It was mid-December, and Harish was standing on the grand staircase studying the paintings of his ancestors. Two had been placed out of order, and this was now corrected, with Benson standing behind him in case he slipped. He continued to slowly climb upwards, making minor adjustments as he did so until he was almost at the top, where the paintings of his grandfather, father, mother, and himself were…
Rani had finally agreed to several sittings with an artist to paint her portrait, as well as having a series of photographs taken before she went back to India. The result was now on the wall beside his father, Harish Hope Snr. At last, they were all where they should be, albeit in a frame if not in person. Maybe they would also visit the house in spirit rather like Brother John appeared to do, marking special occasions, or warning of danger, if Charles was to be believed? His diaries were fascinating, and Harish kept them by his bedside, reading a few pages each night before he went to sleep.
They had decided against Christmas decorations that year because he was going to Delhi, and Charles and Father Malachy had been invited to spend the day with Jessie, who was taking a week off whilst Harish was away. Benson had decided to do the same but was spending the day with his son. He lived in the house though, so although Harish hoped he would suspend his duties and take it easy for a few days, he thought it likely that he would continue to do what he always had, no matter what. He was looking forward to going back to India and Hope House, to seeing his mother, George, and the Lals, and to wander the city and the marketplace that he knew Manju and Rajinder found so fascinating.
His mother had told him that Rajinder and Father Ryan had been invited for Christmas, as had Gopal and Leila who were now family. Rani wanted Kuku to eat with them too and had offered to help in the kitchen to reduce his duties. Both suggestions were strongly refused, although he did finally agree to have tea with them later in the afternoon. Leila was spending the morning at St Monica’s, and initially George thought he would do the same. However, on seeing Rani’s disappointment, and remembering that Harish was coming, he quickly changed his mind. Of course, he was a Sikh and Rajinder and the Lals were Hindus, so neither celebrated Christmas in a religious sense, but more as a time to reflect, a coming together of family, and to acknowledge the imminent ending of another year.
As a Catholic, Harish Snr had loved it, as had his father before him. Harish Jnr did too, raised as he was on nativity stories from the two priests. Manju was going to England to stay with the Guptas, and intended visiting Wishanger with Delilah, although Harish would still be away. Satisfied with the paintings, he went to finish packing for his trip in a few days’ time.
***
The hardware store was particularly busy, due in part to the selection of items that were being sold pre-wrapped for Christmas presents. It had been the brainwave of Carla, who had gone to the wholesalers with Mr Gupta to give her opinion on what would make the best gifts and be the easiest to wrap. The window now had a fine display of parcels around a tree, and with fairy lights strung in various places, the shop looked wonderfully festive. The Guptas were also Hindus but had lived in England long enough to enjoy the Christmas message of goodwill which they entirely agreed with. Carla and Delilah were on a break from their respective universities, and although both had work to do, all thoughts of that had been set aside to help in the store.
‘It reminds me of when Babita worked here with Meera,’ said Chandu, swishing the mop over the red tiles in a rare quiet moment. ‘Oh, we had such fun.’
Delilah watched him as he reminisced, his eyes bright and his face animated. His love for Babita had transcended time, and always would. She couldn’t even begin to imagine him with anyone else. Had Babita loved him the same way? One thing she had learned was that there were many ways to love. Her love for Harish hadn’t lessened but had shifted somewhat and taken a sidestep. If he kissed her now, what would she do? Grab him and kiss him back for as long as was possible? Maybe she would, but more out of curiosity than anything else. Thinking about it now, what had changed was the belief that it might happen. It never would, and knowing that had lessened her anguish.
Chandu was telling Carla about Babita. ‘She was very small, like a doll, but despite this she had a will of iron. She was strong, but also very kind. I have been very lucky to have known such love,’ he said. ‘Not everyone has this.’
‘That’s true. Do you think you might marry again?’ Carla asked.
‘Never,’ replied Chandu, dropping the mop back in the bucket with the finality of finishing the job and answering the question at the same time.
