Moni cooked and ate by herself. She looked out of the window at the rain that again kept her away from the boy. It did not keep him away though and on hearing a knock at the door, she found him, to her delight, wearing a bright blue anorak with a hood and wellington boots. She fussed over him. ‘Adam, are you hungry? What shall I make you?’ He opened the fridge and took out the carton of eggs. She made him an omelette with feta cheese. ‘You must have been hungry,’ she said, as he wolfed down the food. ‘You need to eat to grow. I can almost see you growing right before my eyes!’ It was an expression, an exaggeration, but it did seem to her that he was bigger since the first day she had seen him. Not older, but bigger in size. It was a strange observation. As children grew older, they became leaner to some extent, losing their baby roundness. He, though, just seemed to be getting bigger, his cheeks chubbier than ever, his chin soft. She must be imagining things.
‘Have you never had a feta cheese omelette before? Do you like it?’ He shook his head and then nodded. She was used to the fact that he didn’t talk or couldn’t talk. He did make sounds, though, a high ah of surprise and pleasure, a frustrated growl when he stood on the kitchen chair and couldn’t reach the top shelf of the cupboard. There was a kite stored there; it had caught his attention and he wanted it.
‘Not on such a gloomy day,’ she said. ‘You need good weather for a kite. You also need your father to take you out. I would not be of any use to you flying a kite. I’m sorry but I know nothing about kites.’
When he climbed down from the chair, he gave her a hug. ‘You are a lovely boy,’ she told him. ‘The cleverest, nicest boy.’
His eyes, brown and full of expression, kept her captivated. They baked together. After getting him to wash his hands, which he did while making the most comical of faces, he shaped cookies and afterwards decorated them. He was clumsy with these tasks and she enjoyed instructing him on how to keep his hands steady, how to move without spilling. When he concentrated, he opened his mouth. It made her laugh.
In Lady Evelyn’s book, she showed him photos of Toby Sladen, Lady Evelyn’s grandson. ‘Look, here he’s the same age as you are now. His shoes are funny! But that’s how little boys dressed in 1922. Every school holiday he would spend with his grandmother on her estate. He must have loved it – all the fishing and exploring – he even went hunting with her too.’
She read out a letter written from Lady Evelyn to Toby. ‘I was so pleased to get your letter, my first post since I left London which seems years ago . . . I have now got permission from the King to do my Pilgrimage – I will be the first European woman to enter the sacred Cities – but it means that I won’t be home again till towards the end of April – so you must arrange for your holidays . . . I’ll write Grant to put the two housemaids back in case you want to go there for a bit.’
For reasons she could not understand, the letter moved Moni, even though she had read it before. She felt tears welling up as she steadied her voice to explain. ‘Grant was the gamekeeper at Glencarron. At the time of this letter, Toby was seventeen years old. He was still at boarding school.’ She sensed a restlessness in Adam and put the book away. It was time for him to leave.
She gave him most of the baked cookies to take home with him. She covered them in cling film and put them in a plastic bag. He would have to walk in the rain and that made her feel ever so sorry for him, grateful that he had come to see her.
After he left, she went to check up on Salma. Having given up on counselling Iman, she had turned, since yesterday, to Salma. They shared a room after all and it was natural to lie on the second bed and converse or come in and out asking after her.
‘Shall I bring you something to eat? There is rice and aubergine stew.’ Moni knew by now that there was no point in offering the freshly baked cookies to Salma.
Salma shook her head. She lay on her back with her arm across her face. This was a way to hide the tears.
‘But you haven’t eaten all day,’ said Moni. She remembered the raw food diet that Salma had been following on and off. ‘Shall I get you the nuts you like? Or some grapes.’
‘I had some earlier.’ Her voice was thicker, slow. ‘Thanks for getting me the water.’
Moni felt sorry for her. ‘Salma, you’re not yourself. What’s wrong with you?’
The tears rolled down Salma’s face. She could not hide them any more. ‘I know this sounds stupid. It sounds stupid to me, but when I think of all the time that’s passed and how I can’t get it back . . . I want to undo things and I can’t. How do I pull my children back so that they’re little again? It can never happen. I just have to keep on, keep on, but for how long? Everyone is thinking this, I am sure. If people spoke the truth they would admit how sad it is to get old.’
‘You’re not old,’ said Moni. ‘You are fit and healthy. And yes, you are young.’
‘These are platitudes, Moni. Forty is the new thirty. Fifty is the new forty. These things that are said so that people can be cheerful. When people are cheerful they
