The Reading List(40)
A second later, Nilakshi returned with a bottle of water.
‘Harish says go home. He gave me this to pass on,’ she presented him with the water. ‘Sounds like an achievement to me – a bit of fresh air, and no need to talk to Harish after this is all over! It’s like you planned it. How will you get home?’
Mukesh took the bottle, hastily unscrewed the cap, and drank. He hadn’t even said thank you. He closed his eyes, took a deep gulp of putrid air, and stood up. ‘I will get the bus.’
‘I’ll come with you.’ He began to shake his head but she stopped him with: ‘Mukeshbhai, Naina would never forgive me if I let her husband go home on his own when he can barely walk.’
And then, in an instant, with the flick of a switch, Mukesh felt stupid – he felt frail. What if the young men could see him now? The ones who drove fast cars and never called him masa or fua. They would call him dada instead.
He clutched the bag again, for strength, for something. ‘Nilakshiben?’ he said, as they began to walk (he, hobble) towards the nearest bus stop, which was still too far away.
‘Yes, Mukeshbhai,’ she replied.
‘Thank you for helping me.’
‘As I said, Naina would never forgive me.’
‘Would you like to come in?’ Mukesh asked tentatively, standing on his doorstep, nervous. Nilakshi looked up at the house, her eyes wide.
‘No,’ she gave two small shakes of her head. ‘I shouldn’t, I’d better get back. But I am glad you are okay. You are okay now, yes?’
‘I’m doing much better, Nilakshiben,’ Mukesh smiled, pleased his heart rate had returned to normal during the bus ride.
‘Well, I hope to see you again soon. Very nice to see you after so long, Mukeshbhai,’ Nilakshi gave a small wave with her hand. ‘As I said, I can pop round soon and teach you how to make a proper brinjal bhaji. Just let me know.’
‘Naina used to make the best brinjal bhaji,’ Mukesh said absently, the book weighing heavily in his bag.
‘Ha, I remember. Well, this might not be quite as good, but better than nothing!’ Nilakshi’s voice went up an octave or so, and she nodded her head by way of goodbye.
Mukesh felt all stiff and awkward, and couldn’t quite work out whether it was because of the situation, or his muscles seizing up after the walk.
Shutting his front door behind him, from the hallway he spotted the photograph of Naina above the television, with a garland hanging across the top. He looked intently at her face. Had it changed? He thought her eyes were less carefree, now hiding something: disappointment, even anger?
His mind careened to Rebecca, imagining a portrait of her hanging in the hall at Manderley, always there, always watching.
He was being silly. If Naina were here she’d ask how Nilakshiben was, how she was coping. She’d probably ask him to take her a Tupperware of tepla. Naina had never been a jealous person. But Mukesh felt a stab of guilt anyway. The first thing he did was pull his book out of his bag, showing it to the photograph of Naina, secretly hoping it might bring her voice back to him, just for a moment, to reassure him, before placing it on his newly christened reading chair.
After all his exertions, Mukesh needed an afternoon nap. He turned the radio on, he often liked to listen to something as he fell asleep, and lay down heavily on his bed. He would be achey when he woke up. He had a moment of panic, wondering if he would even be able to get himself out of bed later, but decided that wasn’t something to worry about just yet. He’d cross that bridge when he came to it.
As he laid his head on the pillow, his thoughts began to drift. Today he had felt vibrant, alive, despite the muscle pain. He had felt seen, by Nilakshi, even by Harish for a bit, as a person in his own right, rather than just a burden, an elderly father to be checked in on every morning via a voicemail, as a human being with feelings and emotions and likes and dislikes, rather than just as a patient number on his GP’s register, or an item on each of his daughter’s to-do lists.
Moments later, feeling sated, resting his bones, Mukesh was asleep.
When Mukesh woke up again it was just turning dark, day was becoming night, the shadows stretching, and the light in the room was warm but slowly getting colder, emptier.
He looked automatically to his left, to Naina’s side. He hadn’t done that for a while now. But today, in the confusion after his unplanned nap, it could be any time. 1985 when they’d first moved here, with the three girls sleeping in the one room next door on mattresses laid on the floor. 1998 when two of the three daughters had moved out and Rohini had insisted she sleep in the downstairs room for some privacy – though the downstairs room had nothing but a screen of beads separating it from the kitchen. Or it could have been 2010, when Naina and Mukesh had adopted that same downstairs room for themselves, having just got used to being the only two in the house, finally enjoying being alone. Though Naina still loved company. Craved the days their only granddaughter, at the time, would visit, filling the house with life.
But it was 2019. The year Mukesh least hoped it would be. The second year of his life since Naina, the year that began without Naina and would end without Naina too. He rummaged in his bag, pulling out Rebecca. Even though the book had scared him half to death, he needed to be somewhere else for a while, beyond the confines of his little Wembley home, walking in someone else’s skin.