‘No, I can see that.’ Carla continued to wrap boxes, only looking up when the clanging doorbells announced another customer. It was near to closing time, and after taking in various deliveries Mr Gupta left, leaving them to lock up. They had begun to tidy the shelves ready for the next day when the door opened again. Carla had her back to it, but turned quickly when she heard Delilah yell.
‘Daddy! Daddy! You are here already? I thought you were to come on Monday?’ She ran across the shop and threw herself at her father who gave her a huge hug, then kissed the top of her head.
‘I wanted to surprise you! I left my stuff at the house. Vasu was there. How you have grown!’
‘Now Daddyji, you are being silly. I am too old to grow.’
Carla studied the tall dark-haired man who was patting Chandu on the back, telling him that he too had grown, and what on earth were they eating to make this happen. He was smartly dressed in a camel coat with a red scarf tucked down its front. His hair showed a scattering of silver, which only served to enhance his looks. She could see the likeness to both his sister and daughter, and he looked very happy to be there.
‘Daddy, this is Carla. She works here now, whilst she studies. I told you last week.’
Manju turned to look at her, then walked over and held out his hand. Delilah had told him about the new staff member, but not how attractive she was. ‘Apologies. I didn’t see you there. Delilah told me all about you, and the parcel wrapping.’
‘Nice to meet you. You’re not a bit like Delilah described.’ Thank goodness, Carla thought. She hadn’t stood next to a good-looking man for years, let alone held one’s hand.
‘I might help here in the run up to Christmas,’ he said, which was the first time he had ever offered to do so.
Delilah laughed loudly. ‘You Daddyji? In here? Now you are crazy. Your hands will become dirty, and the dust will ruin your nice clothes. Also, you are too weak to lift anything.’
Chandu stood back to watch them all. He enjoyed gatherings like this, where he could use his intuition and skills of observation to predict what might happen next, and who would say what and when. He did it all the time at college, the dynamics of the group now beginning to show, and the various personalities too. He found it fascinating. Right in front of him now he could see that Manju found Carla attractive. What she felt was less clear, her face showing only a slight smile which stopped right there, without reaching her eyes. She was holding back; he was sure of it. He altered his position slightly to get a better view, and in doing so caught Delilah’s eye. She winked, and he smiled, his head wobble going into overdrive, so very Indian, so very him. It said it all, no words needed.
***
At the same time as Manju held Carla’s hand, Meera and Amanda were standing outside the bakery which was almost opposite the hardware store. It too was brightly lit, not only from inside, but outside too, with colourful lanterns around the large windows, and other bright seasonal decorations. To the left was the new, smaller section with black and gold lettering boldly written on the window in front of it. ‘Cakes of the World!’ All the shelves and display areas in the shop were empty, and quite a few customers had left disappointed, both Meera and Amanda promising to make extra the following week. It looked magical, and Meera tucked her arm into her friend’s, and gave it a squeeze.
‘It is hard for me to believe how much has changed,’ she said, turning to point to the large first floor window across the street. ‘All day I sat there, with a fan in the summer and a shawl in the winter, looking at your shop and waving.’ She shook her head in disbelief.
‘Well, now you’re down here and have part of the shop to yourself! You’ve made such a great success of it. Your family must be so proud of you.’
Meera nodded. ‘They say they are, it is true, but I…’ she hesitated. ‘I still struggle to believe it.’
Amanda turned to look at her. ‘Believe it Meera. This is only the beginning…’
***
After Manju had dropped off his cases, Mr Gupta took them up to his room then followed him back along the road, thinking he would wait for Meera at the bakery, and they could go to the store together. They would go to a restaurant tonight, he decided. Meera had enough to do, although tomorrow was thankfully a Sunday, and both the bakery and the hardware store would be closed. They could have a lie-in and then catch up with Manju. Their relationship had improved considerably over the years, the possessiveness that Manju felt for his sister, and his dislike of her husband, slowly fading until it was now no longer visible at all. He was glad. It had been difficult to put up with at times, yet he had, although for Meera’s sake, not his own.
