Second Lives (2 page)

‘As gently as possible, I asked Mrs Fernandes about Rachel’s last days. It must have been a double shock for her that this happened at her house itself. Rachel’s arrival in Goa just a week before her death was a surprise. She hadn’t informed her mother about the visit, which was unusual.

‘Rachel spent most of her time outside the house. That was uncharacteristic as well, because she normally loved to spend time at her childhood home whenever she came down to Goa. According to Mrs Fernandes, she appeared withdrawn and pensive but would keep insisting that everything was fine.’

She stopped. Her eyes welled up with tears.

The two girls were as different as chalk and cheese. For a long time, they hated each other. Well, to put it more accurately, Sara hated Rachel. She had nicknamed her “Saint Rachel”. And would never miss an opportunity to needle her. Rachel, in turn, ignored her as far as possible.

It was only much later that their relationship thawed. I can’t remember if there was any specific trigger. Perhaps it was as simple as a mutual realisation that there was really no major reason to dislike each other. Such as jealousy or sexual competition. It was Sara who offered the olive branch. And Rachel lost no time in accepting it. After that, they became close friends and were quite inseparable at times. It made my hormonal imagination run wild with possibilities.

I asked, ‘Sara, how did she look…in death?’

‘I didn’t see her. It was a closed casket. I was told she was not a pretty sight.’

Omar grimaced. ‘The police confirmed suicide, didn’t they?’

‘Yes, pretty much.’

‘But we don’t know the reason Rachel might have done this, right?’

‘They say that’s not unusual in suicide cases. The motive often never comes to light, and dies with the victim. Besides, there was no evidence of foul play.’

I said, ‘But your email…Where’s the catch then?’

‘I was coming to that.’

Omar and I waited impatiently to hear more.

‘Rachel called me ten days before her death,’ said Sara. ‘She sounded very tense. I asked her if something was wrong and she said that she had found out something shocking. I was naturally both curious and worried but then she clammed up and refused to say anything more…’

Omar interrupted. ‘I was telling Neel that when I last spoke to Rachel, I also thought she had something on her mind…I just didn’t think much about it until now.’

Sara went on. ‘I kept asking her questions, begging her to at least give me a hint of what it was about. She remained tight-lipped, which was so unlike Rachel. Then she said that her life was in danger and she didn’t want me or anyone else involved.’

I exclaimed, ‘It’s difficult to imagine Rachel making enemies. Let alone anyone wanting to take her life!’

‘Hearing the agitation in my tone, she told me not to fret as it was only a matter of time before she sorted things out. She said that I would find out everything soon.’

Omar looked out of the window. ‘And the next thing you know is that she’s dead.’

Sara paused. An odd look came into her eyes.

‘There was one last thing Rachel told me before hanging up. She said, “Sara, don’t ask me anything more right now but I know what happened to Roy.”’

The blood drained from my face.

5

Omar

I love Goa. It’s my favourite place in the world, and Sara’s villa was one of the finest in all of Goa. It was a heritage Portuguese mansion in Candolim, set amidst a sprawling three-acre property. Each of its six bedrooms had stunning views of the Arabian Sea, and the lawn behind the house led directly to the beach.

Sara’s ex-husband, a London-based businessman, had bought the villa from its erstwhile French owner who had renovated it in style just before the sale. It was part of her settlement, and one of the many prized assets her husband had been forced to give up. But then, if your wife has photographs of you wearing just a pair of leather thongs and being attended to by three prostitutes, your bargaining power in divorce proceedings tends to be rather weak.

I lay on my back, staring up at the ornate blades of the ceiling fan. The white canopy of my four-poster bed fluttered gently in the cool draft coming in through the open French window. The fresh air was a welcome change from the air-conditioning which usually had me in its stuffy embrace day and night.

I could hear the soothing sounds of the waves crashing rhythmically on the beach. There was a bright moon somewhere high above the water, and its silver rays lit up the semi-circular kaleidoscope of coloured glass crowning the window.

