by Sarah Bourne
There was the question of introducing them to Abby as well. He hadn’t admitted to his parents he was even seeing her, let alone planning to marry her. The last time he and Abby had spoken about it she’d burst into tears, accusing him of being ashamed of her. That wasn’t it, as he’d been quick to reassure her. The truth was, he knew his parents would take it badly. Even now, with his baptism only weeks away, his mother still talked about arranging him a marriage. She said it was her right as a parent, his duty as a son.
‘Why did you leave the village if you just want to hold on to all the old customs, eh?’ Sandeep had asked on his last visit.
‘Because it is right. Look at your father and me. We are happy. Our parents chose for us. You are too young to know what you want and you work too hard to meet anyone. Are there even any Indians in MK?’
That was the other thing that counted against Abby – she was most decidedly not Indian. She had the palest skin he had ever seen and such beautiful, thick chestnut hair.
‘Of course there are, Mataji,’ he’d said, but she’d just harrumphed in the annoying way she had and somehow changed the subject.
Neither of them had dared mention the religion trump card. They had both backed off just before one of them hurt the other too deeply, although Sandeep certainly felt the barbs in his mother’s words. Once again, at the end of the evening, Sandeep had gone to his childhood bedroom angry, misunderstood and staring into the chasm between his mother’s desires and his own. His father left them to it these days, preferring to watch cooking shows on TV.
Biting the inside of his lip, he told himself he was lucky to have both his parents still and that he should try and look forward to seeing them. And tonight he would tell them about Abby and deal with the consequences.
On the journey from Euston to the office, Sandeep was still feeling emotional. It seemed unfair that he was able to walk, enjoy the warmth of the sun on his skin, look forward to a day at work when a woman (he had overheard this awful fact from the man next to him in the train, which in an indefinable way made the suicide even worse) had died in such a terrible way and would never again enjoy God’s bounty. He hadn’t known this person, of course, but surely there must have been glimpses of a better life, or memories of one at least? He was deeply saddened by the bleakness that must have led to such a decision. Even the thought of seeing his parents later suddenly seemed like a gift.
He pulled his phone from his pocket. He needed to talk to Abby. She always had the right words to educate him in the ways of the Lord and make him feel better.
‘What is it – you never call me during the day. Is something wrong?’ she asked.
It was true. Theirs was not a relationship that required constant nurturing. They saw each other at church, prayer group, Bible study and once a week for dinner. They hadn’t slept together and Sandeep’s few attempts in that direction had ended as awkward fumbles. Abby was saving herself for marriage. At first it had been an issue for Sandeep, although not one he could discuss with Abby. Although no Casanova, he had enjoyed sexual relations with two previous girlfriends, and missed the intimacy. There was something glorious about two people trusting each other with their most private desires, engaging together to produce such exquisite pleasure. He could understand how some people thought it was a path to the Divine. But Abby knew the ways of the church and she smiled in a coquettish sort of way when she mentioned their wedding night, which gave him hope that once they were married their love life would be active. Not that it was the only reason he wanted to marry her.
‘I need to talk to someone – to you. A terrible thing happened this morning.’
He told her about the incident and his response to it in detail, cupping his hand around the microphone to cut out the din of traffic and make himself heard. Abby remained silent at the other end. When he’d finished she made an odd noise, as if she was clearing her throat and exhaling sharply at the same time. Sandeep wondered if she’d caught a cold since he’d seen her at church the day before.
‘You have to realise, Sandy’ – he hated her calling him that, but she said it was an endearment, and anyway, she preferred it to his real name – ‘that this person committed the unpardonable sin for which there is no salvation.’ She said it in a soft voice, as if she was talking about the weather or something inconsequential, but the words struck Sandeep like a blow.
‘But the despair she must have been experiencing to do such a thing – maybe she could see no other way. Perhaps I can pray for her soul.’
‘The un-pard-on-able sin.’ Abby spoke slowly, annunciating every syllable as if he hadn’t understood. ‘Self-murder. Call it what you will, Sandy, but her soul will not get into Heaven whatever you do. It would be a waste of time. Forget about it, put it behind you. There’s nothing you can do for her now.’
