Jaishree Misra - Secrets and Lies

‘I was just saying that it’s amazing how she managed to track us all down,’ Anita observed, adding, ‘well, that’s assuming she has sent letters to everyone. I haven’t had mine yet.’

‘It must be waiting for you at your flat. She wouldn’t leave you out. Wonder whether she’s written to everyone, you know, the whole batch of ’93?’

‘Something tells me it’s just us, actually’

‘She must have met someone who knew our addresses,’ Bubbles suggested. ‘Or maybe the internet makes all this easy now. My Ruby was talking about some Facebook website thing where her school friends meet and chat or something…’ Bubbles stopped rambling. The last thing any of them wanted was to be chatting to their other school friends, their little circle having snapped firmly shut the minute they had left school.

‘It wouldn’t have been that difficult to trace us,’ Sam was replying in her usual pragmatic manner. ‘Why, Lamboo might just have called one or the other of our parents in Delhi. I think we’re worrying too much. Maybe it’s just as her letter says: she’s retiring from Jude’s and wants to see us before she “disappears into the deep hush of a convent”.’

‘Mmm, I don’t know…typically poetic, but something tells me it’s more than that,’ Anita said dubiously. ‘It’s clear she’s holding something back…like here, where she says, “I have so much more to tell you girls before I go, but perhaps it is best to wait until you are all gathered here together as before”’ . Anita tapped the letter with her forefinger. ‘How the fuck does that not indicate she really wants to say something else, huh? Would she really summon us 4000 miles just to say goodbye?’

It was Bubbles who first said the unsayable, uttering the name not mentioned between them in all these years. ‘Do you think they might have found some new leads in Lily’s case?’ she asked in a small voice.

‘Nonsense. After fifteen years?’ Anita scoffed, although she sounded more nervous than incredulous. ‘I can’t see the Delhi police being that efficient somehow.’

‘It’s possible she just suddenly got a bit maudlin or emotional or some such. After all, the date she’s suggested will be exactly fifteen years since Lily died,’ Sam offered before trailing off.

‘Lamboo emotional? Don’t think so somehow. It just isn’t part of the Brit psyche, stiff upper lip and all that.’

‘Oh God, it just doesn’t make sense,’ Bubbles said, picking up her champagne flute from the table and taking a long swallow. Sometimes the very act of thinking made her head hurt.

‘D’you know,’ Sam said, wrapping her shawl around her shoulders, ‘I met Aradhna Singh at a lunch party the other day. She was just back from her school reunion at St Jude’s. Makes a point of it to go every year, apparently. And she was saying that ours is the only batch that has never had one. A reunion, I mean…’

Anita thumped her glass down on the wooden table with some vehemence. ‘Well, that must’ve been a happy thought for Aradhna,’ she said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, don’t you recall how miffed she always was at us being the top dogs at school? Their batch, coming straight after ours, would never have matched up, I reckon.’

‘Her “crème de la crème” , Lamboo called us. Remember?’ Sam said softly.

‘Don’t think that meant anything particularly. She just picked the term up from the Brodie play we were doing that year.’

‘Oh that’s not true, Anita,’ Sam protested. ‘Lamboo just doted on us. She really did believe we would go on to do special things.’

‘Well, how the mighty have fallen then,’ said Anita.

‘Oh don’t say that,’ Bubbles cut in, trying to offer comfort. ‘At least you’re doing useful things and meeting interesting political types. Y’know, like Boris Johnson and all…’ She trailed off, knowing how unconvincing that sounded, before making another attempt. ‘I remembered that expression— crème de la crème —just the other day actually, when Binkie got an invite to the Gorbachev concert which said that London’s “crème de la crème” was being invited. Somehow it felt much more special when Lamboo used to say it…’

‘We were special to her…’ Sam insisted.

Anita leaned forward to pick up the menu. ‘Well, only until her precious crème de la crème took so violently against Lily D’Souza. That could never have been lost on someone as canny as old Lamboo, even though—to be fair—she never once did let on. But I was always sure it was the reason why she never had us back for a reunion. I mean…’ she paused, keeping her eyes on the menu, ‘surely it would have been anathema for someone as morally upright as Lamboo to jolly around with us after Lily’s death…’ Anita’s voice dropped as she kept her eyes down, unable to make eye contact with her two companions as she continued in a mumble, ‘…especially seeing how plainly we benefited from it.’

Anita had aimed the comment at herself, but in the silence that followed it slowly dawned on her that Sam and Bubbles might have misunderstood such a clumsy expression of remorse. Discomfited, she looked at her friends and saw appalled expressions on both their faces. Realising suddenly how wounding her words must have been, she leaned forward and clutched Sam’s knee, her expression now mortified. ‘Heyyy, Sam, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to sound so sharp, nor be so terribly thoughtless. I’ve just been feeling so tetchy all day’

‘God, me too. Even my father-in-law noticed,’ Bubbles said, taking another long sip of her drink, the flute trembling slightly between her fingers.

Sam was looking into her own wine glass, now stained pink from the Shiraz. ‘I can’t deny…’ she whispered, her face suddenly full of lines and shadows. She took a deep breath before continuing, ‘You know, even today I can’t think of that year without my heart squeezing itself so hard in my chest, it’s as if I can’t breathe for a few minutes. I know we never speak of it but…Lily’s death on the night of our Social. I honestly don’t know how we ever…’ She turned back to Anita, but her friend could see that Sam’s dilated pupils were unable to focus on her own. A glass of wine was usually all it took to make Sam a little drunk, but this, Anita knew, was something else altogether. Poor Sam was clearly trying to gather herself together, her voice trembling as she continued speaking in a low voice, now seeming unable to stop her thoughts. ‘You know, it was only much, much later that it really sank in. The enormity of what we had done. I know I just wasn’t myself that winter…death seemed almost to be stalking me like some evil beast…but still…I shouldn’t try to find excuses for myself…’ Sam stopped abruptly and shivered. The women sat in silence for a few minutes before Sam squeezed Anita’s hand, which was still in hers, indicating forgiveness for her earlier remark.

‘Such a terrible time. I still dream of it sometimes. Not just think of it, but dream of it. There’s a difference, you know. My Emotional Freedom therapist once said so,’ Bubbles put in.

Normally, Bubbles’ array of therapists was meat and drink to Anita’s sarcastic sense of humour, but today she didn’t have the heart to rise to the bait. The friends fell quiet again and Anita looked away. Her stomach churned with guilt as she saw Sam press a tissue over her eyes and put an arm around Bubbles, who had also started to weep.

MUMBAI, 2008

Night had fallen in its usual glittering manner over the pulsing city of Mumbai when Zeba Khan lay back in the claw-footed bathtub of her sumptuous designer bathroom. She took deep breaths of the Yves Rocher bath oil recently purchased from Zurich, sighing with relief and pleasure as her tiredness melted slowly into the tepid water. She had asked for all the Jo Malone scented candles to be lit, and now she half-opened her tawny brown eyes, seeing the flames flicker quietly, turning the cream Italian marble of the walls and floor to molten gold. It had been a long, long day. Despite her superstar status these past ten years, she knew better than to mess with up-and-coming directors like Rohit Mirchandani and had stayed the course, out in the midday sun with the rest of the crew, despite being desperately jet-lagged from her European trip. As the son of a legendary director, Rohit had no doubt enjoyed a head-start in the industry, but his last two films had both been massive hits and Zeba had heard about a new one due to start filming this winter. She had done her damnedest today to find out if the casting had been done but couldn’t get anything out of the canny young man, who was obviously enjoying the power he could suddenly wield over her.