My heart is hammering now as I approach the Kapoors’ house. As if sensing that I’m near, Pam comes out to greet me. This time she’s dressed casually in a lightweight mossy green sweater and trousers, and her long silvery hair is tied back in a ponytail. ‘So good to see you,’ she says, hugging me tightly. She takes my hand and leads me into the pale pink cottage.
In the kitchen, the kettle is clicked on immediately and a home-made cake is produced, and in among all of this she enthuses over the Polaroids as I set them out on the table. ‘So lucky you had them with you!’ she says.
‘It is.’ I’ve been carrying them everywhere with me, in the little zipped section of my bag, but I don’t tell her that.
‘Did you go to all the places?’ she asks.
I hesitate, wondering how to put it. ‘Not quite. We didn’t make it to Huddersfield, but?—’
‘Oh, I’m sure that doesn’t matter,’ she says with a smile.
But it does, I reflect. It really does.
‘Maybe you’ll get there another time,’ she adds.
‘Yes, maybe. I hope so.’ As she hands me a mug of tea, I look around the room. I had my first taste of fresh herbs in this very kitchen. They seemed to explode with flavour in my mouth. At home, our prehistoric herbs had gone grey in their jars and were reached for, tentatively, by Mum around once a year – as if she feared that a shake of the dusty old oregano might alter our minds irreparably.
I gaze at the framed photos of Pam, Kamal, Ravi and Dev on various trips and days out. A montage of faded prints in a clip frame depicts a family holiday in Spain. As a teenager, the Kapoors were the only family I knew who’d been abroad. It all seemed so magical. I couldn’t imagine ever visiting another country.
As we’re finishing our tea, Kamal appears and hugs me. ‘We’ve been waiting for you!’ he announces with a twinkle. I smile, not understanding, but follow obediently as he beckons me out to the front of the house, and across the neatly tended garden, past a blur of forget-me-nots. ‘What is it, Kamal?’ I ask.
‘C’mon.’ He grins and leads me round to the front of the garage. Pam is at my side, acting a little oddly. She’s almost giddy, I realise – bubbling up like a child on her way to a party.
I glance at her quizzically, and then turn back to the garage. The door is open and I gaze in. This is it – the place where it all began. Shane’s first drum kit is still here, and the faded burgundy velour armchairs we used to lounge around on. Posters of our musical heroes are still tacked to the walls. One of our tour T-shirts too. It’s like a museum of us. But I am not taking in any of that, not really.
I stand wordlessly, watching as the tall figure lifts a box from a shelf. ‘Shane?’ Pam prompts him.
He turns and sees me and the smile breaks across his face. ‘Josie,’ he says.
Tears spring to my eyes. ‘You’re here!’
He places the box on the floor and strides towards me. ‘Yeah,’ he says, a little shyly. ‘Just looking through some of our stuff. Old tapes, a few records – and I found these.’ He hands me a sheaf of crumpled papers covered in scribblings. I squint to read the barely legible handwriting. It seems to be a mixture of Ravi’s, Shane’s and mine, and I manage to pick out snatches of song lyrics.
‘I still don’t understand,’ I say, handing them back to him.
‘I’ll explain,’ he murmurs. And somehow, as we step outside, Pam and Kamal fade away and it’s just the two of us, making our way round to the back of the house, and down to the bench at the bottom of the garden. The very spot where we discussed the joys of service stations and modern bus travel just a few weeks ago. ‘I came up to see Mum,’ he tells me.
‘Really?’ I ask in surprise.
He nods. ‘She’s been in hospital. Pete got in touch to let me know.’
‘Oh, no! Is she okay?’
We sit side by side, so close I can feel the warmth of him. ‘She wasn’t, but she’s made an amazing recovery. Tough old girl.’ He smiles. ‘And she’s binned Pete.’
‘My God,’ I exclaim. ‘What made her do that?’
He shrugs. ‘He wasn’t there for her when it mattered. Wouldn’t call an ambulance or drive her to hospital. Reckoned she was putting it on…’
‘Putting on what?’ I stare at him.
‘Well, a heart attack, basically…’
I shake my head in wonderment, letting this sink in. ‘So… how come you’re here?’
He shifts position and his hand folds around mine. ‘Mum really seems fine, but—’ He breaks off. ‘I needed a bit of a breather. I think she did too. So I called Pam to check if it would be okay to visit…’
I study his face. ‘Pam knew I was coming,’ I murmur.