Another blow, this one harder, almost knocked the wind out of him so he had to lean against a shop window and catch his breath. Her words were so harsh, cruel even. Surely a loving God would understand that some people, however hard they tried, couldn’t attain perfect faith in Jesus. He himself was still trying very hard, with Abby’s guidance.
‘Sandy, are you still there?’
‘Yes. Thank you. I’d better go, I’m at work now.’
He slipped his phone into his pocket and walked on, his heart heavier than it had been before. Not only had Abby, his guide, his teacher, been unsympathetic, he had lied to her. He wasn’t at work. He was still in the street, as she would have known by the sounds of traffic in the background. She would, no doubt, reprimand him for it next time they saw each other, and suggest they pray together for the Lord’s forgiveness.
Sandeep ran his hands through his hair and stopped, closed his eyes for a moment to calm himself, then hurried on until he came to a church whose doors were open and in he went. It was an old building, with wooden pews and stained-glass windows. The smell of incense in the still air enveloped and comforted him. Candles burned in front of paintings and images of saints; a priest in robes prayed at the altar. It was as unlike his modern unadorned place of worship as it was possible to be, but there was something calming about the way the light shone through the coloured windows, and the flickering of the candles. He sat, bowed his head and prayed. Maybe Abby had been wrong about all people going to purgatory if they took their own life – perhaps there were sometimes extenuating circumstances, and anyway, Sandeep didn’t believe it was wrong to pray for someone’s soul, whatever had happened.
When he got to his desk a while later, feeling guilty he had taken the extra time, calming though it had been, he stared at the to-do list he’d made the day before as was his habit. He ended every day with a review of what had been achieved and a plan for the next day. One of his university professors had suggested it in his first year and he’d been doing it ever since. It gave shape to his days and a sense of accomplishment. He had learned, over the years, to have one particular item on every list – half an hour to deal with the unexpected. Something always cropped up and before he had planned for this spontaneity, he often didn’t manage to get through his list without staying late. Today, however, he was two hours late and had to leave early. It was going to be difficult to finish everything. He felt a surge of anxiety and had to wipe his sweaty hands on the towel he kept in a drawer for such occasions.
His boss popped his head round the door. ‘Ah, Sandeep, there you are. Are you okay?’
‘Yes, thank you, I’m fine. Sorry to be so late.’
Sandeep had always been acutely aware of the pecking order. Barry Worthington was the boss, and he, Sandeep, was a minion. A hard-working, intelligent one, but a minion nonetheless. And bosses deserved respect.
‘Not at all, not at all. Terrible thing to happen. Poor man. Well, poor you, too, going through it.’ He cleared his throat. ‘By the way, I just got a call from Ray – he’s also running late for his appointment, as luck would have it. Probably a good thing – give you a bit of time to gather yourself. You don’t look too
good.’
‘It was a lady, actually.’ Sandeep didn’t know why he had to tell Barry, but it seemed important. A degree of respect for the woman.
Barry scratched his head. ‘How awful.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘Anyway, I’ll leave you to it.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ said Sandeep.
His boss raised an eyebrow at him.
‘Sorry – thank you, Barry.’ He’d been reminded on numerous occasions not to call him sir, but it was a habit Sandeep found difficult to break. He watched his boss go, thinking that he’d been more sympathetic than his fiancée.
A few minutes later, Sandeep was back to looking at his to-do list when the phone on his desk buzzed. ‘Ray Dreyfus to see you,’ announced Monica, sounding as bored as always.
Sandeep stood and straightened his tie.
When Ray entered, they shook hands but Sandeep didn’t invite any small talk. His client handed over a folder full of receipts and invoices and closed his briefcase with a click.
‘I hope that’s everything,’ he said, and looked expectantly at Sandeep.
