Page 62 of Someone Else's Shoes
Jasmine shakes her head. She waits for Nisha to sit tentatively on the other end of the sofa, scrapes out the last noodles from her bowl, and they sit in silence for a few minutes watching the television. Finally she leans over and points at the plastic bag. ‘What chocolate did you get me, anyway?’
‘Green & Black’s. The bitter one.’
‘Yesss!Youknowme!’ Jasmine’s smile is sudden and infectious. ‘Oh, for God’s sake, relax, woman. If I have to tread on eggshells every time I get a mood on we arenotgoing to survive your stay here, you know what I’m saying? Go on, goput the kettle on and we’ll have this with a cup of tea.’
In her old life, Nisha would rarely have gone to bed before midnight. Carl would be up late answering work calls and checking screens and he didn’t like her to be asleep when he came into the bedroom. But these days Nisha is physically exhausted by ten o’clock. And tonight – with all its heightened emotion – has wiped her out. She climbs wearily into the top bunk, her toes making contact with the cold metal bars at the end, and feels every bone in her body sink gratefully into the embrace of the cheap single mattress.
Below her Grace finishes reading and turns out her bedside light, and she is glad suddenly for the sense of another human body nearby, for the laughter at the end of the evening, for Jasmine’s incredulous face and hoots of laughter when she told her about Carl and the shoes.Oh, my God, my darling, how did you survive this man?‘I guess it’s like the frog in boiling water, right?’ Nisha says. ‘No marriage starts off bad. I guess by the time you realize how weird it’s got you’re up to your neck.’ Jasmine laughs. Jasmine actually laughs at Carl. She has never seen anyone in her life laugh at Carl, or call him ridiculous. It’s as if there is not much she could do that would change this woman’s feeling that she, Nisha, is fundamentally okay. Out there in the living room right now Jasmine is doing another hour’s ironing. Nisha had offered to help but Jasmine had waved her away.I’m all right, babe. I just watch my programmes. I’m only going to do a little bit.
‘Nish?’
Nisha is pulled from her thoughts.
‘Yes?’
She hears Grace shift in her bed.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Sorry for what?’
‘For being mean about you being here. My mum told me what happened to you. I didn’t know. I don’t mind you sharing my room. I’m sorry I didn’t make you feel welcome.’
A lump rises to Nisha’s throat. ‘That’s … that’s nice of you, Grace. Thank you.’
In the silence they can hear the thump and hiss of the iron, the distant burble of the television. Grace’s voice breaks into the dark. ‘My mum is always letting people stay here. I get a bit funny about it. She’s too nice to people. Sometimes they just … you know, take the p.’
‘I know. I’m not one of those people, Grace.’
‘That’s what my mum says.’
Nisha stares into the dark. She wonders uncomfortably if she actually is one of those people.
‘What’s your son like?’
‘Ray? He’s great. Kind. Smart. Funny.’
‘How old is he?’
‘Um … he’s sixteen.’
‘Where does he live?’
‘Well, he’s at a – a boarding school. In America.’
‘America?’ Grace’s voice is incredulous. ‘You’re not even in the same country?’
‘Not at the moment, no.’
‘Don’t you miss him?’
And there it is, that lump again. Nisha feels her eyes prickle with tears and is grateful for the dark, where nobody can see them.
‘Very much.’
‘Then why do you leave him in a different country from you?’
Nisha hesitates. ‘Well … Ray had some issues a while back. And his dad … well, we didn’t think it was a good idea for him to be moving around with us all the time. Ray’s dad’s workmeant that we have … we had to travel a lot. We thought he would be more stable, and happier, if he was in a boarding school.’ She adds: ‘It’s a very nice boarding school. I mean he’s well looked after. It has a lot of very nice facilities.’
