She took hold of his arm and they began walking slowly again.“I just want you to make me proud, that‘s all. I mean I‘m already proud of you, and your sister, but, well, you know what I mean. I‘m a little drunk. Let‘s change the subject. I wanted to talk to you about something else.‘

What else?‘

Oh  –  too  late.‘  They  were  in  sight  of  the  hotel  now,  three  stars,  smart  but  not ostentatious. Through the smoked plate glass window he could glimpse his father hunched in a lobby armchair, one long thin leg bent up to his knee, sock bunched up in his hand as he scrutinised the sole of his foot.

Good God, he‘s picking his corns in the hotel lobby. A little bit of Swansea on the Via del Corso. Charming, just charming.‘ Alison unlooped her arm and took her son‘s hand in hers. "Take me for lunch tomorrow, will you? While your father sits in a darkened room and picks his corns. Let‘s go out, just you and me, somewhere outside on a nice square. White tablecloths. Somewhere expensive, my treat. You can bring me some of your photographs of interesting pebbles.‘ 

Okay,‘ he said, sulkily. His mother was smiling but frowning too, squeezing his hand a little too hard, and he felt a sudden pang of anxiety. ‗Why?

Because I want to talk to my handsome son and I‘m a little too drunk right now, I think.‘

What is it? Tell me now!‘

It‘s nothing, nothing.‘

You‘re not getting divorced, are you?‘

She gave a low laugh. ‗Don‘t be ridiculous, of course not.‘ In the hotel lobby his father had seen them, and was standing and tugging on the ‗push to open‘ door. ‗How could I ever leave a man who tucks his shirts into his underpants?‘

So tell me, what is it?‘

Nothing bad, sweetheart, nothing bad.‘ Standing on the street she gave him a consoling smile  and  put  her  hand  in  the  short  hair  at  the  back  of  his  neck,  pulling  him  down  to  her height  so  that  their  foreheads  were  touching.  ‗Don‘t  you  worry  about  a  thing.  Tomorrow. We‘ll talk properly tomorrow.‘

                                                           CHAPTER THREE

                                                          The Taj Mahal

                                                       SUNDAY 15 JULY 1990

Bombay and Camden Town