‘Noor, maybe you should leave,’ Addi said softly, inching closer to Sabah and draping an arm around her shoulders.
Sabah looked at me, defying me to say something, jump to Noor’s defence, but I kept quiet. I understood that it was time to choose between Sabah and Noor, and in that moment I chose Sabah.
I chose me.
‘And never come back,’ Saloni added.
Noor flinched but didn’t say anything, the shock on her face evident. The girls who used to buzz around her like bees were now acting as if they were too good for her. Her eyes rested on me but I pretended I couldn’t see the silent appeal, the desperation.
‘Sabah, please, I’ll do anything . . .’
‘Clearly,’ Sabah replied, sitting up straight. She brushed Addi’s arm away and leaned forward on the table, her eyes focusing in on Noor.
‘At least we could all see how much you enjoyed it,’ Sabah said, pausing for a second before she added. ‘But then, that’s what sluts do, right?’
The day stubbornly dragged on. I kept my head down, pretending I couldn’t hear the whispers that started every time the teacher turned her back, acting as if I hadn’t seen the note that was being passed around the classroom, a connect-the-dots kind of sketch of Noor that left little to the imagination. I snuck glances at Noor when I knew she wasn’t looking and when the final bell rang, deafeningly loud and desperately welcome, I slipped away without a word. Shame and guilt scorched through me, but neither was enough to burn down the sense of self-preservation that had cropped up sometime between having my bum pinched and realizing I still had a place at Sabah’s table, as long as it was without Noor.
A small crowd had gathered around the snack shop outside school. It was always busy after school, with kids pushing to get to the front to buy a masala bunta, some Cheetos or a bar of ice cream before jumping on one of the hundreds of school buses that lined the street. But the crowd today was buzzing with the kind of excitement that could only mean one thing: a fight.
‘How dare you go near her?’ I heard someone yell as I elbowed my way to the front. My heart stuttered. I knew that voice. Faraz.
Vineet was standing alone in a small clearing amidst the crowd, shifting from foot to foot, hands held up in front of Faraz and a few other boys, all older and probably from Faraz’s university.
‘Look, man, I didn’t do anything she didn’t want me—’
‘That’s my sister, you son of a bitch,’ Faraz snapped.
Faraz lurched forward, his body a blur. One moment, Vineet was standing in front of him, the next he was splayed out on the ground, knocked back with a single punch. I saw Mohit push through the crowd across from me and then step back as soon as he realized that Faraz had brought company.
‘Faraz, calm down—’
Faraz’s foot on his stomach cut Vineet off.
‘Did you think you could do anything you wanted and I wouldn’t find out? You arrogant –’ He stopped, breathing hard. ‘You are going to pay for this. I’m going to make sure of it. My father is going to make sure of it. No one messes with a Qureshi.’
I felt fear ripple through me as I spotted Noor pushing her way to the front and, almost instinctively, I stepped forward.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ Noor yelled, running to Vineet to help him up.
‘Get away from him. I’ll deal with you later,’ Faraz said.
He grabbed her arm and dragged her a few feet away towards the road to his waiting car.
‘Let go of me,’ Noor screamed, struggling under his grip.
‘Shut the fuck up and get in. You’ve caused enough embarrassment already,’ Faraz snapped, shoving her in and slamming the door shut.
‘Make sure she stays there,’ he said to one of his friends, who nodded and took position by the car door as if he was guarding a convict.
The entire crowd held its breath as Faraz strode back to Vineet, who had just about managed to get up. Faraz grabbed his collar and lifted him up, their faces inches apart.
When Faraz spoke his voice was calm, but loud enough for all of us to hear.
‘If you even look at her again, I’ll snatch your eyeballs out. Got it?’
ALIA
Fifteen years ago
The most effective way to destroy your competition is to whip up a scandal and then disengage, to deny them the drama and the validation of a response, to let them simmer in their own misery until they have no choice but to self-combust. You’d think I would have learned that in politics, but the truth is, there is nowhere better to learn the rules of power than at school.
The other thing I learned?
Things have to blow up before they can blow over.
Noor didn’t come back to school that week, or the next, and with no one left to bully, the gossip died down to the odd comment here and there. A new transfer student had started that week and when people found out that she had been on a TV show as a child, by the time the weekend rolled around, the focus had shifted almost completely from Noor.
I knew as soon as I woke up that something was wrong. The house was silent for a Saturday, no whirling washing machine, no strains from the TV, no pressure cooker going off. I tiptoed downstairs, still in my pyjamas. I could hear hushed voices coming from the dining room and I crept up to it.
The door was open. I looked in.
Nani was sitting at the table, head bent low over a newspaper. Nana was standing at the window looking out.
I pushed the door open and they both turned to look at me.
‘Come in,’ Nana said.
I sat down at the table next to Nani. It was clear that she had been crying.
My stomach twisted uncomfortably.
‘What’s—’
Nana held up a hand silencing me mid-sentence. His face was blank, his expression so cold it took my breath away.
‘You are not to see Noor or any of those girls again,’ Nana said.
