Jasmine Skies (30 page)

‘Happy birthday, Mum,’ I try to smile but it’s still too painful. I’m determined not to cry.

Mum puts her hand over her mouth, as if that can hide the expression of horror on her face. Dad pats her shoulder reassuringly but his calm expression doesn’t look reassured. He has his
fake ‘cheery’ face on, but his deep worry lines are giving him away.

‘Hi, Mira! Been getting yourself . . . into some scrapes then? Can’t wait to have you back.’ Dad smiles and blows me a kiss, squeezes Mum’s shoulder and then disappears
from the screen.

‘Oh Mira!’

‘I’m all right, Mum, really.’

‘You don’t look all right.’

‘I am. I promise.’

‘Will you be OK to travel? We can still delay the flight and I can come out there and travel back with you . . .’

‘I’ll be fine, Mum. Nayan and Iris will look after me.’

‘OK to fly?’

‘Yes, fine to fly.’

This conversation is missing at every turn, and it’s making me feel even further away from home than ever.

‘Honestly I’m OK, Mum.’

‘And Dr Sen . . . Nayan. Isn’t it strange him finding you? We’ll have to think of a way to repay him . . . and his wife. How’s your arm?’

I can always tell when Mum’s nervous, because usually she’s a good listener but now she’s just firing question after question at me and not even waiting for the answers.

‘Fine,’ I say, lifting it up to show her the cast. ‘Fine’ will just about do for the answer to everything.

‘Mum, about the letters . . . I’ll explain everything when I get home, I’m so sorry.’

Krish’s head appears around Mum’s and he whistles as he takes in the bruised mess of my face and head.

‘Wow! I thought you were faking it!’ He looks impressed and snuggles up next to Mum to get a better look at me.

‘The only thing I care about is that you’re safe,’ Mum says, wrapping her arms around herself for comfort.

‘Wait till Jidé sees you!’ butts in Krish. ‘He’ll probably dump you.’

‘Thanks, Krish.’ I sigh. I’m in no mood for his jokes.

‘Miss you, Mimi,’ he says, suddenly turning serious as he peers at me with his huge forget-me-not blue eyes. He only ever uses his baby name for me when he really means something.
The tears are rolling down my cheeks and I see his eyes well up too. Mum is obviously fighting back her own tears.

‘Get everyone to sign the cast!’ he says, then runs out of the room.

‘Jidé sends his love; he’s been calling every day to see how you are,’ says Mum. I thank Notsurewho Notsurewhat that I don’t have to speak to him right now.
‘Oh! And you’ll never guess what arrived here today! Your case! It’s sitting on your bed waiting for you!’

I just nod. The idea of seeing that case again, after everything that’s happened makes me feel all wrung out.

‘Can’t wait to have you home. Love you.’

‘Love you too,’ I say to Mum for the first time in ages, and my words wobble into a strange weak wail.

Anjali puts her arm around me and I stand up and walk away because I don’t want to upset Mum by crying any more. I go into the bedroom, where Priya’s listening to something with a
miserable look on her face. She takes off her earphones when I walk in.

‘How was it?’

‘Awful.’

‘Not much of a birthday for your mum or mine.’ She sighs.

I leave the door slightly open so that I can hear Anjali making arrangements for the flight home, but she’s plugged the headset in so I can’t hear Mum’s side of the
conversation any more.

‘Dr Sen – Nayan – and his wife . . . Iris. I know. Extraordinary coincidence. Don’t worry, they’ll look after her. Lovely people . . . your ma remembers
them?’

Anjali is quiet for a long time. She must be just listening to Mum talk.

‘It’s because of the letters. She needed to find out what happened between us.’

I wish I could hear what Mum’s saying right now.

‘Me too. I overreacted, you know, and took them off her. It must have made her even more curious. Isn’t it incredible that something can feel so raw after so much time. We were only
their age, we didn’t know what we were doing, but I suppose that’s about the time when life starts to get complicated . . . You know, I don’t remember feeling regret until then .
. .’

There’s silence while Anjali listens.

‘I know, I know.’ I can hear the tears in her voice.

Another silence.

‘No, no, I should never have kept it all to myself.’

Long pause.

‘OK, I’m coming for a craft exhibition in December. Yes! I’ll bring Priya too – she’ll be so excited, and we will talk and talk.’

‘Hear that!’ whispers Priya, grinning. But I can’t help wondering when I’ll see Janu again.

‘And I’m so looking forward to seeing you too. After so long. I’m just so sorry Mira got hurt. But Nayan says the stitches will dissolve and there should be no scars, which is
a relief.’

Pause.

‘And to you too. It’s definitely one to remember! Bye for now.’

I watch Anjali through the crack in the door. She rests her elbows on the table and her head in her hands and she stays like that for ages without moving a muscle. Then she sits up straight as
if she’s decided on something. She takes some paper and begins writing. Occasionally she pauses as if working out what to say before she starts again, but I count that she uses at least five
sheets of paper.

There’s a knock at the door and Anjali gets up from her desk and shows Lal through to my room. She leaves the door open and calls Priya through into the living room.

