Brixton Beach (14 page)

Alice!’ Sita and Stanley said together.

She didn’t care. She knew they would fight anyway. If not now, then later, before they went to sleep. Why were they pretending they would not? All she wanted was to go to the Sea House. Alice looked at her parents. Her mother’s face was still pretty, but her eyes were unhappy. Her father’s face, glistening with sweat, had a different look altogether. She felt he was excited about something and she suspected he wanted to hide this from her mother.

Lowering his voice, Stanley began to talk to Sita. He found dealing with his daughter a tricky business. It wasn’t that he felt no affection for her. He was mildly fond of Alice, but he told himself that, with him gone, the child would need to stand on her own two feet, learn to fend for herself. Survive.

‘Tomorrow,’ Sita was saying, placatingly, ‘after Dada has gone, we can go to the Sea House.’

Alice could hear that her mother did not sound excited at all.

And then, in no time at all, it was the day of Stanley’s departure, at last. A bleary-eyed, tearless Sita watched the dawn rise. So he was going, leaving her alone with not one small gesture of love. Her life with him had begun with the dawn, she thought sadly, remembering the milk train that had brought her to him, hugging the coastline, thrusting onwards with the promise of a new beginning. On that day the sea had been flat and full of possibilities; now it was this same sea that was taking him away to his new life. He was trying to hide it, but she knew all about his delirious excitement. It only served to increase her own sense of isolation.

The black-hooded golden oriole woke Alice. It had rained hard in the night, but now the sky had almost cleared and the crows were drying out their feathers in the sun. When she went in search of her
mother, she found a stream of red ants coming in from the wet, marching steadily through the kitchen. She shuddered, forcing herself not to scream, knowing it would get on her mother’s nerves. The roof in the hall had been leaking again. Sita had adjusted the plastic sheeting over the small hole in the night and placed a bucket under it. Alice could hear her mother moving in the kitchen. There was an unfamiliar smell of
kiri-bath
, milk rice. Her mother was making the auspicious dish for her father’s departure. The smell reminded Alice of the Sea House. Her grandfather would be here soon, she thought happily.

She found Sita crouching beside the low stone sink in the dark kitchen, washing saucepans. The old gas stove stood against one wall and there was a series of clay pots lining a shelf. Sita had her back to the door. Alice stood silently watching her. There was something beaten about the way her mother bent over the low sink, washing the pans so quietly. Even her sari, the red and yellow silk, a present from Alice’s father, worn long ago only for special occasions, had lost its lustre. It was old now; Alice could see a tear in it that had not been there before. They were too poor to afford a servant. Staring at the sari, it occurred to Alice that her mother spent too much time in this damp dark kitchen. Her heart flexed wordlessly, she wished she could make her mother happy. Turning to place a lid on the pot of rice that was cooking, Sita gave a start at the sight of her.

‘I didn’t see you,’ she said sharply. ‘What are you doing? Go and have a wash. Grandpa will be here soon.’

Fully focused on her mother’s face, Alice saw the sunken cheeks and the dark smudges under her eyes. Sita was painfully thin. Caught unawares by a new emotion, Alice opened her mouth to speak but her mother had already turned her back.

‘Where’s Dada?’ Alice asked instead.

‘He’s gone to the kade to buy some shaving cream,’ Sita said shortly, sounding tense. There was the sound of a car turning outside and Alice ran to the front door.

Ah!’ Bee said. ‘Well, look who’s here, then.’

He alone sounded happy. Alice grinned.

‘What have you brought for me?’ she demanded.

‘So, I have to bring something each time, do I?’ he asked, raising one eyebrow. ‘We’re going to have to be strict with you once you come to live with us in Mount Lavinia,’ he said seriously. ‘Or you’ll get spoiled. Spare the rod…’

‘And spoil the child,’ finished Alice, laughing happily.

Absolutely!’ Stanley remarked, coming up swiftly behind them with his shopping. ‘Nearly ready,’ he added, nodding at Bee.

‘Good!’ Bee said, noncommittal.

They drank tea and toyed with the
kin-bath
. The air was tense with unspoken thoughts. Only Alice, overjoyed at the sight of Bee, stopped caring. Finally Bee stood up and began loading the luggage into the boot of the car. Stanley looked around at the annexe where so much of his life had been wasted. Suddenly, desperately, he wanted to be gone, freed of the chains that held him. Good, thought Bee, looking at the ground. Just go. Get the hell out of here, then. Oh God, I shall have to face his mother, Sita was thinking. And his aunts. I shall have to endure it all.

