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Even though it’s my mother who is incredible and famous, I’m involuntarily grouped into that world by sheer association. There is no difference.
“It’s hard to explain,” I tell her.
“Is this a long story?” Rachel lifts a finger. “Because sorry, my bladder just kicked in! If you give me a few minutes for a toilet run, I’ll come back and you can tell me the whole thing? Are you okay to wait here? Or do you want to come with me?”
My stomach drops at her level of concern. “No, you go,” I say. “I’ll wait here.”
She rushes off.
Before I see him, I hear his measured footsteps. Huan casually strolls to stand beside me. We're both facing the entrance of the shop. “Not afraid your new friend is going to call the cops?” he wonders.
“I’m painting you as more of a casual stalker.”
“So I can casually get arrested?”
“You have a problem with handcuffs?”
He pinches his nose. “Komal.”
Wow, first name usage. He must be serious.
“Huan.”
His eyes peek out from behind his hand. “Does this bring you enjoyment?”
“Of the most perverse kind,” I answer without thinking.
“You are rather ruthless,” he says, his tone sounding surprised but also pleased? Either pleasure at himself for learning something he hadn’t known or—it can’t be—pleasureformy ruthlessness.
I can ask which one, but what’s the point? Ruthlessness isn’t something I should be known for. I can’t be. Usually back home, I’m careful to keepedgy banteringinside my head. That will be more important now, because soon I’ll be an actress.
Huan’s eyes move down to where I’ve started scratching my elbow. Sighing irritably, I force myself to stop. Why does he notice everything? Sure, surveillance is a part of his duties, but I thought he'd be more interested in our surroundings, rather than my behaviour.
“Hey, don’t tell anyone about what you learn about me on this trip.” My voice screamspleasewithout saying the word. I can’t hold it back.
“That's not something you need to worry about.”
It’s the way he says it. Like he knows. About how I'm trapped between layers of pressure, and how the first one is all about appearances. A workbook of appropriate social cues is stapled tomy back.I can’t be anything close to ruthless, and even when I am, you can’t tell anyone I’m this way.
That inner sentence is like a frame I’ve hung up naked. The longer Huan and I look at each other, the more exposed I feel.
“You should…” I’m breathless, ironically and bizarrely feeling like a hapless heroine. “Keep away so Rachel doesn’t think you following me is a weird game I’m playing on her.”
“How far is far enough for you?”
Farther than our current distance which, at some point in the conversation, has closed to almost nothing. I’m in his shadow enough that my skin goes sensitive. Pre-touch prickles I’m arguing against because there will benopre-touching or post-touching. I must remind myself,Huan is not your London story.These strange bodily reactions need to cease, for he is outside the boundaries of everything I am trying to achieve here. This might feel like a silly distinction, at least Nim and Reena would think so, but there can be no crossover between this temporary trip and my real life. Because Huan will be coming back home with me, he can’t actuallyparticipatewith me in London in any capacity beyond his professional duty.
I take a step back from him. “In case you didn’t hear—although you’ve been hearing everything, so it would be a shock if you missed this part—I’m heading to Rachel’s hostel bar tonight. It might get sordid. You should know that. The sordid part.”
“Why should I know that?”
“I… doesn’t matter. Rachel will be back. Go.”
He moves around the corner to wait behind the other side of the greeting card wall, which, I guess, is hidden enough. Right on time, too. Rachel comes back.
“Okay, where were we?” she asks before answering her own question. “Why is that guy following you?”
I open my mouth and close it. The idea of saying the truth about who my mother is and what my life is… Rachel will ask questions, and, from my experience, they’ll never end. The night of drinking at her hostel will turn into everything about me being tangentially famous, growing up with security, and, of course, she’ll want my mother’s name to immediately Google. How am I supposed to tell Rachel—a new friend I want to learn more about—about my real life?
