Harish looked around the familiar sitting room at Hope House and smiled. Father Ryan, George, Gopal, Leila, Rajinder and Rani, were all there, drinking and eating the various pastries and sweets made earlier that day by Kuku. He had stayed with them for a short while, leaving as soon as he could to sit on the terrace with Sunni, the same platter in front of them, and a large pot of tea which they both preferred to any other celebratory drink. Indi had been invited for lunch, but she had cried off, saying she preferred to stay at St Monica’s with the girls there under her care.
‘It’s odd to be here without Father Malachy,’ said Harish to no one in particular. ‘He was with Charles and Jessie when I called earlier, in front of a roaring fire. They’d just been for a long walk around the estate and are going to eat this evening.’
Rani watched her son as he chatted to the others, including his Uncle Gopal which he now insisted on calling him, since it became known that he was Rani’s half-brother. He liked it, and Gopal did too, the name grounding him and giving him a sense of belonging which had been entirely absent since his grandmother, Mati, had died. His parents had died a long time before that, although Leila’s were still alive and living in the same house where he first met them, their eccentricities from that time now even more exaggerated and comical. She thought that Harish looked older, although it had only been a few months since she’d seen him. He seemed different somehow, more self-assured and confident perhaps, although he had hardly lacked that before.
Rajinder looked happy and was playing cards with Father Ryan. Since they’d agreed to marry, Rani had seen a different side to him. He was much more relaxed for one thing, and far less demanding of her time and attention. When questioned he denied that he was withdrawing, saying that it was more a coming to terms with her desire for separateness. That being so, he felt it pertinent to adjust his own life accordingly. She still felt uneasy about the statement, which had altered the dynamic of their relationship and left her with some residual anxiety. This meant more time spent in the prayer room on her knees in front of Jesus, searching for answers or a solution that always seemed to be just out of reach.
As Sister Monica had so aptly described many years earlier, the uncertainty that had crept into her relationship further rocked the ground beneath her, which continued to shake. This was only noticed by George who made sure he was around when at its worst, hoping that his constant presence gave her something solid to lean against and rely upon.
It did, very much so, his continued assurances that he would always be there acting like stabilisers on a child’s first bicycle, except no matter how hard Rani tried, she couldn’t imagine them being removed. Having Harish away bothered her very little. She was used to flying from one country to the other and thought little of it. He was hardly going to live with her forever, although his total disinterest in any type of romantic liaison was unusual. She wanted him to be happy, but at the end of the day, what hope had she of organising or controlling the lives of others when she couldn’t even control her own?
Father Malachy had flown the nest, and she thought it doubtful that he would ever return. Would Father Ryan do the same? She reached up for the gold cross that Harish Snr had given her many years ago, one that had belonged to his grandmother. She rubbed it gently, the motion a reminder of her faith as well as both soothing and calming. She would go to the prayer room before dinner, she decided, instantly longing for the cool, scented air, the red carpet under her knees, and her lord looking down upon her with his bright blue eyes, resigned to his fate, yet liberated at the same time. Would she ever be liberated? She thought it unlikely.
***
George looked around the room. He had seen many of these Christmas gatherings in his years at Hope House. Harish Snr had loved them, as had his father before him, although this year had seen significant changes, including Harish Jnr going to England, and Father Malachy deciding he wasn’t coming back at all. He had little doubt that there would be more to come.
He too thought that Harish looked different. His experiences in England seemed to have altered his manner, which was hardly surprising. When they spoke earlier, he still declared uncertainty about his future, both in Delhi and at Wishanger. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised by that, but his instinct told him that Harish’s life lay in England, and it would be there that he would make his home from here on. Home for him was Hope House and Delhi, yet he had another home in a small town in the Punjab. His family there were now all dead and he hadn’t been back for some years, but it was still home too, and always would be.
It was good that Rani had decided to advance her relationship with Rajinder. He had witnessed the man’s slow withdrawal with grave concern. Rani might pretend that she was invincible, but he knew that Rajinder’s absence from her life would affect her greatly.
For himself, he had decided to do less at St Monica’s. He valued his time alone much more now, contemplating and reflecting on the minutiae of each day. He also enjoyed walking around the city, sitting in the colourful parks, exploring the temples, and reacquainting himself with places he had long forgotten. These outings often ended in the small church next to the priests’ house. He relished its utter simplicity and lack of adornment, in complete contrast to the ornate, gold-filled Indian temples, as well as the absolute quiet, irrespective of what was going on outside.