‘Who wants to come with me on the launch?’ Stanley asked with false jollity as the car was speeding towards the harbour.

‘Me!’ Alice said instantly.

‘Right then!’

Once again Alice detected the curious note of suppressed excitement she had heard earlier in Stanley’s voice. Bee must have heard it too, because he looked sharply in the mirror, accidentally catching Alice’s eye. She had a feeling her grandfather was trying not to laugh. Instantly, happiness rose in her. The sky was clear and very blue.

‘I don’t think I will,’ Sita said quietly. She knew she would not be able to face it. ‘I’ll say good-bye on the jetty’

No one said any more for the rest of the journey.

The harbour was a strange mixture of tension and emptiness. Passengers were decamped everywhere. Luggage labels spelt out the names of exotic places.

‘Sitma Line. P&O Liners, Port Said, Aden, Gibraltar, Genoa…’Alice read out aloud, wishing she knew where these places were, glad she wasn’t going there.

Sita shivered. She thought the place was terrible. Women in saris carrying their whole life in a bundle, children eating gram for the last time, old grandmothers, pressing a last bottle of
seeni sambal
on a relative they would never see again. Alice stood open-mouthed and riveted, absorbing the noise and confusion. Never had she seen such a place as this. They had entered an alien world. At last Stanley handed in his ticket and his luggage was whisked away. Instantly, he appeared apart from them, holding nothing except a small plastic briefcase with his few travel documents. He had slung his sweater around his shoulders, but now found this made him unbearably hot.

‘Here, hold this for me, Putha,’ he said to Alice, who stood quietly absorbing the activity.

Bee turned away and lit his pipe and she slipped her hand in his when he had thrown away the match. Looking down at her excited face, Bee winked.

‘Should you buy something to eat?’ Sita asked Stanley.

No one answered her. She felt superfluous to the buzz all around her.

‘I think I’ll get something to eat when we embark,’ Stanley said, at last. ‘Oh, look!’

Ahead of him, in a line of faded cotton saris, were five dark Tamil women. It was Stanley’s mother and her sisters. As she came nearer they could see his mother was crying. She took her son’s face in both her hands and kissed him. Then she nodded in the direction of Sita. It’s all your fault, the nod seemed to say.

‘You don’t know how lucky you are,’ she told her daughter-in-law. ‘You at least will see him again.’

Sita could think of nothing to say.

And then, in the smallest space of time, with no warning, Stanley, still smoking his last cigarette, was gone. Like a condemned man, thought Sita dully. Thank God, at last, thought Bee and Stanley simultaneously and with enormous relief. The tannoy announced the arrival of the motor launches to take passengers and relatives to the ship that sat a little way out in deeper waters.

‘Okay, I’m off then,’ Stanley told them awkwardly, kissing each one; his mother, Sita, his aunts. Then he shook hands with Bee.

‘Look after yourself,’ Bee said, adding quietly, ‘and don’t forget the family.’

Stanley swallowed, wanting to say something, not averse to marking the moment, but not knowing how best to do so. Picking up his briefcase, he glanced at Sita and gave her a last quick hug. Pity touched down fleetingly on his heart; then took off again. He took hold of Alice’s hand.

‘She’s coming with me,’ he said, grinning, ‘as a stowaway!’

‘No,’ Alice replied, her voice panicky. ‘I’m only coming to see your cabin.’

‘Go with her, Thatha,’ Sita murmured with soft, keening desperation so that, seeing her face, Bee nodded quickly and followed them out on to the launch.

The ocean liner, white as snow with two black funnels, lay at anchor surrounded by a flock of large seagulls. The sea was calm in spite of the night’s storm, reflecting the sun’s rays through a clear lens. Alice caught a glimpse of coastline from an angle she had never seen before, wide sandy coves and fringes of coconut trees looking strange from the water. The land seemed small and the fishing huts and harbour buildings shabby from her low-slung position on the motor launch. They climbed the long, swaying gangway. People seemed to be hanging from every part of the ship, through portholes and on the decks, watching as they climbed. Once on board, everything grew in size. The ship was bigger than it had appeared from land.

‘Come on, quickly, quickly,’ Stanley called. ‘If you want to see my cabin, you mustn’t dawdle.’

But even as they hurried to find it, using the map Stanley had been given, getting lost amongst the faceless corridors, struggling with the heavy doors, climbing lower and deeper into the boat, the great booming sound of the horn was heard and a voice advised all guests to leave. The sound of the ship’s engine had changed and there was a slow creaking of wood. Suddenly Alice had had enough. It was hot and the sickly smell of diesel everywhere made her feel slightly sick.