It was peaceful and idyllic but I just couldn’t fall asleep.

My thoughts went to Neel and Sara.

They had had a strange relationship. Back then, his infatuation with her had threatened to split apart the group. Neel was not the only one to have gone through the phase of lusting after Sara but with him, it had become an obsession. She did not reciprocate, unfortunately, which almost led him to a breakdown.

We were around sixteen at the time—a momentous but cruel age.

Then one fine day, Neel announced that he was over Sara. No one believed him initially but he had lost that hangdog expression he used to perpetually wear around her. It was a look of almost physical pain, which used to cause us amusement and worry in equal measure.

He really did begin to behave quite normally, or what passed off as normal for him. There was cautious relief all around. I had a sneaky suspicion that Sara had allowed Neel to fuck her, probably just the once, to get it out of his system. That would have been so like her, for she was completely uninhibited and loved to do outrageous things.

They nevertheless remained great friends and continued to spend a lot of time with each other. I knew Sara told him things she never confided in anyone else. There was a complex chemistry between them which I found vaguely disturbing.

Were they together in one of the other rooms right now? I wondered.

There was never anything going on between them, I was sure of that. Besides, Neel still looked quite a wreck. I don’t think he’s really recovered either physically or mentally from the ordeal, and maybe he never will.

And yet, why did the thought strike me? I don’t know. But there was the far more serious matter bouncing around inside my head with the force of a cannonball.

I still couldn’t get over what Sara had told us.

The image of bloodshot eyes looking at me accusingly for the last time passed through my mind.

As it had every day for the past twelve years.

6

Sara

I’ve been meaning to have a reunion of the group at the Goa villa for years.

Omar, for one, always brings it up whenever we speak and I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve promised him that I would plan something soon. After the divorce, I’ve never really had any friends or family come over here. I wonder if it’s because subconsciously, I still feel Jai’s shadow lingering over the place.

This was our love nest (if the expression applies for a married couple). We would land up here frequently on weekends, just the two of us. There was something intensely romantic about the villa, and I never got tired of it. It made me feel incredibly sexy. We made love in every conceivable place, indoors and outdoors.

There was this one special room which Jai had fitted out with different types of, you know, kinky stuff. I wasn’t really into all that but went along with whatever he wanted. I was headlong in love and it was kind of fun, I have to admit.

Until I discovered that I wasn’t the only woman to have graced the mirrored walls of that room.

In fact, when I learnt later about just how many others there were, out of all the emotions that I could have felt (and did eventually feel), the first one to hit me was one of utter self-disgust, at how completely stupid I had been!

Thankfully, Jai is history now. I mean, the bastard isn’t dead or anything. I can bet he’s probably screwing some filthy whore right now, in some weird and unnatural manner. I realised too late that he wasn’t just a sex addict—his narcotic was perversion.

Anyway, it was good to finally have these guys over at the villa. The only unfortunate thing was that it had to be under these circumstances.

Neel and I stayed up for a while.

We sat on wrought iron chairs in the rear patio, which opened into the garden. The moon was so bright that I didn’t need to keep any of the lights on. The atmosphere was eerily calm, in stark contrast to the state of our minds.

I realised that I desperately needed some more alcohol so I opened up a new bottle of Drambuie and poured out generous portions into two crystal glasses. The strong, spicy liquor traced a warm path through my insides.

Neel leaned forward and said, ‘Sara, isn’t there a chance that this is all a big coincidence?’

I looked at him quizzically.

‘I mean, maybe Rachel did actually commit suicide.’

I drained my shot of Drambuie and said, ‘Neel, we need to find out for sure. That’s why we’re here.’

Neel put his head in his hands. ‘This is so…fucking unbelievable.’

I looked at him carefully.

Neel was one of those people who had started out in life looking fairly nondescript and unremarkable but over the years, metamorphosed into a strikingly attractive person. His face, though not classically handsome, had strong lines and plenty of personality. He sported a couple-of-days old dark stubble, which made him look rugged and kind of sexy.

