‘I’d rather they hear it from me,’ Nikki said. ‘If you rush out there to defend me, it’ll just confirm what they think.’
‘Fine then,’ Sam said. ‘As long as you know that I hired you because you’re reliable. You’re a good worker. I could see that in you right away.’
‘That’s the opposite of what my law tutor said. He pretty much said I didn’t even bother trying.’
‘You knew what you didn’t want to waste your time with. That’s a skill in itself. Honestly, I wish I’d listened to myself more before taking on this pub. It’s a crumbling mess at the moment and I wish I loved it as much as I’m going to have to pay to keep it from falling apart.’
Nikki still could not help feeling self-conscious about her outburst. She returned to her bag to get the business card for Tarampal’s contractor.
‘Sam, if you’re interested, these guys are supposed to be quite good and I’m guessing they’re affordable because they’ve done some renovation work for this lady I know in Southall.’
Sam took the card and then whistled. ‘You’re joking. Affordable? I know this company. I called them for a quote when I wanted to remodel the restrooms. They charge through the roof.’
‘Really?’ Nikki asked, taking the card back and examining it. How did Tarampal, living on her own without an income, manage? ‘Hey, Sam, these cutbacks aren’t going to affect my job are they?’
Sam shook his head. ‘As far as I’m concerned you could work here forever.’
Nikki smiled with relief. Sam continued. ‘But that doesn’t mean you should. Try something else, Nikki, with that brain of yours and that way you have with people.’
‘I still don’t know what that is.’
‘You’ll figure it out,’ Sam said. He sighed, looking around. ‘I’d do things differently if I were in my early twenties. I inherited this pub from my dad because it was something to do, but if I hadn’t, I’d have opened a bicycle rental shop on a beachside resort somewhere. I’m tied to this place now. It was charming at first and for a while I loved stepping into my dad’s shoes but once the novelty wore off, it became just a workplace. I don’t think it would be like that with bicycles, but as long as the pub is standing, I’ve got to stand here with it.’ He shrugged. ‘Obligations, you know?’
Dancing in the Rain
He liked to take long showers to wash off the stresses of his long day at work. His wife complained that she never saw him; he was out the door first thing in the morning and then in the evenings he was washing off a day’s worth of grime and sweat from his construction job. The water bills were very high and by the time he was finished, all the hot water was finished as well. ‘I can’t do anything about it,’ he insisted. ‘This is my only chance to relax.’ The wife was hurt. ‘There are other ways to relax that we can both enjoy,’ she reminded him. The man looked at her in confusion as his wife walked away. He shrugged and went into the bathroom and started taking off his clothes. He could feel the soreness in every muscle and the tightness in his shoulders.
A moment later, the bathroom door opened. His wife appeared, wearing just a towel. The man began to understand now but he still just wanted to be alone. He held up his hands and waved his wife away, chiding her for interrupting his private time. The wife paid no attention to his protests. She raised her arms, letting go of the towel. As it fell onto the floor, the man could not help noticing his wife’s body and he tried to remember when he last saw her standing in front of him completely naked like this. He turned around to turn on the shower and felt her drawing close to him, her nipples hard against his bare back. The water splashed on their faces as if they were dancing in the rain but they were actually moving very slowly. Her delicate hands ran smoothly across his body, wiping away the grit and soil from his work in the depths of the earth, so removed from small luxuries like the first drizzle of clean water after a punishing hot day. He shuddered as she moved down to his large shaft and began stroking it. She kissed his face, his lips, his neck. Her strokes increased in speed to match his short, sharp breaths. He pumped his organ into her palm. With the other hand, she scraped her nails lightly against his back. Her fingertips spelled out words of adoration in the sheen of water on his skin. He jerked suddenly into her hand with a throaty moan. ‘We’ve never done it like that,’ he gasped. She smiled and buried her face in his hair. There were many things they had never done together.
When it was his turn to return the favour, he was very attentive. She stood with her back pressed against the wall and parted her legs. He flicked his tongue against the tight bud at her centre. The water continued to fall on them. Her legs shook with the intensity of pleasure and she clutched his hair, feeling waves of warmth radiate within her as she came closer and closer to bursting. It was almost painful – her skin tingled with the sensation of the water on her skin; every part of her was suddenly aware and sensitive. She cried out loudly. ‘Don’t stop,’ she called. ‘Don’t stop.’ He didn’t.
The class applauded. Preetam blushed. It was an unusual story for her, Nikki thought, and then she noticed a detail missing.
‘What are the names of the people in your story?’
‘They don’t have names.’
‘Oh, give them names,’ Arvinder said pityingly, as if compelling her to give sweets to a child.
‘John and Mary,’ Preetam said.
The room broke out in a mix of giggles and protests. ‘Give them Punjabi names. Or Indian ones at least,’ Bibi urged.
‘I just can’t see Indians doing this kind of thing,’ Preetam said.
‘How exactly do you think babies are made?’ Arvinder asked.
‘Not that,’ Preetam said. ‘This couple isn’t making babies. They’re just pleasuring each other.’
‘Where did you get the idea for this story from, Preetam?’ Tanveer asked, squinting slightly at Preetam.
‘From my imagination,’ Preetam said.
Tanveer turned to Nikki. ‘Nikki, what is it called when you present work that isn’t originally yours? You can get expelled from university for it – Satpreet Singh’s son got caught doing it. There’s an English word.’
‘Plagiarism,’ Nikki said.
‘Yes,’ Tanveer said. ‘I remember that word because nobody knew what it meant; even Satpreet Singh was confused. He didn’t think the punishment would be so severe for copying a few paragraphs from a library book – “my son was using his wits,” he kept saying. But the English are very fussy about the truth. Preetam, you have done plagiarism.’ The word was mangled by her accent.
‘You’re mad,’ Preetam said, but she did look a bit worried. ‘I can’t read English books. Where would I get this story from?’