together in Simon’s old playroom, where we passed the time playing Parcheesi and backgammon.
I began to dread these rainy days. All our old ease was gone and I found myself uncomfortably aware of Jagjit’s proximity. If our hands touched by mistake I snatched mine away and then blushed. I knew I seemed unfriendly, but I could not help myself, and knowing that Simon resented my being there made me even more self-conscious. It was excruciating, but I didn’t know how to extricate myself, so I started to take a book with me and spend much of my time on the window-seat, reading. Each time I told myself I wouldn’t go again, but when it came to it I found myself getting into the dogcart, hoping that this time it would be different, that we would fall back into our old ease with each other.
One hot Saturday in early August, we decided to go to Brighton beach with a picnic. Being in the open, among the crowds and the activity, helped to distract us. It was almost like old times. We swam, and then the boys went off to skim stones while I lay back and closed my eyes and listened to the sea. I have always loved the sound of the sea, ever since I stood at the bow of that ship letting the wake wash the inside of my head clean.
The waves were gentler, less continuous, on this fine, almost windless day, and I had to really focus to hear them behind the chatter of day-trippers, children’s voices and the cries of the gulls. The light breeze was delicious on my hot skin as I waited for a break in the pattern of sound and then began to concentrate. It started with a small rush from my right along the shingle, then a longer one from my left, then from the right again a surge, that built steadily to a rattlingroar and then diminished, ebbing away along the beach. For a moment or two there was silence; then it began again. It was like an orchestra with different instruments coming in, the sound building and dying away.
There was a crunching of pebbles and I opened my eyes to find Jagjit lowering himself beside me.
‘You look happy, Lila. What were you thinking about?’
I was surprised, not having known, until he named it, that happiness was what I was feeling. Without thinking, I parted my lips to answer, and saw his look of surprise and expectation. For a moment we held each other’s eyes, then thought came surging back, bringing consequences with it, and I closed my mouth. I saw the disappointment in his face, quickly masked.
I touched my ear and gestured at the sea, miming waves with my hand.
He smiled his lopsided smile, holding my eyes so long that I blushed. ‘Listening to the waves? Shall I join you?’
He stretched out beside me and closed his eyes. I closed mine too and tried to concentrate again, but all I could think of was his body beside mine in his navy and brown striped costume, his long brown limbs stretched out along the pebbles. Our hands were almost touching.
Silence. Then the small rush to my right. I imagined him hearing it too: the same flow and ebb through both of us. His little finger touched mine. The pressure seeming to deepen as the longer rush came from the left, a warm surge through my body, building to a crescendo as it rose into my throat and then ebbed away. The sun warmed me; the breeze stroked my skin, raising the hairs on my arms and legs. With each new sound a rush of warmth rose through my body, and I knew he was feeling it too. He turned his head and his eyes met mine,unsmiling. We looked and kept looking, beyond politeness, beyond embarrassment. Then Simon’s shrill voice, calling his name, cut through the sound of the waves, the squawking seagulls and the chatter.
In the train on the way home we sat in the window-seats opposite each other. Jagjit’s arm rested along the windowsill between us as he gazed out at the Downs rushing past. His long brown fingers glowed like beaten copper in the light of the setting sun, and as I looked at them I remembered his finger touching mine and the
I began to dread these rainy days. All our old ease was gone and I found myself uncomfortably aware of Jagjit’s proximity. If our hands touched by mistake I snatched mine away and then blushed. I knew I seemed unfriendly, but I could not help myself, and knowing that Simon resented my being there made me even more self-conscious. It was excruciating, but I didn’t know how to extricate myself, so I started to take a book with me and spend much of my time on the window-seat, reading. Each time I told myself I wouldn’t go again, but when it came to it I found myself getting into the dogcart, hoping that this time it would be different, that we would fall back into our old ease with each other.
One hot Saturday in early August, we decided to go to Brighton beach with a picnic. Being in the open, among the crowds and the activity, helped to distract us. It was almost like old times. We swam, and then the boys went off to skim stones while I lay back and closed my eyes and listened to the sea. I have always loved the sound of the sea, ever since I stood at the bow of that ship letting the wake wash the inside of my head clean.
The waves were gentler, less continuous, on this fine, almost windless day, and I had to really focus to hear them behind the chatter of day-trippers, children’s voices and the cries of the gulls. The light breeze was delicious on my hot skin as I waited for a break in the pattern of sound and then began to concentrate. It started with a small rush from my right along the shingle, then a longer one from my left, then from the right again a surge, that built steadily to a rattlingroar and then diminished, ebbing away along the beach. For a moment or two there was silence; then it began again. It was like an orchestra with different instruments coming in, the sound building and dying away.
There was a crunching of pebbles and I opened my eyes to find Jagjit lowering himself beside me.
‘You look happy, Lila. What were you thinking about?’
I was surprised, not having known, until he named it, that happiness was what I was feeling. Without thinking, I parted my lips to answer, and saw his look of surprise and expectation. For a moment we held each other’s eyes, then thought came surging back, bringing consequences with it, and I closed my mouth. I saw the disappointment in his face, quickly masked.
I touched my ear and gestured at the sea, miming waves with my hand.
He smiled his lopsided smile, holding my eyes so long that I blushed. ‘Listening to the waves? Shall I join you?’
He stretched out beside me and closed his eyes. I closed mine too and tried to concentrate again, but all I could think of was his body beside mine in his navy and brown striped costume, his long brown limbs stretched out along the pebbles. Our hands were almost touching.
Silence. Then the small rush to my right. I imagined him hearing it too: the same flow and ebb through both of us. His little finger touched mine. The pressure seeming to deepen as the longer rush came from the left, a warm surge through my body, building to a crescendo as it rose into my throat and then ebbed away. The sun warmed me; the breeze stroked my skin, raising the hairs on my arms and legs. With each new sound a rush of warmth rose through my body, and I knew he was feeling it too. He turned his head and his eyes met mine,unsmiling. We looked and kept looking, beyond politeness, beyond embarrassment. Then Simon’s shrill voice, calling his name, cut through the sound of the waves, the squawking seagulls and the chatter.
In the train on the way home we sat in the window-seats opposite each other. Jagjit’s arm rested along the windowsill between us as he gazed out at the Downs rushing past. His long brown fingers glowed like beaten copper in the light of the setting sun, and as I looked at them I remembered his finger touching mine and the
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