Chapter 5 Komal
Beth: As Komal’s official campaign manager, I’d like to remind you that attendance at this week’s Nevermore Murder Club and Smutty Book Coven meeting is mandatory. We need to discuss strategy!
“HEY, PAPA. I SEE MAMMA’S been sneaking in food for you again—” I glare at the man sitting next to my father’s hospital bed. “What are you doing here?”
Augustin Durant’s disgustingly perfect head snaps up from the game of chess he and my father have set up on the overbed table.
Judging by the number of white pawns lined up beside Papa’s elbow, they’ve been playing a while.
Augustin doesn’t even have the decency to look guilty.
“I’m visiting a valued council member in the hospital.
A good politician makes sure his colleagues are well looked after. ”
Damn him. Why does he have to sound so reasonable?
“Beta!” Papa’s lined face breaks into one of his heart-melting smiles. “Come sit with us. Augustin has been boring me with details of the stormwater upgrades.”
I don’t want to come in. I want Augustin Durant to leave.
I want my father not to smile like that at the man who took his job away from him.
But I’ve been wanting to see Papa all day.
After we got back from the park, I dropped off the twins with Preeti, who then needed help getting them into bed, so I did that and then collapsed into my own bed, slept in until lunchtime, spent my afternoon frantically catching up on everything I meant to do in the morning, including filling out the mayoral candidate paperwork, and then I sped over to the hospital, arriving just as visiting hours were finishing for the night.
Luckily, Shera at the nurses’ station has been coming to Chirag’s Takeaways for her Friday night curry for twenty-two years, so she waved me through.
I grabbed the very last bunch of flowers from the “Gorilla Good Vibes” basket and rushed to Papa’s room before another nurse could kick me out.
The Gorilla Good Vibes basket appeared in the hospital the morning after my father was admitted, filled with beautiful bouquets and a sign with a cute hand-drawn gorilla asking visitors to take what they need.
Shera thinks it must be the work of the Guerilla Gardener, who most people in the village are now referring to as the Gorilla Gardener.
“I don’t know how they do it,” she says.
“No matter how carefully we watch that basket, it’s empty one moment and filled with flowers the next.
Always at night, while we’re doing our rounds.
We even moved it into an area with a security camera, but it got moved back. ”
I love the Gorilla Gardener. Everyone in the village is obsessed with them, which is perfect, because it’s taking their minds off the fact that no one has solved the murders of Danny, Patrick and Alyra yet. I’m pretty obsessed, too. It’s like having our very own Banksy.
Well, everyone except for Acting Mayor No Whimsy.
“Durant’s had a very busy day ruining people’s businesses.” I drop my tote bag with a satisfying THUD. Augustin winces as the pile of books I promised to read for book club crushes his immaculate wingtip. I hope it leaves a scuff.
Augustin doesn’t move from the chair, so I kneel beside Papa’s bed.
“I bet everyone will forget about a little inconvenience once they see their shiny new stormwater system.” Papa pats Augustin’s shoulder, like they’re old friends.
“You can always trust Augustin to think of the sensible things. If I were mayor, I’d be hosting some ludicrous village event to distract everyone, or hiring an artist to paint the drain a fun colour.
Actually, that’s a great idea. A rainbow drain!
Take note, Durant, these are the ideas that win elections. ”
“I’m going to win anyway,” Augustin says. “No rainbow paint required.”
“The votes aren’t counted yet.” I grit my teeth.
I haven’t put in my paperwork yet because I’ve been second guessing myself.
I liked being on the council as tourism director, because that’s all fun stuff, and it meant Papa and I got to hang out at weekly meetings, but being the mayor is kind of boring.
And a lot of responsibility. I’d been thinking about not sending in my application, but now that I’m here…
“Now that I’ve pulled out, of course you’ll win.
” Papa tries to sound chipper, but I can tell he’s sad.
He’d been having so much fun on his campaign.
The whole family would gather around our kitchen table, making posters and buttons.
He could hardly walk across the green without being stopped by someone with a question or suggestion.
And being Papa, he took them to the pub or shouted them a curry (Mamma was always yelling at him for that) and listened to their problems. He really cares about this village.
Not like Augustin. Everyone thinks he cares, but no one with shoes that shiny or a watch that fancy gives a shit about anyone but himself.
