Can You See Me Now?

by Trisha Sakhlecha

  I need to say it, I realize. I need to know that Alia is seeing the same thing as me.

  ‘This means—’ I start but Alia beats me to it.

  ‘This means Noor didn’t kill herself,’ Alia says. ‘She was murdered.’

  In the beginning, I had been obsessed with finding out what had happened that night. Despite the note, despite what my parents, my therapist and even the police thought, I couldn’t bring myself to believe that Noor had committed suicide.

  But aside from my own suspicions, I had nothing to go on, not a single piece of evidence that suggested foul play. Nothing to suggest that the gnawing feeling in my stomach wasn’t just a manifestation of my own guilt. I pushed it aside, told myself I was being crazy, buried the questions that kept cropping up deep underneath coursework and therapy and the daily slog of living a life that was shadowed with shame.

  I promised myself I wouldn’t look back.

  Until I received that email.

  It was one of hundreds in my tips inbox. No subject, no text, just an unknown email address and an attachment. If it hadn’t been for the events earlier that day, Andrew’s ultimatum and the ever-growing stack of unpaid bills, I would have assumed it was spam and deleted it without a second glance. But that night I was feeling desperate enough for a lead into a story that I clicked on the attachment.

  And as Noor’s handwriting appeared on my screen and I realized what it meant, that desperate need to uncover the truth reappeared. I had never believed that Noor had killed herself and with that email, I finally had something to back up that feeling.

  But I had nothing to go on, except an uneasy feeling that it had something to do with Vineet.

  That’s when the idea for the documentary began to take shape. It was the perfect excuse to come back and ask questions, to try and close up the holes that appeared every time I ran through a theory in my head. Moreover, it would be enough to keep my job safe.

  Alia’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts. ‘Omar can speak to the commissioner, but it might take a few days. Can you wait?’

  I nod. I might have been away for fifteen years, but I haven’t forgotten how difficult life in India can be without the right connections. And after a week of trying and failing to get hold of the police files through the official route, it seemed silly not to ask the cabinet minister sitting across from me for help.

  ‘Who do you think sent it?’ Alia asks after she’s finished the call. We are sitting on my bed, an empty Domino’s box between us, reenacting a scene that had played out countless times before, just without Noor this time.

  ‘It came from an unknown address,’ I say, thinking back to my conversation with Dan earlier that day.

  ‘The sender used a VPN so all I can tell you is that it originated in Asia. I can’t even pinpoint a country, let alone get you an IP address. Whoever sent this did not want to be found,’ he’d said.

  ‘What about—’

  ‘Patience, Khan,’ Dan had laughed down the phone, before going on to explain how VPNs work and, more importantly, how Trojan Horses work. He had a plan. I’d drafted a response to the original email and Dan had sent it out along with said Trojan. It was a long shot, but if it worked, he’d be able to trace the exact GPS location from where the email account was accessed.

  ‘So as long as this person,’ Alia says now, waving her hand, ‘clicks on your email, your friend will be able to trace their exact address?’

  ‘In theory. But it’s a long shot. I sent two emails before I even came to India and I haven’t had a response.’

  Alia lets out a long sigh.

  ‘Even if you find out who sent it, what does that actually tell us?’ she says, reading my thoughts. ‘I went to help Javed Uncle clear out her room but it was too painful. In the end, his staff went through all her things. Most of it went to charity, I think. Anyone could have found her diary.’

  Alia draws her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around her legs and for a second, I’m reminded of the gullible teenager I’d first met.

  ‘If I’d known she kept a diary . . .’ she says, her words laced with regret.

  ‘Noor loved her secrets,’ I say. I leave the fact that I had always known about her diaries unsaid.

  A small act of kindness to make up for everything else.

  ‘Now what?’ Alia says after a few minutes.

  ‘Now we find out what really happened that night.’

  ALIA

  Omar is pacing in my cabin when I walk in.

  ‘Five of our donors are backing out of their commitments,’ he says, before I’ve even had the chance to sit down.

