The glass cracked and scattered around the room.
Careful to not cut herself, she fished out the picture of her father from between the shards of glass, then brought it close to her face. Without a word, she tore it in half and casually tossed it into the bin beside the sink.
She and Tony had their ups and downs like any couple. She reflected, moving her mind back over the years.
I never imagined he’d want to separate, she thought, he was sixty. And I’m not far behind him at fifty-five. She sighed. I gave that man some of the best years of my life.
After all, she’d sacrificed as a stay-at-home mum and a ‘good little Indian wife’ as everyone encouraged her to be while he built his empire. She tried to be happy as his cheerleader in life, but she was, and still is, full of resentment.
“I deserved better—a lot better.”
Manisha stepped over the glass, headed back to the kitchen table, then took a seat. She turned her nose up at the shattered glass on the floor and rolled her eyes.
Everyone thought he was the perfect husband. She picked up the newspaper cutting with Tony’s picture. Behind closed doors, he was often violent, both her and the children, felt his wrath over the years. As the kids grew older, he toned it down somewhat.
Manisha rubbed her temples, then picked up her teaspoon. Close to tears, she tried to hold them back.
How old was I then? In my twenties? The thought swirled around in her mind like the tea in her cup she stirred slowly in contemplation.
A vision her being beaten badly on one occasion came to her mind’s eye. She had stayed through it all, never caused a fuss, never wanted to embarrass anyone by divorcing him.
“Everyone would just see it as I was the problem.”
She dropped the spoon on the table beside her cup and took a sip. “Why can’t you keep your husband happy, like a good wife?” She mimicked the harsh sound of her mother’s Indian accent, then chuckled.
At times, her culture and family tradition sucked. The double standard she felt and was obligated to put up with her whole life—that had forced her to put up with it and shut up—now drove her mad.
She longed for more excitement and ultimately to retire somewhere in the sun.
A new environment may have made it easier to tolerate Tony. Or so she had thought when he was alive. That was her motivation to stay with him, nothing else.
How could I love him? After all the beatings and not being able to make something of myself? She rationalised her growing anger.
And now that their son and daughter were grown with families of their own, she wanted to experience something new. Tony wasn’t interested in leaving London, so she was stuck, and continued to be a bored housewife.
Over time, she became bitter about it, and resented both Tony and her father for placing her in such a horrible life from the time she was a young woman until now. She had considered having an affair, but what good would that do? Where would she find a man with as much wealth as Tony. No, that would never have been an easy task.
Manisha sighed, then set her tea down. Her gaze moved over to the window, and she looked out at the back garden.
“How could you betray me like this?”
The question hung in the air, thick and heavy.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
The phone pulled her back to the moment at hand. Manisha attempted to bring her anger to a simmer. Reaching for the phone, she prepared herself for whoever was on the other line and got into character.
Reluctantly, she picked up the cordless device off the kitchen table next to her.
“Hello.”
“Hi, Manisha, how are you?”
Manisha rolled her eyes at the sound of her best friend’s voice. She only ever called to be nosey or see what the latest gossip was ever since Tony’s death had made the headlines.
“Hi, Susan. I’m okay.”
“Good, how are the children?”
“Oh, you know, the usual. They’re working and dealing with their little ones. They’re okay.”
“Glad to hear it, and what about you? After the failed will contest, how are you managing with everything?”
“How do you think? It’s not been easy. He cut me and the kids out of an inheritance and left everything to that floosy. It’s been tough, but I’m okay.”
“I can imagine, if you need anything, I’m here, okay.”
The sympathy in Susan’s voice this time was genuine, but she could hardly ask her friend for financial support.
“Yeah, okay. Thanks. Listen, I better run. I have a few errands to carry out. We’ll catch up later.”
“Okay, sure.”
Manisha placed the phone down and looked around the kitchen. Everything in the house reminded her of Tony. As her eyes rested on the smashed glass on the tiled floor, her mind went back over the decades to one of the most serious beatings Tony had given her.
Right here, in this kitchen, he had kicked and punched her within an inch of her life, then told her to get up, clean herself up and make his dinner.
The phone rang again. She was tempted to ignore but picked it up.
“Hello.” Manisha sighed into the phone.
“Mrs. Patel, it’s Detective Dunne.”
“Oh, hi, what a surprise.” Manisha frowned and pouted her lips. “What can I do for you, Detective?”
“We’ve had some information come our way. And we’re looking into the death of your husband again. I just wanted to inform you, and ask if we can drop by later this evening?”
Manisha covered her mouth to stem a gasp. “Okay, around what time? What’s happened?”
“Nothing to worry about for now. We’re just carrying out some enquiries. Around six if that’s okay with you?”
“Fine, we’ll see you then.”
Manisha placed the phone on the table. She picked her bag up off the chair, then