‘How’s my patient?’ He smiles.

‘I feel a bit better,’ I tell him.

‘That’s good, because you look terrible!’ he jokes, lifting my eyelid and dropping in the antibiotics. ‘Strange, me ending up having to do this for you.’ He smiles
as he moves my head gently to one side and examines the stitches.

‘These are all superficial wounds. They’ll heal in time. Oh! I almost forgot. Nili sent you her quilt,’ he says, laying a neat-looking package wrapped in brown paper on the
bed.

‘She says that you should give Anjali the money, because it’s all going towards building the new sewing workshop.’

I nod, feeling happy inside that Nili thinks of me as a friend.

‘Sunil sends you his good wishes too.’

‘What’s going to happen to him? Will he live at the refuge now?’

‘I promised Dr Sen I’d let him tell you that story!’ Lal smiles. ‘I’m flying back home soon,’ he says. ‘Anjali has my details so we can keep in touch.
Oh, and Nili’s coming over to London in December – she’s been invited by a Designers Guild to show her work, so I’ll be coming to the exhibition. Maybe we can all get
together?’

The Sari Cupboard

‘I would like to talk to Mira on her own,’ says Anjali solemnly.

Priya doesn’t argue; she just stands up and walks out of the bedroom.

Anjali places her hand on my good wrist as she sits down next to me on the bed.

‘Poor Uma,’ she sighs. ‘What a shock it must have been to see your pretty face like this. It was supposed to be such a relaxing holiday for you two girls. She notices the brown
paper package on my bed. ‘What’s this?’ she asks.

‘Will you open it for me?’ I ask.

She carefully peels off the tape and unravels Nili’s beautiful quilt. I get up so that she can lay it out on Priya’s bed and we both admire it. The colours are soft and subtle and
the stitching is so detailed. The combination reminds me a bit of Nili!

‘A present from Nili?’ asks Anjali.

‘No, I bought it.’ I tell her, walking over to my bag and taking out the money.

‘I can’t take this,’ she says, pushing it back towards me.

‘It’s for Nili’s workshop,’ I say firmly.

Anjali pauses for a moment and smooths her hands over the beautiful sewing. Then she turns over the end of my new quilt and compares it to Priya’s.

‘Priya’s was the first one Nili ever made. She was only ten years old!’ Anjali smiles as she traces her fingers over the stitches. ‘Look how her work has advanced since
then! Such talent! It makes me really happy that you appreciate the work that’s gone into it. Come and rest,’ she says, patting the place on Nili’s sari quilt beside her.
‘You want to know why the letters stopped?’ She almost whispers it.

I nod. Despite nearly killing myself I still want to know the truth; otherwise it will just keep eating away at me.

Anjali stands back and walks over to the wardrobe – she gently lifts my sari out and comes back to the bed. Then she does the strangest thing. She sits next to me and throws it over us so
that the long piece of silk unravels.

‘It seems like ever since you arrived you’ve been drawn to all the pieces of the past that have lain hidden for so long. Maybe, like Janu says, all this was fate – you coming
back here and blowing away the cobwebs. Out of all the saris you could have chosen . . . you had to pick an old one, like the ones that used to live in that cabinet over there.’ Anjali points
to Priya’s trophy cupboard. Then she takes the little piece of carving Janu found for me out of her pocket and hands it back. I should have realized that this is the sari cupboard that I have
been searching the rooms of the old house for. And it was here in front of me all the time.

‘My Uncle Shudi, your Grandad’s brother, made it, and it was once the most beautiful piece of furniture I have ever seen.’ Anjali is quiet again for a moment, remembering.
‘Your mum said something lovely just now, and maybe it’s true – you and Janu finding that missing piece could be a message from Boro-Dida – Old Grandmother – to all of
us . . .’

‘I don’t understand,’ I say, but my spine tingles with the memory of the frail old woman handing me the key.

‘I know, and I’m sorry.’ She strokes my hair, just like she did Priya’s when she was ill.

Only Saris

‘You can come in now, Priya!’ Anjali calls, as Priya practically falls through the door. ‘Oh! And pass me my bag,’ she adds.

Priya picks up a cloth bag that’s hanging over the door handle, hands it to Anjali and settles herself on the bed with her legs outstretched. Anjali takes the sari and covers Priya with it
too. Then she pulls Mum’s letter album out of the bag, undoes it and takes out a blank envelope and a letter I haven’t seen before. She hands me the envelope.

‘Now you must take this letter album back to Uma,’ she says. ‘I’m sorry about your camera, Mira. Here are a few photos I’ve taken for you to share with your ma. I
open the envelope and there’s a photo of Lila, Priya and me at the party, one of me and Priya after the dance gala, and a few of Anjali and me shopping in the market, and that’s about
it. I thank Anjali and tuck them in the album.

‘The letter is for Uma. It’s the only way I could work out how to tell this story. Maybe if I had written this a very long time ago, everything would have been different.’ She
sighs as she begins to read the words she’s written.

Anjali looks at me and faintly smiles.