The Train, Sarah Bourne [dark books to read .txt] 📗

‘The usual – see friends, go to movies, get away for weekends in the country or to Paris – I love Paris.’

‘Oh.’ Abby had been to Paris before they met. She hadn’t liked it. It was expensive and full of French people who didn’t speak English, she’d said.

‘How about you?’

He was surprised to find he was embarrassed to tell her that all he did was go to Bible study and take his secret girlfriend out for dinner once a week. He’d never been to Paris and the last film he went to was Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy four or five years ago.

‘What’s so special about Paris?’ He realised he sounded petulant rather than interested.

She didn’t seem to notice, or ignored his tone if she did. ‘It’s beautiful – the river, the buildings, the food, the art galleries. The people seem so much more sophisticated than Londoners – I can’t quite put a finger on why.’

‘Maybe because they speak French,’ said Sandeep and Abhi laughed. He hadn’t meant it to be funny but he liked the way she laughed, the little creases that appeared beside her eyes. He wondered how old she was, and how desperate her parents were to find her a husband.

‘Where’s your favourite place?’ she asked.

He wanted to tell her it was Berlin, or Dubrovnik. Somewhere that boasted a proud culture, strong people, unusual cuisine. The truth was he hadn’t travelled. The only times he’d been overseas since they came to live in England were the two trips with his parents, back to their village to visit envious relatives. He hadn’t enjoyed them; having lived in the cleanliness and sanitation of London, he thought India dirty and was horrified at the way people lived on the streets and in the train stations. The beggars had given him nightmares, and the relatives always seemed to have their hands out – either pawing at his nice clothes or asking for gifts.

‘I like my house,’ he said, at last.

‘Where is that?’

‘Milton Keynes.’

The laughter bubbled out of Abhi. Sandeep stood watching her. She had such even, white teeth. When she leant forward and put her hands on the table to catch her breath, he saw the pale-pink lace of her bra, the gentle swell of her breasts. He felt a stirring in his trousers and looked away quickly. He shouldn’t be feeling what he was feeling. He had a fiancée in Milton Keynes. She loved him, so she said. And he loved her, didn’t he? He realised that this Abhi in front of him was the Devil trying to tempt him. He cleared his throat.

‘I’m glad you find it amusing,’ he said.

She looked at him from under her fringe. Those big brown eyes with the hidden depths. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Truly.’

‘And you laugh when you meet people from Bristol, or Manchester?’

‘No, of course not. I’ve just never met anyone from Milton Keynes before. It’s the place with the concrete cows, isn’t it?’

‘It is. But they do not define the place any more than the statue of Nelson defines London.’

She looked away and busied herself with drying a saucepan. ‘Sorry. I really am.’

Sandeep felt uncomfortable. It wasn’t like him to be rude but he had to keep this temptress at a distance. He started putting the dried dishes away, making sure, when he had to pass her, they didn’t touch. And yet he longed to touch her, to feel the weight of her hair, the smoothness of her skin. Skin that was the same colour as his, not Abby’s pale freckled flesh. He felt himself flush at the thought of flesh. He’d never seen Abby’s body. She wore conservative clothing, covering herself from neck to knees. He’d seen more of Abhi’s flesh when he’d glimpsed her breasts than he had of his own girlfriend’s. His breath quickened at the memory of those breasts and he was angered by the faithlessness of his body.

‘Have I offended you?’

‘No,’ he said too quickly.

‘I have, haven’t I?’

Sandeep sighed. He couldn’t tell her the truth. ‘It is I who should apologise. I had a bad day and all I really wanted to do tonight was go home and crawl into bed. I am not good company.’

He saw an immediate change in Abhi. It was as if everything about her softened.

‘Anything you want to talk about?’

What would he tell her – that he was having impure thoughts about her? He wanted to make her laugh again just to see the corners of her eyes crinkle?

‘No. It’ll all be fine.’

He busied himself preparing the tea tray and took it in to the sitting room where his parents and Abhi’s were talking about MasterChef.

‘I think they should cook more Indian food,’ said his mother, and Mrs Iyer nodded in response.

‘Perhaps there should be a MasterChef India,’ Mr Iyer slurred. He had a large glass of brandy in his hands.

‘Abhi and I were thinking of going for a walk,’ said Sandeep, handing his mother her turmeric and ginger tea.

She smiled up at him. ‘Good idea, my son. You two young ones must have a lot to talk about.’ She stopped short of winking at him, instead glancing at Mrs Iyer who raised her eyebrows and smiled, complicit in this matchmaking charade. ‘But don’t go far – it’s dark.’

‘It’s only half past eight, Mataji,’ said Sandeep. ‘We won’t be too long.’

He helped Abhi on with her coat, feeling a frisson of excitement as his hand brushed against her arm. His earlier theory about her being the Devil come to tempt him was fast crumbling. How could she be when she was so caring, so easy to talk to, when her hair fell in that particular way over the swell of her breast?

But he heard Abby’s voice in his head. ‘The Devil hides in plain sight. He is a charmer until he has you and then he rips everything good out of your life, strips you of God’s grace and condemns you to purgatory.’ He opened