Page 10

A quickening.

Geeta’s heart and body responded before her mind fully registered. That sound, that drum, and rhythm, was so recognisable and threaded through her, that she immediately wanted to move.

She peered over the crowd up the High Street, the broad space between colleges and the towers of St Mary’s and Carfax, dense with people.

“Is that...?” She tilted her head, keen to hear. “I have to see...”

She grabbed Nicola’s arm.

Groups of dancers and musicians gathered in the middle of the road. Some dressed in green and top hats, playing violins and accordions. Another group held huge rings of garlands and ribbons in the air. One person wore a cone of greenery, from head to toe, ready for the pagan practice of dancing in the May and summer. And she recognised a Brazilian percussion group from the Cowley Road Carnival, who waited at the rear with their dancers swirling to warm up. But these weren’t the drums she searched for.

She reached back and clasped Nicola’s hand. “I’m going to lose you in this crowd,” she said as an apology. But she didn’t want to miss this.

The drums thudded louder as she pushed along the sides of the street, lured by the distinctive bass followed by treble – two deep beats then the succession of higher notes. She broke out into a gap, almost stepping into the group.

“Oh my goodness,” she burst out. “I wasn’t expecting this!”

She put hands to mouth in prayer.

Three people beat a dhol each, the long drums strapped across their chests, their smiles as contagious as the beat of the instrument. Dancers in golds and greens and reds spun to the rhythm, their clothes rich in the sunlight that streamed into the High Street. They were all ages, from a small girl in an embroidered Punjabi suit, to her smiling father, who wore a red turban like Geeta’s dad used to.

“I didn’t know there would be bhangra!” Geeta shouted to Nicola.

She couldn’t stop grinning. Her hands automatically raised skywards and shoulders swayed to the rhythm. Impossible not to be caught up in the energetic dance.

“What a treat!” Geeta cried.

Then she smiled, because the irresistible rhythm even snared Nicola. Yes, Geeta saw her sway to one side, then the other on the bass notes.

“Do you dance?” Nicola said, leaning close to be heard above the drums.

“Used to! Oh this takes me back to being a kid in Birmingham. I leapt up to dance at weddings and practised at home with a couple of friends. Even though, some aunties and uncles would say,” she dropped her voice, “'it’s not for girls’. But my dad...” She paused, always feeling lighter when she remembered this about her father. “He’d shrug and tell me to enjoy myself.”

“Good.” Nicola grinned, and they both turned to watch the dancers.

It took her back to her own childhood, then to Olivia's, when Geeta played cassettes in the lounge for dancing. There was so much happiness bound up in dance and music. It might have been the happiest time in her life, when Olivia still smiled at her without reservation, soothed and lifted by the movement, and they spun for hours, until collapsing on the sofa, for Olivia to fall asleep on her shoulder.

The procession started. The drummers and dancers moved slowly up the High Street, and Geeta stood on tiptoes until they were out of sight and different music drifted in.

Nicola looked at her, bright blue eyes sparkling. No longer chin raised, but leaning close to her.

Geeta paused, breathless, and gazed at the soft expression on Nicola’s face. “I didn’t want to miss that,” she said.

“Of course,” Nicola murmured. “I’m glad I saw it too.”

That made Geeta beam with a massive smile which, she swore, made Nicola grow too.

Ah, she dismissed it. She was probably delusional and high on music. But she didn't care. She was too happy to frown at Nicola. And when Nicola suggested breakfast, she nodded and followed.

They cut from the crowds up Longwall Street, then Holywell, quiet along the ancient road of pastel houses on one side and the very old New College on the other. Perhaps everyone else stayed at the procession. Or didn’t stride away at Nicola's speed. Geeta rolled her eyes.

They turned down a tiny, cobbled lane of twisting medieval cottages, and beneath a building through a narrow passage, to emerge into a hidden space behind college walls and tall houses. The Turf Tavern nestled clandestine, like a secret nugget of the past with the rest of Oxford growing around it.

“I’ll get you a coffee,” Nicola said, as they ducked through a doorway into the dark bar.

Nicola gestured for Geeta to sit at an oval table in the window at the end.

She sat in a daze. It was like being in an old captain's cabin, with the multi-paned bay window looking into a small courtyard garden, and an old timepiece standing above the fireplace. She was still gazing out when Nicola returned with coffees, milk and a menu.

“You all right?” Nicola tilted her head.

“Yes.” Geeta smiled. “It’s just...Well it sounds silly, but I’d forgotten how much I need music.”

Nicola took a sip of coffee and raised her eyebrows in question.

“I used to listen all the time.” She frowned. “I stopped when Sumit came home. He gets overwhelmed by noise and needed quiet to work or relax after a day in the department. So, I only played it when dancing with Olivia.”

Then Olivia got older and didn’t want to dance any more. Or spend as much time with Geeta. Her daughter struck up an affinity with more serious Sumit, who helped her with homework in his study, shut away from Geeta, especially when younger Adam was born.

“Then I forgot to play it when everyone was out. I guess I lost the habit.”

Nicola gazed at her, without the knowing smile and flirtatious edge this time.

“Are you rediscovering yourself?” Nicola asked, those bright eyes gentler and understanding. “After children? After divorce?”

“I suppose. It’s been slow.” Too many things to sort out. Too many guilty feelings. “It's nice coming out today.”

Geeta laughed, because it was surreal saying it to this woman.

“It’s May Day,” Nicola said. “A new start and a new summer. Time for change.”

“For you too?”

