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  ‘Asha’ll come around. Or maybe I’ll find another way to make it up to her,’ he grinned.

  ‘Spare me the details.’ Vijay watched his elder brother as he knocked back the rest of his drink.

  ‘Pour me another,’ said Pran, batting away a fly that had landed on his glass.

  Vijay served him some more. ‘I might go and see if December wants some.’

  ‘Leave him, it’s late.’

  ‘I just want to see if he’s up. He must get lonely in there.’

  ‘Why is everyone suddenly treating him like he’s some long-lost uncle come to stay?’ Pran was starting to slur his words, or maybe Vijay had drunk too much. ‘Always trying to muscle into this family. He’s found a way now, hasn’t he?’

  ‘I think that has something to do with working here and having to wash your smelly clothes!’

  Pran shook his head. ‘All this special treatment. We have enough to deal with, getting the dukan back on track.’

  Vijay downed the rest of his glass. ‘What’s your problem? The dukan? We could be talking about his life.’

  ‘But why risk all this when he’s just a—’

  ‘Just a what? A servant?’

  Pran put his glass down on the armrest. ‘Well, he is.’

  Vijay got up, the floor rolling beneath him.

  ‘Where are you going? Sit down and have another drink,’ said Pran in a wayward voice.

  Vijay snatched the bottle of whisky from the table, bottleneck hanging down from his fingers. ‘You really think we should throw him out on the street?’

  ‘No. But the sooner he’s out of here, the sooner we can all sleep at night.’

  ‘Well, get on with it. You’ve been saying it for ages. Help him get out of here.’

  ‘Trust me, I’m doing everything I can.’

  ‘What is that exactly? What are these hotly guarded plans of yours?’

  ‘It’s under control.’

  ‘Sure it is.’ Vijay walked to the doorway. He didn’t need to hear any more.

  ‘Vij, wait.’

  Vijay waved his hand dismissively. ‘Forget it. I’m off to find another drinking partner.’

  *

  Out into the humid night air. Vijay felt his way along the outside of the house with the tip of his left arm, around the veranda.

  He knocked on the storeroom door softly, or at least he hoped he had.

  ‘Come in,’ December whispered.

  ‘Sorry. Did I wake you?’ said Vijay.

  ‘No, I couldn’t sleep anyway.’

  ‘I thought you could do with some company.’ Vijay raised the bottle.

  December laughed. ‘That’s my kind of company.’

  Vijay put the whisky down on the table. He slid his body onto the floor, back resting on the shelf behind. ‘You’ll need to catch up with me, though.’

  December poured some into a glass on his table. He lay back, propping himself up on his elbow, feet hovering off the bed.

  ‘Forgot my glass, this’ll have to do,’ said Vijay, taking the bottle back and gulping the buttery liquid, hot down his throat.

  They talked a while, thinking about the old days, remembering Jennifer, the lady who’d come around selling fruit and vegetables each morning, who’d taken a shine to December a few years back.

  ‘She kept flirting with you,’ said Vijay. ‘Remember?’

  ‘No, she didn’t, she did that with everyone.’

  ‘Oh, come on, you remember, don’t you?’ Vijay put on a high-pitched voice, fluttering his eyelashes. ‘Look at these tomatoes, Mr December, very fresh, very fresh, Mr December.’

  ‘Stop that.’ December waved a hand in dismissal, stifling a laugh. ‘Anyway, what’s your father up to? Gone to bed?’

  ‘Papa’s probably on the floor of the sitting room by now,’ Vijay grinned. ‘Pran’s there with him.’

  ‘He didn’t want to join you?’ December looked away, a wrinkle forming between his brows.

  ‘Tired, I guess,’ said Vijay.

  ‘Because of the dukan? I’m not helping matters staying here.’

  ‘We’re all pulling together, he’s not doing it alone.’ Vijay poured a triple into December’s glass. ‘Here, have another.’

  ‘Might as well. It’s not as though I have anything to do in the morning.’

  They sat in silence for a while. The electricity generator from a nearby house hummed outside.

  December glanced at the books and papers Jaya had brought him to read piled up on the table. ‘You read the Argus today?’