He reached the corner of the road, then looked down the street towards the bakery. All the shops were brightly lit, and he quickly saw the two women standing on the pavement, gazing at what was clearly something of great pride. It was too. He knew Meera had doubted her ability with the ‘Cakes of the World’ idea, but he had done his best to encourage her. From a selfish point of view, he would rather have her in the store with him, of course he would, but knew that she viewed the store as his, and was just an assistant. What she did at the bakery was her own and had been a great success. He was proud of his wife and was about to hurry down the street to join them. Suddenly thinking better of it, he decided to let them have their moment together. She could tell him all about it that evening, Manju too, and together they could celebrate her achievement.
A minute later, he stood in front of the hardware store and peered through the window. Looking in from outside on a distinctly chilly winter’s night, he thought the store looked wonderful; warm and bright and very welcoming. Their hard work over so many years had paid off, although there had been difficult times, both in his marriage, which was his fault, and when Babita died. Then, a dark cloud had hung over them all, but the sun had eventually shone through again, albeit intermittently.
Delilah had her back to him, but he could see Chandu clearly, a broad grin on his face and his head moving from side to side as it so often did. Looking across to the counter, he could see Manju holding Carla’s hand. He certainly seemed reluctant to let it go, which was obviously the reason for Chandu’s mirth. The attractive woman gazed at him calmly, listening to what he was saying, whilst making no attempt to pull her hand away. They were both single, he supposed, and she would certainly be able to hold her own against his sharp-witted brother-in-law.
He jumped as someone tapped his shoulder, and swinging round saw Meera, out of breath but looking excited and happy.
‘Why did you run away,’ she asked. ‘I shouted to you, but you were gone!’
‘It was your moment, my dear,’ he replied. ‘Yours and Amanda’s. We can show Manju later, or tomorrow.’
‘He is here?’ she asked. ‘Where?’ She looked around as though he might be loitering in the street somewhere.
‘In there.’ He pointed to inside the store. ‘Holding the hand of our very own Carla, who does not seem to mind at all!’
Meera pressed herself against the cold glass. ‘You think, he… she… you know?’ she asked. ‘They might…?’
‘Stop spying you two and come in. Daddy is here!’ Delilah had seen them peering in and had come out to get them. She grabbed her aunt’s arm and pulled her into the store, her uncle following closely behind.
Chandu ran upstairs to fetch glasses and a bottle of red wine a customer had given him for Christmas, as well as a carton of juice for those who didn’t drink alcohol. Meera threw her arms around her brother, whose hands were thankfully now free.
The drinks were soon handed out, and Chandu watched each of them in turn, thrilled to host an impromptu party in the store he both worked in, and lived above. That Babita was also there wasn’t in question. Where else would she be, except with those she loved the most, and who returned that love a hundred times over? The doorbells jangled and they all turned to see Mo, who had also peered through the large store window to see if he could spot Delilah. Unable to stop himself, he flung open the door and walked in.
‘There are celebrations?’ he asked, gazing around him, hoping to catch an approving eye from Delilah.
Chandu hurried over with another glass. ‘Yes! We are celebrating life! Look, here is Manju, Delilah’s daddyji. Come, join us. You are one of the family!’
Delilah watched as her father sized him up, finally shaking his hand firmly, then slinging an arm casually around his shoulders and leaving it there. If Harish had just turned up, would he have done the same? He would certainly have welcomed him, but like her father had just done to a total stranger? She doubted it.
Manju was thinking the same. He had heard about the doctor who came into the store frequently, and who had eyes for Delilah. He also knew that Harish had made it clear that his heart belonged to no one, certainly not his daughter. Whilst not wanting her to suffer in any way, he was glad. Rani’s son had many attributes and would always be there for her, but no matter how hard he tried, he could not imagine a romantic liaison. Maybe, like his mother, he might be able to offer himself in that way when he was much older? Who knew? However, the man in front of him was a different kettle of fish altogether.
Whilst all this was going on, another observer appeared at the window, this one grubby, and wearing tattered clothes. A wispy grey beard covered his face, and his bright blue eyes took in the scene of bonhomie. Clearly, they were a family, although he hadn’t known that Dr Mo was one of them. He’d seen him in the surgery a few times and liked him a lot. He peered more closely, recognising them all except for the tall, dark-haired man with his arm around the doctor’s shoulders. He shivered and pulled at his thin coat, fumbling with the broken zip to no avail.
