on its cradle. ‘I am sorry. I was just talking to my brother,’ she says. ‘Hel o, my darling children!’ She gives us both a big hug. ‘How are you, Natasha? We are so glad you could come today, on such short notice. There is so much food!’
We sit in the conservatory. Archie has a gin and tonic and we both stick to Coke. Sameena shouts out questions to her son from the kitchen about his trip, what did you eat, what was the hotel like, was the work worthwhile? Archie tel s him about the time he went to Zurich, to negotiate a new fleet of cars for ‘an international y renowned hotel in the centre of the city’ and Jay nods politely and I watch them al , fascinated.
Because I haven’t seen them al together for a while, and especial y of late, what with the end of my own marriage, and because of my huge, horrible row with Mum on Thursday, they are even more interesting to watch than normal. Except for Bryant Court I probably spent more time here as a child than anywhere, at least one day a week after school, and often I’d stay the night. It was so easy for me to get on the Piccadil y line and come over that when I got to be about ten or so I’d do just that, if I knew Mum was going to be out late and I didn’t want another night in by myself.
The house has changed innumerable times over the years, barely a season goes by without Archie having something redecorated at vast expense, but Sameena and Jay have always been there.
During the school holidays, Sameena would often take me and Jay with her to Southal to meet friends, do the shopping for the week – it isn’t far from Ealing Common on the Tube and the train. Sitting in the conservatory I watch her now in the kitchen as she prepares the food, making a huge feast for us al , handmade potato patties, crisp and sweet onion bhajees, fragrant fish curry, with huge plates of dhal and rice, the bangles on her wrist clinking together as she shakes the rice, humming a song to herself and looking out of the window. There are fresh, fat bunches of parsley and coriander on the gleaming marble counter of the beautiful new kitchen. Delicious spices fil the air – I’m used to them from Brick Lane but here they’re better. Jay used to joke that I moved to Brick Lane so I’d be subconsciously reminded of Sameena’s kitchen, and in some smal way it’s not a joke, maybe I did.
Why do I like it round here? Because often, Archie would be away for work and it’d just be the three of us. That’s a terrible thing to say, but it’s true. Sameena is not like my mum. She is a doctor at a local surgery, the kind of person you’d want in a crisis. She can talk to Arvind about home, tel him about Mumbai, a city he loves. She is an amazing cook, a proud Indian woman, and when I’m with her and Jay I feel Indian. It’s not something I often feel – I’m a quarter Punjabi, and I grew up not real y questioning where I’m from, because of not knowing about my dad.
Summercove was what I clung to, where I wanted to be from. Watching Sameena now, as she pops a piece of spring onion in her mouth and tastes some sauce in a pan, it strikes me that I’ve always been welcome here.
‘How is the business, Natasha?’ Archie hands me a bowl of crisps. ‘I understand you’ve been having some problems, is that true?’
I don’t ask how he knows. ‘Yep,’ I say, nodding. ‘It’s been pretty bad. But I hope I’m on the right track now.’
‘The bank is involved, yes?’
‘Yes,’ I say.
He frowns. ‘It won’t look good if you don’t respect your relationship with them. Be careful.’
‘I am,’ I say. ‘I’ve sorted it out. I hope.’
I’m in no position to get cross about any of this, but I don’t particularly want to discuss it. For the first time in a long time, I don’t like thinking about work at the weekends, which I take as a good sign. It means I’m working during the week, like someone in an office, someone with a proper, organised job.
‘Have you thought of getting Jay to take a look at the website again?’ Archie says. ‘Maybe there’s something there you can do.’ He removes his cufflinks and rol s up his shirtsleeves, sniffing the air hopeful y. Something is sizzling, deliciously, in the kitchen.
‘I’d be happy to,’ Jay says. ‘It’s changing al the time, the way you reach the customer.’
‘Yes, that’s true.’ Archie looks at me. ‘Natasha?’
‘That’d be great,’ I answer. ‘Thanks, Jay.’
‘And maybe, have you thought of advertising in those free local business newsletters? They have one in Spitalfields.’
‘They do,’ I say, in surprise. They stock it in al the local shops and restaurants, it’s about the area, who’s keeping bees, who’s got an art gal ery opening, who’s organising a vintage tea party club night – it’s very Shoreditch / Spitalfields. ‘That’s a great idea. Thanks, Archie.’
He’s a good businessman, and he learned by himself – he certainly didn’t pick it up from his parents. Archie nods, as if he’s agreeing with me about his own greatness, which is probably true. ‘I picked up a newsletter in a restaurant last time I was over in the City, having lunch with an – wel , I can’t say who he is. Let’s just say important client.’
Sameena is standing at the door. She rol s her eyes. ‘Come on, you and your important client,’ she says. ‘Let’s have our lunch.’
We sit in the sumptuous dining room, with green watered-silk wal paper, a glass dining table, elaborately cut crystal goblets – I remember when I was little thinking this must be what the table at Buckingham Palace was like. Archie munches slowly and steadily, like a grazing cow, not saying much. Sameena asks me and Jay how we’re getting on, we talk about my jewel ery, about the new places in Columbia Road. We plan a trip for her to come East soon. I ask about her family, whom she’s just been visiting in Mumbai, her sister Priyanka who is having dialysis, her little nieces and nephews. She only sees them once a year.
‘Were you lonely when you first moved here, Sameena?’ I ask, thinking of my grandfather. ‘It’s so far away.’
Archie doesn’t look up, but he’s listening to her.
‘A little,’ she says. ‘The weather got to me, you know?’
‘How old were you?’
‘I was young,’ she says. ‘Oh, twenty-five. We had no money, did we, Archie?’ Archie doesn’t meet her eye. He nods briskly. ‘We were living in Acton. In a tiny flat. I’d been to England but when I was a child, and I couldn’t
