The Reading List(106)

‘Not always,’ Aleisha laughed.

For a while, mother and daughter were swept up in another story, centred on a mother and a daughter, and a quest to find this young woman a suitable boy.

‘It’s so vivid,’ Leilah said. ‘So many characters, with different backgrounds and beliefs – it’s so clever, setting up all these strands. It’s beautiful – I feel like I need to paint it.’

Aleisha’s eyes shot up. Leilah hadn’t spoken about her art in months. Not wanting to ruin the moment that the author’s words had created, she continued to read.

She wondered why this book was the last on the list, whether the list writer had ordered them for any particular reason. She thought about the journey the books had taken her on, the places they had transported her to – Maycomb, Alabama, Cornwall and Kabul, to the middle of the Pacific Ocean, to some shire in England, to Massachusetts, to Cincinnati, and finally Brahmpur, India. Through the reading list’s characters, she’d experienced injustice and childlike innocence, terror and unease, guilt and regret and powerful, everlasting friendship, a dalliance with Mr Darcy (still Zac came to her mind when she thought about Pride and Prejudice), resilience, independence, and determination through the little women, the repercussions of trauma and the power of hope, faith and community. And now, with A Suitable Boy, a new journey was just beginning.

‘What’s that?’ Leilah asked, peering at the pages.

Aleisha looked up. ‘What?’

‘In the book?’

‘They’re just leaving the wedding now – Savita is the bride, Pran is the groom.’

‘No, I mean, at the back of the book, there’s something there.’

Aleisha stopped reading and flicked to the last page.

Leilah was right: tucked into the plastic dust cover was an envelope, creased yet flattened by the weight of A Suitable Boy.

She prised it out, carefully, as though it were a piece of buried treasure.

‘What is it?’ Leilah asked.

‘An envelope. A letter, I guess.’ Aleisha turned it over to see if it was addressed to anyone.

Mukesh.

‘Mum,’ Aleisha asked. ‘I think it’s for Mr P.’

‘What?’

‘The letter.’ She held it up.

Leilah squinted. ‘Do you think it’s the same handwriting as the list?’

Aleisha pulled the reading list from her phone case, but she didn’t really need to look at it. Its image was almost ingrained on her memory: every book, the curling ‘y’s and ‘i’s of the writer’s careful script.

She handed them both over to Leilah, knowing her artistic mum had an eye for this kind of thing.

‘Definitely. Is it … is it for your Mukesh? Mr Patel?’

Aleisha shrugged and gently stroked the paper. ‘Well … let’s find out.’

‘Okay, but don’t lose our place.’

Aleisha frowned, confused.

‘In the book,’ Leilah said. ‘I want to know what happens next.’





Chapter 42


MUKESH


MUKESH OPENED THE DOOR and a grin split his face in two when he saw her. ‘Aleisha! Did I invite you? I am so sorry, I forgot. I haven’t cooked any food or anything, I am still so full from the buffet! Do you want to come tomorrow instead? Priya is going to be here – she would like to see you again, I am sure.’ He started to look around his house, analysing whether it was guest-friendly. ‘Or are you here for The Highway Code?’

‘No, no, don’t worry, Mr P, we weren’t meant to have dinner today. I’m just here, err … I’ve got something, I think it’s for you.’

She held up A Suitable Boy.

‘Oh no! Aleisha, I know I am a much better reader than before, but honestly, that is too, too big for me right now. It will send me to sleep.’

‘First of all, Mr P, what I’ve read is amazing so far. I think you’ll like it, and by the time you finish it, Priya will probably be old enough to read it too.’ Aleisha laughed. ‘Here,’ she turned to the back of the book, revealing an envelope. She pulled it out and passed it to him. ‘I found this. I think it’s for you. But before you read it, you should probably know …’ She gulped, suddenly nervous. ‘You see, I found this list … A list of books. It’s what we’ve been reading together.’

‘You wrote the books down? You are such a good librarian, Aleisha, the full service. How lovely,’ he said.

‘No, Mr P. They’re someone else’s book recommendations. I’ve been a bit of a cheat. You know how I said I didn’t know anything about books?’

‘Yes, you are a modest girl.’

‘No, Mr P. I really know nothing, or … well I knew nothing. But I found this list, the day you came in. And I thought … I don’t know. I thought if I read them and they were all right, I could recommend them to you.’

He looked down at the envelope again. ‘Mukesh.’ He said his own name as though he had never heard it before.

‘I think it’s from—’

‘Naina,’ he cut in. ‘It’s her handwriting.’

‘The list. I think it was Naina’s.’

She passed the list to him too. His hands were shaking. ‘And that letter, that letter is for you.’