Chandu suddenly turned, and opening the till took out a ten-pound note. He then walked to the door, and pulling it open which made the bells jangle wildly, stepped outside. This was watched by the others, including Mr Gupta, whose till was now ten pounds down. Chandu began to talk to the man, then handed over the money. He emptied his own pockets and handed that over too, including a freshly washed and neatly folded handkerchief.
Back in the store there was silence, which Chandu quickly broke.
‘I give to him sometimes. His luck ran out, you know, and he has no home.’ He shrugged his shoulders, then turned to Mr Gupta. ‘Please take the money from my salary.’
Humbled by what he had just seen, and ashamed that Chandu had been the one to help someone less fortunate, and not him, he shook his head. ‘No Chandu. No deductions from salary needed. Next time, please give the same from me.’
***
It was Christmas eve and Mo, Delilah, Manju and Carla, had spent the evening in a local bar. Manju hadn’t enjoyed himself so much for years. He felt invigorated, alive, and as though a light had been switched on, one that had been out of order for a very long time. Having seen Carla to her flat, he hurried home saying he was cold. This left Delilah and Mo to stroll back together, both still enjoying the busy streets, the music that floated out from the packed bars, and the fragrance of food from the many restaurants that had popped up over the years since the Guptas had been there.
‘I like it here,’ Mo said. ‘It feels like home.’
‘To me too,’ replied Delilah. ‘I always come here when I have time, and to work in the store.’
By the gate, Mo took a deep breath. In the months that he and Delilah had become friends, going out each week and sharing their lives with long chats in smoky bars, cafés, and on park benches, he had never made any attempt to kiss her. Suddenly deciding that he would take the chance and risk her wrath, or even a slapped face, he leaned forward and did just that. Delilah remained still, her arms by her side, yet she didn’t pull away, nor show any other signs of disapproval. Standing back, he looked into her large brown eyes, and seeing they had filled with tears, held out his arms.
Delilah fell into them, and quietly began to sob. The kiss had been nice, more than nice perhaps, but that aside, it had opened the floodgates to a wall of emotions that had been kept inside for so long. Despite her outward confidence, she had never properly kissed any man, her fumbled attempt to kiss Harish Hope firmly closing a door that she had longed to open. Her feelings for Mo were unclear, but what was clear were his for her, and this made her feel warm inside and safe. If the wall had started to dissolve then his strong arms could replace it, and she leaned further into them, knowing instinctively that they would not let her go until she was ready.
Mo continued to hold her tight until the sobbing stopped, then kissed her again. ‘Shall we walk around the block one more time?’ he asked. ‘It is such a lovely night, and one I will never forget.’
Delilah nodded, dabbing at her wet face with a tissue hastily pulled from her bag. ‘Nor will I. Alright. Around the block.’ The pair walked through the familiar streets, this time hand in hand, past the bakery that held her aunt’s creations, and Mr Gupta’s Hardware Store, which had stolen her heart from the moment she had first stepped into it.
‘I love that place,’ Mo said, the flashing lights from inside the window further illuminating their already animated faces. What he would have liked to add was that he loved her too, but this he held back. Now wasn’t the time.
‘I too,’ replied Delilah. ‘The smell, oh the smell…’
The homeless man from earlier that evening, now half-hidden in a dusty bush on the other side of the road, watched the doctor and the girl that he knew worked in the hardware store. His hands were warm from the newspaper-covered bag of fish and chips, courtesy of Mr Gupta from earlier that evening. He felt better than he had for a long while. He even had a bed to sleep in at a hostel that night, one that had promised to find him permanent accommodation.
‘Good luck to you, mate,’ he said aloud. ‘She’s a cracker, that one. Don’t let her go.’
Memories of what he had both lost and let go flashed through his mind, and he shook his head.
‘No,’ he said, this time to himself. ‘No, mate. Enough! It’s time to move on…’