So that was what Tarampal had pointed to earlier. It was too much to take in. The revelation left Nikki slightly short of breath. From the corner of her vision, the back garden was shrouded in shadows but she adjusted her seat so she could cut it out completely. How could Tarampal stand it? No wonder the house had been so lavishly remodelled – an attempt to move on from the memory of Maya’s ghastly suicide. Nikki felt a lump in her throat as she thought of Kulwinder and Sarab living across the street from the site of their daughter’s death. ‘Was anybody else home at the time?’ she asked. Surely somebody could have stopped her, she thought, with a fierce and desperate longing to save Maya from herself.
‘I was at the temple. Jaggi was halfway up the road. He had found some messages on Maya’s phone from the man she had been sleeping with. He told her he wanted to divorce her. This sent Maya into a panic. She didn’t want to be divorced. She was afraid of never being able to face the community or her parents again. Maya was in hysterics and begged him to stay. Jaggi stormed out of the house saying, “This is over.” That was when she ran out into the back garden, doused herself in petrol and lit the match.’
‘Oh my goodness,’ Nikki said. She shut her eyes but the violent scene played out in her mind. Tarampal kept on speaking but her voice sounded far away. ‘That’s the problem with having too much imagination, Nikki. Girls begin to desire too much.’
This flawed and rigid logic was maddening. Nikki didn’t have any idea what Maya looked like but she pictured a younger, slimmer version of Kulwinder, wearing jeans and her hair in a loose ponytail. A modern girl. The callous words of those langar hall ladies returned to her. A girl with no honour. If people in the community were ready to brand her as such, she probably saw no reason to keep living.
‘Poor Kulwinder and Sarab,’ Nikki said.
‘Poor Jaggi,’ Tarampal said. ‘You should have seen him at the funeral – clutching his hair, falling to the ground, pleading for her to come back, despite everything she did to him. He suffered much more.’
Surely grief wasn’t a competition. ‘I’m sure it was difficult for everyone, including yourself,’ Nikki said.
‘It was more difficult for Jaggi,’ Tarampal insisted. ‘Think of what Kulwinder and Sarab have been saying about him: that he drove Maya to it, that he never took care of her. Why should his reputation suffer?’
Discomfort swelled in Nikki’s stomach. Where exactly had the conversation taken this turn? Less than an hour ago, she had rushed across the Broadway thinking that she might convince Tarampal to return to the classes but she was more wilful than Nikki had expected.
‘You have a lovely home,’ she said quickly before Tarampal’s rant could spiral any further into this dark territory of honour.
‘Thank you,’ Tarampal said.
‘My mum wants to do some remodelling,’ Nikki said. ‘Do you have the contact information of your guy?’ Mum would like that – a Punjabi contractor, someone who would understand her need to make the house look luxurious for Mindi’s future wedding.
Tarampal nodded and left the kitchen. It was a relief to be left alone. Nikki took in a deep breath and finished her tea, gulping down even the gritty remnants of seeds and leaves that had escaped through the sieve. The house was silent except for the chorus of rain outside. She plucked the Fem Fighters magnet from the fridge and rolled it in her palm. To think that she had handed out hundreds of these at a Hyde Park rally and that somewhere in that pulsing summer crowd, Maya might have been present.
Tarampal returned with a brochure for a contractor. Attached at the top was a name card with the contractor’s name in gilded raised lettering: RICK PETTON HOME RENOVATIONS.
‘He’s English,’ Nikki said with surprise.
‘I had Jaggi help me with communicating,’ Tarampal said. ‘He’s back in Birmingham but he visits every so often.’
‘Like a good son,’ Nikki said.
Tarampal flinched. ‘He’s not my son,’ she said.
‘Of course,’ Nikki said. What a punishing existence it must have been for Tarampal with her failure to produce a son for the community’s spiritual leader. She was sorry that she mentioned it. A look of unease lingered on Tarampal’s face as Nikki picked up her satchel.
Passing the living room on her way out, Nikki could feel the stares of Tarampal’s daughters from their portraits on the wall. Their eyes glistened with youth. It was difficult to discern their emotions beneath the heavy coat of make-up and wedding jewellery. Was it excitement? Nikki wondered. Or fear?
Chapter Nine
Nikki stretched her leg and pinched the edge of the curtains between her toes to drag them across the window. Jason stirred at her side. ‘Leave them open,’ he mumbled.
‘Such an exhibitionist,’ Nikki teased. ‘I’m just trying to keep the sunlight out.’ It was late morning. Last night, all night, they had been up reading stories to each other with pauses in between to reenact the best scenes.
Jason gave her a light smack on the bum. ‘Naughty,’ he said. He reached over her and drew the curtains shut. Dropping his head back to the pillow, he landed a wet, delicious kiss on Nikki’s ear. She sank back into his chest and pulled the covers over both their heads.
Jason shifted and rolled to his side. There was a rustling sound. He returned with a slightly crumpled sheet of paper. ‘Centuries ago, on the fringes of a palace city, there was a talented but modest tailor …’ Jason narrated.
‘We already did the tailor one.’
‘I’m writing the sequel,’ Jason said. He slipped his hands under the sheets and ran them down the length of her back. Nikki shivered. Jason brushed his lips against her neck, travelling up and down its length with light, dusty kisses. He reached between her legs and began tracing his fingers in circles along her inner thighs, inching upwards and then drawing away. Nikki sank back into the softness of her bed.
Charred flesh.
The image flashed into her mind so suddenly that Nikki sat up. Startled, Jason jolted away. ‘What happened?’ he asked. His face was so full of concern that Nikki felt foolish.
‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘I must have had a bad dream last night and it came back to me.’ Fragments of this dream remained in her consciousness. She could catch a faint whiff of burning and the wide-open mouth of an anguished scream. She shook her head. Three times since her visit to Tarampal she had dreamt of Maya.
Jason placed a light kiss on her collarbone and rolled back to his side, keeping an arm wrapped around her waist. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’
Nikki shook her head. It had been a week since her visit with Tarampal and she had tried to forget it. She succeeded only partially – snatches of conversation no longer drifted in her mind, but certain images shot into her view without warning.
‘Was it a nightmare, or a bad dream?’ Jason asked.
‘What’s the difference?’
‘A nightmare is scary. A bad dream can be a little … bad’ Nikki turned to see a smile playing on Jason’s lips. ‘Like the story of a woman who, despite her best efforts to keep her house under control, can’t seem to find time to enjoy her husband.’