The pre-dawn air was cold and Maya lifted the hood of her jogging top to cover her long dark hair. Shaking out her shoulders she trotted towards the seafront. She always ran when life went wonky, finding the steady slap of her feet on the pavement soothing to jangled nerves. Last night’s send-off for Jai was always going to be hard, she just hadn’t realised how hard until Lekh had dropped his bombshell. Dismissing his commiseration that it should have been her, not Safia, heading off to New York as Jai’s PA for three months, she’d assured him it was all water under the bridge now and she wished them both well. That’s when he’d let slip the big secret.
“Actually, Maya, it’s not only New York Jai’s taking her to. First stop’s a Pacific Island where he plans to propose on a moonlit beach. The wedding’s booked, both sets of parents are primed, and I’m on standby to fly the guests out the moment she says yes.”
Like a lighthouse beam, Maya’s gaze had shifted slowly to her ex, sitting with Safia two tables away. Catching her looking his way he’d smiled but it was the smile of an old friend, not the boyfriend he’d once been. What’s done is done, it said, time to move on. Move on in more ways than one, perhaps, Maya mused now. Too many people at the company knew their history. She could picture the water cooler moments as news of the wedding spread, the conversations that would cease as she approached. Better to leave now, with her dignity intact. With the holiday she had, she could be gone long before the newlyweds returned.
Crossing the road to the seawall, she stood listening to the waves foaming over the shingle. It was too dark still to see much but soon the town would wake and the streets become the property of others once more; until then it was all hers. Turning, she set off towards the marina.
The resort was located a few miles up the coast from Kerala and was fast becoming popular with tourists. A row of benches had been installed near the market square to encourage visitors to sit awhile, maybe sample some of the local wares. At this hour the seats were deserted and Maya jogged past them, mentally counting each one off as she went. A buffeting wind was coming in off the sea and she lifted her chin, relishing the sting of nature’s astringent on her cheeks. Her nose must be glowing like a stop-light
but with no one around to see, why worry. Arms pumping and breathing hard, she upped her pace.
She was nearing the last bench when she became aware of a shape curled on top. Slowing her steps, she edged closer.
“Who’s there?” demanded a gruff voice. “Hari, is that you?” As the figure unfurled itself Maya heard a chink of metal. “Hey, you,” the man said, gesturing to her to come closer. There it was again, that metallic jingle like chains unfurling. “Come here, lad, I won’t hurt you.”
Lad! Maya’s hackles rose. As if last night’s humiliation wasn’t bad enough, here she was being mistaken for a boy. Nevertheless, she was careful to keep a safe distance between them as she neared
the bench and whispered, “Umm, are you okay?”
“Do I look ‘okay’?” He moved his arm in a sweeping motion and Maya caught a glimpse of bare skin behind his coat. She gasped. Either her eyes were deceiving her or he really had nothing on underneath!
“Hey, where are you going?” he cried, as she backed away. “Don’t leave, I need help here. The key for the lock’s down there.” He held up a length of bicycle chain fastened with a chunky metal padlock. “I’m truly going to murder those three when I get my hands on them. Four hours I’ve been here and the wedding’s at noon.”
Ah, so that was it. This was no drunken layabout sleeping it off before lurching home to face the wife, this was a prospective bridegroom whose idiot friends had considered it a huge joke to chain him, naked but for a coat, to a seat on the wind-whipped seafront.
“Clothes,” Maya said urgently. “What did they do with your clothes?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t see. I think Amira’s brother must have put a sleeping pill in my last drink because one minute I was heading home in the back of his car, the next I woke up here, with Hari, Badri and Janak all standing around grinning like idiots. ‘Now, don’t panic, Gopal,’ Hari told me, dangling the key over the storm-drain, ‘I’m sure with those famous powers of deduction of yours you’ll work out how to get this in no time’.”
“He dropped it down a drain?” Maya exclaimed.
“Not down it, no,” the man called Gopal said, “I think he hooked it over somehow.
You should be able to get it if you’re careful.”
Sure enough when Maya looked she saw a thin strand of metal draped over the middle slat of the grating. “I see it,” she murmured, “whether I can get it or not is another matter.”
“Well, you’d better, kid,” Gopal said, “or I’m a dead man. Amira’s father was unimpressed enough about the whole struggling writer living on a houseboat thing without this fiasco.”
“You live on a houseboat? That’s fantastic,” Maya cried.
“I wish others shared your enthusiasm,” he said wearily.
She would have liked to ask more but already the first streaks of dawn were lightening the sky. Soon his indignity would be exposed for all the early morning delivery drivers and market traders to see. Pushing back her hood she knelt by the drain, releasing her hair to fall forward over her shoulders.
“Oh,” he gasped, as she carelessly flicked it back, “you’re…”
“Yes, I’m a girl,” she finished for him, still peering into the drain. “But under the circumstances I won’t hold it against you that you thought I was a boy.”
