Jaishree Misra - Secrets and Lies

It was almost certainly her growing size that had first put Akbar off her, and perhaps it was that which had started off the sarcasm too. Maybe Akbar had thought that jokes were a less hurtful way of letting her know that he did not like being married to a fat woman. But early on she hadn’t taken the hint when he disparaged other overweight people, even those he didn’t know, declaring in that superior way of his that they were all indubitably either ‘weak’ or ‘lazy’. But their sex life had started to dwindle at some indefinable point and then there had been his gift of an exercise bicycle on her thirtieth birthday.

Sam turned down her road and drove past her neighbours’ familiar handsome town-houses, some advertising plush interiors through uncurtained windows. She wondered at that sometimes; she herself always drew the curtains before the lights were turned on—not that she didn’t have expensive contemporary art on her walls or designer custom-made sofas to show off, but there was something comforting in silently declaring that not everything had to be publicised and made known.

Fishing out the electronic buzzer from the glove compartment, she watched the tall metal gates to her house swing slowly open. The maid had drawn the curtains of all the upper windows and only the kitchen was visible from the garden as she pulled into the drive. She could see Heer’s small black head bobbing around inside and felt her heart melt as she turned the ignition off. At least she had her daughter’s love—although who knew for how long. Heer was growing up to be the spitting image of Akbar, and might inherit—dear God—his sense of humour too one day.

Sam gathered her things from the back seat of the car and ducked under the dripping honeysuckle. Heer let out a reassuringly delighted shriek as she walked through the kitchen door. ‘Mamma, Mamma, look what Masooma and me have been making for you!’

Sam smiled as she peered at the pale brown sludge in the bowl. ‘Masooma and I, beti . But what on earth is it?’

‘Chocolate mousse!’

‘Oh dear, perhaps it needs a bit more chocolate then. What have you put in it?’

‘Two bars of Dairy Milk and some cocoa, an egg whipped up and…here, try some.’

‘Actually, Mamma’s eaten, sweetheart,’ Sam said hastily as Heer held out a spoonful, feeling bad at the disappointed moue her daughter’s mouth instantly formed. Even though she had only nibbled on some pita sticks and olives at Heebah, she did in fact feel rather ill and couldn’t face the thought of food. She turned to the maid and spoke in Urdu. ‘No dinner for me tonight, Masooma. Has Heer eaten?’

‘Yes, memsahib. I gave Heerbaby dinner at six. Daal meat with rice and salad, as memsahib said.’

Sam nodded. ‘Thank you, Masooma. Heer, darling, I’m going to get changed…’

‘Oh memsahib, there was a phone call from India. It was Zeba Khan madam. She wants you to call back. I have written phone number down here.’ Masooma could hardly contain her excitement. ‘Memsahib, it is Zeba Khan , film star, your old friend you told me, no? I know her voice so well I immediately recognised.’

Sam nodded blankly as her heart sank. So Zeba would have received Lamboo’s letter too. There had been no contact from her in months, and the only reason for a call out of the blue would be that letter. Sam felt quite sure she could not stand talking about the letter and reunion any more. Despite Anita’s conviction that they would all benefit from ‘laying old ghosts to rest’, as she put it, Sam now felt exhausted at the very thought. Reunions were for people who wanted to stay in touch, and she had done that with Bubbles and Anita because they had both been in London as long as she had, and because they were, after all, the closest thing she had to family here. Since that chance meeting at Heathrow, there had been the occasional email from Zeba who, for all her starry airs, had evidently never forgotten that she had to thank Sam for never revealing her affair with Mr Gomes, despite being class monitor and Lamboo’s favourite. But that had been the sum total of her old school friendships. And given everything that had happened, that was probably the best way to keep it.

Sam changed into a tracksuit and lay down for a few minutes, recalling all manner of things from her schooldays. Then, suddenly, she swung her legs off the bed, sitting up abruptly as she decided to pick up the phone and return Zeba’s call. Perhaps she would know more about exactly what Miss Lamb had in mind for them all.

The ringing tone on Zeba’s mobile was distant before she heard the click and Zeba’s famously husky voice, thick with sleep, mumble an indistinct ‘Hello’.

‘Oh goodness, how stupid of me, I’d completely forgotten about the time difference, Zeba, it must be past midnight there— sorry! Were you asleep? I only just got in and just wasn’t thinking…it’s Sam here.’

To Sam’s surprise, Zeba sounded relieved rather than annoyed. ‘Oh, that’s okay, Sam, no problem. I’m so glad you called. Wasn’t really sleeping as I’m totally jet-lagged.’

‘Been travelling?’ Sam asked, unsure whether to mention the letter until Zeba brought the subject up.

‘More than I’d like,’ Zeba replied. ‘You got Lamboo’s letter too?’ she asked in her habitual abrupt style. Luckily, there was no beating about the bush with Zeba. Sam recalled there never had been.

‘Yes, this morning, Zeba. What is she up to, do you know?’

‘I have absolutely no idea. But I must say I get a very bad feeling about it. As though it’s a… a plot’ . Zeba tried to joke. ‘A plot in a really bad Hindi movie.’ But neither she nor Sam could bring themselves to laugh.

‘I’ve been feeling pretty spooked myself, to be honest,’ Sam replied.

‘What about Anita and Bubbles? Have they had letters too? Have you seen them?’

‘We just spent the evening together, to talk about it in fact. Anita wants to go. In fact, she wants us all to go. Brave it out, she says.’

‘She has a point. I’ll go if you guys are coming.’

Sam, trying not to sound too surprised, responded with a nervous laugh, ‘Safety in numbers, huh?’

‘Well, something like that…I hope you guys don’t think it too weird for me to join you out of the blue, but we had grown very close that year, remember? Us four, that is.’

‘Of course it’s not weird, Zeba, we’ve been classmates since we were tiny,’ Sam said, trying not to sound doubtful but quite uncertain of whether someone like Anita would care to have Zeba suddenly back in their inner circle.

‘Well, in that final year we were drawn together mostly by our common hatred of Lily.’

‘Oh, Zeba!’ Sam remonstrated mildly.

‘But it’s true, Sam, we might as well admit it. What on earth did I ever have in common with someone like Anita? Or Bubbles even?’

‘We may have grown apart now, Zeba, but back then we were all pretty much the same, weren’t we?’

‘Just a bunch of Delhi school kids, I suppose…’ Zeba’s voice suddenly sounded less crisp. After a small pause, she spoke again. ‘When do you think you’ll come to India, Sam?’

‘Mid December, when the schools here close, I expect. I’ll bring Heer, but I don’t know what Bubbles will do with her Bobby and Ruby. They’ll probably prefer going on one of their exotic holidays.’

‘I notice Lamboo’s suggesting the third weekend in December for this reunion, just like the Socials used to be.’

‘And the anniversary of Lily’s death,’ Sam pointed out.

‘Exactly what I was thinking. It’s so weird, Sam! As if she knew all along what we did that night and is now intent on reminding us of it.’

‘That wouldn’t be like old Lamboo. She wouldn’t hurt us, that I’m sure of. It could be some kind of memorial thing for Lily.’