The Wicked Game

By Michelle Lawson

An exotic adventure, an obsessive affair . . . Don't let reality get in the way

Newly divorced Kate longs to escape her predictable life. A new business venture takes her from the grey damp of northern England to the colour and excitement of Nepal. In Kathmandu she meets Chandra, a charismatic young man, and embarks on a relationship that crosses cultural boundaries. Bowled over by his attention, Kate is transformed by the idea that someone like Chandra could find her desirable.

As Chandra pursues her on her return to England, Kate becomes tempted by his vision of a life together. She returns to Nepal, where it becomes increasingly difficult to understand her place in his world. And when reality tracks her down, Kate faces decisions over how much she is willing to give. Because Chandra's version of the future could be very different from Kate's.

With its themes of vulnerability, manipulation and betrayal, The Wicked Game explores how easily we can be led over the line into an alternative version of reality.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Medlar Tree Press
• Release date: Nov 10, 2019
• ISBN: 9781916294219

Michelle Lawson

Having spent her childhood in Canada, Michelle returned to England, where she later trained to be an occupational therapist and had a variety of medical articles published. The Tale of Dotty Mouse-a 1 Only is her first venture into the realm of children’s books. Michelle has lived with her six children, four dogs and three horses on a farm in Cheshire for many years.

Book preview

Part One

Spring in Kathmandu

One

‘C abin crew ten minutes to landing.’

A nervous excitement took hold of Kate as she gazed out of the tiny window at a world so different from the one she’d left behind. That grey, damp and predictable northern England, with the patter of rain ever present in the background, along with the shuffle of people hurrying past; heads down, never looking up. She looked down at the folds of landscape scored with perilous tracks linking isolated settlements. Suddenly the land flattened out and the plane dropped in height over bigger villages linked by ribbons of road and a dirty-looking river the colour of clay. The land became more urban as the dotted houses multiplied into a sprawl of blocks; some brick-red, others the dull grey of concrete. Now only tiny patches of land were visible in the gaps between the buildings.

The plane banked as it approached the city outskirts; a city whose name gave her a thrill. There was the runway with the wall of mountain just visible through the haze. Excitement flooded Kate, but familiar prickles of nervousness stopped her feeling completely at ease. Had she been unwise to fly halfway across the world alone?

Pull yourself together, she told herself. If it doesn’t work out, will it matter? At least she won’t be like everyone else, stuck in their safe, boring lives where everything is planned out.

Yes, the old Kate was gone. She’d spent the past couple of months telling people about her new business, glowing with excitement as they’d said how interesting it sounded and how lucky she was. She’d recited the marketing language she’d picked up to promote her new business, telling anyone who’d listen that she’d be helping craftspeople in one of the world’s poorest countries by selling their goods direct on local markets. Passers-by would stop in their tracks as they walked past her stall, drawn to the exotic display of bags and purses framed by strings of colourful Himalayan prayer flags.

Friends had raised their eyebrows, calling her ‘brave’, but that didn’t worry her. They hadn’t implied that she was acting foolishly; it just reflected a more adventurous turn. Only her brother had sounded worried but Kate had laughed it off as she’d pictured Dan’s puckered brow on the other end of the telephone. ‘Kathmandu? I don’t even know where that is. Isn’t it dangerous?’

For you it would be, yes, Kate had said to herself, but then again, for you going anywhere foreign is a risk. ‘It’s in Nepal, in the Himalayas. Thousands of people visit the place, you know. They go trekking to places like Everest Base Camp. I’m just going to buy stuff to sell. Lots of people do that, too.’

Dear old Dan, no different from how their parents had been. Such conventional aspirations: a secure job but nothing too taxing, and marriage to someone reliable. Kate had been the first in the family to go to university, and her parents had been thrilled, but there had been an unspoken belief that marriage to a decent chap would have counted for more. Someone to look after Kate, to keep her safe. They’d accepted Sean without question, relieved that their daughter was at last following conventions. They’d even managed to die without any inkling that the marriage was crumbling into divorce.

