Chapter 11 #3
Marcus shook his head, his expression clearing. ‘Sorry. Of course you didn’t. Forget it. I think I’ll go and wash my hands properly. Under the tap. If you’ll excuse me.’ He pushed his chair back and left.
Kalpana watched him leave. She looked around the table to see if anyone else had noticed that embarrassing exchange. She caught Sampath, just before he averted his eyes and turned to talk to someone else. He had seen, hadn’t he? She hoped he wouldn’t judge Marcus too harshly.
She sipped her water thoughtfully. She didn’t think Sampath would judge. He didn’t seem the sort. She risked a glance at him. He was chatting to the Aussies. He smiled at something they said. Clearly he wasn’t wasting any time worrying about Marcus. Good.
The thought that Sampath would make a great romantic hero popped into her head again.
This wasn’t the first time she’d thought that, but somehow this time it had more impact.
Maybe she should write about a handsome brown man who was organised and patient.
She’d have to change his profession though.
Not a wedding planner. Something else. And change as many other things about him as possible.
That way, when she’d finished writing, the character would have morphed into someone completely different from the person who inspired him.
Normally, once she had a character idea in mind, the story started to form – but this time there was nothing. Not even hazy shapes in the fog. She couldn’t do anything until she had a heroine to go with this hero. It was frightening that she had nothing.
***
After the meal they took chairs to the balcony to enjoy a post-dinner coffee.
Sampath sat a slight distance away. Lal had made an excuse and disappeared downstairs already.
Sampath had been talking to Kathleen and somehow missed his window of opportunity.
Now he needed to wait for another opening to leave without seeming rude.
He wasn’t sure how much more he could take.
Kalpana and Marcus seemed happy, despite the slight tension towards the end of the meal.
He was relieved about that. He was. Honestly, he was.
As their wedding planner, the happy couple staying together was important to him.
But watching them together made him uncomfortable, which in turn made him furious with himself.
At last, his new friend, Kathleen, said, ‘I’m just going to my room for a few minutes.’ She patted her husband’s arm and swanned off.
Ah. This was good. He could leave it a few minutes and then head off himself. Sampath picked up his coffee to finish it off.
‘I’ve heard of his book, but what sort of books do you write?’ Bob asked Kalpana.
‘Romance novels,’ she said. ‘Women’s fiction, if you like.’
‘Ah,’ said Bob. ‘No wonder I haven’t heard of you. If I want porn, I prefer to watch it.’
‘They’re not porn!’ Sampath said, at the same time as Kalpana did.
Sampath glanced at Kalpana and saw the frown. He had seen her deflect criticism of her books before, with calm and poise. Maybe she didn’t need him to wade into this discussion.
Bob looked from one to the other, amused. ‘Woah. I hit a nerve there.’ His gaze narrowed on Sampath. ‘You’ve read them?’
‘Yes,’ said Sampath. ‘They’re very good. They are actually closed door – so no sex in them at all. Right, Kalpana?’
Her frown cleared. Handing the discussion back to her was the right thing to do. Sampath relaxed slightly.
‘That’s right.’ Kalpana leaned forward and put her cup on the table. ‘Romance is a very broad genre. Some books have sex in them, some don’t. Mine are, as Sampath says, closed door – so no sex on the page at all.’
Bob snorted. ‘What’s the point of that, then?’
‘I write stories about problems that real people face: illness, loss, fear, family crises, that sort of thing, as well as love – but with a guaranteed happy ending. People read them when life is difficult, and they want to live through a character’s troubles knowing that things will work out at the end. ’
Bob sniffed. ‘Sounds predictable to me.’
Marcus said nothing, but he nodded. He wasn’t supporting what Bob was saying, but he wasn’t exactly defending his fiancée’s work, either. Sampath got the impression that Marcus didn’t think much of Kalpana’s oeuvre. He wondered if Marcus had actually read any of it.
‘Of course it’s predictable, in that you know it will end well,’ said Kalpana.
‘That’s the point. It will always end happily.
Just like in a crime novel, the murderer will be caught and in a horror novel, evil will be defeated.
That’s the promise of the genre.’ She smiled, a careful sort of smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
‘Weird how the crime always gets solved, but no one complains about crime novels being predictable.’
Sampath wondered how many times she’d had this same conversation. He’d had it a few times as a reader.
‘Ah, but it’s how they solve the crime, that’s interesting.’