‘I’ll call you if I need anything else,’ he said, and opened the file. He had a job to do and it was important to get going on it as soon as possible. Fortunately, his client seemed keen to go as quickly as he could, so Sandeep put his head down and started going through the figures.
As Ray opened the door to leave, Sandeep put his headphones on, found the Gregorian chants on his phone and got stuck into Ray’s accounts.
In spite of the chants and the soothing screen full of numbers in front of him, Sandeep couldn’t concentrate. Abby’s words kept intruding: unpardonable sin, no salvation, there’s nothing you can do for her now. That must mean existing for all time in a no-man’s land of – of what? Nothingness? Away from the comfort of others and the Lord. He sat in a lather of confusion. He was well aware that in his mother’s religion suicide was also a sin that brought great shame to the family but he also knew people had a chance, many chances, in fact – to redeem themselves over lifetimes. This woman may have set herself back on her road to enlightenment, but she could eventually get there. Maybe it had been her karma to die in such a way in this lifetime, to pay for past sins. Sandeep thought it was a kinder view than Abby’s eternal damnation.
Sandeep clenched his jaw and squeezed his eyes shut for a few moments, forcing thoughts of the dead woman from his mind so he could focus on the task at hand. Then he chose a playlist of Hindu chants, including his favourite, the ‘Gayatri Mantra’, and for the next five hours, only stopped intermittently to stand and stretch his arms over his head and bend from side to side – another tip he’d been given and stuck to over the years.
At four in the afternoon, Barry stuck his head around the door again. ‘How are you going with Ray’s accounts – I hope he’s given you everything you need?’
‘Yes, everything’s here. I’ve almost finished the first two years.’
‘Thanks for agreeing to take it on – I know personal tax isn’t what you’re used to, but he was one of my first clients when I started the practice years ago, and I’ve never had the heart to send him on his way. He’s a bit like my lucky mascot, if you see what I mean.’
Sandeep didn’t, but he wasn’t about to admit it. He had wondered why a corporate accounting firm such as Worthington and Jones was doing an individual’s tax return, especially when the amounts, so far at least, were rather paltry. He’d far rather get his teeth into the audit of the big engineering firm they’d just tendered for. Big numbers, complex tax strategies, offshore accounts, international threads to follow. It was why he’d got into accounting. He thought of himself as a financial detective, and a quite a good one too.
‘It’s fine, sir – I mean, Barry. Really, I don’t mind at all.’
‘Excellent. Well, I’m going to squeeze in a few holes of golf with Sir Peter before I go home. See you tomorrow.’
At his first job several years ago, Sandeep had been on the team that did Sir Peter’s company tax and knew all about his particular penchant for tax avoidance and hiding profits in offshore accounts. Nothing outright illegal, but shady, and it had troubled Sandeep so he’d requested to be moved to another project. And when Peter Welch became Sir Peter, knighted in the Queen’s Birthday Honours list for services to British business and global relations, he thought the Queen or her people should check more thoroughly before bestowing such honours.
‘Have a good time,’ he said as Barry retreated out the door.
By the time he left at five, Sandeep was frustrated by the slow progress on Ray’s tax backlog. He put it on his to-do list to address the following day, added a couple of other small but pressing items and the half hour for unexpected occurrences. After today’s events he considered extending it to an hour but decided against it – half an hour had always been ample until now and although it hadn’t served him well enough today, he reminded himself of one of Abby’s sayings. One swallow does not a summer make. Everything would be back to normal tomorrow, with the added bonus that he would have told his parents about Abby, and their plan to marry.
Leaving his list under the paperweight on his desk – he always wrote them out by hand for the satisfaction of placing a tick by the finished items – he nodded his farewell to Monica who had her back to him doing something at the photocopier and left the office to spend the evening with his parents.
Sandeep smoothed his hair down as he stood at the front door of his parents’ semi in Hounslow. He felt like a naughty schoolboy waiting to see the principal whenever he visited them these days, these moments on the doorstep full of tense anticipation.
‘Sandeep! What for are you not using your key? You are not a guest, are you? Why always behaving like one?’
