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Butdid he trust her to be his?Shewinced.Ifshe could go back in time and do it all again, she would have been honest with him from the beginning.Shewould have given him the choice.Instead, she’d wasted five years that she could have shared with him and now he rightly didn’t trust her with his heart.
Howcould she show him that she was 100% onTeamKrishandFrancesca?
Herfinger tickled the air over his number.Shevibrated with the need to call him.
However, something held her back.Krishdeserved more than a phone call.Hedeserved something bigger, bolder.Theirlove deserved fireworks and sky-writing and a race through an airport.Shewanted to shout her feelings from the rooftops, not put them at the mercy of the airwaves.
Andshe wanted to be able to see his face while she did it.
No, she needed a better plan.Sheshoved the phone into her back pocket.Whatcould she do?
Sheambled in the direction of her flat, eyes unseeing as she went through a list of possibilities in her head.Unconsciously, she hummed ‘Cecilia’—the song thatKrishhad sung to her on his ukulele.
Turningthe corner, fiveGoldenRetrieverson leads danced across her path, almost knocking her over.Shestumbled against the brick wall.Thedogs’ owner, a middle-aged man with shaggy grey hair and a fluffy beard, failed to acknowledge her at all, despite the fact that his dogs had practically attacked her.
Itwas on the tip of her tongue to say, ‘Thepavement is for everyone, dickhead’ when an idea swirled into her brain.
Thedogs had inspired her.
Itwas perfect—exactly the right way for her to showKrishthat she was in it for the long run.Nowthat she’d thought of it, really it was the only way.
Shejust needed the buy-in of the only person who could help her to execute it.
Sheslid her phone back out of her pocket and made a call.
Krishstoppedin front of the meeting place as appointed byFrancesca’stext: a bench facing theThamesinJubileeGardens,Southbank.Sheincluded a pin to mark its exact location, so he knew it was the right one.Whenhe looked at the map, he thought the spot sort of looked like a uterus and fallopian tubes from above.Didshe choose it on purpose?Wasit a coded message?
Ordid he just have uteruses on the brain?Probablythe latter.
Tohis left, theLondonEyetowered above him; to the right, a striped red and white merry-go-round waited for the first customers of the day.Herinstruction told him to to be there at 9:45AM sharp onSundaymorning, beforeSouthbankbecame stuffed with tourists.Thatsaid, there were still a good number of early risers milling about, mostly parents with glassy eyes and children keen to break free of their prams.
Heparked himself on the bench, his eyes darting around forFrancesca.Toofull of nervous energy to make himself comfortable, he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees.Hisfoot tapped on the grey paving stones.
Whatwas she going to say to him?Hadshe chosen a public place because she didn’t want a scene when she told him that she’d changed her mind?
Ayoung man settled himself on the bench next toKrishand nodded when they made brief eye contact.Hetook out a copy of theSundayTimesand started reading it.
Krishchecked his phone to see if any further instructions had come through.Nota word.Heconfirmed the time again.Onlya few minutes had passed since he last looked.
Hisfoot tapped faster.Thecloser it got to ten o’clock, the more people turned up.Somehad picnic blankets, which they spread out on the grass.Closerto the river, a vendor was setting up a stall with hot nuts for sale.Theirhoney-roasted, sweet fragrance filled the air.IfKrishhad to sniff that much longer, he’d jog over and buy some.
Awoman pulled a speaker on a trolley into the the space in front of him.Sheset the speaker down and attempted to pack up the trolley, but it got stuck.Heleapt up to help her, glad to have something of use to do.Hejiggled the handle until the problem resolved itself.Shesmiled and said thank you.Hereturned to his bench where the man still sat.
Krishcrossed his arms.Wasthe woman going to perform a street show?Good.Somethingto keep his mind entertained while he waited forFrancesca.
Atbang on ten o’clock, music blared out of the woman’s speaker, that familiarBhangrabeat: the whine of the sarangi, the twang of the tumbi and the pluck of the zither accompanied by a woman’s plaintive cry.Musiche’d been listening to and loving his whole life.Hestill remembered the firstBollywoodfilm his dad took him to see:Sholay.Probablya little violent for a six-year-old, but the characters and sweeping cinematography had stayed with him.
Thenotes crashed into a driving drum beat.Thewoman broke into dance, seductively stalking inKrish’sdirection with her arms waving in the air.Theback of one hand slithered down her forearm, repeated on the other side.Shewinked at him and turned back the way she came.Fromsomewhere, six more women arrived and joined her with the same choreography.
Ah, it was a flash mob.He’dheard of these, but never seen one before.Hescanned the area forFrancesca, but he couldn’t see her anywhere.Shame.She’dlove this, especially now that he knew how much she lovedHindifilms.
Themusic sped up, and suddenly ten more people appeared, men and women alike.Theywere jumping and swinging their arms around.Thejoy was infectious.Crowdswere starting to gather on the grass around the pavement and two little boys attempted to imitate some of the moves.Laughing,Krishturned to smile at the man next to him, but he seemed engrossed in an article about some gangster’s arrest.
Onesong transitioned into another, and the beat changed.Morepeople joined.Theman next to him threw his paper down on the bench and ran to the front row, where he started gyrating.Krishlaughed.Hehadn’t even suspected.
Infront of his bench, the pavement was now full of dancers, so many that they spilled into the artery paths leading away from the space.Itwas like sitting in the middle of aWestEndshow.Loadsof the performers kept catching his eye, like they were performing just for him.Again, he hunted forFrancesca.Shereally was missing out.
Somethingabout the dance tugged at the back of his memory, like he’d seen it before.Oneof the participants at the back seemed familiar, too: a man dressed all in black with a thin face and impeccable moves.Nah, it couldn’t be.