‘Likewise,’ said Kalpana, her voice calm and even. ‘It’s how they overcome their differences and fall in love that’s interesting.’
‘If you say so.’ Bob shook his head. He looked to Marcus. ‘Have you read them?’
‘Of course,’ said Marcus.
‘And what do you think?’
Marcus slung his arm around Kalpana. ‘I think Kalpana’s books are wonderfully commercial. She knows exactly what her readers want and gives it to them.’
Because Sampath was paying attention, he noticed what he had not said.
He hadn’t said he liked the books or even that he thought they were good.
He couldn’t understand how someone could read one of Kalpana’s books and not be touched by the human stories that she threaded through them.
Romance, yes, but also familial love, friendship and loyalty.
You would have to have a heart of stone.
Unless, as he suspected, Marcus hadn’t read any and was judging based on hearsay and prejudice.
‘Which book is your favourite?’ he asked Marcus.
Marcus blinked. ‘What?’
‘Of all of Kalpana’s books that you’ve read, which is your favourite?’ he pressed.
‘I haven’t read them all,’ said Marcus. ‘But I like The Sweetest Thing.’
He knew the book. It was about a woman battling through grief and learning to live again. ‘Oh, the one with the artist,’ he said, knowing full well that it wasn’t. If Marcus had read it, he would know this was nonsense.
Marcus said, ‘That’s right,’ at the same time that Kalpana said, ‘It’s not about an artist.’
Sampath’s eyes flew to Kalpana. Did she realise that her fiancé hadn’t actually read her books? Marcus claimed he had a favourite, but he didn’t know the first thing about it.
Kalpana said, softly, ‘The heroine is a dentist.’
Marcus said, ‘Ah yes, that’s right. Sorry. I was getting it confused with one of the other books.’ He cast a meaningful glance at the Australian.
Kalpana glanced at Sampath. She seemed disappointed in him. Was that because he’d pretended not to know what The Sweetest Thing was about?
He couldn’t really tell her he’d done it on purpose. Not with Marcus sitting right there. Sampath looked away.
The Sweetest Thing was a book that meant a great deal to him. He had read it over and over since his sister’s death. He was damned if he was going to let some git talk shit about it.
‘It’s also about loss and grief and learning to live again when grief keeps cutting you off at the knees every time you try to stand.
’ A sudden vision of his sister, her eyes closed, a small smile beneath the breathing mask, listening to him read.
His voice cracked a little at the end. ‘Books about survival and joy are important.’
‘Pfft. All happy families are the same: happy in the same boring way,’ said Bob. ‘So are happy endings. Boring.’
Kalpana said, ‘Life is hard. Things don’t always end well, so why not have some stories where you know everything will end up okay. My readers find it comforting. That’s why I write comfort reads.’
Sampath’s chest felt tight. He wasn’t thinking about the book anymore. He was thinking about Lihini.
Bob snorted. ‘Books for bored housewives who want to escape their boring husbands.’
Sampath’s vision was starting to narrow. His heart galloped. The grief, which was mostly dormant these days, stirred and yawed inside his chest. He stood up and managed to say, ‘Excuse me. I need to …’ The rest was a mumble as he hurried past Kalpana and headed for the stairs.
***
Kalpana looked after Sampath with some alarm. He suddenly looked unwell. His normal expression of gentle amusement had been replaced by something that looked like pain.
‘What’s wrong with him?’ said Marcus. ‘Did we say something wrong?’
‘Probably just embarrassed that we caught out his choice of reading matter,’ Bob said.
That wasn’t right. Sampath was normally not bothered by stuff like that.
He would be the first to admit that he liked romance novels.
The first time she’d met him, on the Underground, he had told her all about how his sister had introduced him to them and he’d loved them ever since.
Besides, he hadn’t looked embarrassed. He had looked … ill.
Genuinely worried now, Kalpana stood up. ‘I’ll just go check that everything is okay,’ she said. ‘He seemed upset.’
She hurried down the stairs. The room downstairs was lit brighter than the one upstairs.
You were supposed to be able to see what you were doing in here: reading, playing cards, whatever.
Sampath was standing at the door to the veranda, arms wrapped around his middle, head bowed.
When she reached the bottom of the steps, she thought she saw him wipe away a tear.
‘Sampath?’ she said, quietly. ‘Is everything okay?’
He half turned, his face grim. ‘My sister died of cancer,’ he said, his voice thick. ‘It wasn’t quick.’
That was unexpected. She didn’t know what to say. ‘I’m so sorry—’