Nemesis: Soulmates Never Die - 5. Chapter Five: Drag

CHAPTER FIVE

Drag

‘You should work with your partners to outline this experiment, give an idea of the results you expect and what it is you’re trying to accomplish. You’ll hand in the outline on Friday and then perform the experiment next week. Any questions?’

‘Well, you said you wanted practical work,’ Mandira whispered and smiled at Dave. ‘Are you ready for this?’

‘I am so ready, you have no idea!’ Dave grinned. ‘I was born ready! I love lab work.’

‘Quiet back there!’ their teacher admonished them.

At the end of the lesson they left the room, chattering excitedly about what sort of experiment they wanted to perform.

‘We should get started straight away. We could work together this afternoon,’ Dave suggested.

‘Yeah, that should work,’ said Mandira.

They sat down in the library when they had both finished their lessons and began researching their experiment. After a bit of reading, they decided they would perform an experiment using copper dissolved in nitric acid.

‘So, how do we calculate the mass of the copper and oxygen compound?’ asked Mandira, tapping her pencil on the page.

‘I don’t know.’ Dave sat back in his chair and stretched. ‘I hate working in the library,’ he muttered. ‘It feels like such a formal and oppressive atmosphere, you know?’

‘I might be able to convince my parents to let you come over and work at my house tomorrow,’ said Mandira. ‘Not quite sure how yet, but I can try . . .’

‘Yeah? You think that would be possible?’ asked Dave.

She shrugged. ‘Maybe. Worth a shot, anyway. It’s more likely than them letting me go to your place. I’ll ask when I get home.’

Dave closed his book. ‘All right. Then I think we should call it a day. I’ll research that formula when I get home.’

* * *

‘Well, they agreed to it,’ said Mandira, sitting down next to Dave in Biology the following day.

‘Really?’ said Dave, more than a little bit impressed. ‘How did you manage to swing that?’

‘Well, at first my mum was all, “He’s a boy, he’ll try to take advantage of you, blah blah blah”, and when I told her you were my lab partner and that we had to work together she asked why I couldn’t just have gotten a girl for a lab partner, so I . . .’ She trailed off and looked a little bit embarrassed. ‘So I told her you’re gay and have a boyfriend.’

Dave stared at her for a moment before he burst out laughing. ‘Seriously?’

‘Yeah. Then she was suddenly fine with it. So, you know, if you just compliment her on the curtains or something when you come over you should be fine.’

‘Good to know some of our stereotypes are intact,’ said Dave with a grin.

‘Well, you know, God forbid that my brother or I should turn out to be gay, but you’re an English boy.’ Mandira grinned back. ‘So, if you’re still up for it, we can continue planning the experiment at my place this afternoon. My mum will insist you stay for dinner. Are you okay with that?’

‘Oh yeah, totally,’ said Dave. ‘I like Indian food.’

* * *

The walk to Mandira’s house was only about fifteen minutes, and they spent it talking about, of all things, music, which was a subject they hadn’t really addressed before. Dave had mentioned Nick’s band, and Mandira had been immediately intrigued.

‘When I was a kid my parents tried to make me play the violin,’ she told him. ‘I have no idea why . . . They kept signing me up for all kinds of after school activities. I was never any good, and I got so frustrated with not getting it right, so I quit. I have a lot of respect for people who stick with an instrument.’

‘Nick is a good guitarist,’ said Dave. ‘I’m not sure how long he’s been playing, exactly, but it’s been years, and he was always good at music back in school. I used to hate him for it. It was the only subject he was better than me at.’

Mandira smiled. ‘Sounds like you’re really proud of him.’

‘I am. I want him to succeed, I really do. Only . . .’ Dave looked away.

‘Only sometimes you’re worried that he’s going to leave you behind?’ said Mandira softly.

Dave looked at her. Her expression was all understanding. How did she manage to be this insightful? It was a quality that reminded him a lot of Nick. For a kid who’d spent most of his life without friends, Nick really got people.

‘Yeah.’ He shook his head and smiled. ‘I don’t think he understands how good he is. I don’t think he’s actually technically brilliant or anything—I mean, I’m not a musician, I wouldn’t really know—but he’s got this quality, you know? Like, when he plays and sings, it makes you shut up and listen. I’m pretty sure he could silence a room with the power of just his voice, and he doesn’t even know it. I worry about what will happen when he figures it out. If he’ll still be the same person or if it’ll change him.’