  I close my eyes. ‘Saeed. Are any of them salvageable?’

  Omar shakes his head. ‘There’s more. He’s been saying that we’re embezzling state funds. The nutrition supplements tender. I’ve had two reporters ring this morning.’

  I sigh. I’d advocated for the nutrition supplements scheme to ensure women on low incomes were getting the supplements they needed for free. The supply contracts had gone to a Delhi-based business after the usual tender process. I hadn’t realized until months later that the company belonged to an old friend from Cambridge, not that there would have been anything legally wrong with it even if I had known.

  ‘So we open our books,’ I say. ‘They won’t find anything.’

  Omar looks at me for a long moment, as though he’s weighing up whether or not to be straight be with me.

  ‘We can’t do that,’ he says finally. ‘It doesn’t matter whether our books are clean or not, that kind of scrutiny just before an election will scare any remaining donors off. If there is even a whiff of a scandal, we can kiss our funding goodbye.’

  ‘Okay, so what do we do?’ I look him square in the eye. More than half of the allegations that get thrown around before an election are false, but that doesn’t mean that they aren’t damaging.

  ‘What does Saeed want?’ Omar responds with his own question. And I know what he’s thinking – what can we offer him to kill the rumours? How can we negotiate so that I’m up against just Faraz, so that it’s a fair fight?

  The biggest currency a politician has is image and I’d ruined his. This isn’t about his son anymore, it’s about his ego and the only thing that will pacify him is a public apology. But it will also discredit everything I stand for.

  ‘You could rescind your statement,’ Omar says, but the conviction with which his words are usually spiked is absent. He knows that rescinding my statement will cost me the female vote.

  ‘Absolutely not.’

  ‘Saeed isn’t going to stop and we can’t win an election without funding.’

  I rub my forehead. I haven’t come this far to let a Saeed-sized hiccup get in the way. An image of Noor bent over her sketchbook appears and I blink it away. The solution is an obvious one yet it isn’t one I want to immediately reach for. Between Arjun, his parents and his cousins, more than half the donations for my first election had come from the Mehta clan, but that money came with strings attached and I’d sworn I’d never ask them again. It’s easier to owe your career to strangers than to your in-laws.

  I glance at the calendar in front of me as an idea begins to take shape. Just because I don’t want to take Arjun’s money doesn’t mean I can’t use his connections. After all, he’s been using mine for years.

  I turn back to Omar. ‘How much do we need?’

  I’m in the bedroom getting dressed when Arjun walks in.

  ‘You look nice,’ he says, dropping a kiss on my shoulder before heading into the bathroom. ‘Going out?’ he calls out.

  I finish pleating and pinning my sari before following him in. He’s standing in front of the mirror, razor in hand, a white ribbon of shaving cream still outlining his jaw. I feel some of the anxiety from the past few days lift as I watch him shave, the rhythmic movements soothing.

  ‘I thought I’d come along to the industry awards tonight,’ I say, leaning against the door frame.

  ‘Are you su
re? You don’t usually like these things.’

  I smile. It’s typical of him to offer me a way out, but the five donors that had backed out had taken 60 per cent of the campaign funding with them. My phone calls this afternoon had helped, but I’m still out by 40 per cent. One evening spent socializing with Arjun’s contemporaries could solve that.

  ‘I’m sure it can’t be that bad.’

  He wipes his face clean and turns around to look at me, his eyes serious.

  ‘I’ve already RSVP’d, though. Maybe next time?’ He walks past me into the bedroom and starts getting dressed.

  ‘I hardly think they’re going to turn a cabinet minister away,’ I say, a hint of desperation leaking into my voice. ‘Come on, it’ll be fun. Plus, I’ve barely seen you the past few weeks.’

  Arjun doesn’t respond, just busies himself with picking out cufflinks.

  ‘Do you not want me to come?’ I ask.