‘I want to get off,’ she said, pulling at her grandfather’s hand. ‘Now!’

‘Yes,’ Stanley agreed.

He too had had enough of this protracted farewell and his father-in-law’s obvious disapproval.

‘It’s just a cabin, after all.’

He turned to Alice.

‘Give your Daddy a kiss. Be a good girl,’ he said meaninglessly.

Alice was hardly listening. Fear was rising in her.

‘You’ll have exams as soon as you get to your new school in London,’ he said. ‘So do some reading every day, and look at the history book I gave you.’

‘Yes,’ Alice agreed.

The corridors had become crowded with relatives making their way to the exit as the horn sounded again, more urgently.

‘Let’s go, Putha,’ Bee said. ‘Hold my hand.’ And he led the way down the ladder, past the waving, noisy crowds, down to the waiting hands on the motorboat returning home. But by the time she had found a seat and looked up again at the great ship, it was impossible for Alice to distinguish her father from all the other smiling faces.

F
OUR RED CACTUS FLOWERS BLOOMED
on the window ledge in the annexe in Havelock Road. For months Sita had wanted them to flower.

‘There’s no point taking them with us,’ she told Alice.

Alice picked one anyway; then she went outside. The ginger cat from next door came up and rubbed itself against her legs.

‘I’ll be coming back, Roger,’ she told the cat.

Picking him up, she buried her face in his fur listening to the thunderous purrs, but the cat leapt fastidiously from her arms into the jungle of next-door’s garden and disappeared. Alice narrowed her eyes until they were slits, trying to turn them into cat’s eyes. Roger would be here tomorrow and the day after that, while
she
would be far away at the Sea House. She didn’t like the annexe; it was coated in rain-damp sorrow, dead feelings and useless hope. Nothing had come to much here. Not her mother’s baby or the landlord to mend the hole in the roof. And now they were leaving. The morning tightened like a rubber band around her throat. The lime tree under which she had played for as long as she could remember, squeezing out lime juice into her toy teapot, stood impassively. The sky was becoming overcast again and rain threatened. Sita emerged carrying the suitcase and, almost instantly, as if they had been hiding behind the jasmine fence, one or two of the neighbours, all Singhalese, came out to say good-bye. They kissed first Sita and then Alice. Mrs Pereira gave Alice a round of
juggery wrapped in a palm leaf. It had been tied with twine. And Mrs Mehdi gave Sita a packet of tea from the estate where her relatives worked.

‘We’re not going to England yet,’ Alice said. No one took any notice of her.

‘Well, don’t forget about us,’ Mrs Pereira said, her head rocking from side to side. ‘Anay! Remember you’re still a Singhalese, child!’

The women stood on the pavement under the plantain tree, holding up their umbrellas, waving until the rickshaw turned the corner and Havelock Road was no more.

‘Thank God that’s over!’ Sita said in English, sitting back in the comforting darkness. ‘Two-faced bitches! Here, give me that juggery. We’ll give it to a beggar. I don’t want to eat anything that comes from that filthy house.’

Alice snuggled into the mysterious space within the rickshaw. Their seat smelled of incense and other hot rainy-day smells. The downpour began again in earnest, beating a tattoo on the canvas roof as the rickshaw man ran barefooted across the puddles. Through the slits in the flaps, they saw glimpses of roadside life speeding by. Piles of pink and yellow flowers wrapped in shiny tin-foil shrines flashed past in a dream while mango skins and cow-dung swam in the dirty water that over-flowed the sides of the roads. Sita remained silent all the way to the railway station. May’s homecoming sari was neatly wrapped in her suitcase, along with the silk for the jacket Kamala would make when they reached the Sea House.

The sea had been disturbed by a storm last night and now there were giant waves, high and foamy. Once on the train, Alice began counting aloud until Sita told her to stop.

‘Dada is on this sea, Alice,’ she said. ‘I hope he isn’t being seasick.’

Silenced, Alice belatedly remembered her father. It was strange to think of him on this very same sea. She felt neither sad nor glad, but she knew she had to be very careful with her mother this morning. Yesterday, returning from the jetty, Sita had not been able to stop crying. Bee had tried to persuade them to come back to the Sea House with him that night, but Sita had been adamant; they would spend
one last night in the annexe and leave in the morning by train. In the end, Bee, understanding that Sita needed a night alone, had piled all their belongings into the car and driven reluctantly away. When Alice had woken in the night wanting a drink she had found the house unusually quiet. Already her parents’ quarrels were a thing of the past. She wondered if her mother was lonely without them.

