Work Text:
2024
Standing in the Albert watching her son and his father, Suki wished that she could see this as nothing more than a heartwarming moment between the pair of them. It was, after all, the final chance that they would have to share a birthday together, and one of the few in Vinny’s 28 years on this earth that they even had the opportunity to do this. She wanted to see the innocence in her tormenter’s actions; that he wanted to be a good father for once in his damned existence, but she knew better than to ignore the devil masquerading as an angel. He would never pass up an opportunity to manipulate the son that he had had the least influence over.
He is the son she raised. She heard the barbed compliment and known exactly what he had meant. Vinny is softer than the others – her baby, the final child she had borne into life. But while you could take his words to be those of pride in the son he had missed out on seeing grow, the truth of it was that he considered their youngest an easy target; he was vulnerable because of her.
But she knows there is more too it than that. Nishandeep had never been subjected to seeing their small son mourn the loss of his father. He didn’t understand why daddy didn’t come home, and why no-one could tell him when he would be back. Nor did he really understand why they had to leave the only home he had ever known, or the friends he had started to make at his first school. He didn’t understand why Kheerat would pull him to walk quicker when they were out, or the words that were shouted after them. She had tried to protect her children from the reality of their father’s crimes with sugarcoated lies – but she couldn’t stop the whispers that followed them in public. He wouldn’t understand that his absence had, had more of an effect than she wanted to admit.
She was proud of Vinny though. He was doing his best to come through for her. But she needed to keep him strong, and it was much harder to keep a grown man safe than it was a six-year-old child. She couldn’t distract him with toys and more television time than really should’ve been allowed – but she’d needed the children to be contained; to be where she could leave them and know that she would return to find them in one piece.
Finally her son gets up from his seat and makes his way back over to her. She takes him in, trying to reconcile the image of the little boy with the man he has become. She almost wishes she could go back to those days when he would melt in her arms, content to simply be held close, surrounded by her love. Things are so much more complex now, and he is the last of her children who is close by, and she cannot bear the thought that she could lose him to the lure of that man.
As he approaches, she takes in the way he smiles, and the box that is held in his hand. She recognises that box although it has been a long time she has seen it. She can still remember the pride in Nishandeep’s face when she had fastened the chain around his neck the night after their wedding. He was finally being seen as a proper man by his elders. As it had settled against his skin, it was almost as though a change had overtaken him. The man she thought she was wedding morphed in to the one she had ended being with.
When her son comes to a stop beside her, he is talking and she sees how proud he. The baton being passed to him. But her mind is whirling now at the sight of it, and while she hears him talk and knows that she has responded, perhaps a little too unkindly, all she can think is that this isn’t the way that it was supposed to be. This never should’ve been Vinny’s cross to bear.
1988
The baby was crying again, and she couldn’t understand why. She was certain that she had had attended to each and every one of his needs, and yet still he cried as though the greatest of the world’s injustices were happening to him and him alone. Perhaps that was the case – maybe this little being understood the secrets of the world and grieved for being forced into life.
She wished she could cry with him. She had done on more than one occasion in the first few months of his life but her husband had scolded her for that. This, he told her, was a blessing, the greatest one that she could be bestowed. She had graduated to the role of mother, and she should be grateful to him for providing her with a child – just as he was thankful for her doing her duty and giving him such a fine boy on the first try.
He was a beautiful baby – when he wasn’t crying so. When he’d first been placed in her arms after so many hours of labour she’d been struck by those perfect minute features, and how he was perhaps the most beautiful baby she had ever seen. Not that she had seen many, but weren’t they supposed to be squished and winkled little things – beautiful only to the one who had brought them into the world? Still in seemed impossible that the babe in her arms was her own. Despite the pain of bringing him earthside, it didn’t seem real that she was now responsible for him. She had barely adjusted to being a wife and providing for a husband, and now she was a mother.
It still seemed impossible that he was hers; that no-one was going to come and take him away from her claiming it was simply a mistake and that of course she wasn’t a mother. She wished for it sometimes. She couldn’t understand him, and yet she spent almost no time away from him. How was it that she had not yet learnt what each of his cries meant and how to soothe them? Would it always be that way – or would things one day click in to place for them?
“He’s crying again?” She had missed the slamming of the door that announced the arrival of her husband. She’d missed it a few times of late; her mind and body were exhausted, seemingly running on fumes. She had not slept a full night since before the baby, constantly aware of needing to keep quiet to ensure that her husband’s sleep was not disturbed. Her son had not got the memo about silence as yet.
