Jasmine Skies Read Free Page A

halt. I suppose that’s decided it. No case, and a stranger is holding one of my
mum’s precious cards in his hands. My stomach coils into an even tighter knot.
    The old man is looking up at me as if he’s waiting for an answer to a question.
    ‘Dr Nayan Sen,’ he’s saying, handing me back the postcard and shaking my hand. ‘You know, I went to this very conference.’
    ‘My grandad was a doctor,’ I blurt out. Why am I always so awkward with strangers?
    He looks at me with new interest.
    ‘His name?’
    ‘Dr Bimal Chatterjee,’ I answer automatically.
    ‘I don’t believe it!’ he says, his eyes bulging in surprise. Suddenly he laughs so hard that he starts to cough and splutter. He’s wheezing as his wife comes out of the
loos smelling even more strongly of perfume. She leads him over to a seat.
    ‘Iris, Iris . . . this is Bimal ’s granddaughter. Can you believe? Such a shame we lost touch. Remember Bimal and Kath?’ he asks, shaking her plump arm and making her
whole body wobble.
    ‘Of course I do,’ Iris smiles. She has a matter-of-fact Yorkshire accent. ‘Kath and I were practically best friends, but that was a very long time ago. Are you . . .
Uma’s daughter?’
    I nod, feeling a bit weird that these strangers seem to know my family so well.
    ‘Never! Seems like yesterday your mother was born. You do look a little like your grandad, something here about the eyes . . .’ Iris says.
    A bit of me wonders if this is actually happening. I feel like I’ve entered some sort of weird no-man’s-land. The faster I get out of here the better . . . I don’t want to have
to tell them about Grandad, and Anjali and Priya will be starting to worry, and I’ve still got to report my case missing . . . but I can’t think of a way to cut this short.
    ‘And how is my old friend Bimal? Taking a well-earned break, I hope.’
    It’s too late now.
    ‘Grandad died last year,’ I almost whisper. Even though this old couple are strangers to me, it still feels awful having to tell them . . . almost cruel to bump into someone by
chance and then have to give them bad news.
    Tears fill Nayan’s eyes. Iris takes the handkerchief out of his pocket and hands it to him.
    Although I haven’t cried about Grandad for ages, Nayan’s tears make my throat tighten and there’s nothing I can do about it, my eyes well up too, again.
    ‘Sorry! Sorry!’ Nayan sighs and pats my knee. ‘Just so many memories. Happy memories really, and it feels like yesterday that your grandad and I were sailing to England
together. Isn’t that so, Iris? Time just goes like that.’ He clicks his fingers and his wife smiles fondly at him as he trumpet-blows his nose to pull himself together.
    ‘Here . . . take my card. Kolkata and London address,’ he says, rummaging in his pocket. ‘Tell Kath you met us. We would very much like to reunite with her one day, catch up
with news for old time’s sake and . . . Here, you can write your home number and address in my book! Maybe we’ll send Uma and Kath a card from Kolkata.’ He hands me a small green
leather address book with a matching mini biro tucked in the side. It’s the sort of ‘quality item’ Grandad used to have. ‘Put it under B for Bimal and then I’ll know
where to look!’ says Nayan, smiling at me.
    I write my home address and phone number and swap the book for his card, which I place in my purse.
    ‘Would you like us to wait with you?’ asks Iris, glancing over at the luggage carousel.
    ‘No, thanks, I’m fine!’
    I’ve rehearsed the moment when I meet Priya and Anjali so many times, and walking through to Arrivals with old friends of Grandad Bimal and Nana Kath’s is not part of my plan, no
matter how nice they are.
    ‘What a strange twist of fate to bump into you like this! A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Bimal’s granddaughter . . .’ Nayan raises his eyebrows in a question and holds
out his hand for me to shake again.
    ‘My name’s