The train was slowing down. A man on a bicycle sped along the road that ran between the railway line and the beach. Alice could see his face rigid with concentration as he raced the train. His face seemed familiar. They were approaching the level crossing. The barrier was coming down. Alice leaned out of the window and saw a white van speeding behind the bicycle. It hadn’t been there a moment ago.

‘Don’t put your head out,’ Sita said automatically.

Sita was staring straight ahead. The last time I did this journey I still had the baby, she thought, dully.

The strip of beach that ran along beside the track was completely deserted. The rain had stopped and left behind a curious, ethereal light. It hung over the horizon with mute softness. As the train clanked and creaked to a standstill, in the silence that followed, the roar of the waves was suddenly very loud and close by. Crisp sea-smells filled the carriage and they heard voices, faintly at first but then becoming more insistent. The train lurched slightly and went no further. Alice, ignoring her mother, craned her neck out of the window. Other people had begun to look out too. There were voices were coming from some point beyond their sightline. An argument was taking place. The ticket collector appeared on the track, gesticulating furiously. Then with a sharp squeak of the brakes the train began to move backwards before it stopped again. Everyone in the carriage groaned and looked at their watches. What was the delay?

‘I have an appointment in an hour,’ the man opposite them said to no one in particular. He spoke in Singhalese. He wore a smart tropical suit and kept brushing imaginary dust off it. ‘Now I’ll be late.’

An elderly Tamil woman shuffled into the compartment and sat down. She produced a dirty plantain leaf tied up in a parcel which she proceeded to undo. The parcel was full of rice and the old woman
began eating with her fingers, licking them clean after each mouthful. Alice stared at her with interest. The woman cleared her throat of phlegm and belched so loudly that Alice giggled, but Sita turned away in distaste and nudged her to do likewise. Then a few people began complaining loudly about the delay. The man opposite stood up impatiently and climbed down from the train. Alice saw him walking on the gravel towards the ticket collector. The guard joined them and very soon there was a whole group clustered together out on the track.

‘What on earth is going on?’ asked one of the passengers impatiently.

The old woman finished her rice and tucked her plantain leaf between the sides of the seats. Some uneaten rice fell to the floor. She stared at it fixedly, then she licked her lips and wiped her nose on the corner of her sari. Everyone in the carriage looked away politely.

‘Look, Mama,’ Alice said excitedly. ‘Police!’

Two police cars had driven up and stopped beside the level crossing, their lights revolving pointlessly. The group around the ticket collector and the guard had grown by now and there was a lot of excited talk.

‘What the hell is happening, men?’

The suited man returned to his seat.

‘Body on the line,’ he said shortly, mopping his brow.

It was getting hot. The carriage gave a collective, weary sigh and resigned itself for the inevitable delay.

‘What the devil, men! There’s a body on the line every day. Why can’t they find a more convenient place to do away with themselves? Stop inconveniencing others!’

‘Some Tamil, I expect,’ the man in the suit said, opening the window a little more. Ambulance on its way. Won’t be long now before we move. The guard said they’d make up time.’

‘Don’t believe a word these guards say. They’re all liars.’

The suited man opened his newspaper, ignoring everyone. Almost instantly they heard the sound of the ambulance siren and moments later it appeared in view.

‘Sit down, Alice,’ Sita said in a low voice. And don’t stare.’

Most of the passengers had by now moved to a window facing the sea. The Tamil woman belched again and stood up.

‘They kill Tamils,’ she said loudly in hesitant Singhalese. Everyone ignored her; Sita moved closer to Alice.

‘Have you packed your history book?’ she asked.

Alice nodded.

‘What’s happening?’ she whispered back in English.

Sita frowned warningly. The suited man was watching them slyly over the top of his newspaper. At last the train appeared to be disengaging itself. It moved backwards a fraction. Then it began to edge slowly, inch by inch, along the line. Alice saw the ambulancemen at either end of a stretcher. A white sheet was draped over it. The train was moving more smoothly now. It passed the giant cacti that grew all along this stretch of coast. It passed a few coconut trees, bent towards the ground. The passengers crowding around the window moved away and suddenly they had a complete view of the sea and the road; clear of the rain, very empty, with the sand, wide and smooth. And as the train gathered speed, moving swiftly onwards, she caught sight of a soldier, his gun cocked and ready, standing beside the mangled wheels of a bicycle. He looked very young, no more than a boy. An army jeep had pulled up beside the police car as the policeman in his white uniform raised his arm and waved them on. The train rattled along and at the same instant Alice saw, with a thrill, in the soft, beautiful light beyond them, the gentle curve of the line that was taking them to the white houses rising steeply above Mount Lavinia Bay.

