In The Arms Of Love

After everything that had happened, there was only one place that Carly wanted to be . . .

CARLY turned the key in the lock, opened her mum’s door and hauled her black suitcase across the threshold.

In the hallway, the familiar smell of pot pourri brought a momentary smile to her lips, despite her broken heart.

She longed for a hug from her mum, but that would have to wait.

Her mum wasn’t due home from her job at the supermarket until tonight, and didn’t yet know Carly was back in Leicester.

Placing the keys back in her handbag, Carly left the bag and her suitcase in the hallway and walked into the cosy old-fashioned kitchen.

She noticed the early afternoon sun shining through the pretty curtains, casting beams of light across the wooden cupboards and on to the solid wooden table.

She took her phone from her pocket and placed it face down on the table, not feeling up to seeing if there were any messages.

Her throat was dry, so she poured herself a glass of water and glugged it down.

She wandered into the living-room, a sense of calm flooding her as she took in the comfy three-piece suite, the shelves full of ornaments and the faded flowered wallpaper.

It was such a contrast to the sterile, modern flat on the south coast she’d shared for the last six weeks with her now ex-fiancé.

Carly and Tom had met via a dating app. She’d been won over by his witty and self-deprecating profile.

His brown curly hair and cheeky grin were an added bonus.

He was even funnier in person, and after they’d gone on a first date, they’d begun an intense relationship.

After four months of daily messages and romantic weekends, he’d proposed at the top of the Shard.

Without hesitation she’d said yes, knowing she was ready to give up her friends and her job at the bank to be with him.

She had bought a brand-new suitcase, filled it with her clothes and a few other personal items, bade a bittersweet farewell to her mum and moved into Tom’s flat.

For the first few days, Carly and Tom had relished being together.

However, far too soon, slightly awkward silences and flashes of irritation had replaced the easy laughter and warmth that had previously characterised their relationship.

He wasn’t the same person she’d fallen in love with, and she suspected he’d say the same of her.

Now she was back home with no job, no boyfriend and a huge sense of disappointment in herself – and in Tom – weighing her down.

This was not what she expected her life would look like when she was on the cusp of turning thirty.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and tried to breathe out the complex mix of frustration, sadness and humiliation churning inside her.

The details of last night threatened to engulf her.

Glancing down at the denim skirt and cotton T-shirt she’d been wearing since yesterday, she decided a shower and a change of clothes were long overdue.

After her shower, Carly suddenly felt exhausted, so she lay on her bed.

When she awoke, for a moment she wasn’t sure where she was or what time it was.

The little alarm clock on the bedside table answered both questions, and confirmed she’d been asleep for nearly five hours.

Her mum must have been winding up the clock in her absence.

The thought brought tears to her eyes, and again she longed for that hug.

Back downstairs, she spotted her suitcase in the hallway.

She wheeled it into the kitchen and placed it in front of the washing machine.

Crouching down, Carly

unzipped the case and threw the lid open.

“Oh!” she cried, clapping her hand over her mouth in surprise. “How did that get into my case?”

Instead of the pale blues, browns and greys of her usual clothes, there was a riot of colour.

The gorgeous smell of sandalwood drifted towards her.

She reached out and trailed her fingertips across the top layer of silky fuchsia material.

“Wow, a sari.”

She sat cross-legged beside the case and gently lifted the edges of layer after layer of fabric: deep plum with intricate gold stitching, midnight blue shot through with silver thread . . .

Towards the bottom of the case were pairs of satin shoes and a couple of make-up bags, plus a few boxes that she guessed probably contained jewellery.

There were also bundles of candles and little packets of incense.

That explained the scent. Carly sat staring at this wondrous treasure trove, unsure what to do next.

Eventually she zipped up the case and stood up.

Despite looking identical, it was definitely not her case.

Someone must have taken hers from St Margaret’s when they arrived in Leicester, because there had only been one black case when she got off the coach.

How could she return this case and get hers back?

This was a complication her life really didn’t need right now.

She picked up her phone to call the bus station.

Maybe someone had already realised their mistake and returned to the bus station with her case?

With her luck lately, that seemed unlikely.

Giving a sigh, she was just trying to find the number for the bus station, when she noticed there was a voice message from an unknown number, which had been left hours ago.

“I found your number on the CV in your case,” a female voice said. “I hope this is Carly Campioni’s phone.

“My name is Meena Patel, and I think I picked up your suitcase by mistake at the bus station today. I’m praying you have my case.

“It has some very precious items for my niece’s wedding.

“If you could call me as soon as possible I’d be extremely grateful.”

