Monsoon Memories by Renita D'Silva

Author:Renita D'Silva [D'Silva, Renita]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, azw3
ISBN: 9781909490055
Publisher: Bookouture
Published: 2013-06-19T07:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER NINETEEN

A Good Match

She called him as she was leaving the office. ‘No reply.’

‘There can be a number of reasons for that, Shonu. It’s her work ID, isn’t it? Well, she may be off sick, away on a shoot with no access to her email, on holiday...’ He didn’t pause to take a breath as he rattled off the reasons. He must have been thinking them up all day when she didn’t call.

‘Did you think she wouldn’t?’

‘No! I hoped she would.’ A pause. And then, ‘You can always call Deepak. Or we could go back, just turn up, shock them.’

Briefly, she entertained the fantasy. Her mother’s face. Anger, regret, shame. ‘Not yet.’ I need to see the counsellor again, get closure.

‘Soon, then.’ And, softly, ‘Shonu, it may be something as simple as Anita not having had the time to check her emails as yet...’

‘Hmm...’

His voice gentle: ‘I’m leaving work now. See you at home.’

‘Bye.’

Kate came up behind her as she disconnected the call, helmet on, keys dangling from her index finger.

‘You came by bike?’

‘Yup. You want to ride pillion?’

‘No, thanks.’ She managed a smile.

Kate put her arm around her. ‘She might just be busy. If she had a day like the one I just had, she may not have had a chance to check her emails.’

‘It’s not like they’ve been falling over themselves to get in touch these past few years. I’ll live.’

The elevator doors pinged open.

‘Sure I can’t give you a lift home? Much faster than your old banger.’

‘Kate! How dare you? It’s my pride and joy.’

‘Doesn’t detract from the fact. It’s still an old banger...’

Shirin couldn’t help it. She laughed.

As she got into her old banger, Kate, sweet Kate, said, ‘There’s still tomorrow. It might be waiting for you when you come in.’

Shirin blew her a kiss.

* * *

‘Shall we go away this Christmas?’ she asked.

Vinod turned from where he lay on the sofa reading The Economist, one eye on the television: BBC News 24, the flat-faced presenter churning out one awful disaster after another.

When he’d got home from work, he had tried to bring up Anita and the email but she had stopped him. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ Her standard reaction to anything that hurt too much to contemplate. Relegate it to a corner of your mind. Don’t talk about it until it manifests itself in nightmares and even then, try and ignore it. ‘But, Shonu, you have to talk, let it out. You were getting better...’ His mouth had set in a grim line. She had opened a bottle of wine, taken a long swig. ‘Please, Vinod.’

‘I can’t read your mind, Shonu,’ he’d said once, in the middle of an argument when she’d shut down, blanked him out. ‘I don’t know what goes on in there.’ He’d jabbed a finger at her forehead. She had thought he was going to hit her. Afterwards he had held her, and she had sat stiffly in his arms and listened to his sobs, endured his apologies.

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