Honeysuckle Kumar wanted More. More of what, she was not quite sure. Perhaps more space to figure it all out.
Theoretically Honey (as she was known as to friends and family) had Enough and should have Nothing to Complain About. A high earning husband, a software developer who took his role of provider seriously. Twins, Hari and Jasmin, who recently took up places at good universities. The mortgage on their detached three bedroom house in a middle class (albeit boring) area was paid off.
And yet… there was a longing deep in her core that she couldn’t name. Honey’s career in publishing had been lost in the storm of housework, childcare and taxiing to the endless activities the twins signed up for – violin lessons, swimming, maths tuition, gymnastics and so on. All the trimmings she had managed without when growing up.
Some minor academic editing work represented the last remnants of Honey’s career. Recently she began to wonder whether it was too late to embark on the career she really wanted – to tell the stories of women like and unlike herself. To allow women to break themselves open through the written word. The sound of a slammed front door abruptly shut down this thought.
“Hey Honey, I’m ho-ome” trilled Raj from the front door. Honey sighed at this old, no longer witty refrain that her husband had persisted with for 25 years. He reminded her of their social commitment this evening and to “make an effort for a change”. Cue, another inward sigh.
Their marriage seemed ok, serviceable, like a reliable old car. Lately Honey had felt a distance but didn’t want to press too hard in case she created a bruise. Isn’t this just the way of long-term relationships? she thought.
The dinner party was typical of others in the close. Jo Malone candles, complex Ottolenghi salads, Lidl olives, fermented something or rather. The men talked about the state of US politics. The women, who talked about not very much at all, looked like clones to Honey with their identical golden highlights and boutique boho dresses. She felt dowdy in comparison but consoled herself with the beauty of her inner life.
Honey disengaged from the scene by imagining herself as a drone hovering above the table. And then she saw it. Tara’s emerald studded earring, catching the light from the mock chandelier, was missing one of its hexagonal stones. The very stone Honey had found in the laundry basket amongst Raj’s work shirts.
With a deep breath, and clarity she had not felt in years, Honeysuckle stood up from her chair and walked out of the room. And out of her old life for good.
***
The attic flat was chilly but was compensated by the sound of crashing waves and a view of the Côte d’Opale.
Honeysuckle sat at her desk, opened a new file on her laptop and typed:
She Wanted More
A Novel by Honeysuckle Kumar