The plane touched down and Kate put away her notebook with one last look at the scribbled names of suppliers here in the Himalayan foothills. It was time to join the people pulling their bags down from the overhead lockers. No need to be nervous, she told herself. I just need to find the taxi. The one that the hotel promised they’d send to meet me.

Kate scanned the names scrawled onto ragged cards that a few people held up in Arrivals. There was nothing that looked even slightly like her name. Disappointed, she walked out of the airport into a swarm of people that surged towards her, all shouting to gain her attention. ‘Taxi, miss!’ ‘Taxi over here, madam!’ Startled, she stepped back and was mortified when two uniformed men ran at the crowd with sticks. A gap opened up and Kate hurried through, head down, ashamed that she’d been the cause of brutality. She nodded at a taxi driver who put her bag into the boot.

Kate sat on the dusty back seat and gave the driver the hotel name. So, this is Kathmandu, she said to herself as she gazed out at the ramshackle buildings either side of the road. So many cars, motorbikes and tuk-tuks, all vying for space on the road, and all much, much too close to the taxi. Once again her hand moved down to feel for a seatbelt that wasn’t there.

The driver turned off the main road and the traffic slowed. Kate smiled out at a group of children who ran up to the taxi, but her smile turned to alarm as they banged on the windows and held their hands out for money. She gasped as a child narrowly missed being hit by the car, then caught the eye of the driver looking at her in his rear-view mirror. ‘Don’t worry, lady. We don’t hit them.’ Kate turned her head away from the window, not wanting to encourage them further.

‘Here is your hotel, lady.’ Kate pulled out some notes and added something for a tip. Was it too little? Or too much? An elegant white building reared up through the metal slats of the gates and she stepped through them onto a brick path that split the oasis of green in two. On both sides of the garden sat people chatting at tables or sprawled on large cushions. Colours flashed from the waiting staff who glided around in traditional costumes. The elegance continued as Kate moved into the cool lobby with its intricate wood carvings and polite receptionists. It had clearly been a good choice of hotel for her first visit to Kathmandu.

A young man took her luggage and silently led her to her room, leaving the bag on the tiled floor as he closed the door. Kate looked around and tried to quash her dismay. The elegance of the reception area had clearly not reached this dim room with its chipped grey walls and the metal frame of a single bed. Kate tested the thin mattress before moving over to the small window. Smears and pigeon droppings blurred the view down to a large open courtyard that housed the hotel’s inner workings. Grim. Was this really the same building as that jasmine-scented foyer? And were those bars on the window necessary? Kate moved away then turned back, startled, as a pigeon alighted on the windowsill. She clapped her hands and snapped the thin curtains shut. Had she been cheated, or was it her own fault for booking the lowest price room category?

Ah well, she thought, serves me right for trying to save money as usual. Those photographs on the website, showing elegant and spacious rooms looking out over the hotel gardens, they would have been the superior rooms. Of course. Now if Imogen were here, she’d stalk down to reception to demand a better room. Imogen was the kind of person who demanded upgrades, and she usually got them. But that wasn’t Kate’s style. The room would do. It wasn’t as if she was planning to spend a lot of time in it. She hung her clothes on the wire hangers inside the musty wardrobe and walked out into the corridor.

Kate stepped back into the hotel garden and considered ordering a drink, but instead gave into the temptation to rush out into the clatter of Kathmandu. Walking slowly at first, unsure of her bearings, her pace quickened to match everything else as she became swept up into the flow of people. She stepped around the tourists gaping through the windows of trekking shops, and steered clear of the hawkers stood at shop entrances, perched ready to catch the eye and the dollars of Western visitors. She overtook a man whose bare brown legs were visible beneath the plastic containers he was carrying and smiled at a family balanced on a motorbike.

With guilt, Kate avoided the eyes of the two beggars, a father and son, stretched out on the pavement with their backs leaning against the walls. Just past them she stopped and twitched her nose at the smell of incense. Was it one scent or many? The earthy notes spoke of temples and the vast windswept Himalayan plateau, although a sharper, more piercing perfume was distinct within the blend. She followed the scent to a table piled with boxes of incense and asked the young man what it was.

