‘Nobody Singh?’
‘Will you stop looking, Nikki? Okay, his name is Rahul. Rahul Sharma. He does sewa at the temple three days a week because when he was laid off from his previous job, he ate all his meals here. It saved him. Now he volunteers in the kitchen to pay it back.’
‘You sure know a lot about him. Do you guys talk, or just make lovey-dovey faces in the langar hall?’
‘There’s nothing going on between us,’ Sheena said. ‘Nothing official. We work at the Bank of Baroda together. I was in charge of showing him the ropes when he started a few weeks ago.’
‘You’re blushing.’
‘So?’
‘You’re in love.’
Sheena leaned towards Nikki. ‘Sometimes he stays back after work to chat with me. We make sure to have our conversations in the car park behind the bank so nobody on the main road can see us. But that’s it.’
‘Have you gone out on a date? Get into your little red car and drive out of Southall so nobody will see you if that’s what you’re worried about. Or pick a meeting point somewhere.’
‘It’s not that easy,’ Sheena said. ‘One date leads to another and next thing you know, we’re in a relationship.’
‘So?’
‘I’m still very much a part of my late husband’s family. It could get complicated. Plus, Rahul’s Hindu. People will talk.’
People will talk. How Nikki hated that cautionary adage. Mum had used it on several occasions to try to talk her out of working at O’Reilly’s.
‘Who would talk about you and Rahul? The widows?’
‘I don’t know what the widows would think. I think there may be a limit to what they can tolerate, especially if we carried on in public. Widows aren’t supposed to remarry, remember, let alone go on dates.’
‘I’ve often wondered why you’re friends with them,’ Nikki blurted out.
Sheena raised an eyebrow. ‘Excuse me?’
Immediately, Nikki felt embarrassed at what she had said. ‘Sorry, that came out wrong.’ A moment passed. She avoided Sheena’s eyes, scanning the hall instead for a distraction. Then she noticed a clique of women sitting in the centre. Their shimmering outfits and impeccable make-up gave them the same air of glamour as the women in Preetam’s favourite Indian dramas.
‘I just see you as being more suited to be friends with those women over there. In terms of age and values.’
‘I can’t keep up with that lot,’ Sheena said. Nikki observed that Sheena didn’t even turn to look at them. ‘I tried. I went to school with some of them. But Arjun was diagnosed with cancer shortly after we got married – that was strike one. People are sympathetic at first but when the illness drags on, they start avoiding you, like your bad luck is contagious. Then, because of the chemotherapy, having children was out of the question. That was strike two. They were all having babies and forming mothers’ groups and they couldn’t relate to me. Then after being in remission for seven years, Arjun relapsed and died. I became a widow.’
‘Strike three,’ Nikki said. ‘I see.’
‘It’s no huge loss to me. The widows are more down-to-earth. They understand loss. Those women over there married wealthy men who own family businesses. They don’t work and they’ve got standing appointments at Chandani’s.’
‘Who’s Chandani?’
‘Priciest beauty salon in Southall,’ Sheena said. ‘It’s one of those places where you take yourself for a rare treat but otherwise you make do with a cheaper manicure from one of those smaller salons off the Broadway.’ Sheena flashed her glittery fingernails at Nikki and grinned. ‘I’ve been doing them myself for years. Hot pink base with gold glitter – that’s my standard one.’
‘It looks great,’ Nikki said. She inspected her own nails. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever had a manicure.’
‘I couldn’t live without them,’ Sheena said. ‘Shame I didn’t marry a rich man. I’d be spending my whole days at Chandani’s, talking about everyone. It’s a cesspool of gossip. Worse than the langar hall. Those women can’t be trusted.’
Tarampal’s warning about the widows flashed into Nikki’s mind. But Sheena seemed trustworthy. Nikki felt at ease speaking with her. ‘Hey, can I ask you something?’
Sheena nodded.
‘Tarampal was really concerned that we’d be found out. Is she that scared of Kulwinder?’
‘She was talking about the Brothers,’ Sheena said.
‘Whose brothers?’
‘No, the Brothers. A group of young, unemployed men who consider themselves Southall’s morality police. A lot of them were working at the scrap metal factory before it closed down. Now they patrol the temple grounds and remind people to cover their heads.’ As Sheena said this, her hand travelled to her neck. She played with a thin gold chain that rested on her collarbone.
‘That happened to me,’ Nikki said, astonished. The memory of the man’s sneer brought back a prickling sensation of anger. ‘I just thought he was very religious.’
‘There’s nothing religious in their thinking. They’re bored and frustrated. The more zealous ones station themselves on the Broadway, doing spot checks in children’s bags for cigarettes, questioning girls about their whereabouts and activities to make sure they’re keeping the community’s honour intact. I’ve heard they offer services to families as well.’
‘What kind of services?’
‘Bounty hunting, mostly. A girl runs away from home with her Muslim boyfriend and the Brothers send the word out through their network of taxi drivers and shop owners to spot her and bring her home.’
‘And people haven’t said anything? Nobody’s complained about being terrorized like this?’
‘Sure, there’s some grumbling but nobody would dare to speak up against them. Plus, people are afraid of them but also find them useful for keeping their daughters in line. You don’t want to complain too loudly because you don’t know who feels obligated to them.’
‘Is that guy one of them?’ Nikki asked. A young, muscular man had just strode into the langar hall. He looked formidable enough to scare a schoolgirl into obeying her parents.
Sheena nodded. ‘They’re not hard to spot. They walk around like cowboys so everyone knows they’re here.’ Bitterness laced her voice. Nikki noticed once again that she was playing with her necklace but now she had tugged it out from under her collar. A locket in the shape of a letter G was visible. When Sheena noticed her looking, she tucked the locket away. ‘Just a gift from my husband,’ Sheena explained. ‘For a pet name he used to have for me.’
The locket looked similar to something Nikki’s grandmother had sent from India when she and Mindi were born, cartoonish initials moulded from gold. It was a child’s necklace – the chain was delicate and short. Sheena’s hurried explanation struck Nikki as strange but she was distracted by a bigger question: What would the Brothers do if they found out what went on in her writing class? Goose bumps prickled her skin as she realized she already knew the answer.
Chapter Seven