now. That worried her at night too, would Naveem recognise her? In a line-up, the version of herself he met in the taxicab, the one ten years into their marriage, the one before the accident, and who she was now – which one would her husband choose?
‘Please,’ Shelly said, holding up her hand and closing her eyes as if she was in too much pain. Mrs Dixit became silent, her mind still racing. Finally, Shelly opened her eyes again. ‘I needed to hear that,’ she said, after what felt like an interminable amount of time. ‘The world keeps turning. Mars in retrograde. I’ve become lost in all this grief.’
‘It’s understandable…’ Mrs Dixit started.
Shelly held up her hand again.
‘It’s been two months now. I can’t keep going on like this. None of my make-up stays on. Mum would have said something similar to me – she would.’ Tears were about to threaten her again, but Shelly sniffed defiantly. ‘You know what we need?’ Her face brightened. ‘Music.’ She marched back into the house and over to a large outdated stereo system, inspecting the CDs beside it. ‘Here we go,’ she said, removing one and loading it into the stereo tray. Seconds later, Yes’s ‘Owner of a Lonely Heart’ was blaring through the speakers. ‘Come on,’ Shelly said, starting to dance. Mrs Dixit shrank back immediately; her impulse was to tear away into the garden and escape off into the golf course, but Shelly had her by the wrists. ‘This reminds me of Mum’s parties,’ she spoke over the music, pumping Mrs Dixit’s hands as if she was operating a forklift. ‘Dance with me!’ Mrs Dixit bounced on her knees as best she could, and Shelly took this as encouragement, pumping her hands even harder. Eventually, she let go of her grip, and they bopped together in the living room of a dead’s woman’s house, neither of them thinking what it might look like if a neighbour glanced through the window.
After Yes, they played some Queen, and then started on the dining room, taking turns to change the music. Mrs Dixit even found some bossa nova to play for Naveem, but it didn’t stick. ‘Doesn’t really go anywhere, does it?’ Shelly said, scrunching up her nose, and Mrs Dixit had to agree.
As if in answer to their earlier conversation, the two women started to find small signs of romantic life around the house. An address book in the hallway near the telephone, that was obviously a little black book (the name Spencer was underlined three times); in the bathroom was a bottle of Viagra, half-full.
‘Can women take this?’ Mrs Dixit wondered aloud, before Shelly googled it on her phone (they could apparently, who knew?).
The bedroom revealed a drawer with a ‘neck massager’ inside that Mrs Dixit – wearing gloves – tactfully washed without Shelly seeing, before putting it in its own recycling bag (although she wasn’t sure if it could or should be recycled). Beside a television were a collection of DVDs and even a VHS or two. Point Break, there was also a copy of Emmanuelle – Mrs Dixit hadn’t thought about that film in years. As well as normal everyday underwear, there were thongs, and frilly things too. It might have seemed disrespectful going through the knickers of a stranger, but Shelly was in a much better mood, and the music blaring downstairs (how nice not to have neighbours upstairs, Mrs Dixit thought briefly) kept uncomfortable thoughts at bay. They laughed, and cleaned, and treated the sorting as the celebration of a life it really was.
They were just about to leave when Mrs Dixit’s mobile phone rang. Most people called her on the landline, so it was always a bit of a shock to hear the ring. It reminded her of Naveem instantly, and emergencies.
‘Mrs Dixit,’ came the voice, sounding concerned, and her whole body tensed in response. ‘I’m so glad to catch you. I’ve just been talking to the police,’ the woman’s clipped voice was instantly recognisable, but Mrs Dixit couldn’t immediately place it.
Shelly looked at her from across the room with a worried expression on her face.
‘Who is this, please?’ Mrs Dixit asked.
‘I’ve just come back from a trip to Cairo – a chap there had an incredible collection, but I was there almost a month pricing everything up.’ Mrs Dixit’s mind raced, trying to figure out who was speaking. ‘I didn’t know anything about what had happened,’ the woman continued, ‘and the border control took me aside,