Free The House of Hidden Mothers by Meera Syal

Sita picked their way home through the garden, Shyama was already heading for the stairs. Toby caught up with her in the hallway, pulling her into his arms. They stood there for a while, not saying anything, their breathing gradually finding each other’s rhythm.
    â€˜I’m sorry,’ Shyama began, her voice muffled, her head on his chest.
    â€˜None of that,’ Toby whispered. ‘We’ll find a way.’
    Shyama raised her head, studied his face in the half-light. ‘I thought … This is it, isn’t it? I’m forty-eight.’
    â€˜Only just.’
    â€˜Doesn’t matter. Beyond forty-five everyone thinks you’ve moved from brave to keep trying to just deluded. I saw it in Dr Lalani’s face. I wish I could let go. It’s just so hard to give up hope.’
    â€˜Oh, there’s always hope.’
    â€˜Adoption? I thought …’
    â€˜You know what, Shyams?’ Toby stroked a stray tendril away from her forehead. ‘Let’s not think about anything tonight. Not your ovulation chart or taking your temperature before we take our clothes off or propping your legs up with pillows afterwards. We don’t have to do any of that crap any more. Can we remember how to do it just because it’s fun?’
    Before Shyama could answer, Toby bent his knees and scooped her up in his arms. She gasped in surprise, then laughed throatily as Toby staggered slightly, making her grab for a handhold on the bannister.
    â€˜Shit,’ Toby cursed, ‘Shyama, can you—?’
    Shyama tumbled on to the stairs as Toby tried to straighten up. With a sharp intake of breath, he clutched his side.
    â€˜Think I’ve pulled my rib angle …’ he muttered through gritted teeth.
    â€˜Your what?’ Shyama felt slightly giddy.
    â€˜â€™S OK,’ he hissed. ‘Done it before. Hot and cold compresses, ibuprofen … be fine.’ He raised an eyebrow at Shyama. ‘Maybe you shouldn’t have had that extra chapatti.’
    â€˜Shut yer face.’ Shyama heaved herself to her feet. ‘Here …’
    She stood next to him, taking his weight, gently massaging the flesh where his hand lay, feeling the knots under the skin, taut muscle, not an inch of fat, youth pulsing through him like a warm river.
    â€˜I’ve always been a healthy girl,’ she said in her mother’s singsong accent. ‘Which, of course, is the Indian way of saying fat.’
    â€˜You’re not—’ Toby winced, unable to finish. Shyama kneaded her fingers more gently, slipping into storytelling mode, the best distraction when Tara had been hurt or scared as a little girl.
    â€˜ “Healthy” as used in the matrimonial placements in the
Hindustan Times
. Or Shaadi.com now – I suppose even arranged marriages are online. I love reading the ads families put in, all the euphemisms … If someone’s described as “homely”, that means plug ugly, “wheatish complexion” means could pass for white and looking for similar so as not to pollute the family hue, “modern” means smokes and drinks for a bloke and she’s definitely not a virgin for a woman, and “healthy”? Usually means the parents’ beloved child is a bit of a porker.’
    â€˜It’s not like that, actually.’ A voice rang out loudly from the sitting room.
    Shyama swung round towards the open door and discovered Tara’s head poking out from the depths of the sofa.
    â€˜I know loads of people who’ve met online on Asian dating sites and their parents have nothing to do with it.’
    â€˜What are you doing, sitting in the dark? I didn’t even know you were back!’ Shyama blustered, recalling Tara’s last words to Sita before disappearing off for the evening.
    â€˜Clearly,’ Tara sniped back. She stood up, a half-open family-sized bag of cheesy snacks in one hand. With the other she furiously