  ‘No, of course I want you to –’ he starts, then stops talking abruptly, focusing on threading the black and gold studs through his cuffs. The silence stretches on for a few seconds before he breaks it. ‘Actually, you’re right. I don’t think it’s a good idea.’

  My breath tightens, as the suspicions I’d convinced myself were a result of my own paranoia resurface.

  ‘Why not?’ My voice comes out tinny, unstable.

  ‘The Barclays contract is supposed to come in next week and with the rumour-mongers hovering right now, Niv thinks I need to create a bit of distance.’

  ‘A bit of distance from your wife?’

  That whips his gaze around. He closes the gap between us in two long strides.

  ‘No,’ he says. He grips my shoulders lightly, dark eyes fixed on me. ‘That is not what I’m saying.’

  It’s my turn to stay silent. Truth is, I don’t trust myself to speak.

  ‘Come on, sweetheart. You know it’s not personal. With the kind of stories that have been doing the rounds, Niv thinks I shouldn’t be seen with you at an industry event. With the Barclays deal so close . . . it would be bad PR. You get that, right?’

  Right.

  ALIA

  Fifteen years ago

  I should have seen it coming but naive as I was, I believed that even though Noor and Sabah were friends again, nothing would change. The idea that I would be left behind, discarded, cast in my role as the outsider forever, didn’t even cross my mind until suddenly, it was all I could think about.

  I waited a whole week for Noor to call me back. One whole week of the winter break spent sitting at home, watching the days meld together, my whole existence soundtracked by the melodramatic daytime soap operas Nani liked to watch. One whole week of convincing myself that Noor hadn’t called because she needed time to recover after the incident at Sameer’s party. One whole week of staring at the phone, waiting, waiting, waiting.

  I got sick of waiting.

  It was New Year’s Eve and Noor and I were supposed to spend it together.

  I packed a change of clothes and slung my backpack over my shoulder. I tiptoed down the stairs and put my shoes on, shouting to let Nani know I was leaving when I was already out the door.

  An hour-long rickshaw ride later, I was standing at Noor’s door, puzzled by the darkened windows and the police car standing on the drive. The maid let me in, telling me to wait in the hall.

  I crept towards the stairs, craning my neck to look at the first-floor landing but it was shrouded in blackness. I pulled my sleeves down and wrapped my arms tightly around myself. I had never seen the house so quiet or so dark.

  Javed Uncle’s voice turned me around.

  ‘Alia?’

  He was wearing a rumpled kurta pyjama and there was the shadow of stubble outlining his usually clean-shaven jaw. I peered at him, trying to work out if he was sick.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked. There were none of the usual pleasantries, no offer of cold coffee or paneer pakoras. Behind him, Faraz popped his head out of the living room for a mere second before going back inside and quietly closing the door.

  I could feel my muscles tense. Something was very, very wrong.

  ‘I – Where’s Noor?’

  ‘She’s in Goa with Sabah and her family. I thought you went with them.’

  ‘No, I didn’t know.’ The words spilled out before I could stop myself. I looked at Javed Uncle but it didn’t seem like he had noticed. His attention was seized instead by whatever was going on in the living room.

  He kept twisting, turning to look at the closed door, silhouetted around the edges by a sliver of golden light.

  ‘When is she coming back?’

  ‘I don’t –’ he started. He ran a hand through his hair, threw another glance towards the living room. ‘Sunday, I think.’

  Sunday: the day before school started.

  Also, Sunday: six whole days away.

  ‘Look, why don’t I get the driver to take you back home and you can see Noor at school next week?’

  ‘Maybe I could –’ I started, but I didn’t know what the end to that sentence was. Maybe I could stay here till Noor comes back? Maybe I could spend New Year’s Eve with you and your family? Maybe what?

  When my own parents couldn’t be bothered to spend time with me, why would anyone else?

  Something flickered across Javed Uncle’s face. It took me a long moment to realise it was pity.

  Tinged with a tiny bit of disgust.

  I hooked my thumbs around the straps of my backpack and pulled it tighter as Javed Uncle led me out of the house and into a waiting car.