He laughed. ‘I have three different types burning, but I think you mean this one, Nag Champa,’ he said as he held out a thin tube. ‘That’s the perfumed one; the others are all herbal. If you want to buy, I’ll give you a good price.’

Kate thanked him and walked away, wondering whether people would get annoyed if she burned it on the markets. It wasn’t as overpowering as the more common bamboo varieties that she’d lit as a teenager. She remembered the tang of some particularly sickly fragrance—what was it, strawberry?—that had filled the air as she’d lain on her teenage bed, with the pale light of an English summer evening illuminating the striped wallpaper of the far wall. She’d cast aside her A level texts and listened to music—his favourite band, not really hers—although he’d shown no interest in her. Or not the right kind of interest. Even now it was humiliating to think of how she’d cherished the occasional smile or comment that Luke had graced her with.

Luke. Even now the name caught at her. Tonight she felt the burn of shame as she recalled the banter she’d told herself was affectionate; nicknames that drew on her physical features, or the lack of them, or the way she pronounced certain words. She’d treasured Luke’s teasing, smiling along with it because it meant he was paying her attention. That had become a pattern. Even at university she’d been a target for satire. No wonder she’d gone into a relationship with the first man who’d taken her seriously. Deep down Kate had known that Sean hadn’t been the one, but it had felt like the right thing when the first choice was never, ever going to be available.

But that was all over now and Kate sensed a freedom that she’d never felt before. I’m unshackled, she thought, that’s what it is. Out here I’m not an employee; I’m not an ex-wife, nor an almost-girlfriend. No one knows me here. The city was a blank slate on which to draw a new Kate: an entrepreneur, happily alone. She was investing money that she didn’t really have, in a business that was never going to make her rich, but she was doing things her way, and most importantly, it was going to pull her out of a rut.

Even the names of the shops sparked a thrill as she came face to face with what she’d only read about from the other side of the world: Annapurna, Kailash, Everest, Tibet; names given to businesses selling everything from trekking tours to bookshops and export services. It was a relief to see so many of the latter, as they instilled confidence in what she was doing. She didn’t want to be a pioneer, fumbling through uncharted territory. She was happy to know other people had paved the way.

There was even an Everest pineapple juice stall, where flies swarmed around the Nepalis queuing to buy plastic cups of the yellow pulp. Kate averted her eyes, queasy from the sickly scent that oozed from the split fruit. Just the kind of thing to avoid, she remembered, having read advice to avoid street food and anything with ice or salad.

She ran her tongue around a mouth that was dry like cardboard and lined with the city’s grime. Her fingertips rubbed the fine grains that clung to her skin from whatever she touched. Thin layers of dust dulled the once-vivid hues of the clothing that hung for sale outside the shops, while thicker layers filled the grooves of the wooden masks on offer. Black smudges coated her feet. Dust was thrown up by the cars and motorbikes that rumbled down the narrow potholed streets; dust to be swallowed by the children in rags who jumped in front of Kate, shouting, ‘Where you from?’

‘England.’

‘England! Chelsea, Manchester United, Aston Villa!’ She laughed affectionately at the children with their big smiles, but after a while the repetitive chants became irritating and she crossed the road to shake off one particular boy who’d latched onto her. Where was she from? England? That’s London, Manchester, Liverpool, right? Which football team you support? Why not? You want to buy wooden masks? Why not? My uncle’s shop is down here, he give you big discount. Why not?

Kate darted around a corner into a street darker and narrower than the others, with a sharp tang of stale urine that became deeper and more acrid and she averted her eyes from what looked like a bundle of rags against the wall. Passing an open doorway, she heard the whirring of a sewing machine and looked inside. The young man feeding the fabric at the machine glanced up as she stepped in and her eyes skimmed the t-shirts with their elaborate embroideries of Hindu and Buddhist designs. This was something else to consider for the markets, perhaps. At the least she’d buy one for Will, as an apology or consolation for not being invited to come to Kathmandu with her. From what she’d seen so far, he might actually like it here, even though all he ever talked about was driving up to Scotland. But that wasn’t why she hadn’t invited him along. She’d wanted to do all of this on her own, to prove that she could; to show that she was adaptable, and capable.

