BEEP. ‘Good morning, Mukeshbhai. It is Nilakshiben.’ Mukesh nearly jumped out of his seat, his eyes automatically flying up to the photograph of Naina on the wall. ‘I have bought some ingredients for brinjal bhaji so I can come round maybe one day next week? Maybe Saturday? Teach you! Hope you have a lovely weekend.’
He hadn’t expected to hear from Nilakshi. He looked up at his photograph of Naina once more, looking for a sign as to what to do. Was she upset? Angry?
He sighed and tried to settle back into Rebecca. He was in his own armchair, with four and a half lamps around him, taken from different rooms in the house, all placed at various heights. The half a lamp was a USB-powered book light he could clip onto the book itself – it was Priya’s, a gift from Naina. This corner of his living room currently looked like it was one of those ironic, trying-to-be-cool hipster bars that Vritti was always showing him on Instagrab, which she called ‘eenspo’ for her own small chain of cafés.
It was no use, Nilakshi’s call had unsettled him; how was he supposed to read about an intruding new wife right now? He flung down Rebecca and called Harish back in a bid to distract himself, agreeing to go to the temple this evening, for Abhishek, puja and food. It had been so long since he’d done this – he only ever went to the temple with Rohini or Deepali, or sometimes Vritti, just because they made him go. He didn’t like being there. Because being there reminded him of Naina, of how he was only half a person without her.
‘Looking forward to seeing you this evening, bhai!’ Harish bellowed. Either he was deaf or still unsure of how modern telephones worked. Mukesh forgave him anyway. He’d done that too until Vritti and Rohini had complained and said the volume on their handsets didn’t go down low enough for a conversation with him.
‘Ha, yes, thank you for convincing me. It will be good for me.’ Mukesh tried to sound like he believed it.
‘Fantastic, my friend. I see you later, bhai!’ Harish shouted.
Mukesh held the phone away from his ear and said goodbye.
After a few hours of reading, Mukesh looked up and gave a little jump when he saw the four main characters from Rebecca sitting opposite him on the sofa. Mrs de Winter, the new wife and narrator, who was completely blurry because she was never really described. Could he trust her? Mr de Winter, the very wealthy young gentleman who seemed charming at first but had an edge … No, he didn’t like him. Then there was Mrs Danvers, that nosy, distrustful, judgemental lady who hated Mrs de Winter just because she didn’t compare to Rebecca, dead … but far from forgotten. And there was Rebecca herself – a ghost, sitting on Mukesh’s sofa, staring at the portrait of Naina above the television.
Mukesh inhaled sharply, rubbing his eyes, but just as Rebecca stood up, looking as though she was reaching out towards him, a car horn tooted and all four characters vanished into thin air. Mukesh took a deep breath, holding himself as still as possible. He hadn’t imagined that a book, set so far away, could affect him so much, could feel so real – it was chilling.
The car tooted once more. Harish. Mukesh looked at his watch. Right on time.
The car horn tooted again, thirty seconds later.
Impatient, as always.
Sometimes Harish thought he was a cool, swish 40-year-old in a cool, swish car, with places to be, people to see, too important to wait a few minutes for his friend to shuffle his slippers off, collect his shoe bag for the temple, and slip his Velcro trainers on his feet. But Mukesh let him wait and moved extra slowly. Or at least, that’s the excuse he gave himself. Really his stiff legs wouldn’t let him go much faster than this anyway … the sponsored walk had proved that to him.
Harish’s car was big, and always shining, even in the smoggy, dirty London air.
‘Mukeshbhai!’ Harish shouted through the car window, leaning over the passenger seat and pushing the door open to welcome Mukesh inside.
Before saying anything, Mukesh slammed the door shut behind him. He sighed. His back ached. His legs felt cramped in this car. ‘Bhai, lovely to see you.’
When they parked up at the mandir, Harish tapped his dashboard lovingly, and got out of the car much more swiftly than Mukesh could manage.
They wandered to the building side by side, but Mukesh fell behind. It looked glorious in the light, with the sun bouncing off the domes, revealing the intricate carvings in its shadows. It was beautiful, and he didn’t often appreciate it from this angle. It was surprising, seeing this masterpiece of a building nestled among houses, a school, a few car parks here and there, and the North Circular with all its tooting cars and angry drivers, oblivious to the peace that lay just behind.