‘If that man makes a formal complaint about you to Dev, you’re out.’
Aleisha shifted in her seat. ‘Look, I’m actually here for pleasure today not work, so can you save it for—’
‘And it’s pretty horrible being nasty to like an eighty-year-old man. I don’t know what you’re going through, Aleisha,’ Kyle’s tone had softened now, ‘but try to be nice to people. Just a smile or a friendly face can make someone’s day a bit better. You might have ruined his. Was it worth it? Did you feel satisfied?’
Aleisha shook her head again, unable to speak, feeling like a toddler being told off for fighting.
‘Right. If you see him again, give him a blooming book recommendation—’
‘I did try, he ran off!’ Aleisha interjected, but Kyle ignored her, continuing his pre-rehearsed speech.
‘Read some stuff,’ he said, pointing to To Kill a Mockingbird in her hand. ‘If you like that, then tell him to read it. It’s simple. Read a book. Recommend a book. You know what, even if you really hate it, recommend it to him anyway. Everyone has different tastes and beggars can’t be choosers as my nan says.’
Aleisha sighed and watched Kyle strut off back to the desk, feeling like a boss, probably.
She reached for the book again and opened it somewhere in the middle. The spine was broken in so many places, but she wanted to make her own mark on it, and bent it in two. It wasn’t as satisfying as she suspected. The book was soft, supple … the warmth of the library had turned the glue to jelly.
She rewound to the first page. She started to fiddle, with her nose, with the pages, with a few straggly bits of hair that were falling over her face. She couldn’t take in anything. She was forcing her eyes to focus on the words in front of her, but she couldn’t settle.
She was stupid, a fraud. Giving up, slouching back into the fading salmon-pink chair, she surveyed the room. A few people were reading and browsing. They were proper readers, people who belonged here. Bookworms. Book nerds.
‘Ef this,’ she hissed to herself. She gathered up her stuff and shoved it into her tote. The book was still on the table. She didn’t know whether to take it or just leave it there. She glanced around again before shoving that into her tote too.
The beeps from the library alarm ushered her out, her own stolen library book nestled in her bag.
Chapter 5
MUKESH
MUKESH WAS LYING ON his back when the doorbell rang. Had he fallen asleep? Rohini and Priya weren’t due to be here for hours, or so he thought. He gradually hauled himself up, groaning and creaking on the way, his back stiffer than he’d expected. He wanted to swear, but that wasn’t the sort of thing Mukesh did.
He was looking forward to seeing his granddaughter, his daughter too. But he knew the Rohini whirlwind was about to hit … And no matter how many times he’d survived it, he wasn’t sure he was ready for it after the aimless, lonely day he’d had. Once upon a time, Fridays were his and Naina’s relaxing day, the day they spent for themselves. These days, on Fridays, he usually did nothing.
He plodded down the stairs very slowly, holding on to the handrails on either side. Rohini’s handyman friend had fitted the rail on the other side of the stairs, to give him more stability. He was embarrassed about it. On the rare occasions he had non-familial visitors, he would joke about it before they mentioned it first.
He spotted the head and shoulders of a woman, obscured by the frosted glass in the centre of his front door. He would recognize her anywhere.
He took a deep breath and pulled it open. ‘Rohini, beti!’ he called, arms wide open in a welcoming gesture, forcing his voice to sound cheerful and bright.
‘Papa,’ she replied, walking straight in, avoiding his open arms. Behind her came Priya, a book held tight in her little palms.
‘Priya, come in, darling.’
Without wasting any time on greetings, Rohini stomped straight through to the kitchen and began rummaging in the cupboards. She tutted a few times. Mukesh glanced at Priya, hoping to exchange an ‘oh dear’ moment, but she had already tucked herself up with her book on Naina’s living-room chair.
‘Papa? What is this?’ Rohini called, holding up a Tupperware of rice he’d had sitting in the fridge for a few days … maybe a little longer. ‘This is disgusting!’
‘Sorry, beta, I promise I wasn’t going to eat it.’
‘Never eat rice left longer than a day, Papa! You should have at least let me fry it up for you.’