Erotic Stories for Punjabi Widows

‘I have,’ Nikki said.

‘My husband says “It’s women. It’s in your chemical make-up. You can’t control being overwhelmed by emotion.” But I don’t get that way about sad movies or even those news items. Little girl diagnosed with rare cancer on the news the other day – I frowned and said, “What a shame” and moved on. But that man working two jobs to be able to pay for his sister’s contortionist classes so she can one day perform in the Royal Variety Show …’ Grace choked on her words.

At this point, anything was better for this pub than Britain’s Got Talent. Nikki gave Grace a sympathetic squeeze of her shoulder and flipped to the next channel. They landed on a grim scene: police combing through dense foliage and then a sergeant talking to the camera. Perfect, she thought. Customers politely avoided Nikki, leaving her idle at the bar. She checked the time on her phone once again and surveyed the pub. No Jason. That was it. She searched for his contact details, took in a breath and deleted his number. She didn’t want to be tempted to call him.

In the corner, Steve leaned over to whisper something to Nola and Nola sprang from her seat and left the pub in a huff. Steve’s grin disappeared. He scrambled after Nola. Grace raced over to the entrance, blocking his way. ‘You’ve got a tab to pay,’ she reminded him. Then she said something that Nikki couldn’t hear. Sulking, Steve pulled out his wallet and threw some bills at Grace and left. Grace picked up the money and brought it over to Nikki. ‘He’s an accidental tipper,’ she said. ‘Here’s your share.’

‘Oh Grace, no. You’ve been serving him tonight.’

‘You’ve been putting up with him for years,’ Grace said. ‘You deserve a reward. I told him Sam would have him removed if he tried to come back. He’s no longer welcome here because he makes our staff and patrons uncomfortable.’ She pressed the bills into Nikki’s hand.

Grace’s gesture stirred something in Nikki. She couldn’t believe how much she missed Mum all of a sudden – Mum who had pushed money into her hand the same insistent way the first time she returned home for dinner after moving out.

Nikki’s phone was still in her hand. She searched for Mum’s number and began composing a message but the words didn’t come to her. She called her instead. After several rings, Nikki was tempted to hang up but then Mum picked up. ‘Nikki?’

‘Hi, Mum. How are you?’

‘I was just thinking about you.’

Those simple words warmed Nikki’s heart. ‘I was thinking about you too, Mum.’

‘I need you to do me a favour.’ There was an edge of slight panic in Mum’s voice. ‘Auntie Geeta is coming over tomorrow and I have no Indian snacks to serve. The shop I usually go to in Enfield is closed temporarily – death in the family, I heard – and the other shops don’t have enough variety. Can you go to Southall and buy some gulab jamun, ladoo, barfi, jalebi – whatever they have – and bring them here? I also need some cardamom for tea. The cardamom at Waitrose is too expensive.’

Here Nikki was thinking they were about to have a bonding moment. Her schedule for tomorrow was wide open. ‘Sure, Mum,’ Nikki said. She knew better than to ask Mum why she still bothered socializing with Auntie Geeta, for whom an unsatisfactory afternoon tea was probably symbolic of a woman’s failings.

‘Why is it so noisy?’

‘Um, I’m at a movie.’

‘The new job is going well?’

‘Uh huh.’

‘You’re liking teaching? Maybe this is a new career path for you?’

‘I don’t know, Mum,’ Nikki said, eager to cut the conversation short. ‘I have to go. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.’ Mum said goodbye and Nikki slipped her phone back in her pocket. She didn’t know if she was disappointed, relieved or amused at how the call turned out. If only Jason were around; they’d laugh over it together.

A customer approached Nikki tentatively and asked if happy hour was still on. ‘Sure,’ Nikki said, although it had ended fifteen minutes ago, and she poured him a lager. Despite her best efforts to stop thinking about Jason, she couldn’t help looking at the door again and wishing that he’d just show up and apologize for being late.

Nikki’s phone buzzed in her pocket. She checked it to find a message from Mum:

Another thing. Pls be careful in Southall. They are showing what happened to Karina Kaur on Channel Four now – don’t walk around there at nite!!!

Nikki looked up at the television screen. The Channel Four logo glowed in the bottom corner. The narrator’s voice was barely audible in the buzz of pub conversation so Nikki switched on the close captioning.

[ON 8 APRIL 2003, A GIRL WAS REPORTED MISSING AFTER SHE DID NOT RETURN HOME FROM SCHOOL.]

[KARINA KAUR, A YEAR TWELVE STUDENT AT SOUTHALL SECONDARY COLLEGE, WAS ONLY WEEKS AWAY FROM SITTING HER FINAL EXAMS.]

[AFTER A 48-HOUR PERIOD, A SEARCH BEGAN FOR THE MISSING STUDENT.]

Two young women waved at Nikki from their table. ‘Is it still happy hour?’ one of them asked.

Nikki shook her head. The woman glanced at the customer nursing his lager. ‘You sure?’ she asked.

Nikki took their orders, keeping an eye on the screen. The next set of captions accompanied footage of small flickering flames. Then the camera zoomed out to show a crowd of high school students in uniform holding candles.

[AFTER THE DISCOVERY OF KARINA’S BODY, A VIGIL WAS SET UP OUTSIDE HER SCHOOL.]

‘Thought I told you to take the evening off. Go on. Get some rest,’ Grace said, setting down a tray.

Nikki nodded vaguely at Grace but she couldn’t tear her attention away from the screen. Filling the television screen, a young Punjabi woman stood at the tall iron gates of a school. She gripped a lit candle with two manicured hands – the nails hot pink with glittery gold tips. The flame illuminated the streaks of tears down her face and the gold pendant which rested on her collarbone, in the shape of the letter G.

The man behind the counter at Sweetie Sweets probably thought he was paying Nikki a compliment. ‘These gulab jamun are worth the calories,’ he had said, looking her up and down. ‘Not that you need to worry, hmm? Not yet anyway.’ He chuckled. ‘Before marriage, my wife was also skinny—’

‘If you could just pack these in a box for me, that would be great,’ Nikki said quickly, cutting him off.

‘No problem, dear. You having a little party? Am I invited?’ he grinned, leaning closer.

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