If I Never Went Home (17 page)

She pulled the blanket back a little away from Kevin’s tiny body and moved her arms so he could be seen more clearly. The infant was fast asleep, his tiny hands clenched in fists. Matthew had looked dizzy.

‘You not feeling good, boy?’ asked the grandmother. ‘Like you see a ghost? Is just a little baby.’

‘I good,’ he said. ‘Yes, man. I good. You make a nice-looking baby, Prudence. He have a name yet?’

‘Kevin,’ Prudence said shyly. ‘My father chose it.’

Matthew had looked unsteady. The baby’s grandmother held his wrist. ‘You don’t look too good,’ she said. ‘You want an orange? Let me peel one give you.’

‘Thanks,’ said Matthew.

The old lady took a good-sized orange with rough green-and-yellow skin from her string bag and peeled it with a penknife. She cut it in quarters and offered the pieces to Matthew. He sucked them quickly.

‘This orange sweet for so,’ said Matthew. ‘You get these in the market?’

‘Is from the tree in we yard,’ said the grandmother. ‘You want a next one?’

‘Thanks,’ said Matthew. ‘I didn’t take tea this morning. Me belly hungry for so.’

Matthew had barely finished this second orange when their bus pulled into the station and the women left. The last they would have seen of him was when he looked up briefly from the orange and waved.

By the time Matthew’s bus pulled in fifteen minutes later he had collapsed and was dead. The cause of death remained unknown. But village voices suggested that Prudence’s mother had worked obeah on that orange to kill the man who had wronged her daughter.

What took place next was even murkier. Some say Prudence came and offered Kevin to a grief-stricken Gwen, who rejected him outright. Others say Gwen went to the girl’s house, took a long hard look at the baby, and informed the family that the boy was not her grandson and she wanted to hear nothing more about it.

Whatever the truth, the ban had clearly not been total, and Kevin had slowly leaked into their lives. Today, weighed down by grief for Alan, Gwen knew she must accept that Kevin was Matthew’s son and her grandson. Deep down she had known it for decades. It was time to make amends.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

I don’t want to see anyone. Not now. Not after the way Aunty Indra carried on in front the whole school. For the past few weeks I’ve stayed home. I get up early and cook food that I’m not eating and go back to bed. If I’m hungry I might have a few salt biscuits. Some days I don’t even bother to change out of my nightie. I mean, what exactly is the point? I don’t have the grades to do A levels and I don’t have the first clue how to get a job. If she talks to me at all, Nanny’s only interested in when I am going to look for a job and start paying rent. She says that if I want to act like a big woman then I can mind myself.

Aunty Indra doesn’t want to have anything to do with me. Imagine she and Uncle Ricky have banned me from seeing my own cousins because they’re afraid I would be a bad influence on them. Fine. Since I’m not going to any stupid church services either I’m not likely to see them anyway. The family might as well put me on the street because that is how it feels. Mummy, are you watching down on all this? And Daddy, where the hell are you?

I turned sixteen last week. No cake – not even the fruit cake I don’t like. No gifts. In fact Nanny barely said happy birthday. But now I’m sixteen I wonder if I can get any information about my father from the Registry of Births. I must find my only close blood family left. Sometimes I have this nightmare where I look and look for my Dad and when I finally track him down it is to find that he died the day before. I miss my Mom but mostly I feel angry that she didn’t tell me who he is. What was so shameful? If he’s a married man, so what? That is no big deal these days. Maybe he was mixed up in drugs or something. But my sweet mother would never have had a child with a bad-john. I love my Mom with all my heart. How could she leave me?

This morning when I was cooking corned beef and rice for Her Majesty she came in the kitchen with the newspaper.

‘The papers full of jobs,’ she said. ‘You look at any?’

I didn’t answer. She can’t even say good morning first.

‘I see at least two jobs you could apply for.’

I have nothing to say to that witch.

‘Well, I leaving the papers right here and some bus money. I want you out of the house and looking for a job today. Today. Today. Today. You hear me?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. And when you come back home I want to know where you went and what they say. This damn nonsense of you lounging around whole day like the Queen of Sheba stopping today self.’

Last time I look we living in an old wood house in St. James, not Buckingham Palace, but it’s not worth answering back. She will use it against me and get Aunty Indra on my case again.

 The
Guardian
has twenty-seven positions vacant. The first one I had to get a dictionary to understand it. A full time phlebotomist required. That is somebody who opens your veins to let blood. I can barely look when I get a cut so no way I could open up people veins for bloodletting. What kind of people have bloodletting done to them in this day and age? If you ask me that sound like obeah, but I not calling that number so we will never know. A few adverts are for housekeepers with experience and references. There is one needing a live-in carer for an elderly lady in the San Juan area. No mention of experience or references and I get to move out of here. The other two jobs I thought might suit me were for ‘multitasking workers in a café’ near Woodbrook and the receptionist at a rehab centre in Petit Valley. I would look so cool behind a desk with my nails painted.

I called the live-in carer number first. No answer. Is the middle of the morning so somebody must be home. I tried about five times before a lady answer. Once she hear I’m sixteen she put on one obscene laugh.

‘You ever change adult pampers?’

‘No.’

The lady start to laugh again in a really annoying high-pitched voice.

‘You strong enough to turn a body that have over two hundred and fifty pounds?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘I eh think so either. This not the job for you, dearie, but I sure you will find something else. Jesus helps those who helps themselves.’