“I was going to win anyway,” says Augustin. “No one would vote for the candidate with the Godfather-style posters declaring him ‘The People’s Pappadum’.”
“They were memorable!” I loved Papa’s posters. They were so kooky, so him.
“So was the Black Death,” Augustin mutters under his breath. “The job is serious, and people want to see a candidate who takes it seriously.”
“Don’t you love his confidence? Here, Beta, try some of Sanjay’s paneer tikka masala.
Mamma knew I’d want to check that our new chef is making my recipes properly, and Augustin doesn’t eat curry.
” Papa grins up at me as he pushes the plastic container at me, a dollop of gravy on his chin.
Usually, his voice is a genial boom that dominates any conversation, laughing every second word, but now he sounds reedy, weak.
I can never say no to him when he calls me Beta – an affectionate desi term for a beloved son.
Papa always uses it for me because we’re so close.
I accept the bowl and take a huge bite. The curry is delicious, but it’s definitely missing a little something.
“It needs more coriander. Are you sure you don’t want any, Durant? It would mean a lot to Papa.”
Augustin’s eyes plead with me as I hold out the curry. I know vampires can be sick if they eat normal food. It’s mean, but I’m feeling mean tonight. Papa leans forward eagerly as I scoop a huge piece of paneer onto the spoon and aim it at Augustin’s too-pretty mouth.
Augustin screws up his face. I’m sure he’s going to refuse, but his gaze flicks to Papa, then back to me, and at the last moment, he opens his mouth and allows me to shove the spoon inside. It takes everything in me not to burst out laughing at his ludicrous expression.
“Mmmm.” It takes him three tries to swallow. “Delicious. Utterly enchanting. A symphony of flavours.”
“I knew it. I knew you’d love my food if you just tried it.
” Papa gestures to the curry. “Go on, Beta, give him the rest. What have you got there for me? More flowers? It’s like a botanical garden in here.
Oh, Augustin, there’s another idea. A botanical garden with a big gorilla statue! That will honour our new village hero.”
“The Gorilla Gardener is hardly a hero.” Augustin wipes an obnoxious dark curl out of his eye, flashing his expensive watch. I catch another glimpse of that ink around his wrist. Augustin doesn’t strike me as a tattoo type. “He’s committing vandalism.”
“He’s brightening up the village and making people happy, something you wouldn’t know anything about,” I snap as I hand Papa the small bouquet wrapped in polka dot paper.
It takes Papa a long time to clasp his hand around the flower arrangement and bring it to his face. “Ah, these are beautiful. But not as beautiful as you, Beta.”
“Aw, Papa, you’re such a charmer.” I give him an awkward side hug, careful not to dislodge any of the lines and drains sticking out of him. He feels like he’s made of sticks and skin. “Do you know what flowers these are?”
“I think these are azaleas, and these are definitely lilies, but I’ve never seen them in these colours before.”
Their scent wafts through the room. Simply smelling the flowers makes me feel calmer, like everything will be okay.
Papa is exactly where he needs to be, getting care from the best doctors.
Augustin stares down at his wrist, where he tugs on his watch.
He almost looks bashful, like he didn’t mean to intrude. Well, then, why doesn’t he just leave?
I reach for the elephant vase we’ve been using for Papa’s flowers, and accidentally knock a stack of papers off the cabinet.
“What are these?” I frown as I pick them up. “I hope you’re not doing accounts. I told you, I’ll take care of them—”
“Marriage resumes.” Papa pats the stack lovingly. “I haven’t forgotten my promise to you. I will find a husband worthy of you.”
Great. Now I’m all choked up again.
When Papa first got sick, he struggled with hospital. He’s like me; he doesn’t do so great without a mission to get behind. He needs to be fixing something, solving a problem. And he couldn’t solve the problem of having cancer, so I gave him something he could solve – my non-existent love life.
I never imagined I’d want my parents to help me find a husband.
In Indian culture, it’s traditional for parents to arrange the marriages of their children.
These days, this looks more like the parents calling up all their friends and acquaintances, or scouring websites of marriage resumes, and arranging introductions with matches they think you might like.
My friends all think it’s archaic, but I find it sweet.
It’s not as if I’ve made great choices on my own, and who knows me better than my parents?
It makes Papa so happy to be sorting through the marriage resumes.
It will make him smile to see his daughter married.
