5

The interior of Patwin’s was dark, with charcoal-coloured walls, spotlights dimmed to a feeble orange glow, and stumpy candles on most tables. It was also crowded with the after-work set. Business suits and loud voices almost drowned out the low jazz playing on the sound system, and the place seemed smokey, though of course it wasn’t. Jane had passed the usual huddle of the addicted gathered by the door on her way in and wondered if the fug came from a theatrical smoke machine.

‘Bad choice,’ she told herself, edging past a knot of people to see Pri’s outstretched hand waving to her beyond the crowd around the bar. Somehow she’d managed to secure them a tiny booth in the corner. Jane gestured for drinks, Pri mimed a glass and mouthed white wine. Once Jane had been served she carried the glasses high above her head like a pair of signal flags, worming her way past people and nudging them aside with her shoulder bag.

She staggered into the clear space by the table, set down the glasses and slid around the padded bench. ‘Sorry, this was a bad choice. I had no idea it would be this busy mid-week.’

‘It’s like this every night.’

‘You sound like an old hand.’

‘So a colleague told me. That’s how I know about this.’ She tapped the table. ‘She said to get here early.’

‘How early’s early?’

‘Five minutes to. Beat the rush, she said.’ There was an empty coffee cup beside her mobile phone.

‘Sorry, I’ve kept you waiting again.’

‘Everything’s fine. Please stop apologising.’

Jane smiled. ‘You know the only answer to that is “sorry”.’

‘No.’ Pri picked up one of the glasses. ‘The only answer to that is “cheers”.’

‘Cheers.’

They clinked and sipped. Pri gave an appreciative nod. ‘That’s nice. What is it?’

‘A rare little vintage called Maison Blanc – House White.’

‘Ah, an old favourite. I thought I recognised it.’ Pri arched an eyebrow, adding, ‘And congratulations.’

‘What for?’

‘You didn’t apologise for buying it.’

‘You’re right. I slipped up. I’ll double up next time.’

‘You better!’

They clinked and sipped again. Jane sighed, sinking back in her seat. ‘I really needed that. And this.’ She gestured at the bar. ‘An excuse to get away from work.’

‘Long hours?’

‘I was in till late last night and started at dawn, but I’ve broken the back of it now. I think. I hope.’

‘I heard about your promotion. Well done! All the girls are cheering for you.’

‘Really? It’s not actually a promotion though. I’m just acting.’

‘Whatever. You are the nicest divisional manager I have ever met.’ Pri raised her glass again.

‘Thank you,’ Jane beamed back.

‘Not that I’ve met many.’

‘Damned with faint praise!’ Jane laughed.

The second glass went down better than the first and Pri insisted on buying the third round. ‘I should have bought a bottle,’ Jane said. ‘No,’ Pri replied, ‘you should have bought a case!’

When she returned Jane asked, ‘So how do you pronounce your name, your proper name, I mean? Priyadarshini, is that right? It’s very pretty.’

‘It’s awful. Five whole syllables for people to mangle and misspell.’

‘What does it mean?’

‘No, no, please don’t ask. Don’t even go there.’

‘I could look it up.’ Jane took out her phone.

‘If I ask you not to, you will anyway, won’t you?’

‘Of course. I’m really curious now.’

Pri sighed. ‘Go on then.’

It didn’t take Jane long to find a suitable site. She studied the screen and read the listing. ‘That’s neat! “... a combination of two Sanskrit words, Priya meaning beloved, liked, pleasing or agreeable, and Darshan meaning pleasing to look at, of charming appearance, good looking or lovely.”’ She looked up. ‘Are you blushing?’

‘Of course I’m blushing. It’s such an embarrassing thing to be called. “Hey, fix my computer, agreeable, good-looking woman.” I’m not, and I’m not. I wish my parents had given me a proper English name like ... like Jane. Which incidentally means “Gift from God.”’

‘You looked it up?’

A guilty look. ‘Of course.’

‘Then you’ll also know it’s the feminine form of John. Very romantic, I must say. “Hey, fix my computer, John-girl.”’

‘I’d rather have your name.’

‘And I’d rather have yours.’

‘So it’s a draw. Neither of us win.’

The antipasto platter Jane had ordered earlier arrived and they picked at the treats on offer with their bare hands, tussling over the last olive and giggling like a pair of schoolgirls.

‘You are such a cool person,’ Pri said. ‘For a manager, I mean.’

‘We are human, you know.’

‘Yes, but you don’t pretend you’re not. You let everyone call you Jane for a start. I even have to call my supervisor Mr Patel. He’s younger than I am.’

‘What, are IT employing child labour now?’

‘I’m twenty-four,’ Pri said indignantly, then added, ‘Almost Christmas cake.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘What some people in my community say about women. We are supposed to be like Christmas cake; worthless past the twenty-fifth.’

‘What? That’s horrible, and just so much bullshit!’

‘I agree. But you can't get away from it with a big family. Uncles and aunties and distant cousins and all that. It’s always there, you know, hovering in the background even though no one says it out loud. The expectation.’

‘Still, I saw those guys at the water-cooler this morning. I bet you have a queue a mile long.’

‘Not ... really. There was someone once, but ... it didn’t work out.’

‘Oh, what happened?’

‘He died.’ Pri closed her eyes. ‘Brain tumour.’

‘Oh, I’m so sorry.’ Jane reached out and took her hand.

Pri blinked and smiled gamely. ‘It’s OK, you weren’t to know. But what about you? The queue must be two miles at least.’

