was saying. As Rajni tipped the scraps into the bin, she had an uninvited image of her son tumbling around in bed with an experienced woman. Stop it, she ordered her mind. She looked around the kitchen for something, anything, to focus on. There was a leaflet on the counter from the Jehovah’s Witnesses who came by yesterday evening. They were such a bother but she found it impossible to shut the door on their faces – those pallid cheeks and impressively starched shirt collars. ‘I’m busy at the moment but perhaps you can leave behind some literature,’ she had offered as a consolation for not wanting to be saved, even though the leaflet would find its way to the bin within a day or two. ALL SUFFERING IS SOON TO END, declared the header over a painting of a sunny green meadow. How nice to be so certain. The words brought Rajni only a brief shot of relief before she returned to reality.
‘A woman at that stage in her life is looking for a long-term partner,’ Kabir was saying to Anil.
‘This isn’t some kinda phrase, Dad.’ He meant ‘phase’. Rajni was too upset to correct him but she kept a mental note to educate him on the difference later.
‘Son, listen for a moment. I’m saying that Davina probably has bigger, more permanent plans.’
Rajni rushed back into the living room. ‘Tick-tock!’ she cried, startling her family. ‘That’s what everyone says to a woman in her mid-thirties whether she wants children or not. “Have one before it’s too late.”’ (In her case: ‘Have another one, you’re not just having one, are you? Finish what you started! Give the poor boy a sibling.’ As if she and Kabir didn’t try and try until sex became another routine household task like doing the laundry or paying the water bill.)
‘Yes,’ Kabir said. ‘Societal pressures. They’re bigger than you think, Anil, especially for adults.’
‘Look, the only person pressuring me is you. Davina and me are just fine.’
‘So if she wanted a baby tomorrow it would be okay? You’d give up all that travelling, your nights out with mates?’ Kabir asked.
That ought to give him a fright, Rajni thought, noting the swell of unease on Anil’s face. He’d been plotting his European holiday: skiing in Bulgaria; island-hopping in Greece; God-knows-what in Amsterdam.
‘I would. I am going to give it all up,’ Anil said quietly. He gripped the chair.
The room became still. Anil bit his lower lip and looked at his knuckles, which had turned white.
Kabir stared at him. ‘What are you saying?’
‘I am going to give it all up for her,’ Anil repeated.
‘Son?’
‘Mum. Dad. It’s not a big deal, alright? You have to promise not to overreact.’
The edges of the room began to blur and the floor tilted slightly. Rajni heard Kabir gently saying, ‘Okay, we promise. Now what is it?’
‘Davina’s pregnant,’ Anil said.
And then Rajni fainted.
The customer had seen a video online about how bronze highlighter could be used to take ten pounds off her face. ‘The girl just sweeps this brush across her face and suddenly she has cheekbones,’ she gushed.
‘Those videos are very helpful,’ Jezmeen agreed. ‘Lots of useful tips.’ Especially useful for a person like her, who had no experience doing make-up professionally. After being suspended from her job as a host on DisasterTube, one of the studio make-up artists had given Jezmeen the lead on this job. It was temporary, Jezmeen kept reminding herself. Everything would blow over, and she’d find another role soon. The last time Jezmeen checked online, the number of views on her video had hit 788, which was hardly viral, but her agent Cameron still believed they had to be cautious.
‘Lie low. Wait for the dust to settle,’ he had urged her. There was no end to his supply of banal encouragements whenever they spoke – ‘Take some time for yourself,’ was another favourite which roughly translated to: ‘Take the least humiliating job offer thrown your way and we’ll just have to wait for the anonymous masses on the internet to decide your fate.’
‘Are you going to use highlighter on me, then?’ Stella asked.
‘I’ve got other plans for you,’ Jezmeen said warmly. Starting with matching a more appropriate foundation to Stella’s skin tone. At the moment, she was less ‘Youthful Summer Glow’ and more ‘Fell Asleep in the Tanning Bed’.
As Jezmeen rubbed a wipe across Stella’s cheeks, she had a distinct sense of déjà vu. In another time in her life, Rajni used to apply make-up on her while she struggled to sit still and not turn to the mirror to see her reflection. Jezmeen remembered doing the same for Mum on the morning of Shirina’s wedding. The bridal make-up artist had chosen a deep-purple eye shadow and insisted on a crayon-thick line for Mum’s eyelids. Mum was horrified. ‘I can’t go to the temple like this,’ she’d gasped. ‘People will say …’ She didn’t finish that sentence; she rarely did. It was bad enough that people would say anything. ‘Jezmeen, get me some tissues,’ Mum had commanded. Helping to clean the make-up off Mum’s skin, Jezmeen had noticed the looseness of her cheeks, and the way her eyelids folded, and she vowed never to let herself grow old.
Jezmeen’s phone buzzed on the counter. ‘Excuse me, Stella,’ Jezmeen said, leaning over to see the screen. Message from Rajni. She ignored it. Rajni was likely panicking about the trip and asking everyone if they had taken their tetanus shots, or something similarly hysterical.
‘I’m going to use this primer on you,’ Jezmeen said. She showed Stella the bottle. ‘It’s a great base which keeps your make-up on for much longer during the day.’ Her phone buzzed again.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Jezmeen said. She shot a glare at her phone.
‘No worries, love. Your boyfriend must be anxious about you,’ Stella said.
Ha! If only there were an anxious boyfriend, or a boyfriend at all. Her last relationship had ended more disastrously than Stella could probably imagine.
‘Oh no, that’s my sister,’ Jezmeen said. ‘We’re going on a trip to India on Thursday and she’s probably just reminding me to pack sunscreen or something.’
‘A holiday! Just the two of you?’
‘The three of us. Our youngest sister’s flying there from Australia.’
‘That’s lovely,’ Stella said.
People always said this when Jezmeen mentioned having two sisters. Lovely. Cosy teas and long chats. Some sort of unbreakable bond. Stella’s smile was so bright that Jezmeen didn’t want to tell her how much she was dreading this trip with uppity Rajni and irritatingly perfect Shirina.
‘We’re going there for our mum,’ Jezmeen explained. ‘She passed away last November and we’re doing a pilgrimage in her memory and scattering her ashes there.’
‘Oh, that’s beautiful. What a tribute,’ Stella breathed. She reached out and clasped Jezmeen’s hand. Now Stella probably had an image of three dutiful daughters in matching loose white robes solemnly making their way up a misty mountain as they took turns carrying an urn filled with ashes. Again, inaccurate. Pilgrimages weren’t even a requirement of their religion
