The reason he was really here, of course. Mukesh looked around the room, hoping that some invisible person might be able to answer for him. Vritti’s eyes were fixed firmly on her plate.
‘She is good, yes,’ he murmured.
‘Lovely to see her the other day,’ Deepali said. ‘I didn’t want to ask, but how is she after you know … what happened to her husband and son? So tragic. Mummy would have been devastated if she knew.’
Mukesh took a deep breath. Typical Lydia Patel, he thought to himself. How would Mr Bennet deal with his daughter talking to him like this? Lydia was always causing all kinds of fuss, ruining the family name on a whim. He wracked his brain. Mr Bennet would never get into this situation in the first place, would he? He was always so stern – he commanded respect in a way that Mukesh probably didn’t.
‘I’ve heard she’s getting over it rather quickly!’ Deepali exchanged a glance with Vritti, but Vritti frowned at her in response, shaking her head slightly.
Deepali was talking as though Nilakshi was just anyone, not their mother’s best friend. She had looked after them when they had been little, she had been by their side when Naina was ill, and she had driven them to and from Northwick Park Hospital when they were too tired to drive themselves. And now all Deepali cared about was the gossip.
‘You have to move on with life,’ Mukesh said, more sharply than he had expected. ‘Grief can trap you for a while, and you have to be bold to step out of your comfort zone.’
Vritti stepped in, trying to draw a line under the conversation. ‘Now, pile up your plates please!’ she chirped. ‘Hope you like it.’
Mukesh did as instructed, but as soon as he picked up the salad bowl, Deepali pulled it out of his hands. ‘I’ll do that, Dad.’ When he reached for the bottle of water to pour into his stainless steel cup, especially for him, Vritti took it out of his hands, and said, ‘Let me help you, Papa.’ He gave in.
When his plate was fully loaded, and his cup was up to the brim, he picked up his knife and fork, feeling slightly awkward holding them between his fingers, knowing he was being watched, but slowly he began to eat. And within moments, his two daughters had almost forgotten that he was there, as though he was a ghost at the table. ‘Papa’s boiler is sometimes not working, we should get someone to look at it.’ ‘I don’t think it’s healthy the amount of mug he eats. I hope he is getting the chance to eat something else too.’ ‘I want him to start cooking new things – I just don’t have the time to teach him.’ ‘He doesn’t go to the mandir to eat a lot any more, he should. They give balanced meals.’ ‘He seems all right most of the time.’
‘Talking of Nilakshimasi,’ Deepali said, even though they all knew that Vritti had put a stop to this line of enquiry, ‘Pranav’s friend is also Swaminarayan and he heard that there is a lot of gossip about Nilakshimasi, spending time with men. You don’t want to be the reason she gets a reputation, do you?’
Mukesh froze.
‘Hold on,’ Vritti said. ‘Let it rest, Deeps.’
‘Papa, is Nilakshimasi looking to remarry?’ Deepali smiled sweetly.
‘Nilakshimasi is about Papa’s age – she’s not going to be remarrying,’ Vritti said, matter-of-factly. ‘Now just move on, Deeps.’
‘I should hope not! That’s not our way,’ Deepali huffed.
Mukesh looked at Vritti, and she rolled her eyes for his benefit. Deepali missed it entirely.
‘Dad,’ Deepali said. ‘How often do you see her? When I saw her in your house, was that the first time?’
Mr Bennet would never put up with this. Mr Patel just gulped. ‘She is my friend. I see her every week, every few days. We keep each other company. What is your problem with that?’ There, he’d said it, and now he waited for the chair to eat him alive, salad and all.
Deepali didn’t respond.
Mukesh suddenly wished he could be at home with Nilakshi, telling her about how awkward this all was, and wondering whether she might teach him some more recipes, because Deepali and Vritti were probably right – he did eat mung too often.
The phone rang then, cutting through the tension.
‘Hello?’ Vritti said, picking up the handset. ‘Oh, it’s Rohini,’ Vritti said to the room, as though she was in some kind of pantomime, but her face flushed and she looked embarrassed. ‘Ha, Papa and Deeps. And the twins.’ She nodded a little bit more. ‘Papa, Rohini wants to speak to you,’ she said, and handed the phone over.