Mandira nodded. ‘Oh, this is us,’ she said, turning up a driveway. It was a very nice house. Quite modern, built in brick. There were several well-groomed rose bushes lining the wall next to the entrance. They walked up to the front door and went inside.

The house was nicely decorated, though in no way overdone. There was an air of minimalism and frugality about the place, as though the people who lived there were okay for money but felt no need to show off to anyone. It smelled pleasantly of spices and cooking meat.

‘Mum?’ Mandira called while removing her shoes. ‘We’re home!’

A short lady in a green Indian cotton dress came into the hallway. She looked a lot like Mandira and was, perhaps, in her late forties. Something in her air and manner of walking made Dave think that this was not a woman to be trifled with. This was like one of those horrible meet-the-family scenarios you see in films, he thought vaguely, and he was struck by the ludicrous urge to bow.

‘This is he?’ said Mandira’s mother, turning to her daughter.

‘Yes,’ Mandira confirmed. ‘This is Dave Thompson. Dave, this is my mother, Aasha Kaur.’

‘Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Kaur,’ said Dave, trying his best at a smile.

Mandira’s mother looked him up and down appraisingly. Then she smiled. ‘Well, don’t look so worried, boy! I don’t bite! It’s very nice to meet you. Now, don’t you two have work to be getting on with?’ She said something in Punjabi to her daughter, and then vanished in, presumably, the direction of the kitchen.

Mandira looked at Dave and laughed. ‘She’s not that scary, is she?’

Dave shook his head. ‘No! I mean, maybe a little . . . Who knew a woman barely five feet tall could be so imposing?’

‘It’s the Indian Mum stereotype. It’s there for a reason.’ Mandira giggled. ‘Come on, my room’s upstairs.’

Her room was pleasantly decorated in creams and pinks and yellows, with flowery curtains and far too many throw cushions on the bed, like an IKEA display. Only the clothes spilling out of her wardrobe and the clutter on her desk made it clear that a real person lived there.

She took cushions from the bed, revealing several stuffed animals that had been hiding underneath, and arranged them on the floor for them to sit on.

‘I should have two chairs so we could share the desk, really,’ she lamented. ‘But cushions on the floor is sort of cosy and pleasant, isn’t it?’ She smiled and sat down.

Then they got to work planning their experiment, though it wasn’t without a certain amount of chatter in between. Mostly, it was Dave wanting to know something about her family or her house or her life.

‘You don’t know many Asians, do you?’ Mandira asked after a while.

‘Not really,’ Dave admitted. ‘There are a couple of Asian families in Windfield, I think, but I don’t think I ever ran in the same circles as their kids . . . We’re a homogenous population, mostly. It’s a bit boring.’

‘I can imagine,’ she said. ‘It’s not that much better here, to be fair. I mean, this is supposed to be one of the most ethnically diverse regions in the country, but that’s mostly in the conurbation, I suppose. Still, we’re mostly beyond the age of outright racism, though there’s certainly a reason why my parents don’t want me to go out with English boys.’

‘Did you . . . experience a lot of racism growing up?’ asked Dave hesitantly.

Mandira shrugged. ‘Not really. I had friends and I was never bullied or anything . . . The most that ever happened was people making fun of my dad’s turban, really. But I never got any slurs or anything. And I never had to feel like I was weird or didn’t belong.’

‘I’m glad to hear that,’ said Dave and smiled. ‘I would have hated to know that someone had hurt you.’ He almost surprised himself in realising how much he really meant it.

* * *

Dinner was magnificent. They were served butter chicken and fresh chapatis, and mango lassi, which tasted kind of like milkshake, only better. Dave was introduced to Mandira’s father, Danvir Singh, who was a pleasant man in a turban who told silly jokes that embarrassed both his wife and daughter.

After dinner, they sat down in the front room for dessert, which consisted of a homemade, thick, rich ice cream called kulfi which was flavoured with saffron and far too heavy for being served after such a tasty meal. Dave ate as much as he could anyway.

‘Now, David,’ said Mandira’s mother seriously while her husband carried the mostly empty dessert plates back into the kitchen. ‘Mandira tells me you have a boyfriend, yes?’