What would happen there, he wondered, with Father Malachy now living at Wishanger, and Father Ryan here on his own. The pair had been inseparable, always choosing to do things together if possible. Theirs wasn’t a relationship like his and Harish’s had been, but intimacy took many forms, and deep respect and friendship could also induce a very strong bond, as it had with them. For a moment he imagined them all on a merry-go-round that spun faster and faster, and each time it stopped, there were less of them on it. Maybe some new people might climb aboard? They always had in the past, and the pace would pick up again, but maybe not this time…
***
Gopal had never been happier. The revelations in England about his mother had finally put together a fragmented jigsaw that throughout much of his life had caused immense hurt and uncertainty. He was glad that the lost pieces of the puzzle had finally been put into place. That his mother had given birth to another child after an affair with the maharaja’s son had been shocking, and that the child was Rani, who had been given up for adoption to an English teacher and his wife, even more so.
His mother had died when he was in his early teens, after an absence of many months. At the time he was told that she’d died in her sleep, although he now thought it more likely that she had died in childbirth. On reflection, he also thought it likely that she had been sent away to have the child and had never returned. His father had died a few years before that and so his care was handed over to his grandparents. Presumably, it had been Mati that gave the child up for adoption, fearing what might come alongside raising an illegitimate granddaughter. Her guilt from that action had never left her, its shadowy fingers frequently pushing closed a door to that time, in desperation to keep it out. Despite that, hints of it remained to torment her, which upset him too. Life was hard enough, without abusing oneself in this way. He had read the letter from the maharaja that offered assistance, stating that he had previously known nothing of either the affair, or the child that had been the result of it. Without doubt he could have taken the child back from the English teacher if he had chosen to do so, but for some reason had decided against it.
He and Rani had little in common in either looks or temperament, and they had been raised entirely differently, but he had never forgotten the kindness that she’d shown him in his earlier, lonely years at Hope House, and the interest she’d taken in his life, especially at the prospect of his marriage. Even back then her difference shone out, and looking at her now, clearly reflecting and pondering the future as he was, she still seemed separate, apart from the others, if not in body, then in mind. He had been concerned that Harish, her son, might be the same, and it was certainly true that he had some of his mother’s traits, but his childhood had been as different to hers as it was possible to be, and he was glad of it. Looking at him now, he thought his nephew a fine young man who would go far in life, gaining respect from everyone he met who took the time to know him.
His own life had changed drastically upon the arrival of his wife, Leila. His grandmother’s moods were evened out by her presence as well as the company of Sami, hired as a servant but quickly becoming one of the family. The memorised words of the fortune teller came to mind, and he went over them for the umpteenth time, amazed not only by their accuracy, but that the man should know them at all.
‘Yes,’ he had said. ‘You have known loss, but I tell you, Sir, that this person will rise again. When she was alive, there were certain dealings… Things which you know nothing about and which you could not imagine. A journey across the ocean to lands far away will also be made. I tell you this to prepare yourself. Your life is not yet done, Gopal Lal, in fact, will begin for the second time.’ At this point he paused, then continued. ‘Much has been given by you and yours, and now you will receive. Your gift will be greater than you can imagine.’
The gift had indeed been great, and if Rani looked upon her forebears with disapproval, given her humble yet interesting upbringing with the English teacher and his wife, then he saw it as the opposite. That they had met at all was a miracle, and finding out about their past, another. The pain caused by his mother’s disappearance and subsequent death would never go away, but at least he now understood why, which settled something inside him. As was so often the case, his loss was also his gain and he determined to be happy with that.
He had seen the fortune teller in the square many times since their last encounter, although each time had been barely acknowledged. Only when he had something to say, would he call out, and all Gopal could do was wait until that time came. A few weeks earlier, Sagar, the owner of the sweet shop in the market square, had said something very surprising after both men watched whilst the fortune teller lured in another victim.
‘I tell you this,’ he said, leaning forward as though he was about to disclose a secret. ‘I tell you this,’ he repeated, lowering his voice further. ‘He has sat there in that same spot for more than forty years. ‘My father told me this, my uncle also, yet look at him.’