‘I’ll come back,’ she murmured to the sewing man, who nodded, although his eyes stayed fixed on the needle as it punched thread into a yellow lotus outline.

The hawkers continued their chants as they tried in vain to entice her through their doorways. She learned to keep her face expressionless at the lists of cities or football teams, so they moved onto offering the best prices, just for Kate. At one point she stopped to adjust the strap of her bag and got drawn into conversation with a shop owner, ending up in the middle of his jewellery shop. ‘You’ve just arrived? I’ll walk with you, show you my five shops. They make me lots of money.’

But I’m not interested in jewellery, she thought, although she didn’t want to appear rude. Kate let him walk her to the first shop, and then stood by the counter as he talked through the pieces, emphasising how profitable it would be for her. No prices were ever mentioned.

‘I like you,’ he said, looking into her face. ‘You know why? It’s your eyes. They are beautiful and honest.’

Kate suppressed a squirm. ‘I really need to go now. Thanks for showing me your shops, but this isn’t what I’m looking for.’ She moved towards the door and he came out from the counter.

‘Have dinner with me tonight, then. Your first night here, I’ll show you the best restaurant in Kathmandu.’

‘Oh, thank you, that’s really kind but no.’ Kate stepped out of the shop and continued to walk until she was at the end of the street, where she stopped to lean against a wall and breathe deeply. She hadn’t expected to be dealing with this kind of nonsense; she was a professional buyer, not someone who would be flattered into buying things she didn’t want. She should have walked away at the start and she was now irritated with herself as well as with the man, whose name she’d already forgotten.

Kate continued to walk, aware that she must somehow exude the patina of a new arrival; so obviously gullible. Something marked her out as fair game; she was easy prey. She carried on walking with a fixed smile and told herself not to be irritated with people who were trying to make a living in this chaotic place. It wouldn’t be an easy life here, what with so many bodies crammed into these narrow streets offering the same things for sale. But it was irritating and disappointing all the same, and as she walked around, she found it hard to maintain the positivity she’d felt on the plane.

Kate stopped, her eye taken by the colourful display of bags in a window. This one was more professional than the other random displays; more organised, with proper signs and prices. She smiled to herself as she recognised the name of the shop—Rasme’s—as a women’s enterprise that she’d already contacted through a professional-looking website. Kate stepped in and introduced herself to the busy woman who was sorting through piles of bags heaped up on the floor. The woman nodded and smiled. ‘I’ll be with you in a minute.’ She turned back to the floor and carried on ticking off the items.

‘They’re always behind with orders,’ said an English voice. Kate turned to face a tall woman of around her own age, a woman whose air of resignation failed to mask a palpable frustration. ‘I ordered these three weeks ago, with the condition that they’d be ready yesterday. I was supposed to freight everything out today. It’s the same every time. The goods are perfect and it’s a fair-trade enterprise, but they promise deadlines that they can’t always keep.’

Kate sympathised, secretly thinking that this wouldn’t—couldn’t—happen with her own orders. ‘How long have you been doing this?’ she asked the woman.

‘About eight years now,’ she laughed. ‘Too long! I’m Melanie, by the way. How about you?’

Kate introduced herself and explained how she’d developed the idea in response to a need to do something different in her spare time. It had seemed such a positive thing to do—going somewhere adventurous and helping some of the poorest people in the world by buying their goods and selling them to people in England who could afford to buy them. ‘I did some research on the Internet and I realised that Kathmandu’s well set up for it. Back home we’ve got people selling things on the markets from Central and South America, as well as India, but nothing from Nepal.’

‘No, well, people are put off coming here at the—’

‘Melanie! We need you over here, please.’

Kate turned to see Rasme beckoning to them from the corner of the shop. ‘I can see you’re all busy; I’ll come back later,’ said Kate.

Kate wandered along the dusty streets and walked into shops manned by hopeful vendors who were disappointed when Kate left after flicking through bags that were often grimy, sometimes faded and never quite right in terms of pattern and colours. Back at Rasme’s she was relieved that the floor was now clear of bags. She wandered around the shop, checking the quality of the stock and stepping back to eye the colours from a distance, until she was ready with her order. She beckoned to Rasme, who came over beaming. ‘You’re invited for dinner tomorrow!’ she said. Dinner? Who with? Rasme handed her a note. If you’d like to eat with me tomorrow night, I’m staying at the Lukla Hotel – I’ll be in reception at 7.30pm. Would be good to have a chat! Melanie.