  ‘I skimmed through it. But it’s more of the same. Whatever crazy law Amin’s come up with this time. They keep the real news out because they’re scared of him. And everyone believes his propaganda.’

  ‘Not everyone,’ December said, his tone soft. ‘But some people want to believe the headlines. If you were promised a better life, wouldn’t you want to believe it was true?’

  ‘But why don’t they see what’s behind his lies?’

  ‘When you’re left to rot in the slums and no one seems to care, wouldn’t you believe it? Rifles give them power, the army treats them well. Of course the soldiers swallow the lies that give them hope.’ December stared at him.

  Vijay nodded. All he’d thought about was the fear he felt, his problems.

  ‘And there are people who don’t think the Asians have been fair,’ December said.

  Vijay knew what people said about them, how they spoke in Gujarati and Hindi about their workers, kept others down while they grew rich. ‘Some Asians have behaved badly, I know that. But those people, those headlines that say we’re bad. Amin eats the flesh of his enemies, that’s what the rumours say. We’re not like him.’

  ‘He is crazy, no doubt about that. But remember that whoever writes those stories has their own agenda.’

  ‘But either way, Amin’s eliminating everyone who gets in the way. Like you, hiding away like this.’

  December sighed. ‘I’m sorry you all have to deal with it.’

  Vijay lifted his head, trying to hold it steady. ‘That’s not what I meant. We’re fine. Anyway, it’s not for long. Pran’s nearly—’

  ‘I am not stupid.’ December sat up. ‘Pran doesn’t want me here.’

  Vijay thought of the best way to answer.

  ‘I don’t blame him,’ December looked down, tracing the rim of the glass with his finger.

  ‘Come on, don’t talk like that.’ Vijay ran his hand through his hair, tugging at the tangles. It was a risk for all of them, he knew that, but what was the alternative?

  ‘Sat around like a useless piece of mutton, slowly rotting in the heat. Waiting, always waiting.’ December’s voice rose with each word. ‘I need to find Aber.’

  ‘Please . . .’ said Vijay. The words wouldn’t come, all jumbled up.

  December looked up. ‘You know, when I was younger, all I wanted to do was earn enough money to chase women and drink waragi. I wasted all that time when I should have been with my little girl. I wasted so much time.’

  ‘You were young, it’s what we do,’ said Vijay, trying to muster a smile.

  ‘But working so hard, just to make money. And for what? I don’t even know what’s happened to my daughter. Don’t make the same mistakes as me.’

  Vijay stared at him, felt the guilt burning in his chest, thinking of the money he and Pran had chased together, all the way across an ocean. ‘Just wait, Pran will—’

  ‘Your brother wants me to leave, can’t you see?’ December slammed his hand down on the table. He froze for a moment. ‘I – I didn’t mean it.’

  Vijay tried to put the whisky bottle aside but instead he knocked it over, brown liquid spreading across the concrete floor. He pulled the bottle up again, managing to save some. As he tried to scoop the liquid with his hand he quickly realized how futile it was. ‘Why won’t you accept our help?’

  ‘I’m sorry. I can’t just sit around here.’ December stood up, pulling out his bag from under the bed, shoving his spar
e clothes inside.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Vijay tried to pull himself up, but his head was spinning.

  ‘I have to go.’ December hoisted his bag onto his shoulder.

  ‘No, wait, hear me out.’ Vijay clung to the shelf. ‘What you said about Pran, it’s not true.’

  December paused.

  ‘No, I mean, of course he’s never forgiven you for that time when we were kids, at the market.’ Vijay’s tone was playful. He waited to see if December would take the bait. December had taken Vijay and Pran shopping. Pran had gone missing, running off to talk to an old woman who sold vegetables at one of the far stalls. He had tried to find his way back to the others and worked himself into a state. By the time December and Vijay found him, Pran was shouting and all the people in the market had turned to stare.

  ‘How could you do that?’ Pran had cried, hitting December’s chest as people pushed their way past them. ‘You’re supposed to look after us.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have run off,’ said December.

  ‘You’re paid to look after us!’ Pran yelled.