Bee was waiting at the station. Because it was Saturday the ticket office was closed and the station was quiet. Such had been the force of the rain that it had swept on to the platform, flooding it completely. The seats in the waiting room, the cinema posters on the platform wall and the plant pots with their mother-in-law’s tongues swam in water. A particularly large squall had even knocked against the overhead light and broken the bulb. The station sweeper was clearing it up. The station master, who had been on the telephone moments earlier, came out when he saw Bee.

‘There’s been a delay further up the line,’ he told those waiting on the platform. ‘I’ve been talking to the guard. They’ll be about ten minutes late.’

‘What happened, Gihan?’ Bee asked, going towards him.

He took his pipe out of his pocket and lit it with some difficulty.

‘Not sure,’ Gihan said loudly, shrugging.

Then, because it was Bee, he dropped his defensive air and lowered his voice.

‘I believe the army got on the train at Weltham Point. Who knows why!’

He raised his hands and let them fall to show his helplessness in the matter.

‘Did you hear about the incident yesterday at Morotowa?’

Bee shook his head and looked at the station master sharply. I don’t listen to gossip, his look said. He had known Gihan Ranasingha since they had both been boys. In those days Gihan had been the only child in the school on a scholarship and while the other boys in the school had tended to look down on him, Bee had made a point of becoming his friend. Years later, after they had grown up and Bee had returned to Mount Lavinia with his new bride to take up the post of headmaster, they had met again. By then Gihan Ranasingha was married with four children of his own.

‘How are you?’ Gihan asked now. He was looking at his feet and spoke casually. ‘Haven’t seen you for a while. How’s Kamala? I heard the wedding was cancelled.’

‘Not cancelled,’ Bee said shortly. ‘We’ve just put it back a bit, to give Sita a chance to recover.’

Gihan nodded.

‘Yes, yes, of course. I understand. It must be an auspicious time, of course.’

‘No,’ Bee frowned. ‘I told you, we’ve simply postponed it until Sita is stronger. A matter of a few weeks.’

‘Of course, of course,’ Gihan said soothingly, smiling at his old friend.

The whole town knew about May’s wedding and that it was being delayed. Once again, because of Sita.

Bee continued puffing on his pipe in silence. He did not return the smile. For some time a certain coolness had existed between the two
of them. It was not obvious to anyone else. They still spoke whenever they met, Gihan still asked after Kamala and May. Outwardly, nothing had changed since they had been boys playing cricket together against the English. But Gihan never mentioned Sita, and Bee had lost the easy trustful air he once had. These days he never accepted, as he once would have, the invitations to share a glass of arrack while waiting for a train that was delayed.

Gihan looked thoughtful.

‘How long is the little one with you? She won’t be leaving for some time, I hope?’

He had only a vague idea of Alice’s age.

‘No.’

‘Oh good, good,’ Gihan nodded, not really listening, rubbing his hands together.

All this rain had made him feel cold. Who would want to go to the UK? he thought, shuddering.

‘Bring them over if she gets bored,’ he said, unable to stop himself. ‘Indira would like to see the child.’

Indira was his wife.

‘Come for lunch, men,’ he hesitated. ‘With your daughter, too, if she likes.’

He couldn’t bring himself to say Sita’s name, but he couldn’t stop his affection for Bee, either.

‘Indira was saying only the other day she hadn’t seen anything of you for ages, huh.’

Bee was too tall for Gihan to reach his shoulder, so he patted his arm instead. Bee smiled faintly. They both knew he would not take the offer up, but it didn’t stop Gihan from issuing invitations as easily as tickets or Bee from appearing to accept. Neither of them, thought Bee sadly, were able to put a halt to this futile ritual.

When Sita had eloped and the news first spread across the community, Gihan had not been able to keep quiet.

‘How could this have happened to the poor man!’ he had fumed the day he heard. And after that he had made the mistake of telling Bee what he thought.

‘What a disgrace!’ he had said before he could stop himself. ‘Such a terrible thing to do. And she’s the eldest too!’

At the time, Gihan had advised Bee to disinherit the girl.

‘She’s made her bed, men,’ he had shouted, his heart going out to Bee, thinking it would be better if the community knew what his friend’s feelings really were. ‘Better all round,’ he had advised. ‘You should make a stand. For your own sake, men. And for Kamala and the other girl’