The past year had definitely taken its toll on him. He had always been thin but now looked positively emaciated, though his long limbs still radiated strength and agility. There were bags under his bloodshot eyes and I had noticed a few white strands in his hair earlier. And we were just turning thirty, for God’s sake!

I reached out and put my hand on his.

To my surprise, it was shaking. Neel looked embarrassed and tried to pull his hand away but I held on to it firmly.

We sat like that, listening to the sounds of the sea and letting the salty breeze wash over our faces.
For those few moments, all the demons inside my head seemed to fade away.

Neel said, ‘Sara, I…’

He stopped. Words seemed to fail him.

I don’t know what he was going to say but I suddenly felt a strong urge to kiss him.

In school, I remember, Neel had this massive crush on me. I found him really sweet but that was about it. Much later, when my feelings for him had transformed into something else, he was already married. Besides, we were such close friends that I felt guilty having such thoughts about him. I was absolutely sure he was over me anyway, even though his long-battered ego would certainly have got a boost had he known what I felt now.

So I ended up not telling him anything, and kept up our relationship as if nothing had changed.

Seeing his expression, I wondered if any of the old emotions had resurfaced. It couldn’t be the beautiful setting because Neel didn’t have a romantic bone in his body! Perhaps the tension was playing with his mind and seeking an outlet.

I turned towards him. Our faces were very close.

Abruptly, he moved away. His knee accidentally bumped into the tea-table on which we had kept our glasses, one of which toppled to the floor with a loud clatter. He immediately stood up. ‘I’m so sorry, Sara. These glasses must be very expensive…’

‘Don’t worry, Neel. It’s fine.’ I went to get a mop.

The moment was lost.

We decided to call it a night after that. There were going to be long days ahead.

The little man inside my head increased his tempo in disapproval.

7

Neel

Mrs Fernandes did not look happy to see us.

Sara had called ahead to check if we could come over. She reluctantly agreed. Omar and I had met her a few times in the past. I don’t think she ever took a liking to either of us. In fact, she positively loathed Omar. I suspect there was a bit of religious bias there.

Right now though, she probably just didn’t want to talk again about Rachel’s death. However, she managed a brief smile and let us in wordlessly.

It had been agreed that Sara would do all the talking. She had already spoken to Mrs Fernandes at length. But we felt that there was no harm in going over the information with her once more. Maybe something new would come up.

There was no other place to start anyway.

It was a typical Goan house, of indeterminate vintage. The entire structure was raised on a shallow plinth. Fronted by a verandah with a prominent railing. A neat lawn separated the building from the street. The façade was painted a deep but dramatic red, contrasted by white piping.

Apparently, there is a long-standing tradition in Goa, going back to the Portuguese occupation. No private building should be painted white. The colour represents Mother Mary and all that is pure and chaste. Only churches have this privilege. It was Dr Omar, that self-professed expert on Goa, who gave me this interesting piece of trivia.

Mrs Fernandes led us past a chapel to a spacious hall. We sat down on the assortment of sofas and chairs, arranged in no particular order. I had been there before. And remembered the warmth and liveliness. It seemed totally different now. Dark and gloomy.

The difference was Rachel, of course.

There was an awkward silence for several seconds.

Sara finally said, ‘Thank you so much for seeing us, Mrs Fernandes. I know how difficult this has been for you.’

She just nodded in reply.

Sara looked at me. We had decided that our approach would be to get to the point quickly. No beating about the bush. And stick to the truth as far as possible.

She pressed on. ‘You see, we have this nagging feeling that Rachel’s death may not have been a simple case of suicide. She…’

Mrs Fernandes interrupted. ‘That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to tell everyone but no one wants to listen to me! My Rachel loved life and would never take her own. Why in God’s name would she commit suicide? She was so happy and content…’

Her voice choked over with tears.

Sara reached out and held her frail, wrinkled hand. ‘I know, Mrs Fernandes. That’s what we were thinking as well. Having known Rachel for over half my life, I simply can’t imagine that she would take such a step.’