  December held his wrists gently, letting the little boy shout and cry until he was exhausted. After a few minutes, December crouched down and looked at him.

  Pran stared, then raised his hand. Surely he wouldn’t hit December?

  But instead, he shyly held his hand out in front of him.

  December took his cue and shook it. ‘Good, now let’s go get a soda baridi.’

  ‘Do you remember that day?’ Vijay said. ‘Pran was furious!’

  December gave a small laugh.

  ‘Look, don’t do anything rash,’ Vijay said. ‘Promise me. For Ba, if no one else?’

  December nodded, lowering his bag to the floor.

  ‘I better go and get some sleep.’

  ‘Vijay?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, turning around.

  ‘Leave the whisky.’

  8

  Asha

  Asha opened the bedroom door, keen to change after her trip to temple with Jaya. Hopefully, Pran would be in the sitting room and she wouldn’t have to bump into him. He’d spent the past weeks trying to reconcile with her, ever since she’d found out about the smuggling, but she couldn’t get over his lying.

  Inside, Pran stood at the far wall, a nervous look on his face. There were plates of food covered with lace doilies on the little table and a vase filled with white flowers, the petals fringed in pink.

  Asha frowned with confusion.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Pran, walking towards her and taking her hands.

  ‘What’s all this?’ she said.

  ‘We’re going on a picnic.’

  ‘What? It’s nearly dark, curfew will start soon.’

  ‘We don’t have to go anywhere.’ He uncovered the plates of food. She surveyed them: samosa, kachori, gathiya, all her favourites.

  ‘I don’t know, Pran . . .’ She stayed by the door.

  ‘Just give me a chance. Eat a little food and then you can leave, if that’s what you want.’

  She had to admit that even she was tired of keeping her distance. ‘We’re going to attract the ants. Your mother won’t be happy.’

  He led her to the bed, where he’d spread out a picnic blanket. ‘But you’ll stay?’

  ‘It’s my bedroom, where else can I go?’ She sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘What’s that?’ She pointed at a messy pencil drawing on a piece of paper propped up against the wall.

  ‘It’s a monkey, of course!’ Pran laughed.

  ‘Oh,’ Asha said. ‘Could have sworn it was a hyena.’

  He looked at her with mock indignation, then took a plate and piled it up with food for her. ‘It’s like the monkeys at Entebbe, remember?’

  The first time they’d met. That day, Asha’s friend Sahar had decided to gather all her friends for a picnic at the Botanical Gardens. Sahar’s idea of ‘nothing big’ was thirty people armed with bags of food, a portable Primus stove and a huge steel pot filled with bottles of Coca-Cola and beer that had to be carried by three people. They’d wound their way through that prehistoric world with the swathes of green: lime, fern, moss. Liana vines hung down like ropes from the colossal trees, squirrels flitted from branch to branch, vervet monkeys with biscuit fur and shy brown faces peeked out from the foliage.

  They arrived at a stretch of grass along the banks of Lake Victoria where the men had gathered for a game of cricket while the women stood and watched. ‘Make sure that the ball doesn’t hit you over there,’ one of the men called out, far too pleased with himself.

  ‘You too,’ Asha said, then muttered, ‘I’d hate for it to knock some sense into your head.’

  Sahar’s long curls made waves along her back as she laughed. They passed the time catching up on their news, talking about films and music, not paying much attention to the cricket match until there was a shout. The ball flew through the air, hurtling towards them.

  Asha ran, the thrill of muscles being stretched and flexed, the breeze in her hair, that feeling she’d had many times as a child, climbing trees with her cousins, making herself dizzy from cartwheels.

  The ball was close. Asha leapt for it, nearly knocking over one of the other fielders. She caught it in her hands, the leather ragged beneath her fingers, staggering to steady herself. She held her hand in the air, triumphant.

  ‘Where’d you learn to catch like that?’ A man walked over to her. The sun glittered in his dark hair, picking up the bronze and gold hues.

  ‘Same place you did, probably,’ Asha said. Tiny dimples appeared in his cheeks when he smiled. Like upside-down tears.

  ‘I hear you’re visiting from Jinja?’