Carly rang Meena and, having apologised for the delay in calling her back, she assured her she did indeed have her case.

She had to wait until Meena had finished squealing with delight, before suggesting they could meet and exchange the cases.

“I know this is a terrible imposition,” Meena said, “but my niece is getting married in a couple of days.

“I’m at my sister’s house helping her to host one of our pre-wedding celebrations and the guests have already started to arrive.

“Would you be able to bring my case to me here? We’ll pay for a cab. Both ways.”

Carly hesitated.

The last thing she wanted was anything to do with a wedding celebration.

Not right now. Not after Tom’s confession last night.

Not after all their hours of talking and tears, followed by her handing back her engagement ring and packing her case to return home.

Meena’s plaintive voice broke into her thoughts, and Carly decided she could swap the cases without catching sight of a bride – or groom for that matter.

She had nothing else to do, and it could be her good deed for the day.

Carly knocked on the door, expecting to quickly exchange the cases.

However, the door was opened by a young woman with the most exquisite eye make-up, and Carly explained who she was.

“Carly! Thank you so much for bringing Auntie’s case,” the lady cried out.

Suddenly Carly and the case were shepherded indoors, and although still a little under-dressed, she was glad she’d changed into her floaty summer dress.

“If you could pop your shoes off,” the young woman said.

Carly slipped off her sandals, and a group of women, ranging in age from teenage to elderly, literally herded her and the case along the hallway.

They took her through a living-room with tables piled with food, and out into a marquee in the garden, which was full of women eating and drinking and talking.

“Auntie! Carly’s here with your case,” the young woman called out.

A tall lady wearing an emerald green sari, her hair mostly grey and swept up in an elegant bun, stepped forward.

“Carly, thank you so much.”

In a cloud of perfume she hugged Carly and took the case from her.

“I just need to put the last batch of samosas on a platter, and then I’ll fetch your case from upstairs.”

As she left, she instructed the young woman to give Carly a glass of lemonade and fix her a plate of food.

Carly tried to refuse, but her words were ignored.

Soon she had no option but to sit with a group of women and tuck into some delicious snacks, while listening to them tell her about how upset Auntie had been at losing her case.

Then someone explained that this was a mehndi night where the bride – who she pointed out across the marquee – had henna painted on her hands and feet.

Her family and friends would also have henna painted on their hands.

It was a celebration primarily for the women, but the men would be along later.

“In honour of you returning Auntie’s case, you should have your hand painted, too.”

Again, Carly’s feeble protests were ignored.

And so, with no sign of Meena returning, and having finished her plate of food, Carly was led to the corner of the room.

There, a lady, who she judged to be a similar age to her mother, introduced herself as Priya.

She washed Carly’s hands with soap and water, dried them, then asked her to hold out her left hand, palm upwards.

She then picked up a sort of slim paper cone and squeezed out dots, commas and lines of brown paste on to Carly’s outstretched palm.

As she worked, Priya asked Carly questions about herself.

“Are you visiting Leicester?”

“No,” Carly replied. “I’ve returned home after a little time away.”

“Did you go somewhere nice?”

“Not exactly . . .”

“Not a good holiday choice, perhaps?”

“To be honest, I moved away to live with my fiancé, but it didn’t work out,” she admitted.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” Priya paused. “If it would help, you could tell me what happened.

“I assure you, nothing goes any further.”

Carly sensed that time spent with this lady while she hennaed hands was very much like the confessional of the hairdresser.

She found herself telling Priya about Tom, and somehow poured out to this kind stranger many of the things she’d kept inside.

Like how fussy he was about keeping the flat tidy, which made her feel

uncomfortable; how he played online games every evening; how he was reluctant to introduce her to his friends . . .

While Carly spoke, the woman said very little, but Carly knew she was being properly listened to and really appreciated it.

When the woman asked her what the final straw was, Carly had no hesitation in describing the scene.

“Last night I was sitting in the front room, laptop open, working on my CV and job-hunting, when Tom returned late home from work.

“The first thing he said was, ‘Carly, we need to talk’.”

Priya paused and raised her eyebrows.

“I know those are usually ominous words,” Carly went on, “but I honestly thought we were going to sort everything out and then we’d be back on track.

“However, instead of coming to sit beside me for a real heart to heart, he remained standing in front of me, arms folded.

“I felt sick. This wasn’t the conversation I’d expected.”

She swallowed and cleared her throat, knowing she was about to voice out loud the awful truth.

Looking down, she noticed that the dots and lines of the henna were turning into flowers and a butterfly.

“He told me his teenage sweetheart had moved back into the area a week before I’d moved down.