‘But—’
‘And no more parties or after-school activities. You’ll go to school and come straight home. We can decide what to do next when your parents get here.’
‘My parents?’
‘They’re flying in for the weekend.’
‘I don’t understand. What’s happened?’ I asked, hating the sound of my voice, so shrill.
He threw a bunch of pictures on the table. Photos from the trip to Oxford, from the concert, from all the parties I had been to in the last year. Photos that showed me smoking and drinking. My backpack lay open in the corner.
I was so terrified I forgot to be angry.
The silence stretched on, so thick it felt like I would choke.
‘Nani,’ I said, trying to appeal to my grandmother.
‘I don’t know what to say to you,’ Nani said. She took a deep breath and my insides flipped. ‘Do you take us for complete fools, Alia?’
The photos showed a side of me that they had never seen before but even so, their reaction was extreme.
I looked from her to Nana, trying to figure out what had prompted the only two people in the world who had ever loved me to distrust me enough to search my bag, until my eyes fell on the newspaper on the table. I twisted it towards me.
My breath caught in my throat. It was horrible enough as it was, but to find out about it from my grandparents, for them to know what really happened at those parties . . .
Video featuring Wescott girl rocks the nation.
I skimmed through it. The video had been so widely shared among school and college students in Delhi, someone in Hyderabad, a complete stranger sitting a thousand miles away from Wescott, had decided to put it up on an online auction site. Noor’s name hadn’t been mentioned, but the fact that her father was a minister was.
I had never felt shame that deep.
I watched in agony as Nani scraped her chair back and got up.
There were a million things I wanted to say – sorry, please don’t be angry with me, I didn’t do anything – but all I could do was stare as they w
alked out of the room and, once again, I was left completely alone.
I realized even before I made it to the classroom on Monday that this time the gossip wasn’t going to die down.
I walked into the locker room after track practice to find a group of senior girls huddled together in a fierce knot of chatter. I backed into one of the shower cubicles but I needn’t have worried. They were so busy slandering Noor they didn’t even notice I had walked in. I leaned my cheek against the frosted-glass door and listened.
‘My mum said she’s being expelled.’
‘And Vineet?’
‘Probably, but it’s not so bad for him, is it? He’s not the one half the country’s jerking off to. If he hadn’t admitted to it, no one would even know it was him.’
‘No, but it’s not fair. He’s the one that put the video out there.’ Somebody sounded uncertain.
‘Well, she shouldn’t have done it in the first place if she didn’t want people finding out.’
‘She didn’t know she was being recorded.’
‘Actually, I heard that she did,’ someone said, in a tone that was so cavalier, it could only be Saloni.
‘No way. Who told you that?’
‘Mohit.’
‘And Vineet told Mohit? That’s a reliable source.’
‘Either way, it’s her own fault for trusting him.’ Saloni, relishing the gossip, as always. ‘I wouldn’t be caught dead in a situation like that.’
‘Only because you haven’t been on a date in the last century.’ There was a ripple of laughter and I found myself flinching at the sharpness of the words.
Slut if you do, prude if you don’t. What was a girl supposed to do?
‘She’s back on the drugs too, you know. I saw her at Sameer’s party last year – high out of her mind. It’s no wonder the boys think they can get whatever they want from her.’
‘Her parents must be mortified.’
‘I heard this might cost her father the election.’
‘I’m surprised they haven’t sent her back to rehab already. What an embarrassment.’
‘As if they’d take her back,’ someone sneered.
‘What do you mean?’
‘My sister has a friend who was at the same centre. She said that Noor wasn’t discharged early. She was thrown out. Apparently she was messing around with another – what do you call them – resident? Inmate?’
‘I thought she was at a girls-only facility.’
‘She was,’ came the conspiratorial reply.
The pause stretched on for a beat too long.
‘Bullshit.’ Someone called it, finally.
‘She probably just snuck in some weed or tried to seduce a doctor or something.’
‘Maybe. But I’ve heard sluts don’t discriminate.’
Another flurry of giggles.
‘I heard,’ someone said, ‘that something happened between her and Alia.’
‘You don’t mean . . .?’
‘That’s what I heard.’ The same voice again. ‘In Oxford.’
‘I can’t say I’m surprised. Alia made up a fake boyfriend, you know. Dave or Chris or something.’ I’d know that haughty voice anywhere. Sabah.
Noor told her?
I felt something inside me snap. I swung open the door and marched out, ready to obliterate everyone that was out there. I wasn’t the only one with secrets.
I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw who was at the centre of the group.
Niv whirled around to look at me and I understood in that moment that she was only doing to me what I had done to her.
‘Alia. Oh no. You heard everything,’ she said, her voice flat, devoid of even the slightest hint of regret.
ALIA
I spot Niv as soon as I get there. She’s sitting at a table right by the edge of the terrace, her face turned out towards the huge green expanse.
I feel the resentment rise up my throat as I thread my way towards her, circling the golfers laughing over beers and looping around the society wives exchanging tips on the city’s best manicurists while their children get fed by their nannies on separate tables.