The pair both turned to look at the man dressed in a simple long white shirt and kurta pyjamas. His face was unlined and as fresh as though he were twenty. Gopal also knew that he could get up from the hard floor with considerable ease, without the creaking bones and joints of most of his customers, including himself. If one had to put an age on him, he would have said around forty-five, although if what Sagar said was true, he was certainly much older than that.
‘Not possible,’ Gopal replied. ‘They must be mistaken.’
‘No!’ said Sagar firmly. ‘If my family say it, then there is no mistake.’ He looked over to the fortune teller again, as though to confirm it for himself. ‘Definitely no mistake,’ he repeated. ‘Isn’t it?’
This was usually said at the end of most sentences whatever the content, which drove Gopal mad. However, looking around him now, all he felt he felt was gratitude for his good fortune, and his eyes filled with tears…
***
Watching closely, Leila pulled a handkerchief from her bag, and handed it to him. ‘We are in unusual times, is that not so, husband?’ she asked, also rather bemused that her friend of many years, Rani Kapur, was now, in effect, her step sister-in-law.
‘Change follows change like a ball rolling down a hill,’ she continued, clearly in a philosophical mood. ‘What next, I wonder? We will go home to find Mati still alive in her chair and Sami a boy again, listening to her stories?’ She closed her eyes trying to picture this, then turned to Gopal. ‘I wish it would happen! Too much time has passed and now I request a reversal. In fact, I demand it!’
‘You should speak to the fortune teller,’ said her husband. ‘He may be able to offer you a magic formula to make this happen.’
At this moment, Kuku came in with a large tray of tea and freshly baked biscuits.
‘Ah, we are saved from further soul-searching by a pot of tea! This is probably a good thing. Stay there, husband, and I will bring you some.’
***
Rajinder quickly finished his game and began to pour the tea, knowing who liked what after many years of doing the exact same thing. He enjoyed the familiarity, and handing Rani hers, gave her a wink.
‘Here you are. Just as you like it.’ She was wearing the shawl he had bought her in the market, the sparkling crystals catching the light beautifully, as he had known they would.
She took the cup, thanking him and whoever was responsible for bringing him into her life so soon after the catastrophe that had nearly ended it.
Rajinder felt happier than he could ever remember. Rani had even agreed to come to his apartment more and spend a little time there, sitting on the balcony with him, hiding behind the plants, and watching life pass by on the street below. He knew she felt uncomfortable away from Hope House and its garden, but believed that a change of scenery now and then would do her good. They had even gone for walks on two occasions, her silver eyes hidden behind the sunglasses she had bought in England. He hoped they would do this more often, and certainly intended to encourage her to do so, and enjoy the life that went on beyond the walls of her chosen sanctuary.
Anyway, he had been coming to Hope House since she was fifteen and it was like a second home to him. He also enjoyed the evenings he spent with Gopal and Manju, sitting outside Sagar’s with coffee and cake. He loved observing life in the marketplace, seeing who had been lured into the lair of the fortune teller that evening, or how many more mangos could be placed on the pile without others falling off. There was joy to be found in many things, no matter how small, and he was grateful for it.
His daughter’s suitor, Professor Arun Mistry, had visited several more times. His doubts about the man when he first expressed an interest had disappeared. He clearly cared very much for the somewhat flighty Ania, who now held down a job at the university and was also engaged in redecorating the professor’s house. He was steady, calm and kind, and he couldn’t ask for more than that. They were going to marry the following year, and things could not have turned out better.
Rani was also talking about a trip to England in the spring, which meant he would be able to see some of his old college friends at the same time. He’d managed to contact several more of them, and all had agreed to a reunion when he could make it. He too was acutely aware of lost time, and had no intention of wasting any more, not even for Rani. He intended making the most of every minute he had left, be that on his own, or in the company of others. Seeing his friends again would be the highlight of the trip. If asked earlier he would have said that when he met them, he would want Rani by his side, despite her preference for hiding herself away. Now, though, he had already decided he would go alone. Without her, he could enjoy their company, reminisce, and at no point need to consider how she was, nor her discomfort at having men staring at her.
As he thought this he felt disloyal and looked across to where she was sitting. George had pulled his chair next to hers, and they seemed to be sharing a private joke, heads together, and both laughing. It was nice to see her happy. Perhaps she too took some pleasure at a future filled with new people and places? He hoped this was so, and leaning further back in his chair, tea in hand, sighed contentedly.
