The Cambridge Curry Club Read Free Page A

when they were living in Dubai,’ concluded Heera spitefully.
    ‘Fake,’ repeated Eileen before disappearing to replace a roll in the till machine.
    Raj was inseparable from Ritu’s waist at parties, and as soon as the women disappeared into the kitchen and the men held their whisky glasses aloft in the living room, he challenged other husbands into true confessions . When was the last time they had sent flowers or chocolates to their wives? He, on the other hand, knew the gift for Ritu’s every mood. Her favourite bouquet consisted of eleven red roses and a single yellow stem. Wispy teddies were her undoing, he admitted with a wink. Mohan Karnani bent forward in bluff incomprehension . What were ‘teddies’? Raj roared, patting Mohan’s shoulder affectionately as he described the garment. It was short and didn’t stay on long, he said, with another wink, as the other men shuffled with guilty feet.
    ‘If only Raj would escort his mother to the Moulin Rouge instead, voilà, she would ditch the crutches and kick the stick habit,’ said Durga.
    ‘So what do you want to do with the crutches?’ asked Eileen doggedly, as she reappeared clutching a book on mountaineering in the Balkans.
    Every object handled by Eileen had its place, a number , a weight, a size, a shape and a space at IndiaNeed – and in her ordered universe. Chaos belonged to scientific theory, not in a charity shop.
    ‘How many are there?’ inquired Swarnakumari.
    ‘It’s a “Buy one, get one free” deal,’ teased Durga.‘Two. Do you think we all need crutches, metaphorically speaking, that is, to get through life?’ She gazed at the passersby bent against the curling wind. ‘Perhaps crutches can never be given up or away. They are the desire and the dream that keep us breathing. And from walking. Away, that is.’
    Durga was accustomed to the silence that invariably followed her observations. Eileen hovered until Heera spat impatiently, ‘
Arre
, just put them anywhere.’
    ‘And what is this, now?’ demanded Swarnakumari, retrieving a large box. ‘Oh, it says on the cover that it is a machine for checking blood pressure.’ She forced open the lid.
    ‘It’s a toy gun,’ said Eileen with her usual grim composure as Swarnakumari recoiled at the contents. ‘What do you want to do with it?’
    ‘Scare the Korean girls? Price it and put it in the window?’ mocked Durga.
    The shop bell tinkled, and Heera emerged from behind the curtain as a young woman entered.
    ‘Oh, hello, where are the children’s bicycles?’ asked the eager customer. ‘I’m looking for one for my little girl, a pink Barbie one.’
    ‘I’m sorry, but we don’t have any.’
    ‘You did have one. I saw it outside your shop last week,’ insisted the woman.
    ‘Yes, but we sold it, madam. You can see for yourself, there are no more bicycles here.’
    Heera returned to the Staff Area as the customer departed. ‘If we get one bloody bicycle in six months, does this mean we’ve become Halfords?’
    ‘We could rename the shop Wellington’s Wheels and Deals, or Smythe’s Bikes for Tikes,’ quipped Durga.
    As she returned to the table, Heera continued, ‘Girls, today’s black bags are very strange. First manky trousers, then blond wig, knickers and teddy, then whip, crutches and blood-pressure kit with a toy gun inside.’
    ‘Send the whole lot to Rupert darling,’ Durga drawled.
    ‘It is rude to talk about the husband of Mrs Wellington-Smythe like that,’ admonished Swarnakumari.
    ‘D’you know, the Heart to Heart shop got a 1917 diary the other day?’ revealed Heera. ‘A woman had sent love letters to her soldier fiancé, and she kept writing to him even after she knew he was dead. It was in the papers, didn’t you read about it? And look at us – when we got a decent oil-painting two weeks ago, those stupid Korean girls sold it while it was waiting to be valued.’
    ‘You mean the portrait of the dimpled heavenly cherub? Its hands were a bit