She mumbles something in response to his words, because what can she say really. He will berate her again for her lack of mothering prowess, and how other women seem to manage better than she does. She has heard it so often but it doesn’t lessen the sting that the words cause. Though his words are nothing to the ones that her own mind torments her with. She wishes that she could just switch it all off and yet she knows that there is no escape from this. This is the life she was raised for.
But then she watches as her husband scoops up the baby. She wants to reach out and take her son out of his arms, but instead she forces herself to stay seated. She hates the sight of them together. She should snatch the baby and run but how can she? And besides the baby seems to like the man. She cannot quite fathom why but the cry ceases and the baby settles in his arms. He is often fractious with her and yet now he is quiet, gazing with his bright eyes up at the man.
“Your mother needs to start teaching you better,” He talks to the baby the same way he would talk to an adult. There is no softness in his words although she thinks she sees the tiniest twitch of a smile on his lips. The baby makes no real response but instead reaches out with those tiny starfish hands of his.
It takes her a moment to realise that he is reaching for the chain that is around his father’s neck. It takes a few attempts before his small uncoordinated movements result in his fingers making contact and when he does so his father chuckles before lightly pulling that little hand away – a rare show of gentleness which she is thankful for. “One day, it’ll be yours,” He speaks softly, sounding she thinks proud, “My Dadaji gave this to my father, and then my father gave it to me – and when you are grown, my son, it’ll be yours,”
She cannot imagine her son grown, but the idea suddenly sickens her to think of her beautiful innocent boy becoming his father’s son – a woman like herself one day placing the chain around his neck, and the circle continuing on. But how can she raise a man who will be different to the ones who have come before when this is supposedly his destiny? A “gift” passed down.
“He needs a feed,” And with that she is on her feet and trying to take the baby out of his arms. She needs to stop this but then his hand is on her arm and she is stopped in her tracks and the baby remains nestled against the man’s chest. But her eyes are locked on the chain, unbreakable and never-ending. As her gaze slips upwards, she sees the smile on her husband’s face and her world turns black.
2024
“Throw it away,” She knows its irrational to ask it of her youngest, but she cannot bear the thought of him owning it let alone wearing it. It was a curse and she cannot allow it to continue on to another generation; to infect them with the past’s poison. But her son is looking at her as though she has lost her mind, and behind them the man who was once her husband is watching.
Asking this of her son is a dangerous game to play when it goes against the plan that they have made. He is supposed to be the dutiful one now; the boy destined to take on the world under the Panesar name, but this was too much. Nishandeep knew, he had to know, what this meant to her, and perhaps that was the point but what can she do? Her mind is racing and she cannot get it back under control. He doesn’t deserve to have this power over them.
And then her son does as she asks, and her mind clears for a moment. He is still her son and not his. But is she just as bad as his father in using him in this way? She tries to get the thought out of her head, because she cannot let herself go down that path. She is just trying to protect him as she has always done; trying to protect them all when it comes down to it – but the cost to herself is a heavy price to pay. She swallows hard.
Her son tells her that he cannot turn her emotions of as she does, and she has to fight against letting the mask drop. She wishes she could turn off her feelings; she has needed to her entire life but the truth is that she feels things all too acutely but she doesn’t allow it to show on the outside. She cannot allow herself to show weakness because that can be exploited and used against her. Instead, she keeps the feelings inside where they cut her deep. That her son doesn’t know this is both something she is proud and devastated by. But she doesn’t show either, instead she forces a smile on to her face that he’ll likely read as false and tells him it is time for his birthday cake, Because she has to keep up the show even though she’d love nothing more than to pull him by the arm and drag him to the safety of their home.
She wonders what her son wishes for as he blows out his candles, and she hopes that there will be good to come for him; that all of this will be worth it. She smiles and laughs with the family she has built, conscious that she has shown her hand in a way that she shouldn’t and that just as so many years before, things were no longer within her control.
And behind her Nishandeep pulls the box from the rubbish but she has squeezed her eyes closed trying to concentrate on the sounds of joyful celebration and the feel of Eve’s arm around her waist drawing her body close. She’s tries to grasp on to the safety of it, but all she can see is the box in her son’s hand and the ghost of a chain around his neck.