Aarti woke up with a start, the book that she had read until the early hours of the morning falling off her bed with a loud thud. She blinked away her confusion, remembering where she was. The dream had been an intense one. More intense than usual. And it had been her father this time shouting at her, not her mother. With a sigh, Aarti pushed the blanket off her body and got up for a stretch. As her back clicked and the muscles in her legs went tight and then released, Aarti focused on her breathing. She had grown up doing yoga with her father every morning. Now she still did it sometimes, if she had enough time. Glancing through the curtain of her little bedroom, right at her kitchen clock, Aarti realised she did not have time for a proper workout. She was already late. Sprinting through her tiny Hackney flat, grabbing the things she needed, only stopping in front of the mirror long enough to quickly brush her hair, she was ready to go in less than five minutes. One of these days she needed to set an alarm clock, Aarti thought, as she shut the front door behind her.
After another sprint for the train and a very sweaty Tube ride, Aarti finally made it. Walking into the café her friend had chosen, Aarti smiled at him, knowing he would forgive her lateness straight away.
“I apologise, Robert, I was so caught up with that Anne Neville book you sent me, I completely lost track of time.”
As predicted, Robert smiled at her benignly and got up for a kiss on the cheek.
“Not to worry, Aarti, it gave me a chance to read your recent article on the War of the Roses. So interesting how you shed more light on the Woodville family. I didn’t really know much about them.”
Aarti nodded enthusiastically. The research for that piece had taken her months, but she had loved looking deeper into the life of Elizabeth Woodville, wife of King Edward IV.
“And now you’re interested in Anne Neville? I wonder, are you working on a series about the English queens, or at least wives of the kings?” Robert had hit the mark, as he usually did. Aarti smiled at him and confirmed his suspicions.
“Well, yes, I would love to tell their stories in a way that shows how much influence some of them had at court. These women’s stories are so obscure, are they not?” Robert nodded and before Aarti could order herself a cup of coffee, they were deep in a historical discussion. Aarti loved meeting her former professor. He taught medieval history at the King’s College in London. Aarti had attended some of his classes. Now she was working as a journalist with a history focus. Seeing her articles published in magazines like National Geographic or BBC History made Robert beyond proud. He had told her so in their last meeting. Aarti hoped her dad saw some of them as well. She knew he would have celebrated her if they were still on talking terms.
A waiter interrupted their stream of conversation and Aarti asked for a cup of herbal tea instead of coffee. She didn’t feel like having more energy coursing through her body. When the waiter left to prepare her tea, Robert leaned in conspiratorially.
“Well, are you ready for a rumour I heard?” Aarti smiled at the way his eyes lit up excitedly. Men were bigger gossip girls than women. “Sure, hit me with it.”
“Ok, so, I got a call the other day from a professor at Leicester. Alfred and I studied together in Cambridge, and we do check in once in a while. Anyway, he heard it down the grapevine that they’ve found some really important bones on a dig up there. Might even be the big guy.”
Aarti couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She had read about the dig; beneath a car park she thought it was. They’d stumbled upon some historic artefacts. But now Robert was telling her that they maybe found the remains of Richard III. That’s who he meant, wasn’t it?
“Do you mean to say that you think they’ve found Richard III.?” Aarti whispered, checking nobody was sitting close enough to overhear. She gave herself a mental eyeroll. This was hardly the Watergate affair, was it? When Robert nodded slowly, Aarti’s stomach dropped. This was huge, and they both knew it.
“Aarti, I think you should go up there. You need to write about this. Especially if you wanted to write about his wife anyway. I have a feeling that nobody can write anything about Anne Neville in the next few years without mentioning that dig up in Leicester.”
Aarti knew he was right. And yet, she hesitated. Leicester was her hometown, where her parents still lived. She wasn’t sure if she had it in her to see them. Robert must have seen her trepidation. He reached out and squeezed her hand.
“Your folks still live up there?” he asked with deep empathy. Aarti nodded, remembering the day she had packed her bags and had shown up on Robert’s doorstep in Islington. He had taken her in for a few months until she had found her flat in Lower Clapton. He wasn’t just her professor; he was a mentor. And a friend.
Shaking her head to escape her thoughts, Aarti found her smile again and reassured Robert with a breathless “It’ll be all right.” The tender moment was broken when the waiter brought her tea. When he was gone, Robert leaned in once again.
“I could go with you, if you’d like. My seminars only start in a couple of weeks, and it would be nice to see Alfred as well.”
