‘And Jamila?’ I said hesitantly. ‘I’ve missed her.’
‘She’s here, intact and all, upstairs. But she won’t be happy to talk to you, no, no, no, no. She’ll be happy to barbecue your balls and eat them with peas. Are you remaining long?’
‘Bubble, you fat fucker, what are you talking about? It’s me, Creamy Jeans, your only friend, and I’ve come all the way to the swamp of South London to see you.’
He shook his head, handed me Leila Kollontai, who had a plump face and olive skin, and ripped the lids from the cartons. He started to press lumps of spinach into his mouth with his fingers, after sprinkling red chilli powder over it. Changez didn’t like any food he could taste.
I said, airily, ‘I’ve been in America, putting on political theatre.’ I went into what I’d been doing, and boasted about the parties I’d been to, the people I’d met and the magazines I’d been interviewed for. He ignored me and filled his bulging face. As I went on, he said suddenly, ‘You’re in bloody shit, Karim. And what are you going to do about it? Jammie won’t forgive you for not putting your face in it at the demonstration. That’s the thing you should be worried about, yaar.’
I was stung. We fell silent. Changez seemed uninterested in anything I had to say. I was forced to ask him about himself. ‘You must be pleased, eh, now Simon’s away and you’ve got Jamila to yourself full-time. Any progress?’
‘We are all progressing. There is another woman coining in close here.’
‘Where?’
‘No, no. Jamila’s friend, you fool.’
‘Jamila’s got a woman friend? Am I hearing you right?’ I said.
‘Loud and clear. Jammie loves two people, that’s all. It’s simple to grasp. She loves Simon, but he’s not here. She loves Joanna, and Joanna is here. She has told me.’
I stared at him in wonderment. How could he have had any idea, when he kicked off from Bombay, of the convoluted involvements ahead of him? ‘How d’you feel about this?’
‘Eh?’ He was uncomfortable. It was as if he wanted no more said; the subject was closed. This was how he squared things in his mind, and it was good enough for him. ‘Me? Precisely what questions are you asking?’ And he could have added, ‘If you insist on asking such questions.’
I said, ‘I am asking how you, Changez, you with your background of prejudice against practically the whole world, are coping with being married to a lesbian.’
The question shook him more than I had the sense to see it would. He fought for words. At last he said, from beneath his eyebrows, ‘I’m not, am I?’
Now I was confused. ‘I don’t bloody know,’ I said. ‘I thought you said they loved each other.’
‘Yes, love! I am all for love,’ he declared. ‘All in this house are trying to love each other!’
‘Good.’
‘Aren’t you all for love?’ he asked, as if wishing firmly to establish this common ground.
‘Yes.’
‘So, then?’ he said. ‘Whatever Jamila does is all right by me. I am not a tyrant fascist, as you know. I have no prejudice except against Pakistanis, which is normal. So what is your point, Karim? What are you labouring to –’
Just then the door opened and Jamila came in. She looked thinner and older, her cheeks were slightly hollow and her eyes more lined, but there was something quicker, lighter and less serious in her now; she seemed to laugh more easily. She sang a reggae song and danced a few steps towards Leila and back. Jamila was accompanied by a woman who looked nineteen but I guessed was older, in her late twenties. She had a fresh, open face, with good skin. Her short hair was streaked with blue, and she wore a red and black workman’s shirt and jeans. As Jamila pirouetted the woman laughed and clapped her hands. She was introduced to me as Joanna, and she smiled at me and then stared, making me wonder what I’d done.
‘Hallo, Karim,’ Jamila said, and moved away as I rose to hold her. She took Leila Kollontai and asked if the baby had been all right. She kissed and rocked her. As Jammie and Changez talked I became aware of a new tone between them. I listened carefully. What was it? It was gentle respect; they were speaking to each other without condescension or suspicion, as equals. How things had changed!
Meanwhile, Joanna was saying to me, ‘Haven’t I seen you before?’
‘I don’t think we’ve met.’
‘No, you’re right. But I’m sure we’ve seen each other somewhere.’ Puzzled, she continued to look at me.
‘He’s a big famous actor,’ Jamila put in. ‘Aren’t you, dear?’
Joanna punched the air. ‘That’s it. I saw the play you were in. I loved it, too. You were great in it. Really funny.’ She turned to Changez. ‘You liked it too, didn’t you? I remember you persuaded me to go and see it. You said it was accurate.’
‘No, I don’t think I liked it as much as I said,’ Changez murmured. ‘What I remember of it has left little permanent trace in my memory. It was white people’s thing, wasn’t it, Jammie?’ And Changez looked at Jamila as if for approval, but she was breast-feeding the kid.
Fortunately, Joanna wasn’t put off by that fat bastard, Changez. ‘I admired your performance,’ she said.
‘What do you do?’
‘I’m a film-maker,’ she said. ‘Jamila and I are making a documentary together.’ Then she turned to Changez. ‘We should crash, Jammie and I’, she said. ‘Wouldn’t it be great if there was grapefruit and toast for breakfast again.’
‘Oh yes,’ said Changez, with an ebullient face but darting, worried eyes. ‘Don’t you worry, there will be, for you and Jamila at nine on the dot.’
‘Thank you.’
Joanna kissed Changez then. When she’d turned away, he wiped his cheek. Jamila gave Leila Kollontai to Changez and, offering Joanna her hand, she went off. I watched them go before turning to Changez. He wouldn’t look at me now. He was angry; he was staring and shaking his head.
‘What’s the matter?’ I said.
‘You make me think about too many things.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Go upstairs and sleep in the room at the end of the hall. I must change Leila. She has mucked herself.’
I felt too tired to walk upstairs, so when Changez went out I lay down behind the sofa, pulling a blanket over me. The floor was hard; I couldn’t sleep. The world was swaying about like a hammock with my body on it. I counted my breaths and became aware of the rise and fall of my stomach, the hiss of my breath in my nostrils, my forehead relaxing. But, as in many of my meditation attempts, I was soon thinking of sex and other things. How stolidly contented Changez seemed at last. There was no vacillation in his love; it was true, it was absolute, he knew what he felt. And Jamila seemed content to be loved in this way. She could do what she wanted and Changez would always put her first; he loved her more than he loved himself.
I awoke cold and cramped, not sure where I was. Instead of getting up I stayed on the floor. I could hear voices. It was Changez and Jamila, who’d obviously come back into the room and had been talking for a while as Jamila tried to put Leila to sleep. They had plenty to say to each other, as they discussed Leila’s wind, the house, the date of Simon’s return – and where he’d sleep – and Joanna’s documentary.
I went back to sleep. When I woke up again Jamila was getting ready for bed. ‘I’m going up,’ she said. ‘Get some sleep yourself, sweetie. Oh, and Leila is out of nappies.’
‘Yes, the little naughty has made her clothes all filthy, too. I’ll wash them first thing tomorrow at the laundrette.’
‘And mine? There’s just a few things. And Joanna’s leggings? Could you –’
‘Leave me in complete control. Colonel Changez.’
‘Thank you,’ Jamila said. ‘Colonel Changez.’
‘Main thing is, I’m mighty bloody glad you’re eating well,’ Changez said. His voice was high and strained; he was talking quickly, as if he thought the moment he shut his mouth she’d go away. ‘I’m giving you only healthy food from now on. Jamila, think: there will be top grapefruit and special warm bread for breakfast. Top fresh sardines for lunch with fresh bread, followed by pears and soft cheese –’