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“We’re on it. But you do not need to be thinking about this stuff right now, okay? Just... deal with your own shit.”
“Okay, thanks. But keep me posted, all right? We can’t let her take their kids to America—it’ll ruin their lives!”
“Reeva, I’m on it. Anyway, I’ve got to go. I’ve left the duke on hold.”
“Only you would leave nobility on hold.” Reeva shook her head in admiration. “This is why you’re going to be partner.You’ve got boss bitch energy. You don’t evenneedthe playlist—you’re a living embodiment of it.”
“You know my mantra: If you do it with confidence, you can get away with anything. Just channel that with your sisters and you’ll be fine.”
—
Reeva, Sita, andJaya sat in silence around the wooden kitchen table, sipping Sita’s sweet, milky chai. Reeva had been the one to suggest making tea after rooting around the kitchen cupboards and finding ready-made chai masala. But Sita had walked in on her adding teaspoons of the powder to three cups of English breakfast and visibly balked. “That’s not chai,” she’d said, forcing Reeva out of the way as she put a pan on the hob so the tea bags could steep in the ground spices (she even grated a chunk of nutmeg, which was obviously just to make a point) before adding—despite Reeva’s protestations—copious amounts of whole-fat milk and sugar. The resulting tea did admittedly taste exactly like it was straight from a chaiwallah in Mumbai, but Reeva wasn’t sure it was worth the hassle. Or the extra calories.
“So,” Reeva finally ventured. “What did I miss last night?”
“A lot,” said Sita.
Jaya nodded in agreement. “It was intense.”
Reeva refrained from rolling her eyes. “Right. Could I... get a bit more info? Who was there? Did you learn anything about Dad? What did they do?”
Sita sighed. “It was the first night of prayers. They did bhajans and spoke in Gujarati the whole time. I understood a fair bit because obviously Nitin’s family’s Gujarati, but Jaya had no idea what was going on. You wouldn’t have either had you been there.”
Reeva wanted to snap back at her sister that it wasn’t her fault—unlike both of them, she had a proper job, which meant she couldn’t get away until today. Plus, they’d all had the same mum who’d never been home to teach them Hindi, let alone Gujarati. And unlike her sisters, she could speak passable French and even better Spanish.
Instead, she took a deep breath. She was the oldest sister. It was up to her to set a positive example. “Right. And who was there?”
“Obviously the lady who led the bhajans,” said Sita. “I think Satya Auntie hired her. And she brought a guy with her who played the tabla while she sang. They seem to be big on the funeral scene. Everyone knew them, and they said a lot of appropriate, meaningful mourning comments in between songs.”
Reeva tried to imagine what an appropriate, meaningful mourning comment sounded like. She drew a blank. “And what about the guests? What kind of people came to grieve our dad?”
“Loads of old people,” said Jaya. “Well, like, Dad’s age. I feel like he knew the whole of Leicester. They kept coming and going. It was, like, a never-ending stream. There must have been about forty or fifty of them, but not at the same time. And I have to say, there was a real lack of respect for the start time; it became more of a drop-by situation.”
“You act like you’ve never been to an Indian function before,” said Sita. “And thank god they didn’t come at once; imagine trying to fit them all into this living room.”
“So it was just singing and prayers?” asked Reeva. “There was no ceremony or anything? Or... I don’t know, speeches?”
“Satya Auntie said something at the end,” said Sita. “About how we’ll all miss him but death is a part of life. And we’ll alwayscontinue to be his family no matter what. But obviously the main speeches will all be at the funeral.”
“It was seriously moving,” said Jaya sincerely. “She’s amazing. And there was a lit diya in front of Dad’s portrait the whole time. It was so powerful, everyone sitting around a lit flame and singing together. It’s kind of like that bit at the end of an acoustic gig where people get out their phone lights and sway.”
There was a long silence after this as both her sisters stared at her. Reeva broke it. “Okay. Um. I’m still not fully sure who these crying womenwere.I’m guessing they’re not family? Did Dad have any family? Apart from Satya Auntie? I know his parents died when we were kids—unless, wait, was that a lie too?”
Sita shook her head. “Nah, that was real. Other than that, it’s just the usual where everyone’s related somehow but no one knows exactly how. Second cousins. And then just... friends, I guess. He had some colleagues from work. The sad one with the pink lipstick. His best mate, Dhilip Bhai. Some neighbors. Shilpa Ben from the local mandir. She seemed to know everyone—she’s the one that did the flowers and most of the admin. It seems Dad was quite active religiously.”
“Wow,” breathed out Reeva. “It’s so crazy to think he had this whole world here. I mean, of course he did. He was isolated from us, but all along he was part of a real community. And he wasreligious.”
“Uh-huh,” said Jaya. “And they all looked pretty sad he was dead. Which is a good sign. If people like him that much, he can’t be that bad.”
“Did people say anything about him?” asked Reeva. “Like, give an idea of who he was? Or shed any light on his story?”
Sita shook her head in annoyance. “You swan in the next dayand expect us to have done all the work and solved the whole secret? What did you think, we went up to Dhilip Bhai and were like, ‘Um, hey, sorry to interrupt you grieving your best friend, but do you know why no one ever told us our dad was alive?’ ”
“Not in those exact words, but something could have come up,” said Reeva. “Seeing as basically everyone he knew was there.”
“It was way too awks,” said Jaya. “We would have had to explain everything, and that’s, like, a lot of drama for some prayers.”
“You can ask them yourself tonight,” said Sita. “And every night until these fourteen days are up.”