‘Is that because I’m so old it’s had time to build up?’

‘No, no, I didn’t mean that at all! Why do you look for a joke in every compliment? You are a lovely person, Jane, inside and out.’

‘Oh. Thanks.’ Jane’s cheeks flushed and she looked away.

‘So? What’s your excuse?’

‘Same as yours. There was ... someone special once, but ... he died too. An accident, not illness. Very sudden. It was years ago. Just ...’ Her mouth crumpled and she shook her head.

Pri squeezed her hand in sisterly comfort. Neither spoke for the better part of a minute, then she said, ‘God, what a pair we are. The not-so-merry widows.’

Jane smiled. ‘Sorry, my fault. I really killed the mood with all my questions, didn’t I?’

‘I don’t believe it. You’re apologising again!’

‘I am too. S—’

‘No, no, no. There is only one thing you should apologise for.’

‘What’s that?’

‘If you beat me to that last slice of prosciutto.’

‘So it’s a race, is it?’

‘Absolutely. Ready, set, go!’

*

They’d both had too much to drink, but it was that stage of the evening where the knowledge you should stop battled with the desire to maintain that pleasant buzz as long as possible. They left Patwin’s arm in arm, not staggering exactly, but supporting each other in a comradely fashion and filling the street with their carefree laughter. They decided to share a pizza and there was a place nearby.

‘I’m having extra prosciutto on my half,’ Jane said petulantly. ‘Since you cheated.’

‘I did not!’

‘You were holding my hand!’

‘You were holding mine! Anyway, who started the hand-holding?’

‘I was just being nice. Thinking of your feelings.’

Pri grinned. ‘Yeah, well, all is fair in love and food.’

‘Huh!’ Jane sniffed. ‘You’re like the horrible sister I never had.’

‘And you’re like the horrible sisters I do have. All three of them.’

‘Three?’

‘Only slightly worse than my three horrible brothers.’

‘Oh my god, you’re one of seven?’

‘And by far the nicest. Pray you never meet the others.’

‘No doubt you’re the most modest too.’

‘It is the only thing greater than my charm, wit, personality and—’

‘Hold on, hold on.’ Jane whipped out her phone.

‘You have a call?’

‘No, I’ve just remembered there was another meaning for the name Priyadarshini. Oh yeah, here it is: Full of shit.’

Pri gave an outraged gasp, then they both collapsed against a shop front convulsed with laughter. A passer-by in a bowler hat gave them a sneering look which only served to amplify their helpless hilarity and it was several minutes before they were able to enter the pizzeria with any semblance of sobriety. Even then the meal was interrupted by the occasional stifled snort or snigger. Quite why it had seemed so funny now escaped them – and that too became a source of amusement.

They avoided more wine with their meal, the food helped, so by the time they reached the bus stop a degree of moderation had returned. The evening air was cool and the pavements glistened from a recent shower. The bus stop sat in a puddle of light at the side of the road, a three-sided glass shelter with an irritating advertising screen that changed images every few seconds.

‘That was a fun evening, thank you, Jane,’ Pri said as they settled side by side on the hard plastic bench. She leaned in and gave her nudge with her shoulder.

‘No, thank you.’ Jane nudged her back. ‘I needed a break. I’d have just gone home and done more work.’

‘Is there a lot to catch up on?’

‘Not so much that, it’s more a matter of working out what’s been missed. A lot’s been let go or just overlooked – like that Dubai transaction I told you about. God knows what he did all day.’ Jane paused, glanced sideways. ‘I’m being boring, aren’t I?’

Pri gave an exaggerated yawn. ‘No, no, I love it.’

Jane grinned and gave her another nudge. ‘Tell me again about that misconfigured router on the tenth floor.’

Pri laughed. ‘You’re right. We’re both a couple of old bores who need to get out more.’

Jane glanced up the road. No sign of the bus yet, or any other traffic. A car pulled up at the traffic lights opposite the shelter then a rear window came down and a large shaved head thrust out and shouted, ‘Fuck off back to where you were born, Paki bitch!’

Pri stiffened, said nothing, kept her eyes averted, but said very quietly, ‘That would be Balham then, wouldn’t it.’

‘England for the English!’ He made a clenched fist, cheered on by the other occupants of the car.

Jane stood up, glaring, reaching for her phone to record the incident,

‘Don’t, please,’ Pri hissed. ‘You’ll just provoke them.’

The lights changed before Jane could get it out. The shaved head snarled and waved a middle finger as the car shot off with a roar.

‘I got their number. I’ll report them to the police.’

‘Don’t. Please, Jane,’ Pri said again. ‘They won’t do anything. It won’t change anything.’

‘But I’m a witness.’

‘It’s ... no, please. Just leave it. Forget it. It happens all the time. Don’t worry about it.’ She gave her a reassuring smile, but Jane could see it was forced. ‘I’m OK. Really. You get used to it.’

Jane put her arm around her. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Yeah, really.’ Her voice sounded relaxed but her shoulders were rigid.

Pri’s bus arrived first – Jane was pleased about that – and they rose to meet it.

‘Text me when you get home, OK?’

‘Who are you, my mum?’

‘No, your friend. And I mean it.’

Pri smiled and gave her an awkward hug. ‘OK. But you have to do the same.’

The hug went on a fraction longer than Jane expected and a pair of lips brushed her cheek. After a whispered thanks, Pri climbed aboard, waved her pass at the scanner before waving back at Jane from the brightly lit interior as the bus moved off.