‘I am having dinner with Nilakshiben,’ Mukesh said it quickly, matter-of-factly, making sure to enunciate the ‘ben’ clearly, to prove there was nothing more than a brotherly-sisterly friendship between them, uttering it loudly so even Harish’s selective hearing could pick it up.
‘Who is Ben?’
Mukesh blushed. ‘No, bhai. Nee-lak-shee-ben.’
Harish frowned for a moment, and then his eyes widened. ‘Oh, Bhagwan! You are dating? But Naina?’
Mukesh went fuchsia pink. ‘No, bhai, bhai. You totally misunderstand.’
At that moment, that gruesome Mrs Danvers skulked back from the other side of the hall, her eyes boring into Mukesh.
‘But she is Naina’s friend! You are a widower!’
‘No, Harish!’ Mukesh held his hands up in defence, a warning, to him, to Harish. A pleading – please, please listen. ‘We are just friends, catching up. Nothing like that at all.’
And he meant it. It was nothing like that. But this is why he felt so weird about it. They hadn’t even spent more than a few hours together and people were already putting them down as widow-adulterers. Adulterants? Adulterists? Mukesh shook his head, it didn’t matter either way, because that is not what they were.
Mukesh picked his plate up and scraped the leftovers into the bin. He could feel Mrs Danvers following him every step of the way as he stormed out of the hall, and then out of the mandir into the open air of Neasden. He pulled the book out of his tote bag. Rebecca. For a moment, he thought the name Naina was emblazoned on the front instead. Why was this book doing this to him? What did it want from him?
THE READING LIST
JOSEPH
2017
JOSEPH HAD BEEN COMING to the library since he was little. When his mum had to work during school holidays, she’d drop him off here, encouraging him to finish his homework or read ahead for the following year. Now he came to the library after school on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, even though he was old enough to be at home by himself. He had his favourite table, which was mostly unoccupied because it wasn’t quite as tucked away as the others. It was close to the librarian’s desk. Joseph enjoyed the gentle murmuring from the few people who would come and take books out. It helped him concentrate. He liked the library. It was peaceful. And no one from school ever came here.
One day, he was sitting in this exact spot when someone actually sat down opposite. He didn’t look up – he’d made that mistake before when a youngish man had started asking him questions about his schoolwork, and Joseph hadn’t known how to make it clear that he wanted to get on with his work in peace. As usual, he kept his head down, his eyes on his page.
He noticed from the person’s hands, as they placed a book on the table, that they were older. The skin was a little bit looser, a little like his mum’s hands. He glanced up to see what the book was, trying to get a glimpse of the cover, but he was too late, the hands had whipped the book open. He turned back to his homework.
Bullying and Peer Pressure. He hated PSHE homework, but it had to be done. He hated the lessons too, mainly because he had to sit next to Moe Johnson, who despised Joseph. ‘What are you meant to do when someone is bullying you, eh, Joey boy?’ he’d sneer. ‘Tell someone?’ He taunted Joseph for going to the library after school. Once, he’d followed him all the way there, calling him a wuss, a sissy, a loser, a nerd, a geek, a suck-up. As soon as Joseph was inside the doors, though, he was safe. Moe would never be caught dead in here.
Bullying and Peer Pressure. Where was he meant to start? The first question was, ‘What is the definition of bullying?’ and he felt as if Moe Johnson had put the question there specially to mock him. If Moe didn’t lay a hand on Joseph, it wasn’t actual bullying, was it?
Then there was the second question, ‘How do you know if someone is being bullied?’ People covered up so many things.
Joseph put his head on the table. When he looked up, he noticed his paper was a mash of wet, soggy circles.
The stranger opposite him, with the slightly wrinkly, not-very-wrinkly hands, took a piece of paper out and began rummaging through their own book, running their fingers over the words. They stopped, tucked the piece of paper inside and pushed the book across the table towards him. Joseph raised his gaze just slightly, so he was looking at the book, but he didn’t make eye contact with the mysterious stranger. He didn’t want to talk right now, not when he had silent tears streaming down his face.
Life of Pi. The cover was a sea of blue and one giant tiger, colourful and bright. He could see the dog-eared note peeking out between the pages.