Secrets and Sins. Jaishree Misra

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       Chapter Two

      LONDON, 2009

      The foursome emerged from the Comedy Store, blinking in the bright lights of Leicester Square. Riva shivered as a cold gust whipped around them and swiftly pressed herself up against the warmth of Ben’s coat, slipping one ungloved hand into his pocket.

      ‘That was good, wasn’t it? Terrific to see Paul Merton return to form,’ she said, looking over her shoulder as she talked to their friends.

      Joe, walking a few paces behind, replied, ‘Good is an understatement. Those guys are so clever. Certainly one of the best uses you can put twenty quid to in London.’

      He pulled on an ancient woollen bobble cap, earning an affectionate slap on his behind from his wife.

      ‘For God’s sake, Dr Joseph Holmes, where do you manage to unearth that ugly bit of headgear every winter!’ Susan said in exasperation. ‘I thought I’d sent it off to Oxfam last spring.’

      ‘You nearly did. Very sneaky, if you ask me. But no flies on me: I managed to retrieve it in the nick of time,’ Joe retorted, putting both hands to his hat and pretending extreme relief.

      Susan rolled her eyes skywards. ‘I’ll soon have to scrape it off your head!’ she muttered, linking her fingers with his and dragging him along to keep pace with Riva and Ben. ‘Fancy a coffee, anyone?’

      ‘More like a stiff brandy on a night like this, methinks,’ Ben said.

      ‘Too right,’ Joe grinned. ‘There’s De Hems just around the corner from here. Hopefully the crowd’s thinned out a bit by now.’

      ‘Or Bar Italia just up Greek Street?’ Susan chipped in.

      ‘Intent on nudging us in the direction of some cake, ain’t ya, Mrs Holmes?’ Riva said.

      ‘Oh, you know me so well, Riva,’ Susan responded, laughing.

      ‘Well, I have got thirty years’ worth of research on your cake-eating habits,’ Riva joked.

      ‘Is that really how long you two have known each other?’ Ben asked. ‘I thought it was more like twenty.’

      ‘For heaven’s sake, Ben, we’ve known each other nearly fifteen years now and Sooz and I go back so much further. South Ealing Primary, that centre of academic excellence – remember, Sooz?’ Riva asked, putting her arm around Susan’s waist.

      ‘Do I remember? Took you a whole week to stop crying for your mum – and then only because I took you under my wing!’ Susan said, squeezing her friend’s arm.

      Ben, who had been counting in his head, interrupted them. ‘Fucking hell, Riva, you’re right, it’ll be fifteen years for us next autumn. 1994!’ He turned to Joe. ‘In fact, you guys met the same year too. We should have a joint celebration.’

      ‘What a lovely idea,’ Susan cried. ‘Not quite a wedding anniversary because you two pipped us to the marital post by three years. But we could have a sort of joint the-day-I-laid-eyes-on-you sort of celebration, couldn’t we? Couldn’t we, Joe?’ Susan repeated, nudging Joe with her elbow, who was now busy examining the interior of De Hems through its misted glass panes.

      ‘Hmmm, yes, of course, darling,’ he replied distractedly before turning to Ben. ‘What do you think, old chap, too crowded?’

      ‘Naah, it’s fine,’ Ben dismissed, though the throng inside the pub was overflowing onto the windswept street.

      ‘Oh, please, I want to go somewhere where we can sit down. I’ve been on my feet all day in the classroom!’ Susan protested.

      ‘Let’s go to All Bar One on the other side of the square, that’s usually quieter,’ Riva suggested.

      ‘Good idea,’ Susan said. The women turned and started to walk back to Leicester Square. Their husbands reluctantly brought up the rear, moaning and grumbling loudly. Susan and Riva ignored them as they walked on, arms linked. Riva fished in the pocket of her coat for some change as they passed an old busker playing ‘Moon River’ on a saxophone, for which she received a huge toothless smile.

      As they passed the Leicester Square Odeon, Susan gazed up at the posters that were being pasted on for the Friday show changes. She clutched Riva’s arm. ‘Get a look at that,’ she said, jogging Riva’s arm.

      Riva looked up and saw a massive poster for a new Hindi film. The words ‘Iske Baad – Afterwards’ were printed above an image of Aman Khan’s handsome face gazing broodingly into the middle distance.

      Susan giggled. ‘Goodness, he’s still a bit of a dish, ain’t he?’

      Riva cast a glance over her shoulder, but the men were still engrossed in their conversation and had not noticed the poster. She looked up again and felt her heart do its familiar flip. She had seen this film at the London Film Festival but hadn’t Googled Aman’s name for a while, so did not know anything about its wider release. She couldn’t help wondering if Aman might be in London for the press junket. Perhaps he was just around the corner, signing autographs or cutting red ribbons or doing whatever it was that film stars did of an evening…

      Riva did not particularly want Ben to see Aman’s poster for a variety of reasons. Luckily Susan seemed to take her cue, and called out in mock exasperation to the two men, ‘Come on, you two, this ain’t exactly a stroll in the park, y’know! Do let’s get moving, chop chop!’