‘Hello, Mataji,’ he said, smiling and thrusting the flowers he’d bought for her into her hands. She couldn’t pull him into one of her crushing, incense-smelling embraces if she had her hands full. He’d thought, as a boy, his mother must keep several Indian incense factories in business – a sweet-smelling, smoky haze hung over every room and the furniture and their clothes were impregnated with its cloying odour. Now he lived on his own he didn’t have to suffer the jokes of his fellow pupils, students, colleagues. But Abby always commented on it when he’d been to see his mother. She reminded him each time that she had a sensitive nose.
‘What am I needing flowers for, Sandeep?’ said his mother as she put them on the hall table. ‘Come, come – Abby is here already, waiting, waiting.’
Sandeep gulped. His legs started tingling. First the left, then the right, then his whole body felt as if someone had poured a fizzy drink into it. ‘Abby is here?’ he managed to get out through lips tightening in fear. How could it be? Had she finally snapped and rung his parents, told them everything? She’d been pressuring him for a long time to tell them about her but would she really have taken the matter into her own hands?
‘Whatever is the matter, Sandeep – are you ill?’
‘No.’ He gulped and swung round to look at his mother. ‘No, I’m fine. What do you think of her?’
‘She is a lovely girl. Just right for you. So clever, so pretty-pretty and good family.’
Sandeep felt his heart settle into its proper rhythm again. ‘So you like her?’
‘Yes, yes. Of course.’
He could hardly believe it. Why had he been so reluctant to introduce them all these months? All his mother wanted was for him to be happy, and to her marriage was the key to his happiness. Whether the girl was black, white or blue, Hindu, Christian or Jew was of secondary importance. He should have known. He should never have doubted her love for him.
‘Come, come – she is waiting.’ His mother beckoned him towards the living room.
At the door, she stopped. ‘Now, Sandeep, let me look.’ She put her hands on his upper arms and peered into his face, brushed a stray lock of hair off his forehead. ‘Make me proud, Sandeep, please.’
He lifted his chin, smiled at his mother and
said, ‘Of course, Mataji.’
He calmed himself with a quick prayer and followed his mother into the living room.
He saw his father sitting in his Parker Knoll by the electric coal-effect heater and made his way over to him, stepping over the occasional table by the lamp and leant down to kiss him on both cheeks.
‘Yes, yes,’ his father said, nodding.
Sandeep turned and scanned the rest of the room for Abby. There were two women sitting next to each other on the sofa. The older one wearing a midnight-blue sari and the younger wearing a pale-pink blouse and a dark skirt. Both had long black hair. Neither of them was Abby. Sandeep’s forehead creased in confusion. He glanced around the room.
‘Sandeep, let me introduce you to Mr Devdas Iyer.’ His mother was standing by a tall, thin man with a narrow moustache clinging to his top lip.
It was as if his body remembered his manners and propelled him forward to bow and take the older man’s hand when he offered it. Certainly his head wasn’t working. What was going on? Abby was meant to be there but she was nowhere to be seen, and these people were occupying his parents’ living room instead.
‘Allow me to introduce my wife, Mrs Madhuri Iyer,’ said Mr Iyer, gesturing to the older woman who looked at him without a smile, ‘and my daughter, Miss Abhi Iyer.’
Sandeep’s heart stopped. He could almost feel the colour drain from his face. He swallowed a couple of times and ran his hand down his already straight tie. How could he have been so stupid? Of course his mother would never have accepted Abby – and Abby would never have gone behind his back and invited herself to their house. In fact, she seemed quite disinterested in having anything to do with his parents, he now realised. She said they didn’t even need their approval for the marriage, them being adults and all, and she showed little inclination to meet them. And his mother was determined to arrange a match for him with a nice Indian girl, this evening being just another in a long line of introductions. He threw her a glance and didn’t respond to her self-satisfied smile before assuming the dutiful son demeanour as he turned to the women on the sofa. He greeted the mother and the daughter, who kept her eyes down but acknowledged his greeting with a small nod.
