Page 8 of You’re So Vein

“HEY, PAPA. I SEE MAMMA’S been sneaking in food for you again—” I glare at the man sitting next to my father’s hospital bed. “What are you doing here?”

Augustin Durant’s disgustingly perfect head snaps up from the game of chess he and my father have set up on the overbed table. Judging by the number of white pawns lined up beside Papa’s elbow, they’ve been playing a while. Augustin doesn’t even have the decency to look guilty. “I’m visiting a valued council member in the hospital. A good politician makes sure his colleagues are well looked after.”

Damn him. Why does he have to sound so reasonable?

“Beta!” Papa’s lined face breaks into one of his heart-melting smiles. “Come sit with us. Augustin has been boring me with details of the stormwater upgrades.”

I don’t want to come in. I want Augustin Durant to leave. I want my father not to smile like that at the man who took his job away from him. But I’ve been wanting to see Papa all day. After we got back from the park, I dropped off the twins with Preeti, who then needed help getting them into bed, so I did that and then collapsed into my own bed, slept in until lunchtime, spent my afternoon frantically catching up on everything I meant to do in the morning, including filling out the mayoral candidate paperwork, and then I sped over to the hospital, arriving just as visiting hours were finishing for the night. Luckily, Shera at the nurses’ station has been coming to Chirag’s Takeaways for her Friday night curry for twenty-two years, so she waved me through. I grabbed the very last bunch of flowers from the “Gorilla Good Vibes” basket and rushed to Papa’s room before another nurse could kick me out.

The Gorilla Good Vibes basket appeared in the hospital the morning after my father was admitted, filled with beautiful bouquets and a sign with a cute hand-drawn gorilla asking visitors to take what they need. Shera thinks it must be the work of the Guerilla Gardener, who most people in the village are now referring to as the Gorilla Gardener. “I don’t know how they do it,” she says. “No matter how carefully we watch that basket, it’s empty one moment and filled with flowers the next. Always at night, while we’re doing our rounds. We even moved it into an area with a security camera, but it got moved back.”

I love the Gorilla Gardener. Everyone in the village is obsessed with them, which is perfect, because it’s taking their minds off the fact that no one has solved the murders of Danny, Patrick and Alyra yet. I’m pretty obsessed, too. It’s like having our very own Banksy.

Well, everyone except for Acting Mayor No Whimsy.

“Durant’s had a very busy day ruining people’s businesses.” I drop my tote bag with a satisfying THUD. Augustin winces as the pile of books I promised to read for book club crushes his immaculate wingtip. I hope it leaves a scuff.

Augustin doesn’t move from the chair, so I kneel beside Papa’s bed.

“I bet everyone will forget about a little inconvenience once they see their shiny new stormwater system.” Papa pats Augustin’s shoulder, like they’re old friends. “You can always trust Augustin to think of the sensible things. If I were mayor, I’d be hosting some ludicrous village event to distract everyone, or hiring an artist to paint the drain a fun colour. Actually, that’s a great idea. A rainbow drain! Take note, Durant, these are the ideas that win elections.”

“I’m going to win anyway,” Augustin says. “No rainbow paint required.”

“The votes aren’t counted yet.” I grit my teeth. I haven’t put in my paperwork yet because I’ve been second guessing myself. I liked being on the council as tourism director, because that’s all fun stuff, and it meant Papa and I got to hang out at weekly meetings, but being the mayor is kind of boring. And a lot of responsibility. I’d been thinking about not sending in my application, but now that I’m here…

“Now that I’ve pulled out, of course you’ll win.” Papa tries to sound chipper, but I can tell he’s sad. He’d been having so much fun on his campaign. The whole family would gather around our kitchen table, making posters and buttons. He could hardly walk across the green without being stopped by someone with a question or suggestion. And being Papa, he took them to the pub or shouted them a curry (Mamma was always yelling at him for that) and listened to their problems. He really cares about this village. Not like Augustin. Everyone thinks he cares, but no one with shoes that shiny or a watch that fancy gives a shit about anyone but himself.

“I was going to win anyway,” says Augustin. “No one would vote for the candidate with the Godfather-style posters declaring him ‘The People’s Pappadum’.”

“They were memorable!” I loved Papa’s posters. They were so kooky, so him.

“So was the Black Death,” Augustin mutters under his breath. “The job is serious, and people want to see a candidate who takes it seriously.”

“Don’t you love his confidence? Here, Beta, try some of Sanjay’s paneer tikka masala. Mamma knew I’d want to check that our new chef is making my recipes properly, and Augustin doesn’t eat curry.” Papa grins up at me as he pushes the plastic container at me, a dollop of gravy on his chin. Usually, his voice is a genial boom that dominates any conversation, laughing every second word, but now he sounds reedy, weak.

I can never say no to him when he calls me Beta – an affectionate desi term for a beloved son. Papa always uses it for me because we’re so close. I accept the bowl and take a huge bite. The curry is delicious, but it’s definitely missing a little something. “It needs more coriander. Are you sure you don’t want any, Durant? It would mean a lot to Papa.”

Augustin’s eyes plead with me as I hold out the curry. I know vampires can be sick if they eat normal food. It’s mean, but I’m feeling mean tonight. Papa leans forward eagerly as I scoop a huge piece of paneer onto the spoon and aim it at Augustin’s too-pretty mouth.

Augustin screws up his face. I’m sure he’s going to refuse, but his gaze flicks to Papa, then back to me, and at the last moment, he opens his mouth and allows me to shove the spoon inside. It takes everything in me not to burst out laughing at his ludicrous expression.

“Mmmm.” It takes him three tries to swallow. “Delicious. Utterly enchanting. A symphony of flavours.”

“I knew it. I knew you’d love my food if you just tried it.” Papa gestures to the curry. “Go on, Beta, give him the rest. What have you got there for me? More flowers? It’s like a botanical garden in here. Oh, Augustin, there’s another idea. A botanical garden with a big gorilla statue! That will honour our new village hero.”

“The Gorilla Gardener is hardly a hero.” Augustin wipes an obnoxious dark curl out of his eye, flashing his expensive watch. I catch another glimpse of that ink around his wrist. Augustin doesn’t strike me as a tattoo type. “He’s committing vandalism.”

“He’s brightening up the village and making people happy, something you wouldn’t know anything about,” I snap as I hand Papa the small bouquet wrapped in polka dot paper.

It takes Papa a long time to clasp his hand around the flower arrangement and bring it to his face. “Ah, these are beautiful. But not as beautiful as you, Beta.”

“Aw, Papa, you’re such a charmer.” I give him an awkward side hug, careful not to dislodge any of the lines and drains sticking out of him. He feels like he’s made of sticks and skin. “Do you know what flowers these are?”

“I think these are azaleas, and these are definitely lilies, but I’ve never seen them in these colours before.”

Their scent wafts through the room. Simply smelling the flowers makes me feel calmer, like everything will be okay. Papa is exactly where he needs to be, getting care from the best doctors. Augustin stares down at his wrist, where he tugs on his watch. He almost looks bashful, like he didn’t mean to intrude. Well, then, why doesn’t he just leave?

I reach for the elephant vase we’ve been using for Papa’s flowers, and accidentally knock a stack of papers off the cabinet.