Losing Touch by Sandra Hunter Read Free Book Online Page A

Suddenly he feels like he’s driving a Jaguar.
    â€˜All that twinkly stuff. “Sweet Leilani”.’ Murad mimes playing a guitar.
    Arjun laughs out loud. Murad snorts, Arjun coughs. They sound like two asthmatic old men.
    â€˜Well, she likes it. That’s what’s important.’ Arjun is still smiling.
    â€˜She says she likes his cardigans.’ Murad jerks his chin towards the radio. ‘Val Doonican.’
    â€˜Don’t say that. She’ll be knitting us one soon if we’re not careful.’
    â€˜ I wouldn’t wear it.’ A quick head shake to one side to flip the long hair back.
    Arjun hugs this small moment of unity with his son, but he doesn’t want to appear disloyal to Sunila. ‘So, what music do you like these days?’
    â€˜Nothing much, really.’
    â€˜Come on. I know you listen to the radio, you and your sister.’
    â€˜There’s Woodstock.’ A half-exhalation as though this is a joke Arjun wouldn’t understand. ‘It’s a festival. Lots of bands get together.’
    â€˜Ah. And this is in London?’
    â€˜It’s in America. Was . In August. It was in the newspaper. One of my friends brought it in.’
    Arjun turns the concept over. Music festival. It sounds beautiful. A celebration of music. In reality, it was probably all this gyrating loud pop music. Just as well it’s in America and in the past tense.
    Arjun slows down and pulls off the A40 onto Station Road. He glances down, hoping Murad is wearing warm shoes.
    They turn onto the long driveway to Bekonscot Model Village and Railway. The silver birches still have a few leaves, trembling, white-rimed. It’s been a long time since he brought the kids here to run through the piles of autumn leaves. Today only Murad has grudgingly agreed to come along and keep Sadiq company.
    At least there will be some peace. Of the two, he suspects Tarani is the one who causes the fights. Her adolescence is of the cactus variety. One day Tarani announces she loves the Kinks, and the next she hates the Kinks and loves the Rolling Stones. Tarani flings down her statements like gauntlets, hoping for a shocked reaction. The pop groups mean nothing to Arjun. He has even suppressed his disgust and furtively listened to Radio 2 in an attempt to hear some of the songs, but he can’t make out what these disco jockeys say or what the songs are about. He has tried to forbid pop music, but he knows the children will find some other way to listen to it.
    He pulls up next to Nawal’s little dark blue Triumph in the car park. He and Murad get out. A small vibration of nerves as he sees Haseena. These days he can speak to her without feeling the numbing embarrassment that shut him down after that time in Richmond Park, two years ago, when he stupidly tried… Well. That’s all past now. They must get on with the business of being family. He uses his hearty voice.
    â€˜Good morning, good morning, ladies. No, please don’t get out. It’s much too cold.’
    Nawal rolls the window down. ‘Good morning, Arjun, hello Murad.’
    Haseena gets out of the car to hug him. He barely touches her; receives her slight embrace. Murad mutters, ‘Hello Aunty.’
    Haseena hugs Murad, who actually hugs her back. Where did this affectionate side of Murad spring from?
    â€˜Murad, I thought of you the other day. Have you seen those blue-and-black-striped bell-bottoms? You’d look very nice in those. Wouldn’t he?’ She turns to Nawal, who wobbles her head ‘yes’.
    Murad glances at Arjun and then mutters to his aunt, ‘Yeah. They’re good. One of my friends got them, the blue ones, down Kensington Market. They’ve got them in red, too.’
    â€˜I saw the red ones in Biba, but I didn’t have the nerve to buy them!’ Haseena laughs, and Murad releases his quick, embarrassed cough-laugh.
    â€˜Maybe you should,