If I keep him smiling, then he won’t get sick again.
As for the actual marriage… my life is such a mess, maybe a husband helping out would be a welcome change?
Swoony romances are great in the pages of a book, but in real life, they turn into disaster.
Whereas my parents’ marriage was arranged between their two families, and they have something even better than swoony love – a real partnership.
Augustin’s eyes dart to the stack, and to me, and back to the stack again. “You… you’re getting married?”
“Don’t sound so surprised. To anyone other than you, I’m a hot commodity.”
He raises an eyebrow, like he knows it’s a lie.
“My daughter is brilliant, and creative, and she may make terrible roti, but she flies helicopters!” Papa beams at him. “Perhaps you’d like to add your resume to the pile?”
A choking sound comes from Augustin’s throat. “Pardon me, my curry went down the wrong way,” he wheezes, clutching his throat. “It’s a generous offer, but I must decline. Your daughter is a little too… boisterous for my household.”
“That’s my mating call.” I bat my eyelashes at him. “Have you fallen in love with me yet, darling, or do I need to be more unhinged?”
“I think you should consider this,” Papa says to Durant. “I know that you fight off all kinds of advances from the ladies, but my Beta is a real catch. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth!”
“The most famous gift horse in the world became a huge issue because none of the Trojans bothered to look inside,” Augustin says. “Think on that.”
I roll my eyes. “Great. Ancient Greek jokes. Did Patroclus tell that one to you himself?”
Augustin’s eyes flash. I’ve touched a vampire nerve. “When I’m mayor, I won’t have time for dating. I’ll be too busy dealing with the stormwater issues, giving the rosebushes a proper prune, and declining all the tourism director’s kooky ideas.”
“This village needs a little kookiness!” I shoot back. “You can dust off your calling cards, duelling pistols and carrier pigeon sonnets, because soon you’ll have a lot of free time for dating. I’m running against you, and I’m going to win.”
“Not this again.” Augustin frowns. “You can’t run.”
Papa’s eyes light up. “Oh, Beta, you’re running for mayor? That’s wonderful.”
And that right there is all the reason I need to do it.
Already, Papa’s voice sounds clearer. He’s sitting up straighter.
I beam at him. This is perfect. He might not be able to run anymore, but that doesn’t mean he can’t manage my campaign from his hospital bed.
It’s the ideal project to help him recover.
“She’s not running.” Augustin huffs. “The paperwork was due weeks ago. And I’ve never been in a pistol duel. Everyone knows swords are the superior duelling weapon when fighting for your lover’s honour.”
Urgh, he’s even more insufferable as a vampire.
“I have the town charter right here.” I wave my phone in his face. “It doesn’t say anything about disallowing a late candidate, as long as I get council approval. And I will.”
“Not from me.”
“Luckily, we don’t live in a dictatorship where you’re the only council member, so I’m not worried.”
“More’s the pity,” he mutters under his breath. “Sixty people showed up to stab Caesar and he only had twenty-three stab wounds. Group projects are filled with people who don’t pull their weight.”
“Julius Caesar is your role model? You have ambitious plans to conquer the known world, change the calendar, and introduce the Romans to British cooking?”
“I have always wanted to have a salad named after me.”
I roll my eyes. “I’ve got this election in the bag.”
“Oh, this is exciting! You shouldn’t have counted your votes, Augustin.
Get that pad and pen over there, Beta,” Papa plumps the pillow behind his head.
“I have all sorts of ideas I want to share with you. First of all, a botanical garden with a gorilla statue. Second, a drinking fountain on the green that distributes hot chai instead of water…”
“You don’t really want to be mayor,” Augustin says. Something flashes in his eyes that almost looks like fear. But that’s impossible, because Augustin Durant isn’t afraid of me. “It’s all paperwork. You hate paperwork. That’s why you never get your permits in on time.”
“I never get my permits in on time because the permitting system is outdated and stupid. One of the many things I will change when I’m mayor.”
“You tell him, Komal!” Papa pumps his fist in the air.
“You’re just doing this out of spite,” he growls.
“Of course.” I grin. “Spite is the purest political motive.”
Papa raps his pen against the legal pad. “Augustin, it’s been lovely, but I think we’ll need to pick up our game another time. The People’s Pappadum and his daughter need to have a campaign strategy session.”