  ‘You heard that from all the way over on the other side of the field?’

  ‘Well, have you seen the size of these ears?’ He flicked his earlobe. The others were shouting for him to get back to the game, but he stayed where he was. ‘I’m Pran.’

  She glanced across at Sahar, who muttered something about needing to check the food and took her cue to wander off.

  Growing up, the boys had always been busy trailing after Sahar. Charming, delicate-featured Sahar. Asha, on the other hand, was treated like a sister, no need for pretence, no reason to impress her, too clumsy, too loud. Later, though she was the same person, something seemed to change. Boys suddenly sweetened their tone, some too shy to approach, while others prowled around her like a leopard after prey. So fickle.

  But not Pran. He walked straight up to her, looked her in the eye and listened to her when she told him about her life in Jinja, her family, her job as a secretary working for a chaotic boss. And as she talked to him, she couldn’t help but wonder what his mouth tasted like.

  They saw each other again but always as part of a group, flirting but no more. She told herself nothing could come of it, that she’d accept an arranged marriage like all her friends. She went on dates with the boys she was introduced to, trying to piece together what kind of husband they’d make after a handful of conversations: if they were polite to the waiter did it mean they’d be kind to her? If they brought her flowers or a gift, did it mean they’d always be romantic? But Pran, there was always Pran. After years of seeing each other as friends, forever surrounded by other people, she couldn’t fight her feelings any more. The pull of him was too strong.

  ‘Here you go.’ Pran handed her the plate of food and sat down on the bed next to her. He put his plate down on his lap. ‘I should have told you everything.’

  ‘But why did you do it? There must have been easier ways to help the business.’

  His words unsteady: ‘The dukan was in a worse state than I thought. After going through the books, I realized I couldn’t easily turn things around. I didn’t want to get into more debt. We wouldn’t even have been able to get a loan with the business in such a state. I had to do it.’

  ‘And if you’d been caught? What would have happened to the dukan? To us?’

  ‘It was a risk. But I’d heard of a c
ouple of others who’d got away with it,’ he said. ‘The way I grew up, never feeling secure. I didn’t want my children to live like that one day.’

  Asha looked down at her plate. Pran mentioned children now and again. She always thought of it as something vague and far off in the future, one day.

  ‘You know I could have gone to university,’ he said. They also both knew that the firstborn was expected to follow in the father’s footsteps. ‘And if being a dukanwara was my future, I wanted to make it the best it could be.’

  Asha didn’t agree with what he’d done, but at least she could start to understand why he did it. ‘You didn’t have to lie to me.’

  He paused, he wouldn’t look her in the eye. ‘I should have been able to do this on my own.’

  ‘No. I’m proud of you, no matter what,’ she said.

  ‘I didn’t want to bother you with all this. You understand that, right?’ He waited for an answer.

  Asha wanted to forget everything that had happened. He’d told her all there was to tell and they could put it behind them now. ‘Don’t lie to me again. Promise me.’

  He nodded.

  She took a bite of her kachori, crisp pastry giving way to the spiced pea filling inside. ‘So, if you’d had your way, you’d have become a science graduate?’ He’d told her before that it was his favourite subject. He loved atoms and molecules, minerals and organisms, was fascinated by the fact that it could take centuries for some starlight to reach earth and that the shooting stars they watched together were rocks hurtling through the sky. ‘What would you be doing now?’

  ‘I don’t know. Researching cures for cancer maybe? Or a meteorologist?’ His face lit up.

  He carried on talking about the other life he could have had. It dawned on her that the man she loved hadn’t been able to make the life he wanted, that perhaps the life they’d have together would in some way always be a disappointment.

  After they’d finished eating and washed their hands, they lay side by side in bed.

  ‘So what did you want to be when you were younger, then?’ said Pran, turning towards her.

  The question took her by surprise. Her parents, her extended family, schoolteachers, everyone knew the path set out for women like her. Finish your education, work for a few years, get married and have a family. What had she wanted to be when she was a child? ‘I wanted to travel. See the world, learn about other cultures.’ Her dreams seemed ridiculous now, she could barely bring herself to say them out loud.