Vijay sat up from the sofa, pushing the tumble of hair away from his eyes. His neck was stiff; he tried to move it from side to side. He checked the clock on the mantelpiece. Seven o’clock. Why hadn’t the alarm gone off? For weeks he’d been trying his best to keep out of the house as long as possible, hanging around the petrol station in the morning until Frank was ready to open up, staying out late with his friends from the barracks whenever he could. He pulled on a sweater, hoping Asha was already at work.
He got ready, but as he was about to go into the kitchen, he stopped. Asha was making chai at the stove, dressed in a burnt-orange dress, her hair pulled into a ponytail.
Asha turned her head towards him. Too late to turn back.
‘Oh, it’s you,’ she said, her voice measured. A hint of panic in her eyes; clearly she was trying to work out how she was going to get out of the kitchen as quickly as she could.
‘Is Ba around?’ he said, hovering at the door and hoping Jaya would join them soon.
‘She’s praying upstairs.’ Asha poured the chai into cups and set them next to a plate of toast. She hesitated. ‘There’s breakfast . . . if you want it.’
‘Thanks,’ said Vijay. He sat down, wondering how he’d manage to eat a thing with the awkwardness hanging in the air. But they couldn’t keep avoiding each other forever, he knew that.
She sat opposite him, gaze fixed on her plate.
They ate in silence for a few minutes but he couldn’t take it any longer. He needed to say something. ‘Look, Asha—’
‘I think it’s going to rain later. Better take an umbrella, don’t you think?’ She carried on chewing her toast quickly, looking down at the table.
‘Maybe, I don’t know. But listen—’
‘I hope it’s not going to be too rainy when Pran arrives. I can’t believe he’ll be here in a couple of weeks,’ she said, as she stood up from the table.
He watched her as she tidied the stove, her back to him. He had to clear the air, try and make things normal between them again, or at least vaguely normal, before Pran arrived. Vijay’s mouth went dry with guilt at the thought of him. How did things get so out of hand? He was about to say something but Asha got there before him.
‘Pran will be right here with us, something good after all that stress we’ve been under.’ A strained cheer in her voice. ‘And of course, we’ll all be busier once he arrives.’
‘Yes, I guess so.’
‘Not much time to sit around together.’
‘No,’ Vijay said quietly.
‘It’ll be so nice to have him back after all this time. Though it hardly feels like he and I have been apart, in a way.’
‘No,’ said Vijay.
She carried on, still facing away from him as she washed up, talking about the plans for Pran when he arrived, how she hoped he’d manage to get a job in a factory soon, how nice it would be to spend time with him.
It was plain to see: Asha had assumed her brother-in-law still wanted something to happen between them. But as he watched her by the window, dark hair shining in the light, there were two things that were clearer than ever to Vijay.
He loved Asha.
But he loved his brother more.
*
‘It’s so green, isn’t it?’ Marie asked Vijay. The evening air was still warm. They stood at the gates, looking out at Regent’s Park. Marie wore layers of indigo and canary chiffon so long they swirled about her ankles. He’d offered to take her out as his way of paying her back for the job with her uncle Frank. Anything to take his mind off home, off Asha.
Marie walked ahead, twirling like a butterfly ready for flight. The spring blossom had made way for bright leaves on the trees, layers of green as far as the eye could see. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that Uganda was just as green, vast hills covered in luscious grass, despite the fierce sun. He’d stopped telling people about that; it didn’t match their visions of Africa. England was pretty, yes, but all a bit too neat and tidy: clean slices of nature, far too formal.
‘We could go and visit the countryside one Sunday if you like, even greener out there.’
He looked at her. ‘Maybe after my brother’s settled in.’
‘It’ll be nice to have him back with you soon.’
Vijay looked at her, then nodded. He wanted Pran back with them, of course he did, but things had changed so much. He knew that his brother would want to take charge, like he’d done with the dukan, but life was different now for all of them. He couldn’t imagine being cooped up in that small house together. How would he look his brother in the eye? Vijay and Asha would have to pretend everything was exactly the same. That same pang of guilt in his stomach returned every time he thought of her.
The sky turned indigo. He still hadn’t got used to talking about ordinary things, like going out for a drink, instead of getting back for curfew, keeping yourself safe. Marie saw England as home. That ease in Marie’s shoulders, the look of natural familiarity as she walked around her home city. He’d never thought about it in Uganda, but now he realized he’d never had that same ease, not really.