Nicola paused. “Yes, I think that’s why I’ve returned. Oxford is in my bones – college, marriage in the chapel, daughters studying here. And now I’ve come full circle, back to the beginning. A chance to do it right this time.”

“What?” Geeta scoffed out of habit with the brusque barrister. You didn’t get much more accomplished than Nicola. “What on earth does the great Nicola Albright KC have to put right this time?”

The smile, the feline one, resurfaced in a curl.

“I’m sure you have plenty of suggestions for improvement.” Nicola replied, her amusement rolling like a purr through the words.

Geeta laughed, then put up her hands. “Sorry. We’re trying to be friends, aren’t we.”

Because she knew Nicola had regrets now. From that intriguing peek at past-Nicola in the photo, that turned back the decades. The bone structure there, with younger fullness in her cheeks. The strong shoulders. And the confidence. That was a self-assured young woman in the picture. Then Nicola showing her, almost proud of it, before the mention of Daniel threw over a shadow. All this after yesterday’s surprise admission, that Nicola took Kate’s divorce case because Charlotte asked her to, the vulnerability in the confession so different from the usual stone wall of strength.

It felt like a big step from Nicola, and why Geeta, always open, said yes to the invitation to May Day. Although why she was trying to be friends with a woman who brought out the worst in her, god only knew. And more, a barrister who could probably argue Geeta in circles, so she ended up fighting herself.

“Yes, I want to take that back,” Geeta said. “I’m too happy to bicker right now and we’re making a new start.”

“Good.” And Nicola smiled that feline smile, before putting on glasses that made her look foxy.

“Let’s choose breakfast,” Geeta said. “I’m probably grumpy because I’m hungry.”

And she didn’t want to be snarky to anyone. Especially when they didn’t deserve it. Although she kind of thought Nicola did.

“And my hormones are dropping off a cliff,” Geeta added. “I get tetchy.”

“Understandable,” Nicola said, gazing at the menu.

“And the divorce isn’t helping.” Come to think of it.

Nicola peered over her glasses.

“And family...” Geeta added.

Still foxy gazing.

“...And the lack of money. Plus difficulty getting a job.”

Nicola raised both eyebrows.

“In fact, it’s all been a bit bloody much.”

Nicola smiled that knowing smile again. “Let’s order lots of food. It’s on me.”

“The thing is,” Geeta said later, after a mouthful of avocado toast. Because she didn’t get to talk about this to anyone. And Nicola, despite being her indomitable self, was in a similar position. “It’s hard to move on with a fresh start when everyone insists you stay the same.”

“Have you had another run-in with your mother?”

“No, she was in a better mood when I got back, chatting with her yoga group. It’s just, I’ve been Mum and Geeta at home, for so long, nobody expects me to be anything else.” She took a gulp of coffee. “I’m overlooked by office-job agencies, because I don’t tick the right boxes.”

“Do you mean because of age? Gender? Race?”

“All of those.”

The interview with a young, white, agency man came to mind, and the experience he insisted on. God, it had been depressing. She was beyond grateful to Liz for the temp job at Bentley.

“But I have skills from a lifetime: Bringing up tiny children to helping with A level maths. Editing Sumit’s academic work. Submitting tax forms. Looking after finances and a home. I didn't just cook my husband’s favourite parathas for thirty years.”

She breathed in, feeling it strongly.

“I want change. To do new things. Get out into the world again. Have a job. Meet new people.”

Embrace life again. Finally go interrailing around Europe like she wanted after university. Run naked through meadows. Skinny dip in the sea. Feel warm summer rain on her body.

“I want excitement! Laughter! Love...Well...you know...sex!”

Because her body did crave that. She didn’t dream of running naked through meadows for no reason.

She looked at Nicola. Surely she understood this? Going from the very handsome barrister and charged confrontation in Bentley, Nicola clearly had an active sex life.

Nicola peered over her glasses.

“Well I do.” Geeta threw up her hands.

Nicola silently stared with barrister serenity and interrogation.

Oh, flipping heck. Geeta was embarrassed now and started to blush. Which meant only one thing. Here it came. Flames engulfed her face and her body broke into a drenching sweat.

“Damn it.”

She started to strip off her top, her T-shirt underneath rising over her belly.

Nicola watched it all, eyes down to tummy and up to hands, with an impassive, slightly amused look.

The barrister opened her lips with a smacking sound. “And are you planning on having sex right now?”

Damn her.

“No!” Geeta laughed. “I’m having a hot flush. Although, honestly, if anyone was offering.”

She fanned her face with a menu and gazed outside, the sunshine hitting the courtyard now it was higher in the sky.

It had been a long time, and she missed the intimacy and thrill of sex. The passion. The feeling of your whole body alive. The reassurance. The bonding.

She sighed.

“Look. I’m barely halfway through my adult life. I want more sex.”

Nicola grinned. “Of course you do.”

See, Nicola did understand.

It was refreshing talking to Nicola in a funny way. There were no expectations. In fact, they were starting from such a low bar, that if they said something embarrassing, it didn’t matter. It was freeing, not tiptoeing around each other. They had lots in common, and when they didn’t, they outright disagreed and disapproved of each other. No limits. And there had literally been no-one else to talk to about this.

“I’m glad someone understands,” Geeta said.

Nicola looked at her.

“My family thinks I should be happy with a husband who’s never there and get a dog for company when I’m lonely.”

“You are absolutely allowed to want more than that.” Nicola’s lips curled. “And I’m sure lots of men will be interested.”

And the smile. Damn her. Almost salacious.