Aarti shook her head but let her gratefulness show on her face. “Thank you, Robert. You’ve done so much for me already; I don’t want to take you away from your family. I’m sure they appreciate the time they have with you when you’re not teaching. I have to face them someday. And Leicester is not as small as us Londoners might think. Maybe I won’t even have to see them.” After a beat of silence, Aarti nodded to herself and declared: “I will go up there next week. I was already looking into the dig a couple of days ago and I think an old mate of mine is working on it. So, I will get in touch with him, see if he is still as forthcoming with information as he used to be.”
Robert laughed at the mischief her voice displayed. “Still toying with the young lads then, I see.” He said and the quiet amusement in his eyes warmed Aarti’s heart. She yearned to be this understood by her family. By her father.
On Friday afternoon Aarti was in a rush to get back to her hotel in Leicester. She had spent the day with a beautiful librarian, researching the Battle of Bosworth, where Richard III had died. Now, she needed to shop for some snacks and welcome her colleague Matt into her hotel room. She needed to get some information out of him. Aarti’s thoughts kept returning to the woman working at the library though. She felt very drawn to her, a beautifully calm and centred woman. Walking down a busy high street, Aarti shook her head, disbelieving of how quickly she had grown to really like that woman. She didn’t even know her name yet. She needed to focus on Matt and how to find out more about the dig.
Absentmindedly turning a corner, Aarti bumped into someone. The voice that swore at her seemed familiar. Too familiar. With shock, she met the astonished eyes of her father. She drew back a few steps, but realising he had dropped his bags, she came forward again, bending down to help him.
“What are you doing here, beta?”, she heard her father whisper. He still addressed her as he did any of his children, she registered with a supressed yet relieved sigh.
“Hey dad”, she said and smiled up at him. “I’m in Leicester on a research trip”, she explained as she got up and handed him his bags. He had been buying some fancy clothing as she could see, the colours of the kurtas jumping out at her. “Shopping for a wedding?”, she asked half-jokingly. When her dad did not meet her eyes, her smile faded. He shifted uncomfortably on his feet.
“Who is getting married?”, she asked icily, already knowing she wouldn’t like the answer.
He shrugged his shoulders slightly, his eyes asking her to let him be. “Beta, don’t cause a scene. Some of your aunties are still down the road, looking for dupattas. I’m their designated driver today.”
“Well, dad, I’m not here to disrupt your day. I’ll be on my way.”, she said with a sadness in her voice that bothered her. Why couldn’t she hide her feelings in this moment, when it really mattered? She didn’t want to be vulnerable in front of him. This old man. Her dad. When she turned, he took hold of her arm, his bag bumping into her side.
“No beta, don’t go. I want to talk to you. We haven’t spoken in so long”, he urged her.
“That’s hardly my fault, is it?”, she spat over her shoulder, but she stayed there, not wanting to throw him off balance.
“I know, I know. Please, Aarti, let’s find a spot to talk?” His eyes were full of anxious pleading, and she felt herself giving in to him.
“Ok, I haven’t got long though. I need to get to a meeting.”
In his excitement, he gave her a small hug and took her by the arm to make their way over to one of the chai shops. Her aunties would never show their faces here. They were probably much too busy with shopping anyway.
“What are you working on, beta?”, her dad pulled her out of her thoughts.
“I’m researching the history surrounding Richard III. They say, they found his skeleton under that parking lot here in Leicester.”
Sitting down at one of the tables, her father’s eyes lit up. “Yes, I heard about this on the radio. How exciting, maro deekaree. So, you’re still writing for that historical magazine?”
She nodded, happy that he would remember this about her. “Yes, I am. Sometimes. I mostly freelance these days. I’m thinking about writing a book about this. The research has been so inspiring.” The image of the mysterious librarian bent over a book came to mind, but Aarti tried to focus on her dad.
“So, whose wedding are you shopping for? Just tell me dad, I know it’s one of my brother’s, isn’t it?”
“Well, yes, it’s Raj. He’s getting married to a girl from Jamnagar. They met last summer on a trip your mum organised. He fell in love at first sight, or so your mum claims. The girl is sweet though. Only speaks Gujarati. It’s good for Raj, makes him practice.”
Aarti scoffed. Good enough reason to get married, wasn’t it. Her dad looked at her with inquisitive eyes, questions in his mind he wasn’t ready to hear the answers to. Nonetheless, he started asking them.
