of guests in rainbow coloured saris. The tables laid out with towering centrepieces and fragrant curries. There are turbaned men carrying drums. And smoke. And a groom whose contacts do make him look like he has a thyroid condition. But I smile, broadly. In shock, in surprise? I don’t really know anymore but Jag’s father was right. That is one big fucking cake.
Driver Confirmed and En Route
Malik 4.8* Toyota Prius
By the end of the evening, all that magic and drumming has taken its toll. I learned how to bhangra tonight. My frame of dance reference is tiny but there were lots of shoulders and joyous arms. I didn’t quite get the rhythm so I was aware I looked like MC Hammer shimmying up and down like a crab but I didn’t care. I absorbed all that joy, that exuberance and did what Lucy has been trying to get me to do for two years. However, it’s quite evident my feet are not made for such levels of energetic dance so now I’m standing on the carpeted floor without any shoes on, ready to make my way home. Jag was a magnificent date but he’s tasked with looking after older relatives so I won’t draw this out. He didn’t kiss me again after the lift. But we danced. We laughed over paneer, cake and sweets. I shimmied with his father who was keen on an underarm twirl and I danced randomly with an uncle. Was he an uncle? The term seemed to be bandied around for anyone over the age of fifty. I met at least twenty-two of them tonight, many of whom had questions about the health of their hearts.
I look at my phone and prop myself against a hidden alcove in the corridor. I take another selfie for Lucy who is ecstatic I am in a sari and shared the joy on our sister group chat. I have time to say my goodbyes and I think someone told me there are favours, which I anticipate will be huge given the general grandeur of the wedding.
‘Did you bring her here to just embarrass me?’
The voice comes from halfway down the corridor. I glance out and see a light blue jewelled dress. I see Jag’s figure next to her and take a step back.
‘We’re not even together, Chay.’
I am glued to the spot.
‘Yeah but you knew I’d be here. It’s disrespectful. It’s all my mother can talk about. Jag’s here with his new girlfriend. And she’s white and she’s a doctor.’
‘Don’t be a bitch.’
‘I didn’t realise you were in the market for old divorcees with kids.’
‘Where is this coming from? You dumped me.’
‘And, your point? Is she your girlfriend?’
‘Well, no… but…’
And just like that, a heart which had previously been reset and glowing dims a little. All the arteries that were feeding it freeze. I know what’s happening. I know without even having to look. But still, I peer around the corner. She’s kissing him. I don’t want to know what he’s doing. Is he kissing her back? Is he drunk? Maybe that’s why he kissed me.
A heart can beat millions and millions of times throughout your lifetime. Yet you can die from a broken heart. The symptoms are similar to a heart attack but it comes from a rush of emotion or hormone rushing through your bloodstream. But I won’t allow mine to break. Not again. My feet still sore and aching from dancing, I grab my shoes and tiptoe towards a side door that leads to the foyer. I won’t wait for Malik. A man in a hat opens the door for me.
‘Evening madam. That’s a really lovely dress.’
I don’t reply. I just jump into a black cab and ask him to take me home.
Fifteen
671 days since Lucy nearly pushed Simon down a flight of stairs
I tried looking for you but I couldn’t find you after the wedding? Is everything alright?
Emma?
Did you make it home OK?
We have your dress. Asha got it dry cleaned.
Please could you just let me know you’re safe.
I study all my messages over my cup of tea. I haven’t opened them for the last week. It was cruel perhaps but what I saw in that hotel corridor stirred up too much emotion. It was better to avoid it and not let it swell to the surface. It was the best sort of heart surgery, wrapping mine up so tightly that I couldn’t break. I spoke to no one about it. Not a sister nor secretary. I concentrated on telling them the positives from that evening, I learned how to bhangra and I had the most amazing aubergine masala I ever tasted. Naturally, Lucy had to make a dick joke about that.
‘When are Simon and the girls getting here?’ Beth’s head peeks around the corner along with little Joe. He wears one of those fluffy aviator hats that make me want to eat his gorgeous face. He’s recently entered the world of child modelling which I am not surprised about. I like that it’s given Beth a spring in her step and she gets nappies as payment. He giggles and I cave, pre
tending to eat one of his cheeks.
‘Twenty minutes ago.’ I tell Beth.
She pulls a face at me. It’s been a weekend of logistical negotiations as I’ve allowed Simon to have the girls to attend his mother’s birthday lunch. We play around with our allotted daughter time for special occasions and such but, as you can imagine, having to communicate the changes always adds stress to our already fraught relationship. He’s late which means we’ll have to dash for the Tube as we have plans to catch Lucy performing some gig in a London park as part of a Frozen Elsa competition. It’s a big deal apparently, she can win money and a contract so we’re going to show our support and cheer the loudest for her.
I didn’t ask Simon about his lunch plans but I predict that he took them to a bistro. He’d have had a steak and his mother would have had some fish mornay dish. I remember those dinners well as I was always in charge of the cake. Linda didn’t like chocolate. She liked a plain sponge with marzipan as thick as my thumb. We’d always give her bath salts and book tokens and Simon would write a card and sign it off with just his name. No kisses, no personal message, no hint of affection. I’d compensate by scribbling my name next to a message I didn’t quite mean.
‘Oh,’ mumbles Beth, swaying with Joe in her arms as she looks out the window at the car pulling up. ‘I’ve not seen her in a while.’
I stand up from my armchair, glancing at Simon’s Range Rover parked outside and the girls sifting through his boot to get their belongings. Beside the car is Linda Chadwick, Simon’s mother, glancing up at the house. She catches me at the window and waves. I haven’t seen her for a while now either. I didn’t get Christmas cards from her, or presents, and any communication was always made via the girls or Simon himself. She looks a slight figure standing there on the pavement, like she’s lost weight, clutching her handbag tightly. I wave back.
‘She’s coming in, isn’t she?’
Can I Give My Husband Back?: A totally laugh out loud and uplifting page turner Page 20
