Page 39 of Never Too Late
Sash’s eyes flicked to Ashok.
‘What she said,’ he agreed, tilting his head my way.
Her smile returned. ‘Thanks, Mum. I love you.’
‘I love you, too. Have a great night and keep in touch, OK? No walking home on your own.’
‘Mum, I’ll be fine. Stop worrying.’
‘Yeah, that’s never going to happen,’ Ashok put in. ‘Also, can we talk about this?’ He made a circular motion around his face.
‘I’ll leave you to it.’ Sash grabbed another hug from Ashok, told him to come back soon before kissing me on the cheek and heading out, closing the door behind her.
‘She’ll be fine.’ Ashok touched my hand and I realised my gaze had lingered on the door.
‘Yes, I’m sure.’
‘So?’ he asked, pointedly. ‘You said you slipped?’
I rolled my eyes and quickly stopped as apparently, that’s ridiculously painful when you’ve got two black ones.
‘Yep. And headbutted the bath on my way down.’
‘One night in Paris and the bathtub has managed to offend you?’
‘No. Actually, it was all perfect! And then I ruined it by forgetting how slippery bath oil can make surfaces.’
‘Ah. Are you sure you want to go out?’
‘No, but neither do I want to miss the opportunity to spend time with you.’
‘We could eat in.’
‘But you wanted to check out the hotel.’
‘Ideally, yes, but not if you’re sore or it will make you uncomfortable.’
‘It’s not ideal, I agree. Sash lent me some sunglasses to go out to the market. That felt a bit odd to start but I forgot about them after a while. However, wearing sunglasses inside, at night, would seem a little bit too “extra”, as my daughter would say. I’ll whack a bit more make-up over the worst bits in a minute.’ I paused. ‘Does it make you uncomfortable?’
‘Me? No.’
‘People might… you know… look at us a bit funny.’
‘Let them.’
I’d learned in India that Ashok had a very healthy attitude to people whose opinions didn’t matter. His philosophy was ‘let them’. As in, let them think what they want. It doesn’t actually matter. Which was both true and sensible and something I was very much still struggling with. Twenty-year-old me would have, and did, agree with this wholeheartedly, only faltering when it had come to my friends’ mother that fateful day. But the self-belief I’d had then, like many other things, was much changed over the years.
‘Take a pew and give me a few minutes,’ I said to Ashok before disappearing back into the bedroom. Foundation in hand, I dabbed on another couple of layers. The bruising was softened but there was no denying its presence.
I stared at my reflection in the dressing-table mirror, took a breath, grabbed hold of those big-girl pants once more, yanked them until they were pretty much under my chin and walked back out to where Ashok was taking in the evening view from the window.
‘Let’s go.’
17
The hotel lobby purred rather than screamed chic with marble flooring, comfortable, pale sofas and chairs, low dark wood coffee tables and the whole lit with two huge, glittering chandeliers. I watched Ashok from the corner of my eye subtly taking mental notes as we entered.
‘Bonsoir. Can I help you?’ The man at the desk smiled. Kind of.
