The Stolen Girl (29 page)

W
e dance barefoot
in the rain, ensnaring warm drops in the wide net of our mouths. We breathe in the muddy scent of freshly ploughed earth; sink our teeth in the bruise-pink flesh of a perfectly ripe guava.

Afterwards, we lie on cane mats under the fruit trees in the courtyard, the piquant air caressing our cheeks and whispering perfumed secrets. We slurp sickly sweet tea from stainless steel tumblers and watch the cows placidly grazing amongst emerald fields, the droplets on the blades of grass sparkling and shimmering in the sudden sunlight breaking through the scowling cover of clouds, the whole world glowing green and gold, dazzling the eye.

We listen to the growl of insects and the chatter of birds in the coconut fronds above us through which dappled honey gold rays inveigle, creating rainbow patterns on the bed of maroon and russet leaves, while the stream warbles over pebbles somewhere below us.

‘I can feel them here, Diya,’ Mum says, ‘my parents. They are smiling down at me, at us. I can hear them in the whistle of the wind. I can feel them in its zesty embrace; they are here, all around us.’

Snuff, the stray mongrel we have adopted, barks, setting off the neighbouring dogs, a cacophony of woofs, a medley of discordant howls heralding visitors.

‘They’ve arrived,’ Ram calls from his vantage point – the field he is ploughing, closest to the road – his voice laced with excitement, and as always, Mum’s eyes light up at the sound of his voice.

‘Ready?’ she asks, turning to me, giving me a hug.

It’s been two months since she’s been out of prison, two months since my mother has been returned to me, every day precious as a dream spun from the gossamer silk of every granted wish. Her eyes sparkle. Her hair – now almost completely grey – resists the confines of her bun and crowds her face. She looks happier than I have ever seen her, and younger, despite the grey hair and the lines busily mapping her face.

The stream gossips along merrily, whispering confidences to the silvery fish darting past. The green scent of leaves and the ripe yellow aroma of decaying fruit, the buzzing of bees and the thick, honeyed sweetness in the air evangelise the promise of good things to come.

‘Yes,’ I say, as I fall into step beside my mother, my heart somersaulting, performing flips of excitement as I go forth to meet my extended family: Aarti and her parents and, especially, my father, his wife and my stepbrother, for the very first time.

F
irst of all
, I want to say a huge thank you for choosing
The Stolen Girl
, I hope you enjoyed reading Diya, Vani and Aarti’s story just as much as I loved writing it.

If you did enjoy it, I would be forever grateful if you’d
write a review
. I’d love to hear what you think, and it can also help other readers discover one of my books for the first time.

Also, if you’d like to
keep up-to-date with all my latest releases
, just sign up here:

F
inally
, if you liked
The Stolen Girl
, I’m sure that you will love my first two novels,
Monsoon Memories
and
The Forgotten Daughter
which you can buy here:

T
hank
you so much for your support – until next time.

Renita.

‘
Y
ou were adopted
’
.

T
hree simple words
, in a letter accompanying her parent’s will, tear Nisha’s carefully ordered world apart.  Raised in England, by her caring but emotionally reserved parents, Nisha has never been one to take risks.

N
ow
, with the scrawled address of an Indian convent begins a search for the mother and family she never knew and the awakening of childhood memories long forgotten.

T
he secrets
, culture and people that Nisha discover will change her life forever. And, as her eyes are opened to a side of herself she didn’t know existed, Nisha realizes that she must also seek answers to the hardest question of all –
why?

W
eaving together
the stories of Nisha, Shilpa and Devi,
The Forgotten Daughter
explores powerfully and poignantly the emotional themes of motherhood, loss and identity – ultimately asking the question of what you would do out of love for your children?

S
ometimes the hardest
journeys are the ones that lead you home

E
xiled
from her family in India for more than a decade, Shirin and her husband lead a comfortable but empty life in London.

M
emories
of her childhood – exotic fragrances, colours, stifling heat and tropical storms – fill Shirin with a familiar and growing ache for the land and the people that she loves. With the recollections though, come dark clouds of scandal and secrets. Secrets that forced her to flee her old life and keep her from ever returning.

T
housands of miles away
, in Bangalore, the daughter of Shirin’s brother discovers a lost, forgotten photograph. One that has escaped the flames.

D
etermined
to solve the mystery of an aunt she never knew, Reena’s efforts will set in place a chain of events that expose the painful trauma of the past and irrevocably change the path of the future.

‘
f
rom start to
finish I loved this book and couldn't recommend it more.’
NovelEscapes.com