Whether or not the stories were true, it was undeniable that Mrs Rai loved her son more than most people loved anything. Ajay’s choosing to marry Nina had come as a major blow to her; of course, no woman could ever have been good enough for her son, but Nina especially, with her education, class and sense of independence, was a depressing choice because she would not be cowed. The two Mrs Rais, old and new, had always been locked in a struggle for the upper hand. When her grandchildren were born, it had meant new worlds for Mrs Rai to conquer, new ways to colonize her son’s life. Her preferred manner of doing this had been to try and spoil Varun and Gehna silly, showering them with gift upon treat upon indulgence. Which was why it came as a surprise to Gehna that she seemed to have shown up empty-handed for the baby shower.

‘Hi, Dadi,’ she said, kissing the papery skin of her grandmother’s cheek. ‘Can I get you a potato salad?’

The old woman was staring at Gehna’s belly in a way that made her extremely uneasy. I hope she doesn’t want to touch it, she thought. That’s weird. I’ve never had a problem with people touching it before. Maybe it’s because she’s got that headscarf on. It makes her look like a gypsy fortune teller. Or the Wicked Witch of the East or something.

‘I’m writing you out of my will,’ declared Gehna’s grandmother.

‘O-kay . . .’

‘Ajay told me on the phone, but I didn’t believe it. Had to come see for myself if it was true.’

‘If what was true?’ Nina Rai said. She put her arm around Gehna’s shoulder.

‘That you’ve turned your daughter into a prostitute.’

Gehna took a step back, recoiling from the savagery of the old woman’s words. Mrs Rai turned to her and said, ‘Blood will tell. Did you know that my son wasn’t Nina’s first? Oh no. Your mother was well known in Bombay back in those days, especially by the boys. It’s no wonder that you couldn’t keep your legs together eith—’

‘That’s enough,’ said Nina Rai, her voice cracking like a whip. The living room went quiet. ‘Spread whatever filth you like about me—you always have—but you will not speak to my children that way. I won’t allow it.’

Ajay Rai made his way through the party to the front door where all the women in his life were grouped together. ‘What’s happened?’ he asked, looking from his wife to his mother and back again.

‘Your mother,’ said Nina Rai, still glaring at the old woman, ‘just called your daughter a prostitute.’

‘She what?’

‘I only said what everyone knows to be true.’

‘Please leave. This sort of poisonous atmosphere can’t be good for the baby. Ajay, please ask your mother to leave.’

Gehna slipped away, unnoticed by anyone except Druhi, who missed nothing.

In the Uber, she dialled Eram automatically, just because she had developed a habit of telling him stuff—both the good and the bad—almost as soon as it happened, but he didn’t pick up the phone. Gehna found it odd that the thing, the main thing, which troubled her about her grandmother’s bitch fit was that business about the will.