Page 40 of Somewhere Only We Know

Hom bounced around us and chattered away excitedly.

Meena laughed, ruffling the little boy’s hair. ‘He says now you can be as pretty as his mama.’

‘Thank you, Shila, and thank you, Hom. I agree, you have a very beautiful mama.’

Shila pressed a hand to her cheek and smiled. ‘I make it for you to say thank you. You make Hom happy and that makes me happy and then life is good.’

That was so true. When the ones we love are smiling, then so are we.

‘You made this yourself?’ I said, turning it over in my hands. It was a delicate elephant pendant within a row of tiny colourful beads.

She nodded. ‘I do them for friends.’

‘Then your mama is clever and beautiful, Hom. Do you sell them?’ I stooped so that Meena could fasten the necklace for me. ‘I’d like to buy one for my sister, and I’m sure all the volunteers would buy them too.’

‘No, no, I could not sell them, it is not possible.’ Shila’s face clouded.

‘I understand,’ I said, hurriedly, sensing her discomfort. ‘I’m very honoured that you have given me one of your necklaces. I shall treasure it for ever.’

I thanked them both again and we continued on our way.

‘I wonder why she said it wasn’t possible?’ I mused.

‘Her husband disappeared after Hom was born, so she lives in her father’s house,’ Meena explained. ‘Since Shila’s mother died, she has been looking after him and Hom. She is a smart girl and wants to work, but her father is old-fashioned and will not let her. She will probably not even have money of her own.’

‘What a shame.’ I glanced back over my shoulder to see Shila walking away, that heavy bag of groceries hanging from her shoulder.

‘Equality has not reached every corner of Nepal,’ said Meena, following my gaze. ‘There is a gradual cultural change, but it will take several generations for us to accomplish what a woman like you has already achieved.’

‘Me?’ I batted away her compliment. ‘I haven’t achieved anything special. The thing I’m most proud of is raising my daughter – and Shila is doing as good a job as I ever did.’

Meena shook her head. ‘Travelling across the world without a husband would be a great achievement for a woman in Chitwan.’

‘If I’d waited for that to happen, I’d never have gone anywhere,’ I replied.

‘For him to give you permission?’ Meena looked scandalised.

‘No, for me to get a husband in the first place,’ I said, amused by her expression. ‘I’ve never been married. By the time my daughter was born, her father wasn’t in my life anymore.’

‘Maggie, I am very sorry to hear that.’ She shook her head sadly.

‘Don’t be,’ I reassured her. ‘He was a wonderful man, and we were very much in love, but we were young and wanted different things from life. Besides, without a husband I was able to bring Brontë up the way I wanted to. We had a very special relationship.’

I felt the familiar tightness in my throat. It had taken me a long time to be able to talk about my girl in the past tense. I hated that it was now becoming automatic.

‘A child to love is a precious thing, but a man to love,’ she fanned her face, ‘that is very important too. Especially in the UK where the nights are cold.’

‘Meena!’ I gasped, pretending to be shocked. ‘I’ve been warm enough over the years, thank you.’

In truth my love life wouldn’t fill a single page of a notebook, but she didn’t need to know that.

‘And now?’ Meena probed.

‘Oh, look, we’re here,’ I said, changing the subject.

At the entrance to the market, a dance troupe of elaborately dressed young women were about to begin their routine. Music blasted from a speaker and so any further conversation was impossible.

The hall was packed with shoppers, many of them tourists, and trade appeared to be brisk. Meena was soon swallowed up by members of her family and for the next twenty minutes or so I meandered along busy stalls of savoury snacks, spices and chutneys in glass jars, felt toys, embroidered table runners, carved wooden boxes, knitted hats and scarves and handcrafted rugs. But the products weren’t the stars here, the women were. The smiles, the passion, the pride in what they had made resulted in a joyful atmosphere. It made me want to buy everything. I did buy a lot, including a tablecloth from Meena’s sister. At one end of the room, there was a table festooned with coloured flags and a banner pinned to the front advertising ‘Chitwan Women In Business’. There were no products for sale on the table, but a woman sat behind it with a notepad and a pile of leaflets. Her berry-red nails matched her lipstick exactly, and her outfit marked her out as someone who liked to be noticed.