***
Father Ryan had been on edge the whole day, although was glad that no one else seemed to have noticed. Speaking to Father Malachy on the phone earlier had unsettled him. Over the past few months, he had missed him far more than he could imagine, the routine of his day now disrupted beyond measure. He felt lost and alone, and no amount of time spent at Hope House or St Monica’s filled the space that Father Malachy had left behind. After being in England and then Ireland for some weeks, being back in India had been a shock. He had left and come back many times over the years, but never had it felt so alien to him, nor so overwhelming.
Having Harish back for a few weeks was wonderful and had gone a small way to calming his anxiety, as had the ritual of Christmas services, but not quite far enough. Last night, lying in his bed with Father Malachy’s room empty, he had come to a sudden, although not perhaps surprising, conclusion. He was going back to England, like Father Malachy, for good. He had loved every minute of his life in India, and wouldn’t exchange the experiences he’d had for anything, but his journey and purpose there was now over. He was going home.
Getting up, he walked over to the mantelpiece to look at the photos, then turning round, cleared his throat, hoping to catch the attention of those present.
‘Father Ryan,’ said Rani, who had been waiting for this moment all day. ‘You have something to say, I believe. Please… we are all listening.’ Her face was impassive, but her silver eyes were glinting which was noticed by the priest.
Father Ryan had already spoken to her yesterday to explain how he was feeling and warn her in advance of his probable return to England. Like Rajinder, he had seen her almost every day for many years, and the wrench he would feel when he left would be considerable. That said, his happiness no longer lay in being by her side, he knew that now, and the time to leave had finally come.
‘Yes,’ said Father Ryan, taking a deep breath. ‘Yes, I do. It won’t be a surprise I’m sure, and I’ve already spoken to Rani, but I’m going back to England. For good, that is. I won’t be retiring and still want to work, but like Father Malachy, after so many years of living here I need a break before making any further decisions. We’ll share a cottage on the Wishanger estate to begin with. Then we’ll see, I suppose…’ He shrugged his shoulders.
All eyes turned to Rani knowing that she would be the one most affected, but she remained composed, getting up to give Father Ryan a hug, with the others following suit. The mood remained cheerful and at times hilarious with the usual teasing and banter, including from Rani, and plans were made for the next visit, which would be just after the priest made his final move in a few months’ time.
***
Harish had also known what Father Ryan was going to say. Her loss would be his gain, since to have the two priests who raised him living a few minutes away, would be wonderful. She had George of course, and Rajinder, who practically lived at Hope House already. Then there was Leila and Gopal, and Indi who managed the day to day running of St Monica’s and who Rani had known since her initial arrival at Hope House. She would hardly be alone, and could come to stay whenever she wanted, but her attachment to Father Ryan was deep, as was his to her. It would be difficult for them both.
***
Later that evening Father Ryan knelt in front of the altar in the simple church he had been working and worshipping in for so long. Rani had been married in it, and Harish had been christened there, and he prayed for its continuation and for the new priest that would be taking over. It had been decided that only one priest was needed. He and Father Malachy had been lucky to share the role, and thinking about it now, he realised how lucky he had been all round.
To have lived his life in a foreign country surrounded by so many wonderful people had been a blessing, as was the small house with the church by its side, all sounds from the street muffled by the thick old walls. To say he would miss it, his friends, and Rani, would be an understatement. Their lives had been shared for so long that prising them apart would at the very least be uncomfortable, and at its worst, downright painful. Acknowledging this, he prayed for strength in the months to come, and for Rani too, who he knew would miss him the most.
As he lay in bed reflecting on the day, he had no doubts about his decision. It was the right one, he was sure of it, but the future was unchartered, which was something he hadn’t experienced since before coming to India. Images of Wishanger Hall flashed through his mind, of the shady woods that lay to one side, and the cottage across the fields that he would share with Father Malachy, at least for now, anyway.
He felt a small bubble of excitement from somewhere deep inside him, and for a moment thought he could smell the very same woods, damp after a fall of rain and the ground soft underfoot. He would see Harish most days, and Charles too, as well as Benson and Jessie. Delilah would often be there, and he knew Manju went to England at least twice each year, which Rani would probably do too. Meera would appear from time to time to amuse them all with her frank speaking and stories of her new cake enterprise. He’d also briefly met Father Martin, the local priest, and looked forward to seeing him again.
More than anything, he wanted to take each day as it came and live it to the full, and with this thought firmly fixed in his mind, he punched his pillow into shape and slept.