Chapter 12
Kalpana lay in bed and blinked at the curtains. They moved softly in the breeze from the ceiling fan. It was cool enough that they didn’t need the fan to be on full. Here in the hills there were fewer mosquitos, too. A mosquito coil burning away in the corner seemed to be enough to keep them away.
Talking to Sampath had suddenly unblocked her imagination.
She had made a load of handwritten notes from the snippets of ideas that had come into her mind.
Things were still going slower than usual but at least the ideas were coming.
A glimmer of a heroine coalesced out of them – someone capable and feisty. She wrote it all down.
Afterwards, exhausted and out of words, she had gone to bed. She had been asleep by the time Marcus came in, but now, she was wide awake. Next to her, Marcus snored softly. He had an understated, self-assured sort of snore. She was often grateful for that.
She rolled over and looked at him. He was handsome, even in repose.
He was so good at what he did and he was so confident in his abilities, that he would never understand the trauma of not being able to think through her characters.
She had thought this holiday would help cure her writer’s block.
In the end, what helped was meeting a true fan.
Someone whose life had been changed by her books.
She had always, always told herself that if her books lifted one person out from the sadness of real life and gave them a moment of escape, she would be happy.
She had met countless readers at book events, who had said they loved the books, but there was always that little voice in her head that said, They have to say that.
Only an asshole would go up to an author and tell them they didn’t like their book.
After all, the writer had done the work and produced the story.
So of course they were going to say nice things.
But Sampath, with tears in his eyes, had told her about his sister and she had no doubt that it was true.
There was no faking the emotion on his face, in his voice.
Suddenly, all the things she’d told herself to keep herself going stopped being crutches and emotional support and became truth.
In this life, if there isn’t joy, what even is the point?
Marcus didn’t believe there was merit in making people happy.
She wasn’t naive enough to miss that. He respected her proficiency in her craft, but he didn’t think her craft made any difference in the real world – despite her sales and tally of books outstripping his.
Maybe joy wasn’t a priority for everyone?
Marcus didn’t lack for much in his life.
Maybe he already had his happy ending, so he didn’t need to look for a substitute in books.
She drew her knees up and watched her fiancé sleep. He turned his head to the side and smiled in his dreams. So very handsome. Everyone agreed that she had won the relationship lottery. She had thought so too. He had seemed so devoted.
Their argument earlier still bothered her.
They rarely clashed with each other. Their relationship had been remarkably smooth sailing so far.
But then, they hadn’t been together for very long, really.
Should she be noting this snide side of Marcus?
How often would that show up once they were married?
Marcus had changed in the last few days.
Before they left for this trip, he had been so invested in all the details of the wedding, so clearly in love.
He had bombarded Sampath with ideas. He had thrown around words like ‘cultural authenticity’ and ‘spotlighting’.
When Kalpana’s impostor syndrome had hamstrung her, leaving her unable to make a decision about anything, Marcus had stepped in with his list of ideas for the wedding.
He had been so enthusiastic; she wondered how Sampath didn’t lose patience with him.
She was so grateful for Sampath. He was calm and organised, and had taken Marcus’s wild ideas and moulded them into an itinerary. He had given things structure so that they could actually make choices rather than try to accommodate two contrasting options.
Like this place, for example. It was as authentic to the cultural heritage of the region as was possible to get.
This was what Marcus had asked for. But now it didn’t suit Marcus’s other plans, and he was being all sulky about it.
Why was Marcus being like this all of a sudden?
He had been so offended when she’d implied that he might be cheating on her that she was sure now he wasn’t.
So what was the problem then? Was it simply that he was distracted with a new opportunity for his books like he’d said? Or was it something else?
She rolled back and stared at the ceiling fan again. She liked this villa. It was the perfect place for her and Marcus to relax and enjoy the tranquillity after the hectic pace of Colombo. But he seemed impatient to leave. What a waste of this lovely house.
Sampath had suggested that they take lots of photographs while they were there, even if they didn’t want to use it as a backdrop for wedding photos. He had even supplied them with copies of each of their own books to use as props.