‘Er, yes,’ said Dave, wondering where she was going with this. ‘His name is Nick. He’s really nice.’

‘But you are being careful, aren’t you?’ she said. Dave cocked his head to one side in puzzlement.

‘Mum!’ said Mandira, hiding her face in her hands in embarrassment. ‘God, you can’t go around asking people stuff like that!’

‘Why not? I hear about these things. People are getting ill. Do you want David to get ill?’

Then Dave understood what she had meant. He laughed. ‘Yes, Mrs. Kaur, we’re being careful.’

And just like that, it was as if the bubble had burst. When they left the front room to go finish up their work, Mandira’s mother told him that he was welcome back any time, and that if Mandira wanted to go study at Dave’s house she could do so, any time she liked.

‘Your parents are nice,’ Dave told Mandira as he packed up his things to go home.

‘Yeah? You don’t think my mum’s scary anymore?’

Dave considered this for a moment. ‘I have a healthy dose of respect for your mum,’ he said at last and grinned. ‘But I don’t think she’s so scary.’

Before he left, he complimented Mrs. Kaur on the front room curtains, and went away feeling very content in his choice of friend and lab partner.

On the bus on his way home, he rang Nick and told him about his evening.

‘Sounds like good people,’ said Nick. ‘I hope I’ll get to meet Mandira some time.’

‘Well, now that her parents have accepted me as not being a threat to her virginity or anything, maybe you can,’ said Dave. ‘In what religion do they wear turbans?’

‘In India? Sikhism, I believe. Why?’

‘Do you know anything about Sikhism?’ Dave asked.

‘Hm . . .’ Nick seemed to consider. ‘Well, it’s all about equality, I think. And sharing and community and things like that. And it’s a monotheistic faith . . . They taught us this stuff in school, you know. They didn’t teach us very well, but they did cover it. Were you asleep?’

‘You know I’m not really interested in religion. I mostly bullshitted my way through class discussions, studied really hard for the tests and then forgot about everything again.’

He heard Nick laugh softly. ‘Silly,’ he said. ‘Anyway, yeah, it’s a pretty nice religion, as religions go, from what I know. I think it’s one of the few that doesn’t say anything about homosexuality at all. It condemns extramarital sex, though, I seem to remember. I think all the religions do, really.’

‘Oh, God!’ Dave laughed at the memory of his conversation with Mrs. Kaur. ‘Mandira’s mother basically told me straight out to practice safe sex!’

‘What?’

‘Well, Mandira told her I was gay, you know, in an attempt to make her let me come over? And then, after dessert she was like, “Mandira tells me you have a boyfriend. You’re being careful, aren’t you?” and I didn’t get what she meant at first but Mandira was so embarrassed!’

Nick laughed. ‘That’s adorable!’ he said. ‘I think I like these people.’

‘Yeah, me too,’ said Dave. ‘I really do.’ He paused for a moment. ‘It’s always weird to me, you know? Meeting other people’s families. Cause my parents aren’t especially affectionate. And I grew up with Alan for a best friend, and his dad is basically a tyrant. So when I meet people’s families and they’re all warm and friendly and kind . . . Like your sister, or Mandira’s parents, or my uncles and aunt, or Chas’s family, who are great people, you know? It’s just sort of odd. I’m like, oh. So that’s what it’s like.’

Nick was silent for a little while. ‘You’re gonna make me cry, you go on like that,’ he said softly, and Dave laughed.

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I sound like a tit.’

‘No, I get it. Every kid should feel like their family loves them.’

‘I’m sure my parents do love me, in their own way. I just don’t think they like me very much. I mean, I’ve never wanted for anything, I’ve never been abused, I’ve been given everything I needed and most of what I wanted. I’d like to say I’d trade all that in a heartbeat for a family that’s warm and loving, but let’s be honest here . . . Still, it would have been nice to have both.’

‘Yeah.’

‘I should go, I’m nearly home. I’ll text you before I go to bed, all right?’

‘Course. Be safe.’

‘Thank you.’

A slightly short one, but I hope you'll forgive me for that. Thanks for all the great response I've been getting! It's really very lovely to hear from you all. I'm always interested to hear what my readers think, so keep 'em coming! Love you guys! ❤️