Chapter 12
While she tossed and turned, a man stood beneath her window long after midnight.
The street had emptied hours ago and only the flickering streetlight and the shadow of the moon through the clouds remained.
The distant rumbling of an ancient bus and the occasional drip of rainwater from overflowing gutters broke the silence. Pale moonlight silvered the narrow alley and the cracked pavement below the old building.
James stood motionless in the shadows.
He had hardly been aware as his feet took him down the familiar path. He could not sleep without knowing she was home safe.
One moment he had been halfway down the street after leaving the pub, the next his feet had carried him here automatically, like his temper hadn't made him run his mouth and that fight in the end had not meant the end.
He was not ready. He wanted to take it back.
He wanted to stop those awful words from spilling from Asha's mouth and make her forget the only way he knew.
The thin curtain glowed faintly from the lamp inside. She had picked it up at the second-hand store two shops down from the pub.
He could see shadows moving now and then.
He imagined Asha crossing the room for a drink of water. He would normally get it for her because the floor was so cold. He enjoyed watching her waiting for him in bed.
He imagined the boy climbing into bed beside her and hugging her softness.
She always smelt of cheap lavender soap from the grocery store and sometimes cooking oil and spices.
And that very unique smell beneath that was all Asha.
A tiny spiral of jealousy sparked in his chest. That should be him next to her.
Then, the light went out and all was still. James stared at that window for so long his neck ached.
There were lines of strain bracketing his downturned mouth. His fists were clenched so tightly his knuckles looked white beneath the moonlight. He barely noticed the rain trickling down his neck making his shirt stick to his back.
Several times he seemed ready to walk to the door only to turn back and continue his vigil. But the memory of her face behind the pub stopped him cold.
The Indian whore who briefly warmed your bed.
Christ.
James scrubbed a hand over his jaw harshly and looked up one final time before turning away.
***
The next morning life continued because there wasn't an alternative, even if Asha's chest felt like someone had scooped her insides out with a rusty spoon.
The boy refused to get up for school. This was the way of things now. Asha sat on the edge of her bed while the boy curled stubbornly beneath the blanket with his back to her. He had crept in when he heard her cry at night.
“Tanay.”
A muffled groan answered her.
“We have to leave soon.”
“My tummy hurts,” he whimpered.
She closed her eyes briefly, praying for endurance. This again.
It was the third time this month. Last week it had been a headache. The week before that, his ankle had supposedly hurt after rugby at school.
At first, she had believed him. Growing children get aches all the time. He had spent the day happily following her around.
But now that instinct of a mother whispered to her that there was more going on than met the eye. She had already spoken to his teacher twice but she said he was doing well and he had friends.
The boy had become quieter recently. Moody in strange unpredictable ways.
He no longer chattered endlessly during the walks home.
Asha thought this was part of him growing up.
Sometimes she caught him staring into space with a blank expression which scared her.
Sometimes she caught him staring at her. This scared her more.
“Please,” she said softly, stroking his hair back from his forehead. “You cannot miss another day. Amma has to work.”
She sighed when he only curled tighter. His hair had grown too long again. Another thing to add to the list.
Asha rose slowly and crossed to the small cupboard where she kept the chocolate tin. It was old and slightly dented, painted with brightly coloured horses and ladies in gowns. James had brought it home one evening for Tanay. The boy had treasured it instantly.
Now, it held their savings.
A handful of pennies. A few shillings. A roll of pound notes held together by a rubber band. A pocket account book in which Asha planned the month. Asha lifted the lid and counted carefully.
There was enough for a haircut.
She had tried to open a bank account months ago. The man behind the counter had been kind, unlike many. But kindness changed nothing.
“You’ll need your husband’s signature.”
When she explained she was widowed, his face had altered awkwardly and he disappeared before returning with an intimidating stack of forms. It required things from her that were impossible. She never went back.
So, the money stayed here instead, hidden inside a loose floorboard with the ancient rug pulled on top.
Asha extracted enough coins for the barber and after hesitating, added two pennies more.
“For sweets after school,” she told Tanay, pressing them into his hand while he sat at the table morosely stirring his porridge into mush.
Immediately, his eyes brightened despite himself.
“But only if you come with me.”
He grumbled under his breath and then finally started eating.
The day dragged on. Asha worked mechanically at the seamstress shop, fingers moving through hems and stitching while her thoughts spiralled elsewhere entirely. She kept catching herself glancing toward the door. Waiting for what, she did not know.
James never came here anyway.
By afternoon, the ache inside her chest had become like a living entity inside her.
When she collected the boy from school, she noticed the marks while helping him onto the bus. Thin bruised red lines across the backs of his calves beneath his trousers.
“What happened here?” she asked, bending down to look. They were raw and raised.
Tanay tugged his trouser leg down immediately.
“Nothing.”
“Tanay.”
“It was rugby. Just the lads playing.”
“Who?”
“My mates.”
But he would not meet her eyes. That frightened her more than the bruises.
“Tell me what happened.” she asked again, trying to inject authority into her voice.
He shrugged.
“Danny got new rugby shoes with studs.”
Alarm moved through her chest, abolishing the constant pain.
“Did he kick you?”
“No.” He said it too quickly. It was time to get off.
Asha crouched in front of him once they turned the corner.
