The wheel on the screen had been spinning for nearly a minute. Nikki pressed the CONFIRM button again and received a stern warning: Pressing CONFIRM again will re-submit your order. Do you want to re-submit? ‘No,’ she muttered. ‘I wanted it to work the first bloody time.’ Her arms ached from holding the laptop in its usually prime wifi connectivity position over the sink and she felt woeful for failing at her simple mission to make an Amazon purchase. During the last class, Sheena had asked if she could take a break from transcribing because of the strain on her wrist and Nikki had agreed to buy a recording device. She peered out the window – some clouds, but not a terrible day for a walk. There were some electronics shops in the area that she could try.
It began spitting with rain halfway through Nikki’s journey to King Street. She broke into a jog and took refuge in the Oxfam shop. When she entered, she was breathless, stray hairs plastered to her forehead. The cashier smiled sympathetically at her.
‘Took a ghastly turn out there, didn’t it?’ she said.
‘Just terrible,’ Nikki said.
On the electronics shelf, next to a box of second-hand hairdryers and adapter plugs, Nikki spotted a tape recorder with a glossy red finish. This could work. It would probably be easier than teaching the widows to use a digital recorder with all its bells and whistles anyhow. She took it to the cashier. ‘Have you got any blank cassette tapes by any chance?’
‘I’ve got a boxful somewhere,’ the cashier replied. ‘I’m also dying to get rid of our story cassettes. The library donated a whole Enid Blyton Famous Five series years ago but I haven’t had the heart to throw them out. We have to clear out some storage room in the back now and if I don’t find them a home …’
‘I could take some,’ Nikki said. She couldn’t bear the thought of those tapes being thrown out either. Mum used to borrow them from the library when she was too little to read so she could follow along with Mindi.
The cashier disappeared into the back room. While she was away, Nikki browsed the shelves. She came across the Beatrix Potter book again and flipped through it. ‘You don’t happen to have more books about Beatrix Potter, do you?’ Nikki called.
‘Everything we’ve got is on the shelves,’ the cashier said, emerging into view again. ‘Which book are you looking for?’
‘It’s not one of her stories, exactly. It’s a collection of her early sketches and journal entries. It’s very hard to find because it’s a collection of glossy pictures of the actual extracts rather than typed-up pages. I saw it a few years ago in a bookshop but didn’t buy it.’
‘I hate it when that happens. Book regret. You come across something and think, I don’t want that, and later, you’re obsessed with getting it and it’s no longer available.’
Nikki’s regret was bigger than that. ‘Beti, what is this? A picture book?’ Dad had asked when he noticed her browsing it in a bookshop in Delhi. ‘It’s your exam year. These are cartoons.’ With no rupees of her own, Nikki was unable to purchase it herself. ‘It’s not a picture book,’ she’d said in frustration. ‘They’re Beatrix Potter’s journals.’ This meant little to Dad. Nikki had been sullen and resentful for the rest of the trip.
The cashier looked up curiously at Nikki. ‘Any particular reason you’re buying a tape recorder in the twenty-first century?’
‘I’m teaching English to some older women,’ Nikki replied. ‘I don’t have much of a budget for learning aids and we’re recording conversations and improving accents.’ This was the line she had practised in case Kulwinder asked about it. She planned on staging a few recorded conversations with the students as a decoy.
The cashier handed her a box filled with Famous Five story tapes. ‘Pick whichever you want.’ She smiled. ‘This one’s my favourite.’
It was the story of a secret passageway. Only a few sentences, but Nikki was instantly transported to her childhood when Mum would play these tapes at night, rarely saying anything as Mindi followed the words on the page with her finger and Nikki sat captivated by the ebb and flow of the narrator’s voice. Despite her elite education in India, Mum must have lost confidence in her pronunciation once she arrived in England. Nikki thought of Tarampal Kaur with a rush of guilt. The woman just wanted to learn English and Nikki had all but ignored her yesterday when she stormed out in a rage.
‘How much are they?’
‘They’re only ten pence each.’
Nikki glanced at the box. It was hard to resist. ‘I’ll take them all then.’ She paid for the tape recorder as well and walked out into the downpour hugging her purchases close to her chest.
After zipping up her suitcase, Kulwinder stacked her papers and passport neatly together and put them in a pouch. She shut her eyes, pulled her dupatta over her head, and asked Guru Nanak to bless her with a safe journey.
A creaking noise downstairs made her eyes fly open. Kulwinder had to fight the panic that rose into her throat. It was just Sarab, she assured herself. He was home early from his shift. Her heartbeat resumed its normal pace as she named each sound of his arrival – there he was, padding about the kitchen, the back door hinges squeaking as he stepped out to the second freezer in their garage where she had stored meals for each night of her absence. She opened her eyes and called out his name. There were some fresh rotis and a pot of tea on the table for lunch but he hadn’t seen it. Making her way to the top of the stairs to call his name again, she realized that he thought she was already gone.
Kulwinder deliberately stepped on a loose board. The stair groaned loudly in protest. ‘I’m here,’ she said when she reached the foyer. Sarab was in the living room watching television.
‘Oh,’ he said. ‘What time is your flight?’
‘Four thirty,’ she said. ‘I need to be there two hours before. Three hours is preferred but I think two hours is just fine.’ The less time running into Punjabis at Heathrow, the better.
‘We’ll leave at two,’ Sarab said. Kulwinder wasn’t sure if she imagined the resentment in his voice. They’d quarrelled again yesterday about her trip. He’d demanded to know why she was still going. ‘We go every year,’ she’d reminded him. There were relatives to visit, weddings to attend. Of course they’d understand if she missed a year, but her life in London had changed enough lately. India would be the same, as if she had never left it and, more than ever, she craved the noise and chaos of her less complicated past. She wanted to breathe in the gritty air and elbow her way through bustling markets. Sarab’s refusal to go to India was deeply disappointing; it widened the chasm between them that grief had created. Kulwinder didn’t understand why he preferred to cope with loss in stillness. She would travel the entire world if it would help her escape.