I’m all too familiar with Delhi Golf Club’s particular brand of elitism. Membership is a privilege that no amount of money or influence can buy. I’ve been on the waiting list for eight years now. Niv, however, has had a family membership for years, an heirloom more precious than her grandmother’s diamonds. Usually, I love spending Sunday afternoons here. The food is good, the views of the green and the old Mughal monuments brilliant and Niv’s company always welcome, but today everything about it exasperates me.
‘I’ll have the mezze platter,’ I tell the waiter, without so much as a glance at the menu. ‘And the Sauvignon Blanc,’ I add, after a pause. I’m feeling rebellious.
‘Small or large?’
‘A bottle,’ I say.
His eyebrows twitch for less than a second before he turns to Niv for her more respectable order but his message is clear: you don’t belong here.
‘Friday was fun,’ Niv says, skipping our usual topics and going straight for the Wescott grapevine, fresh for plucking after the reunion last week. She doesn’t moan about her mother or question why I had insisted on lunch at such short notice. I know she noticed the tension between Arjun and me at the reunion, but she doesn’t ask me about it. She’s trying far too hard to avoid talking about him and I find myself wondering how much she knows about the inner workings of my marriage. I wonder if he talks to her about me when they’re working late, if they have their own whispered secrets woven through the shared history that predates me.
‘Did you read the article about Sabah’s documentary?’ Niv asks, stabbing her fork into a piece of salmon and slicing a small piece. ‘I’m a bit wary of the whole thing.’
‘Why’s that?’ I’d seen the piece in the papers this morning. Apparently the documentary had been bought for a high six-figure sum, but what interests me more is Niv’s objection to it.
Niv takes a sip of her Bellini and tilts her head to one side, thinking. ‘Because I don’t get her angle on it. She tells everyone it’s a simple retelling, but then there’s all that stuff about a suspicious death and foul play in the press release . . . I just don’t trust her, I suppose.’
I raise my eyebrows. I just don’t trust her. The exact same thing that Sabah had said about her. And yet, if there is a liar here, it’s Niv. I think back to her stunt at school. At the time, I’d felt sorry for her. How damaged does someone have to be to pretend they’d been cutting their wrists? I’d thought. But for the first time now, I can see it for what it was. The damsel in distress. A ploy, the oldest one in the world, to attract the boy she wanted.
‘Scared all your secrets will come out?’
Niv looks at me evenly. ‘No, but if I were you, I would be. Sabah’s got a special skill for twisting the truth.’
I look into the distance, studying the golfers on the lawn, their brightly coloured polo shirts and sun visors standing out in contrast to the lush green grass.
‘Is Arjun staying on at his parents’ tonight?’ Niv asks between bites.
Arjun had left for his parents’ house early this morning. It was all very last minute. His mum had called just after six to tell us his father had had a fall and dislocated his shoulder and Arjun had left soon after, eager to see his dad. It’s disconcerting that Niv knows about this less than six hours later.
I draw in air, telling myself to be calm, logical, but I don’t have it in me.
‘You tell me. You seem to see him more than I do these days.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘You asked him to stay away from me. His wife.’
Niv sighs and puts her fork down. ‘I was worried you’d misunderstand that. The firm is getting a lot of heat right now. As are you. And I don’t know how much Arjun’s told you, but he’s been under a lot of pressure. If this Barclays deal doesn’t go through . . . The project with John . . . it was a mistake. We’re overstretched.’
‘And that’s supposed to justify you meddling in my marriage?’
‘Stop being so—’
‘What were you arguing about at the reunion?’
‘Alia –’ she starts then stops. I realize that my voice has risen above the din of the terrace. I also realize why she insisted we meet here instead of at her house like I’d suggested. She wanted to make sure that I didn’t create a scene.
For once, I don’t care.
She places a hand on my arm. I jerk away.
‘What? Suddenly you’re out of words?’
Several beats of silence pass.
‘Are you accusing me of sleeping with Arjun?’ she hisses.
‘Are you?’
‘Of course not! How can you ask me that?’
‘I don’t know, Niv, it’s pretty hard to trust someone when you find out they’ve been lying to you the entire time you’ve known them.’
I ignore the little voice inside my brain that calls me a hypocrite.
‘What are you—’
‘Sabah. Faraz. The fact that you pretended you barely even knew Noor. Would you like me to go on?’
‘Jesus – is that what this is about? It was fifteen years ago, Alia. We were kids.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Because there was nothing to tell. We were friends, then we weren’t.’ Niv sighs, then continues. ‘Noor and I . . . we had a complicated history. She loved being the centre of attention and she could be so charming when she wanted to. I loved her. I treated her like a little sister. But she could also be cruel, Alia. Even you can’t deny that.
‘When she found out that Faraz and I were together, instead of talking to me about it, she started spreading rumours – nasty rumours – about me. She would write these mean little notes and stick them up on the school noticeboards. It was stupid, kiddish stuff but it was embarrassing. I didn’t realize it was her until months later.’
Can You See Me Now? Page 19