His amused chuckle came as a surprise and sent an unexpected tingle running up her spine. Telling herself to focus, she worked her hand between the slats of the grating and crooked her fingers under the dangling key. But when she tried to slide the nail of her other hand under the thin metal hook it only served to push it closer to the gap and the drop below. Taking a moment to compose herself, she tried again. Relief surged through her as she felt her nail slip under the hook. Bit by agonising bit, she lifted it until it was dangling above the grating. Easing her other hand free, she grasped the key and sat back on her heels. Only then did she realise she hadn’t taken a breath the whole time. Scrambling to her feet, Maya ran to Gopal.
She was about to grab the padlock when it dawned on her that he wasn’t wearing anything under that coat. What’s more, now she was up close she could see that he was so handsome he wouldn’t look out of place on one of those Bollywood Boys calendars they sold in the market.
“Maybe I should do the next
bit,” he grinned, holding out his hand. She dropped the key into his palm. Unfastening the lock, he threaded the chain back and forth between the slats of the bench and stood up. “Oh, that feels good,” he said, stretching luxuriously.
“Umm, you might want to stop there,” Maya suggested quickly, averting her gaze from the coat’s ever rising hem. Instantly his arms fell back to his sides. With the bench now clear, she had an unhindered view of the ground below. There, almost lost amongst the litter and weeds, was a black plastic bin-bag. Kneeling down, she pulled it out.
“Could these be your missing clothes?” she asked, opening the top.
“Not just the clothes,” he groaned, “that’s my mobile phone too. I could have phoned Amira hours ago. That’s what Hari meant about using my powers of deduction. I thought it was just another sarcastic comment about my crime writing but actually the solution was right there at my feet.”
So he wrote detective stories, Maya thought. She racked her brains trying to recall the names of the authors of the murder mysteries on her bedside table but couldn’t remember a single one. “Actually, I doubt you could have reached it, chained like that,” she said consolingly.
“That’s not how Amira’s father will see it,” Gopal said. “He’ll never let me forget this.” Dragging his trousers from the bag he turned his back and quickly slipped them on. “I’ll find a public toilet to do the rest,” he told her, turning back to face her.
“You’re not getting dressed in any toilet,” Maya declared, grabbing the bag back. “You need a shower and something to eat. You’re coming home with me.”
“Hey,” he called as she started off up the street, “can I at least have my shoes, please?”
Without stopping she fished his trainers from the bag and tossed them over her shoulder. She was about to cross the road when she heard a beeping sound and turned to see him staring at his mobile phone. “Something wrong?” she asked, retracing her steps.
He glanced up, then back down at the screen. “Yes. No. That is, I’m not really sure. It’s from Amira. She says the wedding’s off.”
“She’s telling you that by text?” Maya gasped, indignant on his behalf.
“No, it’s okay,” he said.
“To be honest it’s what I wanted. I know that sounds bad but it’s not what it seems. Amira’s mother died soon after her birth and it was left to her father to raise the children alone. As Amira grew and he saw how beautiful she was becoming, he became ever more protective. By the time she reached her teens, she could only leave the house if Hari was with her. He’s three years older than her and really relished the control his father had given him. He became so domineering that Amira took to sneaking out of the house at night to walk by the sea, just to get some time to herself. As she passed by my boat one night I heard her crying and went on deck to see if I could help. That’s when it all came pouring out.”
He paused and raised a rueful eyebrow. “Stupidly, I suggested that if she had an older friend to go around with, like a chaperone, her father might be less worried. Next day she came back with her father and before I knew it I was her ‘trusted male friend’.”
“And then you fell in love,” said Maya, with a misty smile.
He laughed grimly. “Not exactly. I think Amira just got caught up in the ‘romance’ of it all. Before long the wedding talk started and it seemed as though my whole life had been mapped out without any help from me.” He tapped the phone and let out a long sigh. “Thankfully it seems she’s realised in the nick of time that we aren’t a match made in heaven after all. It means I’m free to continue living on my houseboat and writing my books.” He stooped to fasten his shoes. “I’m sorry about earlier, by the way, I can see now how ridiculous it was of me to think you were a boy. My name’s Gopal, Gopal Majeti. And you?”
Her lips twitched. “Umm, Maya… Maya Keyes. My father was of Irish descent.”
He looked at her a moment, then threw back his head and laughed. “Really? I’ve actually been freed by Maya Keyes? That’s got to be in my next book! I’ll call it Chains and Coats and Drains. What do you think, Maya Keyes?”
Behind him, streaks of sunlight were spreading across the harbour, turning the water liquid gold. Maya smiled. “I think, Gopal Majeti, it’s a guaranteed bestseller!”
- Christine Sutton