‘Oh, that’s brilliant,’ said Kate, pocketing the note. Dinner with someone who knows the ropes. That was just what she needed. Kate had been awed by Melanie’s experience and she had a lot of questions to ask, about prices, production and the freight process. Oh, and she mustn’t forget to ask why people are put off coming to Nepal at the moment.

With ten minutes to spare, Kate stood in the reception area of Melanie’s hotel next to a huddle of trekkers with their guide. All wore the trekkers’ uniform of locally purchased t-shirt and cargo pants, the latter with tell-tale coloured braiding around the pockets. She’d been spotting people like this all day long. They reminded her of Sean’s friends; couples who were nice enough but who filled the evenings with tales from their adventure holidays: the stomach upsets, the blisters, the infected mosquito bites and the days spent struggling up steep and vertiginous tracks. They’d encouraged Sean and Kate to join them on an adventure holiday. Sean had reacted with enthusiasm but Kate had masked her irritation. Why would you spend all day in discomfort, plodding up a mountain to then plod back down the other side and repeat it all? Kate enjoyed walking—she’d spent enough weekends in the Lake District—and she’d been interested in their photographs of Himalayan villages and mountains, but that didn’t mean she’d enjoy going on holiday with them. The thought of long days spent hiking with these people, followed by sleeping next to them in some remote lodge without a shower, was a turnoff.

What had entranced her was the array of handmade bags that one of these friends had brought back for presents. Eloise had spread them out in a kaleidoscope of colours over the sofa: woven, felted, striped and appliquéd, and all bought for an unbelievably low price. The idea of buying and selling bags like this had begun to seed itself in Kate’s head, although it wasn’t until a couple of years later that it came back to her as she bought cushions from a market to brighten up the house she’d rented post-divorce. The stallholders had explained how they bought directly from the makers in Guatemala, which had triggered a memory of the wonderful designs that Eloise had brought back. Just a few evenings of Internet research had shown Kate how easy it would be to set up a small business that would bring adventure into her life.

‘Here comes Tim in his new shirt.’ Kate moved to let the burly man past her and into the group of trekkers. She glanced at the embroidered mandala stretched across his front. Could have done with a bigger size, she thought.

‘How much this time, Tim?’

‘Twenty-five dollars,’ he said with a grin. ‘I managed to knock this one down a bit.’

The woman whistled. ‘That’s still too much.’ She reached across to the man on her left and spun him to face Tim. ‘Jason got his for ten!’

Tim shrugged. ‘It’s a nice design but mine is more complex. That’s why it cost more. And they need the money, right?’

Kate smiled to herself, picturing the bag of t-shirts she’d bought that afternoon. They looked exactly the same as what these gullible tourists were wearing, but she’d paid five dollars apiece with no bargaining. That meant the sellers saw her as a serious trade buyer.

‘Hello there. Anywhere you’d like to eat particularly?’

Kate turned to see Melanie, elegant in a Nepali tunic. She shook her head. ‘I’m a newbie, so I’m happy to try whatever you recommend.’

‘Okay then, we can try the Panauti Grill, as the food’s good and I’ve never fallen ill from eating there yet,’ said Melanie with a wink.

The restaurant was on the first floor and the women sat down facing each other. Kate looked through the window down onto the street below and hoped she didn’t look as sweaty as she felt. Really, it was almost pointless to shower in this city. She’d luxuriated in the cool dampness of freshly showered skin twice today but within minutes it had given way to an adhering stickiness that made her feel uncomfortable. How could anyone live here in such humidity? She turned back to Melanie, whose eyes seemed to be scrutinising her.

‘So, Kate. Why are you really here?’

Kate pointed out the window. ‘For this. I’ve done the usual holidays in Europe, but never anywhere like this. I got divorced and I felt in a rut. The business gave me a way to try new things, to come here and be braver.’

‘Braver?’