“They’d met for a totally innocent drink, but since then he hadn’t been able to get her out of his head, or his heart.”

Carly looked up and wiped away a tear with her right hand.

Priya’s eyes were full of sympathy.

“He promised me that he did nothing to encourage her,” Carly added, “and I believe him.

“But she’d called him at work last week, and they realised they both felt the same way.

“He apologised and told me he loved me, but Lindsay is his soul mate and he has to be with her.”

Carly wiped away more tears, while describing her journey back to her mum’s home.

“Oh, my dear,” Priya soothed. “This is probably the last place you want to be today.

“You’re very brave coming here.” She stroked Carly’s arm. “Still, Meena can be quite persuasive.

“She didn’t get to become CEO of an international company by being meek and mild.”

They shared a brief smile. “I feel such a fool,” Carly admitted. ”Like I gatecrashed his life.

“I seem to be making a habit of that recently.”

“Nonsense,” Priya replied. “First of all, you’re very welcome here. Secondly, you’re definitely no fool.

“And thirdly, you did not gatecrash his life.

“He invited you to share his life. And then he betrayed you.”

“But was it really betrayal when she was his first love?” Carly asked. “Didn’t she have first claim on him?”

“You know that’s not true,” Priya said gently. “He found himself with an impossible choice to make. New love or old love?”

“I can’t help thinking that if I was a better or more interesting person, he’d have chosen me,” Carly stated. “But then maybe he never really loved me.

“Maybe his heart always belonged to her. Maybe I was always second best for him.”

“Please don’t hurt yourself with those negative thoughts,” Priya told her. “Now is the time for healing.

“It is good you’ve come home. Home is the best place at times like this.

“Your mother will look after you, you’ll mend, and then you’ll be ready for a new beginning.

“See here.” Priya pointed to Carly’s palm. “I’ve included a butterfly in your design, which symbolises change and rebirth.

“And these flowers represent happiness and joy.”

“Oh, that’s lovely.” Carly felt lighter than she’d done in the last 24 hours.

Priya then gave practical instructions to avoid washing her hand for the next 12 hours, and eventually the henna would dry and fall off, leaving the pattern on her hand.

Carly thanked Priya for the design and for the conversation, and walked back across the marquee in search of Meena, or at least someone who could point her in the direction of her case.

She spotted Meena sitting with a stunning young woman, her hands and feet covered in intricate henna designs.

“Let me introduce you to my favourite niece,” Meena declared. “The bride, Lakshmi.”

“Congratulations,” Carly told the young woman.

“Thank you.” Lakshmi smiled. “And thank you for finding Auntie’s case. You’ve saved the day.

“In fact, you’ve saved today and tomorrow, which is a day of prayers and blessings and gift-giving, and the next day, which is the wedding itself.”

“Gosh, that’s amazing. Three days,” Carly gushed.

“Well, four actually, if you include the civil ceremony we had last month.”

“Last month? So you’re already married.”

“Not properly,” Meena chipped in. “Not until the day after tomorrow.”

“Well, I hope you enjoy each day of your celebrations,” Carly replied, “but now I really need to get home.

“Could I have my case, please?”

“Of course.” Meena stood. “Follow me.”

They went back into the house, and there in the hallway beside her sandals was Carly’s case.

“You sure it’s the right one?” Carly asked, slipping her feet into her sandals.

“I promise, and I apologise again for taking your case earlier.”

Meena opened the door, where a group of young men were standing on the doorstep.

“I hope you’ve saved some food for us, Auntie,” the tallest of them teased.

At which point there was a squeal from behind and Lakshmi came dashing down the hallway.

The couple embraced and hurried off in search of food, followed by the other young men, all laughing and joking.

With Meena’s many thank yous echoing in her ears, Carly walked up the path to her mum’s house through the fading evening sunshine, wheeling her case behind her.

Her mind was full of the people she’d just met, and for a few minutes all thoughts of Tom disappeared.

Outside her mum’s front door, she glanced down at the pattern on her hand and, seeing the butterfly, she sensed a tiny flutter of hope.

Carly turned the key in the lock, opened her mum’s front door and hauled her huge suitcase across the threshold.

In the hallway, the familiar smell of pot pourri brought a smile to her lips.

“Mum, I’m home,” she called out,

An even bigger smile lit up her face when her mum hurried down the hallway towards her.

“What a lovely surprise!” her mum cried. She peered behind Carly. “Tom is not with you?”

“No.” Carly paused, summoning up some courage. “Tom and I are no longer together.”

“Oh, darling, are you all right?”

Her mum gathered her into the hug she needed.

“Not really, but I will be,” Carly replied from within the shelter of her mum’s arms.