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Chapter Fifty-Three

Shantal

‘S hanni!’

My mum is calling my name in the airport but my throat tightens as I think of Darien. Of Darien’s voice.

I push my bags ahead of me on the trolley and paste a smile on my face. My parents rush towards me with enormous grins, wrapping their arms around me. I can smell the pineapples of Ma’s shampoo, feel the wool of Babu’s sweater. It’s striking how these feelings suddenly hurt me more than they heal me.

It’s even harder in person. They are so excited, Ma’s got tears in her eyes. I can’t believe it – she’s not looked this healthy, this effervescent, in months. Babu presses his hands to either side of my face and gently plants a kiss on my forehead. I have to work so hard to stifle the sob that threatens to leave my lips.

This is what I’ve come here to ruin. All of it.

‘How was Rio? How was travelling with the team?’ Ma gushes as she attempts to take my trolley. ‘Let me get this for you.’

‘Oh, no, Ma, don’t worry.’ I steer it towards me with a knowing glance at Babu, who just chuckles. ‘Rio was good. It was pretty, it was a good team. But I’m happy to be home, you know that.’

‘You finished your work, though, na ?’ My mum’s forehead scrunches with concern, and I immediately fill with guilt. I don’t want her to feel bad about this. She hasn’t got to feel good about something since Sonia.

‘I finished everything I needed to finish. It’s just tying up loose ends and updating the programs from here,’ I assure her, leaning in so I can wrap one arm around her, and the other around Babu. I like to imagine that’s where it ends – we walk off to the car happily, never to deal with any strife ever again. But the pit in my stomach won’t allow it. The guilt spills over.

On the drive home, I sit in the backseat. I’ve never been carsick before, but when I get to the house, I drop my luggage in my room and run to the bathroom, fully prepared to be sick. I hate it. I hate that I crouch over the toilet for ten minutes, feel like I could vomit, yet nothing comes.

I’ve heard of your body rejecting transplanted organs. I’ve never heard of it rejecting lies.

I go through the motions on my first day back at work with Conquest. The questions about how Formula 1 was, how Heidelberg was. I answer them all robotically, just like I had with my parents. It was good. It was a formative experience. What was Darien like? Wonderful. Great driver. I have my answers planned out. I use the same ones every time someone asks me.

‘Up till the three-week gap is a clever way to do it,’ points out Raya on my first day back. ‘If I’d had the option, I’d have stayed to see the Championship through. You didn’t?’

I shake my head and bite my tongue. The undertone to her voice is almost accusatory. I’d have stayed. ‘Well, my parents called. Family things. And I figured it was time to come back.’

‘Hmm.’ The snideness almost seems to leave Raya as she looks me up and down, glances around my cubicle and at the photos on my desk. ‘The whole team’s going to get Abu Dhabi passes, you know. You should come.’

‘Why?’ I shrug, trying to appear nonchalant. ‘I’ve seen it all already.’

‘Right, then.’ Raya smiles tightly, glancing once more over my workspace. She nudges a new photo frame by my laptop: it’s me with Darien on the pit wall, the same one as the photo I’d signed for him. ‘Nice picture.’

‘Thanks.’ My voice is strained. I’m sure she’s not come to my cubicle just to nudge me about why I’m back. ‘Anyway. You’re …’

‘Going to be joining them for Brazil,’ she confirms, smirking. ‘Thought I’d see what all the fuss is about.’

Her eyes flit towards the photo again, and she taps the glass panel right beside Darien’s face, her eyebrows rising. ‘Is he as good as they say he is, Cardoso-Magalh?es?’

‘He’s phenomenal,’ I finally say.

‘I can’t wait.’ With one final grin that doesn’t reach her eyes, Raya gives me a nod and turns to trot back towards her desk, her long brown hair swishing behind her.

Later that night, my mum, sensing something is off, takes out her old record player. It hasn’t seen the light of day since Sonia last asked her to put on a vinyl.

‘Shanni!’ she calls from the living room as I wash my hands after dinner. I hear the scratch of the needle, and then the record: ‘Mere Sapno Ki Rani’ from Aradhana . Kishore Kumar’s voice echoes off the walls of the room, and when I walk in, Ma’s arms are outstretched, a grin on her face. ‘Come and dance.’

I take her hands and dance and pretend I won’t lie awake all night trying to figure out how I could possibly share my bed with someone who isn’t Darien. I know Darien snores, and I know Darien pulls all the blankets over him so that you wake up at two a.m. wondering where the hell the covers went. I don’t know if this guy my parents have found snores. I don’t know if he takes all the blankets. I wonder if it’s true that love comes with time, if it takes a month, a year, ten years, never.

And when I get up in the morning, I make my way downstairs to the family mandir , a small set of murtis in the downstairs alcove where no one’s yet burned the stick of incense sitting in its tray. I take the invitation to do so, lighting a match and igniting the agarbatti stick over it. I plant the stick in the tray, fold my hands, close my eyes. I never used to come down here early – that was Sonia’s thing – but I started to last year. I started to ask for answers. Now, I have something else to ask for.

Let me be strong enough to take this burden on.

Or let me be strong enough to run from all of this.

Let me be strong enough to love him back.