Unmarriageable(92)

‘Alys, it is so good to see you,’ Bungles said yet again. ‘How are you? How is your family?’

‘Everyone is well,’ Alys said. ‘I’m in Lahore for a holiday with my uncle and aunt.’

‘Jena didn’t come?’

‘She was here for a few months a little while back.’

‘Jena was here?’ Bungles frowned. ‘In Lahore? Why didn’t she contact us?’

Before Alys could answer, Hammy asked, ‘Alys, how long are you in Lahore? You must visit us.’

‘But,’ Bungles interrupted Hammy, ‘wasn’t Jena supposed to be teaching?’

‘She was,’ Alys said, ‘but she wasn’t feeling well and took some time off from work.’

‘Is it her ankle?’ Bungles asked, alarmed.

‘She’s fine now,’ Alys said.

‘How is Cherry?’ Hammy called out in a thick Pakistani accent.

‘Hammy,’ Darsee said, ‘have you changed your accent?’

‘No,’ Hammy said.

‘Then are you deliberately mocking Sherry’s?’

‘No,’ Hammy said, turning pink.

‘Good,’ Darsee said.

Alys looked at him with yet-new eyes.

‘Alys,’ Sammy said in a conciliatory tone, ‘are you the only fortunate one of your family to be getting a proper holiday?’

‘No,’ Alys said, ‘my sister Lady is in Karachi.’

Hammy said, ‘How very exciting for her. Lady’s first time in K-chi?’

‘First time staying with a friend in Karachi,’ Alys said.

‘And who is that lucky friend?’ Hammy said. ‘Jeorgeullah Wickaam? He’s a close friend of yours, isn’t he?’

Juju winced and Alys quickly replied, ‘Actually, that man is no friend of mine. And please, Hammy, do not be absurd. Of course my sister has not gone to stay with any man.’

The lights began to dim, and Bungles returned to his seat and Alys slipped into hers. Next she knew it, Darsee was sitting beside her. Alys could smell his cologne.

‘Thank you,’ he whispered, leaning into her. ‘Hammy has no idea about … how upset Juju gets at Wickaam’s mention.’

Alys kept her eyes straight ahead and muttered, ‘No problem.’

The play began, and for the next couple of hours, she concentrated as best as she could on the three Urdu short stories by Ismat Chughtai that the three actors had chosen to recite as monologues. The first, ‘Touch Me Not’, contrasted the pregnancy experiences of a prostitute versus a girl from a good family. The second, ‘Mughal Child’, was about a dark-complexioned man married to a fair-complexioned lady and the effect on his self-esteem. And the third, ‘Housewife’, explored class-based sexuality and domestic violence. When the lights turned on, the actors received a standing ovation and Alys glanced in Darsee’s direction, sad that the evening was ending.

They exited the theatre, chattering about their favourite stories. Jaans was boasting about napping through the play, and Darsee and Alys inadvertently exchanged a wry glance.

In the car park, Nisar and Nona thanked Darsee yet again for the excellent evening.

‘Dinner?’ Darsee suggested eagerly, but unfortunately Hammy complained of a bad headache and, since they’d all come in his car, Darsee called it a night.

In the car, Hammy’s headache became bearable enough for her to hold forth on what a snob Alys Binat was about her aunt’s award and Cornell-Babur, and didn’t Juju agree that Alys was overly tanned and junglee, wild-looking?

Juju glanced at her brother and then said softly that she thought Alys was so nice and that she liked her tan and thought her unusually pretty.

Hammy laughed. Juju had no need to be civil about Alys for Valentine’s sake.

‘Remember, babes?’ Hammy said to Darsee. ‘When you first met Alys you thought she was the most ratty thing you’d ever seen, and then, after she came stomping in from a walk in a public park without a dupatta, you generously decided her eyes were nice enough. I wonder where you stand now.’

‘No need to wonder,’ Darsee said. ‘Since then I’ve come to the conclusion that Alysba Binat is one of the most good-looking women, if not the most good-looking woman, I have ever set eyes on.’





CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE





The next morning Alys was curled up in an armchair in Nona and Nisar’s living room, holding Sunlight on a Broken Column to her heart, when there was a knock on the door and a servant let in Darsee.

‘Hello,’ he said. ‘I came to thank you again for diverting the conversation away from Wickaam last night.’

‘I’m glad I was able to,’ Alys said, slipping the book in her lap. She wished she’d bathed and that she wasn’t in her peacock pyjamas. She buzzed the kitchen and asked Ama Iqbal to bring chai.

‘Where are your uncle and aunt?’ Darsee perched on the armchair opposite her.

‘We had so much to discuss about the play that we stayed up all night and then went for a halwa puri breakfast this morning. When we came back, they finally went to sleep.’

‘Why are you still up?’

‘Life is short,’ Alys said joyfully. ‘I’m not sleepy.’