“You live in London now? Rohan told us you have a nice flat in Hackney. It’s not too dangerous there, is it?” Aarti wrinkled her forehead. Rohan was the only brother who still spoke to her. She needed to have a word with him, on what he told their parents about her life.
“No, dad, I’m fine. I love my neighbourhood. I travel around the country a lot for research projects. It’s nice to have a cosy home to come back to.”
He tried to hide it, but Aarti could see the hurt in his face. That hadn’t been her intention. It was difficult to hold a conversation without upsetting one another.
“And are you in a relationship?”, he asked haltingly, definitely not ready for an answer.
“I’m not at the moment.” Aarti said decidedly, but the rosy face of the librarian flashed through her mind.
“But, you met someone?” he asked with a hint of excitement. Aarti rolled her eyes at him. How did he know?
“Dad, do you really want to talk about this? I know you and mum don’t approve.”
“Beta, that’s not true. We want you to be happy and safe.”
Aarti pulled up her eyebrows in mild astonishment. That tune had certainly changed over the last four years. She decided not to reply. There wasn’t much to say anyway. She had only just met the librarian.
“Your mother and I we miss you very much, maro dekaree. Do you think you could come visit us after your assignment is done?”
Aarti thought about this for a moment. She hadn’t been invited to Raj’s wedding. If her mother was really ready to see her, she would have invited her. She knew her father was in pain over this family separation, but she couldn’t afford him the peace he wanted. Not today.
Calmly she said: “Dad, you know as well as I that mum is not ready for this. But I’ll give you my new mobile number and we can catch up over the phone whenever you want. Just give me a call.”
He nodded enthusiastically. “I would love that”, he exclaimed. Getting up to pay, Aarti smiled at him. She knew she had to face her mother one day. But that day would come soon enough. She had other things to focus on now. The book she had already half written in her head and learning the name of the woman she was already falling for.
Back at the hotel, Aarti sat on her bed, thinking of her brother Raj. He was the youngest of the family. Always up for any mischief his older siblings had thought of. He was the best cover up for any trouble they caused, because their mother could never be fully angry with him. That poor Gujarati girl, moving to Leicester, to marry her brother, this coddled man-child. Then again, maybe Raj had really changed over the last four years. Rohan never spoke about him much.
Maybe she should text Raj. Drop him a few congratulatory lines over his impending nuptials. Though she didn’t want it to come across as too bitter over not having been invited. She drafted a text message for half an hour, kept deleting parts of it and in the end, she simply wrote: “Heard about you getting married. So happy for you, bro. Treat her right!”
His answer pinged up on her phone within seconds: “Thanks sis, it’s been too long. I miss you. Wanna come to the wedding?”
He had added the last sentence a moment after sending the first part. Aarti chuckled. The boy she knew was still there, at the other end of her phone.
“That’s okay, bro. I’m too busy with work at the moment and we both know mum would flip. I’ll come to your next one.”
Raj sent back three laughing emojis and a simple “Love you, sis” With a smile, Aarti put her phone away and went to take a hot shower before her meeting with Matt. She wanted to wash off the stress of the day. And hopefully some of those toxic family dynamics as well. Turning on the water, Aarti thought about the librarian and whether she would see her again tomorrow. She wouldn’t tell her about her family. The stigma of being a first-generation immigrant child with an estranged family was just too grand for the blossoming of a new romance.
That night Aarti dreamed again of her family. They were at a wedding, all dressed up in their finest saris and kurtas. She couldn’t figure out who was getting married though. All of her brothers seemed to have partners at their sides. Looking down at her hands, Aarti realised she was the one adorned with the most beautiful bridal mehndi and she was wearing a red lehenga, one that only a bride would wear.
In her dream, Aarti started to panic. Was this an arranged marriage? Which boy from Gujarat would she have to wed? She started to protest, express her anger at being pushed into something she didn’t want. But her parents and brothers just smiled at her, as if they couldn’t hear what she was saying. Walking up to a richly adorned mandap, Rohan by her side, guiding her, Aarti could not make herself look up. Look at the man she was about to marry. A man she would never be attracted to. All air left her body and Aarti felt like she was suffocating. Until finally, Rohan nudged her in a way that made her look up.
A gasp escaped her, and Aarti woke up with a start. The book she had been reading before falling asleep, thumped on the carpeted floor of the hotel. She knew exactly where she was, and she knew exactly what she had just dreamed. The person who had been waiting for her under the mandap, was the librarian whose name she still did not know. And her whole family had been there, proudly handing her over to the ceremony of it all. Aarti’s heart ached. Would this dream ever become reality?
