The Reading List(37)
She was sure she, or her flatmate Sage, had another paperback copy of Rebecca somewhere. She’d seen it. A black cover, with gold writing, all curly, and a rose. Red and bright, luxurious. But she couldn’t find it anywhere. She turned the list over, about to give up, when she spotted Harrow Road Library emblazoned on the back. The books had been scrawled on the back of a renewals slip: ‘Return date 11/03/2016’. The pixelated text had almost faded to nothing. Aha, she thought to herself, as though she was an evil villain or successful detective from a TV show. She knew that library, and she knew one university student who used it quite a lot. She pulled out her phone, dropped a WhatsApp to Sage, Hey, can you get me Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier from your library plz?
Sage’s reply was almost instantaneous, Get it yourself lazy bones. Come see the banging library vibes your missing out on.
Izzy read each title on the list once more and took in that line: Just in case you need it. Unlike every other list she’d found, this felt as though it was intended to be discovered. This list was a letter from a stranger – and Izzy wanted to find out what it meant.
Chapter 12
MUKESH
BEEP. ‘DAD, GOOD LUCK today! You’ll be good, and remember to stretch properly. I hope those fitness DVDs arrived in the post for you – I didn’t hear back from you. Sorry we didn’t drop them round, we’ve just been so busy; the twins are on the go all the time and it’s hard to find a spare moment. Twins, say good luck to your dada.’ ‘Good luck, Dada! Don’t fall over!’ the twins chorused in the background.
BEEP. ‘Hi Papa, it’s Rohini, remember to eat properly before you go and keep your blood sugar up. Have one of those packet chais or something, yeah? And enjoy it – the walk, not just the chai. Remember to wear a vest too, it will help with the sweat patches.’
BEEP. ‘Hi Papa, it’s Vritti. Good luck today. Sending you loads of love. Hopefully see you soon, yeah? Anyway … I’m really proud of you. For doing this. Seriously.’
Today was the day he’d been dreading: the day of the sponsored walk. Mukesh stared at his book, the voicemails from his daughters ringing in his ears. His heart was pounding. He couldn’t be sure it was because of his own nerves, or whether he’d become jittery because of Rebecca. He’d been lost in its pages late last night and it was haunting … scary. It was about a woman, in love with a wonderful man, just married. The start of a happy story, Mukesh had thought at first, until it became clear that the ex-wife, the dead wife, Rebecca … she would never be forgotten, and this new lady would forever live with the ghost of the past. It was terrifying.
Mukesh gulped loudly – swallowing his fears. He was clutching his canvas bag with his Canderel, a spare sachet of chai just in case and a water bottle. Mukesh, Naina’s voice filtered through the air. You can do this, okay? It is good, it is for charity. Just imagine I’m there walking beside you. He clutched his book to his side; Naina used to carry a book with her wherever she went, in case she got stuck in a lift on her own, or if there was a queue at a supermarket with no one to chat to. For Mukesh, having the book with him today was both a method of avoiding chatty conversations with mandir volunteers, and it felt like Naina, a small part of her, was with him. A lucky talisman.
Getting off the bus at the mandir, he saw the group of people outside in the courtyard, all wearing matching T-shirts. He’d have to wear one too. On cue, the ever-annoying Harish strode over to him at the bus stop, a neatly folded T-shirt in his hands.
‘Kemcho, Mukeshbhai,’ Harish said. ‘Please, this is for you. Are you ready for the walk?’
Mukesh nodded meaning ‘absolutely not’. In the temple forecourt, he was surrounded by many of the people he usually tried to avoid. Not because he didn’t like them. Most of them were perfectly nice people, though a handful of them had rather odd, harsh views about politics, immigration, the National Health Service, who was deserving of certain privileges and who was not, which he always felt rather hypocritical and un-Hindu of them, but these were the ones who delighted in sharing their thoughts with anyone who would listen (he thought of the people of Maycomb) – while others seemed happy to simply boast about their children, or even their friends’ children … Mukesh felt strongly that unless they were blood relatives in some way, there was absolutely no boasting potential.
‘Mukesh!’ Chirag called over to him. Chirag was another youngster who didn’t address his elders formally and politely. Respect for your elders seemed to have vanished, for him anyway.
‘Hello, Chirag,’ Mukesh replied. ‘How are you? How is your papa?’
‘Papa is fine, he’s not coming today any longer. He has a bit of a cold.’
Mukesh cursed under his breath – why had he not thought of something like that? Anything to get out of this walk.
‘That is a shame. Would have been nice to see him. It has been a while. A good long while.’
‘You don’t come to the mandir much any more?’
He tried to respond with, ‘Yes,’ but what came out instead was, ‘Yes, I come on special occasions with my daughters, but I pray at home a lot as well. I do not need to be at mandir to pray and be faithful to God.’
Chirag’s eyes widened. ‘Mukeshfua, no,’ he said. ‘Please, I didn’t mean that at all.’