‘You look like you’re sucking on an old leather boot with that face.’ Marie walked up to a parked car, cranked the wing mirror and slicked on some coral lipstick. She hurried back over to him and put her arm through his. ‘Stop looking so maudlin. My mate’s having a party. Wanna go?’ Marie’s long neck glowed in the light of the street lamp.
‘All right,’ Vijay shrugged.
They took the Tube to Kentish Town and arrived at a small block of flats. Marie stopped by the entrance.
‘We’re not going in?’ said Vijay, bemused.
Marie lit another cigarette, wrapping her lips around the paper, smoke weaving its way out through the tip. ‘Let’s just wait here a moment.’ She smiled at him, elegant wrist tipped back, holding the cigarette high in the air. Her smile an invitation, perhaps a dare?
The door opened and a couple spilled out, laughing, the sweet scent of hashish following them into the night air.
Marie grabbed the door handle before it closed. ‘Come on,’ she said.
He followed her along a dark corridor and up a communal staircase. The air was hot and thick with smoke now, muffled music getting louder with each step. They came to a green door covered in layers of old, chipped paint. Marie nudged it open.
Inside the flat, there was a narrow hallway with a mustard carpet and swirly brown fabric lampshade. Muted, buttery light shone on the people inside. Most didn’t bother to look at Vijay or Marie, too busy talking, smoking or downing drinks from plastic cups or glass bottles, and dancing in the tiny sitting room. Others seemed more interested in what he was wearing than in his arm or his skin colour. There was no furniture nor carpets or lights here. The faint light from the hallway highlighted the black spaces where the floorboards were missing, like a huge gap-toothed grin. Marie led him on, moving to the music, hips swaying, through the crowd.
A shriek, so loud Vijay looked around the room to check someone hadn’t been murdered. Marie spread her arms wide, running to a man on the far side of the room. ‘Johnny!’
As far as Vijay could tell in the dim light, Johnny had long blond hair. He and Marie hugged each other.
‘This is—’ Marie began.
‘Johnny, by any chance?’ said Vijay. Johnny went on staring at Marie.
‘And this is Vijay.’
‘Veejay,’ said Johnny, putting his arm around Marie. He smelt of Old Spice. Another reason to dislike him. ‘You want a drink? They’re over there.’ He pointed towards a kitchen filled with dirty mugs and glasses, half-empty bottles of vodka and Lambrusco.
‘All right, Johnny, we’ll see you in a bit. Come on.’ Marie took Vijay’s hand as they walked through the room.
In the kitchen, Marie poured them both some vodka. ‘Cheers,’ she said, clinking her glass with his. They stepped out onto a balcony at the back of the flat. Her hair swirled around her jaw in the night breeze. In the distance, the lights of the other blocks glittered. They leant against the balcony edge as they talked.
‘You’ve known Johnny long, then?’ he said.
‘Schoolmates.’ She turned to face him. ‘He can be a bit intense, I know.’
Intense was one word for him. Vijay changed the subject and they talked about Marie’s family, Vijay’s favourite music, the places they’d like to go if they had a bit of money.
Marie lit a joint. She took a drag, coral lipstick circling the tip, then handed it to him. He waited for the heavy haze to filter though his body.
‘You don’t mind?’ he said.
‘Mind what?’
‘The way people look at us together?’
‘Do you?’
Vijay shrugged. Strangers stared at him regardless of whether he had a pretty girl beside him.
‘Not our fault if their lives are so boring that they have nothing better to do,’ she smiled.
Vijay nodded. ‘Their problem, not ours.’
‘So how’s it going at work? Uncle Frank not giving you hell, is he?’
‘No, it’s OK.’ Hell was something he’d left behind, something that people like John back in Kampala were still dealing with. Frank and Woolfy were tricky, no doubt, but at least you knew where you were with them. ‘People are people, like you said.’
They fell silent. The breeze was cool on his skin, the muffled music from the flat carried through the air. She moved closer and met his gaze. He pulled her to him, her curves against his body, the tang of lemon on her breath. Hoping to lose himself. He kissed her because she wasn’t Asha, because she had nothing to do with Uganda and his past. He kissed her to forget it all.