Thank goodness for Sampath. She hoped he was okay.
She thought about him, with his jaw clenched, looking uncharacteristically angry, as he defended her books.
It was odd that he’d misremembered the heroine in The Sweetest Thing, but then again, she had written a lot of books.
He had read nearly all of them, too. She knew, because he’d mentioned them in passing.
He asked questions about the books sometimes, apologetically, as though he felt he shouldn’t bother her with such things.
At least twice he’d quoted something that she’d almost forgotten writing.
Meeting a genuine fan was something rare and precious.
Especially one who didn’t come across as creepy or a stalker.
Sampath was special and she was glad he was here.
Especially if Marcus was going to keep acting distracted.
She really hoped Marcus would be more focused when they went to visit the venues.
These were things he wanted, not her. She would have been happy to have a smallish registry office wedding, so long as she had a nice photo to hang on their wall when they’d settled in.
It was Marcus who wanted the big wedding in the first place.
At least she didn’t have to do this alone.
She closed her eyes and tried to get back to sleep.
After weeks of frustrating quiet, her brain was whirring now.
It wasn’t coherent yet, but she recognised this feeling.
Snippets of ideas were chasing each other around.
Eventually they would make sense. Right now, she just needed to let them rise up and spin around in her brain.
After a few more minutes, she gave up trying to sleep and slipped out of bed.
She was wearing a modest nightdress and she wasn’t likely to meet anyone at this time of night, but she pulled one of Marcus’s T-shirts over it anyway, just in case.
As soon as she stepped out of the room, away from the sound of the fan, the night sounds flooded in.
The crickets were loud. The air felt heavy despite the chill.
The house was softly lit by lamps along the veranda. The room upstairs, with the balcony, was dark. She heard voices and laughter coming from the other end of the house. Cautiously, she followed the sound.
There was a light on in the front room – the sitting room that they had been in when they first arrived.
There was no one there. The voices came from outside.
The front door was made of four panels that folded open from the middle.
One of the panels was open, creating a narrow exit. She angled her body to slip through it.
Sampath and Lal were sitting on the veranda.
Both were dressed in light shirts and sarongs.
They sat facing each other across a small table bearing what she recognised to be a carrom board.
Judging by the empty bottles of beer at their feet, they’d been there a while.
Lal took his shot on the carrom board and punched the air in triumph. Sampath groaned in mock pain.
Kalpana stepped out onto the veranda properly and both men looked up.
‘Miss.’ Lal scrambled to his feet. ‘Do you need something?’
Sampath half rose too. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘Everything’s fine,’ she said, raising her hands. ‘Please, sit. I just couldn’t sleep. Could I … join you?’
‘Of course, miss. I’ll get you a chair.’ Lal grabbed one of the straight-backed chairs that were lined up against the wall and put it down, making a third place around the carrom table.
‘Thanks.’ She sat down. ‘This is carrom, right? I’ve never played.’
‘We can teach you,’ said Sampath. ‘We’re nearly done with this game anyway.’
‘What he means to say is that he’s losing this game badly and would love to start a new one,’ said Lal.
Sampath chuckled. ‘Yes, okay. That too.’
Were they always this informal with each other? Or was it merely the drink? She glanced at the beer bottles.
‘Would you like a beer?’ Sampath asked. ‘I’m guessing they have other drinks here, but we’d have to wake Appu up to get them.’
‘Beer would be fine.’
He picked a fresh bottle out of the bag on the floor on the other side, produced a bottle opener and flicked it open. ‘Uh … I’ll go find a glass …’
‘Oh, don’t bother.’ She took the bottle off him and sipped straight from it. ‘This is fine.’ She hadn’t drunk beer straight out of a bottle for years. Not since she was a student. She took another swig and wiped the back of her hand over her mouth. When she looked up, Sampath was staring at her.
‘What?’ she said. ‘Are you surprised that I’m so unladylike?’
He shook his head, swallowed and looked away. She laughed. ‘I was once a student, you know.’
He cleared his throat. ‘So, new game?’