On Kulwinder’s walk home from a morning service at the temple, the sky was so dense with clouds that it appeared to be made of stone. How she had hated this weather when she first arrived in England. Where’s the sun? she and Sarab had asked each other. Then Maya was born. ‘Here’s the sun,’ Sarab had been fond of saying. Cradling her tiny body in the crook of his elbow, the smile on his face had seemed eternal.
Sarab was in the front garden chatting with another man when Kulwinder got home. Kulwinder recognized the man: Dinesh Sharma from Dinesh Repairs. ‘Hello,’ she said.
Despite not being Sikh, he held his palms together and greeted her with ‘Sat sri akal.’ She liked that. She offered him a cup of tea.
‘No, no, don’t trouble yourself,’ he said. ‘I’m just here to give a quick quote.’
‘I’ve asked him to fix the letterbox and help out with a few more things around the house,’ Sarab said. ‘The patio door is coming off its hinges and my eyesight isn’t so good, so I don’t want to use the drill.’
‘All right. Carry on,’ Kulwinder said. From the corner of her eye, she noticed a shape moving in the window of the house opposite. Her heart caught in her throat. Tarampal. Was she there? No, she couldn’t be. It was a trick of the light. She had fled back to this house after that night, taking refuge in the only place in London that she knew. The next morning, she was gone. A neighbour had seen her piling suitcases into a taxi and rumour had it she was in India now, far from all the whispers and speculation. It was said that she wanted to avoid testifying against Jaggi, but the courts could make her return if they thought it necessary. There was constant talk of Tarampal now – people claimed she had had multiple affairs, that her daughters were not even Kemal Singh’s offspring. These were most likely untrue, the tendency of temple gossips to exaggerate compounded by everybody’s relief that she was gone. When offers of such information came Kulwinder’s way, she declined politely but firmly. After all, she never wanted Tarampal’s unravelling to be fodder for community gossip. What Tarampal refused to believe about Maya’s death was worth a lifetime of shame.
With the folder tucked under her arm, Kulwinder stepped out of her home once again and walked up Ansell Road. She passed rows of houses and wondered about their inhabitants. Who had read the stories? Whose lives had changed? A misty rain hung almost motionless in the air and speckled her hair like jewels. She tightened her grip on the folder.
There were two boys working in the photocopying shop. Kulwinder went straight for Munna Kaur’s son. If it was possible, he seemed to have grown since she last visited this shop a few months ago to get those flyers copied. His shoulders appeared broader and his movements were more assured than before. A man was ahead of her in the queue. He offered to let her go first, but she politely declined, taking time to observe the boy.
‘Hello,’ she said brightly when it was her turn.
‘Good afternoon,’ he muttered back, his eyes downcast as he tore an order form off a pad. ‘Photocopy?’
‘Yes, please,’ Kulwinder said. ‘It’s a rather large order so I can come back.’ She pushed the folder to him. ‘A hundred copies, spiral-bound.’
The boy looked up and his eyes met hers. Kulwinder gave him a warm smile but she felt the pace of her heart quickening. ‘I can’t do that,’ he said.
‘I can come back,’ Kulwinder said.
The boy pushed the folder back to Kulwinder. ‘I’m not making copies of these stories,’ he said.
‘Let me speak to your manager then,’ she said.
‘I’m the manager here. And I’m saying, take your business elsewhere.’
Rising to the tips of her toes, Kulwinder tried to see past the boy. The other worker was a Somali teenager who looked too young to have any authority over this boy. ‘Son, what’s your name?’
He stared at her. ‘Akash,’ he said finally.
‘Akash, I know your mother,’ she said. ‘What would she say if she knew you were being so rude to me?’
Kulwinder knew her words were futile the moment she said them. Some other moral obligation was overriding all customs of politeness here. Akash drew back and for a moment, Kulwinder thought he might spit at her.
‘Are you aware of what these stories are doing to our community? Destroying it,’ Akash hissed. ‘If I make copies, you’re going to spread them to even more homes.’
‘I’m not destroying anything,’ Kulwinder said, as the truth dawned. ‘It’s you and your narrow-minded gang of thugs who want to destroy things.’ This was how the Brothers recruited such passionate members, she realized. A few months ago, this boy had been so timid. Kulwinder recalled Munna Kaur saying that she pushed her boy to get a part-time job so he could practise interacting with people more. ‘No girl will want to marry a boy who doesn’t have confidence,’ she had said. Now his confidence was a hot liquid spilling over.
Another customer entered the shop. Kulwinder briefly considered creating a fuss so dramatic that the boy would comply just to placate her. But there was no point. Turning to leave, Kulwinder caught his reflection in the glass doors. His stare was hateful. She uttered a quick prayer for him. Let him find balance and moderation in all things; let him listen to himself and not the noise of others. Noise. That was all the Brothers had created. They hollered and stomped around Southall, but after what she and widows went through rescuing Nikki, the Brothers didn’t frighten her. Kulwinder noticed there were fewer of them patrolling the Broadway now, and earlier at the temple, she had seen one of them actually serving langar like a proper Sikh instead of keeping watch on the women in the kitchen. ‘They’re a little afraid of us now,’ Manjeet had said. But hadn’t the Brothers always been afraid? Now they knew the full force of the women’s strength. ‘They have more respect for us now,’ Kulwinder corrected Manjeet, who nodded and squeezed her hand across the table.
Outside, Kulwinder pulled out her mobile phone and scrolled through the list of names, landing on Nikki’s.
‘Hello,’ Nikki said.
‘This is Kulwinder speaking.’
There was a pause. ‘Sat sri akal, Kulwinder,’ Nikki said.
‘Sat sri akal,’ Kulwinder replied. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘I’m … well, I’m all right.’ There was a nervous laugh. ‘And you?’
‘I’m well. Are you back at home?’
‘Yes. I’ve been back for a few days now.’
‘You’ll be staying there for a while?’
‘I think so. I can’t go back to my old flat.’
‘Did you lose many things in the fire?’
‘Nothing of much value,’ Nikki said. ‘Most importantly, I got out alive because of you. I owe you my life, Kulwinder. I actually wanted to call you sooner but I didn’t quite know whether to say thank you or sorry.’
‘There’s no need to say sorry,’ Kulwinder said.