  It was only as we were driving past the police car that I realized that I’d been so lost in my own drama that I hadn’t even asked him about that.

  It wasn’t until after the funeral that I realized that if I had to go back and pinpoint the day when everything changed, it would be that day.

  Nana and Nani were in the living room watching TV when I got home.

  ‘We’ve ordered some chole bhature from Nirula’s,’ Nani said. ‘Something special to see the New Year in.’ She smiled.

  I nodded. I couldn’t decide what was worse, the fact that Javed Uncle could see how desperate and lonely I was or that my grandparents couldn’t.

  ‘The awards show starts in fifteen minutes,’ Nani called out after me as I headed up the stairs.

  I went straight to the phone, not even bothering to take my jacket off before dialling the familiar number.

  ‘Hello?’ I spoke uncertainly into the phone. They hardly ever answered.

  ‘Yes?’ I heard my mother’s voice. I tried to tell myself she hadn’t recognized me because of all the noise in the background. I could hear the sound of chatter over loud music, ice clinking in glasses, high-pitched laughter. I felt my heart sink. They were having a party.

  ‘Mum?’

  ‘Oh, Alia, it’s you. What is it? Are you okay?’ The impatience was palpable.

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Where are your grandparents?’

  ‘They’re downstairs watching –’ I started before changing tack. My mother didn’t like prevaricating. ‘Mummy, can I come and visit on my birthday? Next week,’ I added quickly. I didn’t know if she’d remember and I didn’t have the courage to find out.

  ‘Alia—’

  ‘Just for a few days,’ I pressed on. ‘Please?’

  The pause seemed to last forever. When my mother spoke, her voice was clipped. ‘You have school.’

  ‘Nothing much happens in the first week. And I can bring my books.’ I spoke quickly, trying to use my swiftness to win her over.

  ‘Maybe in the summer,’ she said, the exasperation evident. She was eager to get back to the party. ‘Now you have a nice—’

  ‘Where’s Dad?’

  I heard her sigh down the phone. ‘He’s busy, sweetheart,’ she said. ‘Must go now. Happy New Year!’

  My mother didn’t like prevaricating. She liked speed.

  She hung up before I could say anything.
r />   I went downstairs after a few minutes. I’d seen my parents host dozens of such parties in London and I could practically see it: the dimmed lighting, Dad’s record player spinning in the corner, the room crammed with my parents’ friends, the über-rich expats, the bourgeois literati, the intellectuals and the diplomats. Even though my parents were just aides to the ambassador, they were ambitious and somehow they managed to surround themselves with the right kind of people – exotic creatures who were as interesting as they were important.

  I spent New Year’s Eve camped on the sofa with my grandparents, watching Bollywood’s version of the Academy Awards and eating chole bhature.

  When my grandparents asked me if I had thought of a New Year’s resolution, I shrugged. I kept my eyes on the TV screen, watching confetti erupt over movie stars and celebrities.

  I wanted that kind of power, that success that made the world stop and take notice. And as I climbed into bed later that night, I swore to myself that I would do whatever it took to get it.

  Whatever it took.

  ALIA

  Fifteen years ago

  ‘There you guys are,’ I said, hopping over to Noor and Sabah after track practice.

  I was still sweaty after the sprints and Sabah scrunched up her nose to remind me. They were sitting on the bleachers, Sabah’s back propped up lightly against Noor’s leg. There was no awkwardness in their posture; their bodies fit together automatically, folding around each other in another reminder of their long and twisted history.

  I ignored her and looked instead at Noor.

  It was the first day of school and the first time I’d seen Noor since Sameer’s party. It was obvious that Sabah was trying to prise Noor away and I wanted to make sure Noor knew that I was still her friend. Her best friend.

  ‘So what’s the plan?’ I asked Noor. ‘I just need to have a quick shower and then I’ll be good to go.’

  Sabah pretended to study her trainers. She was the least sporty person I knew, but somehow always dressed for PE as though she was competing in the Olympics.