“Tanay.”
The boy’s mouth twisted stubbornly and his eyes slid off her to stare into the distance.
“He doesn’t like me.”
“Why?”
She could see the conflict behind his eyes.
“He called me something,” he whispered in a slightly wobbly voice.
Her heart lurched with fear.
“What did he call you?” she asked in a trembling voice, even as she wondered what she could do about it.
But just like that he shut down completely. He folded his arms and fixed his eyes on the ground. The conversation was over for now. Asha hoped he would open up but everyday from then on, he seemed to withdraw more and more into himself.
***
An entire week passed without James.
There were no footsteps on the stairs, no broad figure following her home from the pub.
His absence sat beside her like a phantom limb constantly.
Then one afternoon a week after their fight, it was near closing time at the seamstress shop. The bell above the door chimed softly.
A plump woman in her fifties with dark hair streaked with grey entered. There was something oddly familiar about her though Asha was certain they had never met. She was well dressed.
She carried herself with the absolute certainty of belonging wherever she stood. She smiled with her mouth closed and her cool grey eyes swept the shop, lingering on Asha darning in the corner before passing on.
The shop owner greeted her warmly. Asha lowered her eyes back to her sewing. But she felt eyes on her. The woman kept looking at her, not rudely, but with curiosity.
It was like she was trying to place something.
Mrs. Wilmslow talked to her about fabrics and the dress she wanted to order. Then the woman began speaking with easy familiarity about her son’s upcoming wedding.
“He’s finally doing it,” she laughed. “After all these years.”
The seamstress smiled politely.
“Emma has returned from London then?”
“Oh yes. I kept telling him to write to her, but you know how he is. Stubborn just like his father, bless his heart.” The woman sounded delighted. “It was always going to happen eventually.”
Asha listened with only half an ear. Her thoughts were elsewhere entirely. For a moment she imagined living in a little house with James.
Her pleasant daydreams were interrupted when the bell above the door rang again and a young woman entered.
More striking than beautiful with bright eyes that made you stare. Her complexion was the sort described in novels—peaches and cream.
The afternoon light shone through golden hair that looked almost unreal beneath the dim shop lamps. Her clothes were fashionable and fitted perfectly. Everything about her appeared perfect.
“There she is,” the older woman beamed proudly.
The girl smiled and took the woman's outstretched hand.
Then the older woman said—
“James will be here soon in that new car of his if the traffic from the mines isn’t dreadful.”
She seemed to look at Asha expectantly, as if encouraging her to say something.
The world seemed to stop. Asha’s needle slipped straight through her fingertip. A drop of blood spilt onto the blue dress. Pain bloomed like a hothouse flower but she was barely aware of it. She couldn't have looked up if her life depended on it.
Mrs. Wilmslow glanced toward her quickly and then away.
Suddenly all the dots connected. The fog cleared. It all made sense.
The wedding.
The sweetheart from London.
Too soon.
Too soon.
The room tilted unpleasantly. She was aware of a buzzing in her ears as the women finished their business and left. The woman gave her a long look before leaving. The only mercy was that James never came.
Asha somehow finished the workday though afterward she could not remember a single thing she had sewn.
By evening, she moved mechanically through her routine in the pub while her devastated mind wandered. Mavis kept watching her with growing concern.
Even Patrick noticed eventually. When Asha nearly dropped an entire tray of drinks, his large rough hand shot out to steady it.
“You eaten today?” he asked gruffly.
She blinked at him blankly. Patrick exchanged a helpless look with Mavis over her head, as if begging for intervention. He never spoke or looked at her if he could help it. With time, Asha had realized he was shy, not rude.
Then, the pub door opened and a group of five men walked in. Icy storm-grey eyes found her before her mind could catch up.
It felt like she was alive for the first time in a week.
His eyes locked onto her haggard face instantly, narrowing slightly.
For one suspended endless moment, they simply stared at each other across the crowded room.
His expression held confusion first, then concern and anger.
Even in one week, she seemed to have lost weight.
She realized she was staring and quickly turned away, but not before everyone had seen the look in her face.
The walls that had taken a lifetime to build were down and all that was left was rubble.
Asha no longer had the reserve to hide the devastation.
James took a step toward her. Patrick moved directly into his path.
“It’s dead tonight anyway,” he said flatly to Mavis. “Time for an early close.”
James frowned.
“What?”
But Patrick only jerked his head to Asha meaningfully while ignoring him.
“We will manage. Take the boy and go home before you break any more glasses, girl.” Patrick grunted looking at Asha while blocking James's path.
Understanding flickered. Asha was already moving, she only thought of escaping. She untied her apron with clumsy shaking fingers and called for the boy.
By the time she had helped the boy with his coat and got her own one, James was trying to push past Patrick.
“Move.”
“No.”
“Bloody 'ell—”
“Not now, lad.” Patrick growled in the tone that usually sent his boys running for cover.
Asha heard none of the rest. She only knew she had to leave before she broke down completely. She grabbed the boy's hand and hurried into the street.
Behind her she vaguely heard shouting, then James’s voice cursing. She did not dare look back. She ran toward the bus stop with Tanay stumbling breathlessly beside her trying to keep up.
They boarded just before the doors closed with a rusty snap. Only once the bus jerked forward did she finally breathe.