Secrets and Lies. Jaishree Misra
She turned on the cooler, still thinking of Lily’s obstreperous conduct since her arrival. The rusty old machine sent a welcome blast of cool air through the cottage and Victoria exhaled in relief, relishing the respite, not just from the heat but also from the past few days of argument and tears. Who could blame the poor child, though? What Lily had undergone lay beyond the bounds of most people’s imaginations, certainly her own, and what the girl most needed now was stability and quiet, unquestioning acceptance. Love and other such things would gradually follow in their own time. Victoria certainly hadn’t thought it prudent to tell Samira more than what was absolutely necessary this morning, of course. Heaven knew what the girls would make of the whole thing, if they found out. Or, for that matter, their parents! An exclusive and well-reputed school such as Jude’s really couldn’t afford a scandal of any sort.
Victoria popped her head into the kitchen, startling old Lakhan who was pottering at the stove, probably brewing his fifteenth cup of tea.
‘Mere liye bhi ek cup chai, Lakhan,’ she said, ‘Aur sandwich. Kya hai fridge mein? Tomato? Ham?’ She paused, waiting while her Nepali cook rummaged around inside the cavernous old fridge, emerging finally with a rather shrivelled cucumber. ‘Accha, cucumber sandwich theekh hai,’ she said resignedly.
Victoria Lamb walked into the cool of her darkened study and, rather than turning on the light, opened the drawn curtains slightly. Harsh sunshine poured in through the crack and for a moment she closed her eyes tightly shut. Slowly opening them a few seconds later, she blinked uncomfortably, letting her vision get used to the glare. Her eyes wandered over her shorn rose bushes and empty flowerbeds. May in Delhi was a bleak time in many ways. Not the best season to have Lily brought here but there hadn’t really been a choice. Still, in another few weeks it would be the summer holidays. She ought to think of going somewhere with the poor girl—a short vacation. Not to the hills, of course, that would be most injudicious. But anywhere else would be far too hot. Perhaps staying in Delhi would be best; giving Lily time to find her feet and get used to each other and the city. Victoria sat upright on her armchair, unable to physically relax when there was so much on her mind. She absently polished the glasses that hung around her neck. How unusual it would be this summer to have someone around during the long holidays, when everyone else, staff and students, went off with their families to all sorts of jolly destinations. The school building and playing grounds were almost ghostly when emptied of their noisy population. Victoria Lamb looked up at the distant gulmohar tree, the crest of which was aflame with red flowers. Suddenly she felt a little blessed. The dear Lord had strange ways, but it was as though He had understood that, with the passage of the years, she too would need someone to help fill the lonely evenings. And so Lily had been sent to her so unexpectedly, someone to love again, so late in life. Of course, the poor child was savagely angry and resentful, especially at the secrecy that would be required for the time being. The row last night had been quite unbearable, but it was best not to reveal the past—Lily would simply have to understand that.
At the end of her first day at St Jude’s, Lily stood at the first-floor window of her empty classroom, looking at the droves of girls heading down the drive for the cars and school buses that would take them all to their homes. She imagined them being received by their mums at the door and the smell of food that would be emanating from their kitchens. Whenever Lily conjured up images of family life in her head, she saw them like those television advertisements for rice or talcum powder that both fascinated and repelled her, and sometimes broke her heart. Weren’t those the kind of families most people had: mums in pretty saris and aprons serving up steaming bowls of rice, dads driving up to neat little houses in their shiny cars, coming in from work holding briefcases, while children with plump, scrubbed faces sat laughing around dining tables? That was what all those girls streaming out of the school gates had. And they didn’t even consider it as being out of the ordinary. ‘Everyone but you, Lily D’Souza,’ she muttered under her breath, feeling that by-now familiar twist of anger and bitterness in her stomach. All she had was School Principal Victoria bloody Lamb—and there was no way she could think of that scrawny old bat as being even remotely related to her. Certainly not now, when it was too late; much, much too late.
Lily twisted the handkerchief in her hand till she could feel its embroidered edge snap and tear. She turned from the window and blew her nose loudly as angry hot tears fell from her eyes and rolled off her chin. Leaning on the windowsill, Lily wiped her face roughly, wondering how long she could skulk around in the school building before being either turfed out or locked in. She surveyed the empty classroom, the rows of scuffed and ink-stained wooden desks and chairs left all awry, bits of paper littering the floor. To calm the horrible wobbly feeling inside her and have something to do, she walked between the rows, noisily straightening the desks till they formed neat lines, then proceeding to clatter chairs under them until everything was tidy and orderly, the way it was meant to be. She looked at the names and graffiti that had been carved into some of the desks, seeing initials of girls, some coupled with what were probably initials of boys surrounded by heart shapes. Such things were the normal concerns of most girls, she thought as she picked various exercise books and pens off the floor and placed them on a desk. Surveying her handiwork, she wondered if she ought to go to the next classroom and do the same thing there as well. There was something faintly comforting about bringing order where she could. Besides, there was no way she was going back to the cottage where she would have to put up with all that solicitous fake familial behaviour again. Just a week and already it was choking her to death. She wished she could run away from St Jude’s and this horrid noisy city and go back to her beloved Mussourie. It was the best season to be there, when wildflowers came bursting out of the grassy banks and the pine tree outside her window would be heavy with cones…
Lily started to cry again. One thing she knew for sure was that she would never, ever forgive Victoria Lamb for what she had done.
LONDON, 2008
Sam drove nervously through what was now very heavy rain. She’d volunteered to drop Anita off at her flat in Borough as they left Heebah’s and, perhaps because of the downpour, Anita hadn’t demurred. They were both unusually quiet on the drive south, each sunk in her own thoughts, Anita occasionally providing directions to get to Blackfriars Bridge.
As they drove over the bridge, Sam glanced at her friend’s profile, trying to think of something to say to lighten the atmosphere.
‘Oh, I’ve been meaning to tell you. I saw a really good film the other day. You and Hugh will really like it,’ she said.
‘Really?’ Anita roused herself. ‘Which one?’
Sam racked her brains. This was the trouble, she had got to a stage where she couldn’t even remember the things she liked. At thirty-two!
‘Oh God, it had whatshisname in it…’ she said, lifting one hand off the wheel to click her fingers frustratedly
‘You don’t mean whatshisname!?’ Anita laughed. ‘Oh, I just adore him! Left at the lights, Sam.’
‘Yeah, I know where we are now, thanks,’ Sam said ruefully, swinging to the left and pulling in at the door to Anita’s loft apartment, ‘although it probably won’t be long before I’ll be forgetting more than just the names of films and actors!’ She turned to her friend and added apologetically, ‘Oh, what’s wrong with me. The name will come to me the minute I’ve driven away from here. How annoying!’
‘Never mind, darling. Coming up to my flat for a glass of wine?’
Sam shook her head, smiling. ‘I need to get home before Heer turns in, sweetie. Is Hugh coming tonight?’
‘He’s on the night shift all week, but I’m going over for dinner this weekend. He’s cooking!’
‘We didn’t mention him at all tonight,’ Sam noted apologetically, turning off the ignition and looking directly at Anita.
‘Hardly surprising, given what was on all our