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Back Afterlove
Chapters (86)
  1. Title Page
  2. CONTENTS
  3. Love
  4. Before
  5. One
  6. ONE
  7. Two
  8. TWO
  9. Three
  10. THREE
  11. Four
  12. FOUR
  13. Five
  14. FIVE
  15. Six
  16. SIX
  17. Seven
  18. SEVEN
  19. Eight
  20. EIGHT
  21. Nine
  22. NINE
  23. Ten
  24. TEN
  25. Eleven
  26. ELEVEN
  27. After
  28. One
  29. ONE
  30. Two
  31. TWO
  32. Three
  33. THREE
  34. Four
  35. FOUR
  36. Five
  37. FIVE
  38. Six
  39. SIX
  40. Seven
  41. SEVEN
  42. Eight
  43. EIGHT
  44. Nine
  45. NINE
  46. Ten
  47. TEN
  48. Eleven
  49. ELEVEN
  50. Twelve
  51. TWELVE
  52. Thirteen
  53. THIRTEEN
  54. Fourteen
  55. FOURTEEN
  56. Fifteen
  57. FIFTEEN
  58. Sixteen
  59. SIXTEEN
  60. Seventeen
  61. SEVENTEEN
  62. Eighteen
  63. EIGHTEEN
  64. Nineteen
  65. NINETEEN
  66. Twenty
  67. TWENTY
  68. Twenty-One
  69. TWENTY-ONE
  70. Twenty-Two
  71. TWENTY-TWO
  72. Twenty-Three
  73. TWENTY-THREE
  74. Twenty-Four
  75. TWENTY-FOUR
  76. Twenty-Five
  77. TWENTY-FIVE
  78. Twenty-Six
  79. TWENTY-SIX
  80. Twenty-Seven
  81. TWENTY-SEVEN
  82. Twenty-Eight
  83. TWENTY-EIGHT
  84. Eleven Months Later
  85. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  86. Copyright

The kitchen is opposite the bathroom. It’s the only room in the flat without a door, so I walk straight in and there they are – the three mugs by the kettle, a tea bag in each. Other than that, everything looks the same. The saucepan of dhal on the stove. The turmeric-stained wooden spoons in the pot next to it. The bananas browning in the bowl on top of the microwave that is flashing 00:00.

Esen stands by the front door, watching as I head back out and down the hall to the living room. I glance into my parents’ bedroom and stop in the doorway. My mother’s side of the bed is made, as always, but my father’s side isn’t. I’ve never seen my parents’ bed unmade – ever – and the lamp is on.

Why didn’t he turn it off?

He always turns it off.

I guess he was sleeping, a glass of water on the bedside table, ready for the paracetamol that I was supposed to bring home.

My legs feel less steady as I turn and carry on down the hall to the living room, fingers reaching out to the walls on either side to steady myself. I can feel the wallpaper beneath them, the one my mother loves so much – royal red with gold elephants – that was so fiddly it took my father a whole weekend to hang.

The door to the living room is open as well so I can see that the lights are on, the television flickering steadily. I walk over and turn it off, then stand in the middle of the room. Aside from the lights and the television being on, everything is in its place. My mother’s sewing machine. The framed photo of us at my cousin’s wedding hanging over the sofa, me in that yellow sari that my mother loves so much because it isn’t black. The Christmas tree in the corner by the television, lights slowly fading then getting brighter, fading then getting brighter.

There are some presents under it that weren’t there when I left. Two – one for me and one for Rosh, I assume – which are probably from a relative who was at Aunty Lalita’s party. Rosh hasn’t opened hers yet, no doubt waiting for me to get home so we can open them together and I feel rotten. Then I see her favourite Christmas blanket on the floor – the fluffy red one with the white snowflakes – and I suddenly miss her so much that I want to pick it up, press my face into it and weep, but I’m aware of Esen in the doorway, watching me.