It’s a relief that I don’t actually have to go for an interview. No way I’m changing dirty diapers from some old fat woman. I feel like vomiting just thinking about it. When I get old I hope I die before I have to get someone to change me when I go to the toilet.

Next call, the receptionist at the rehab centre. A man answered the phone first ring and I asked if he knew about the job.

‘Yes, man. We looking for a well-spoken computer-literate young lady for the front office. You ever work as a receptionist?

‘No. I just left school. But I did computer studies.’

‘How much years you have?’

‘Sixteen.’

‘No, that won’t work. I need somebody who know what they doing.’

‘I learn fast.’

‘Darling, don’t take this the wrong way, but you will need training up and I too busy for that. I’m sorry. Good luck, you hear? Don’t take on all this talk about recession. It have people hiring out there.’

I put down the phone. How am I going to get trained if no one will give me a job?

The advert for ‘multitasking workers in a café’ was sounding better after the last two calls. A man who answered the phone sounded like he was running a marathon. He explained that he was expanding and wanted two more staff. Since the morning start he already had ten calls inquiring about the jobs, so he plan to see everybody tomorrow and I should come for ten o’clock.

‘If you afraid of hard work don’t bother coming for no interview.’

‘I’m not afraid of hard work.’

‘Good, because you can’t stand up only looking pretty-pretty. You will have to be taking orders, washing wares, mopping the floor and prepping the meals.’

‘I could do all that.’

‘You ever work in a café before?’

‘This will be my first job.’

‘Well, we all have to start somewhere. See you tomorrow.’

The first problem was finding the café. I thought I knew town but I never saw this part before. The café was pushed up behind a construction site and packed with dusty-looking workers in big boots and hard hats eating at small metal tables. The manager, Mr. Morris, was a tall black man with his hair in a white net. He took one look at me and said he didn’t think I was right for the job.

‘How old you say you is?’

‘Sixteen.’

‘You think you could manage the men in here? They could get real crude sometimes. A good-looking chick like you with your tight jeans and make-up might can’t take the hassle.’

‘Please. I need a job. I will manage.’

He sighed. He steups. He looked to the heavens.

‘All right. I know I going to regret this, but I’m giving you a chance. You could start now?’

‘Right now?’

‘Yes. Right now.’

‘Thank you sir, Mr. Morris. Thanks a lot.’

‘Okay. All you have to do today is take the orders and pass them on to Gerry here.’

‘I could do that in my sleep.’

He handed me an orange apron with ‘Men At Work Café’ printed in green.

My first customer slammed a ten-dollar note on the counter.

‘Sweetness, a portion.’

‘A portion of what?’

‘A portion,’ he said with a steups.

Mr. Morris looked at me and sighed. ‘The man want a portion of chips.’ He turned to the customer. ‘That’s all you want?’

‘Yeah.’

I wrote down the order.

‘Man, give me a cold Coke too. Your drinks them cold?’

‘Sure,’ I said. ‘One Coke.’

I wrote it down and passed the note to Gerry who seemed to be already stuffing chips in a bag.

Another customer was raising his voice at me. ‘Sister. Look me here. A man hungry.’

‘Yes, please?’

‘Two egg and bread and a mauby drink.’

The men began piling through the door. It had started off with a queue but that broke down in no time.

‘Reds.’

I didn’t look up.

‘Reds.’

I watch him hard. ‘My name is not Reds.’

‘So what you name then?’

‘What you want?’

‘Bread with egg and cheese and an orange Fanta.’

‘Okay. Coming now.’

The man turned to my new boss.

‘Morris, I glad you finally get a nice red girl for me to look at in here.’

The customer turned to me. ‘You is family to Morris?’

‘No.’

He turned back to Morris who was busying at the cash register.

‘Well Morris, if you don’t mind I going to have to carry this lovely lady for an ice cream later.’

‘Behave yourself,’ said Morris. ‘She’s only sixteen.’

‘Sixteen.’ He licked his lips. ‘Cool. You can’t make a jail for that.’

I gave him a hard stare. ‘Look, I don’t want to go for no ice cream with you.’

‘Well, hear she. Like reds feel she too good for me.’

Morris touched my arm. ‘Don’t bother with him.’

‘All right then, sweet sixteen. I go check you out tomorrow.’

In fairness I have to say that most of the customers didn’t trouble me. They were tired hungry men who wanted food and to get on with their day. Once the rush was over I had to help wash up, dry the wares, and wipe down the tables. The afternoon was less busy but still a steady line of people taking a little shelter from the hot sun with a cold drink and maybe a currants roll or a slice of sponge cake. All the staff get to have a cold drink and a sandwich that they take whenever they can. There’s no set break times and you don’t ever really stop because there is always something that needs doing.

We closed at five sharp but it might as well have been midnight because I was wiped out. Mr. Morris said I did well for a first day. I nearly fall asleep on the bus home. Nanny was sitting on the veranda rocking.

‘You gone whole day. I hope that mean you find a work.’

‘Yes. I working in a café in town.’

She wanted to know where it was exactly and what it was called and if the owner is a Christian man.

‘How much they paying you?’

‘Ten dollars an hour.’

‘That is cash or you have to pay tax?’

‘Cash.’

‘All right. When the week done I go work out what you have to give me for rent.’

She looked me up and down. ‘They give you a uniform?’

‘No. You wear an apron over your clothes.’

All I wanted was to take off my shoes. My feet were killing me. I didn’t even want to eat – just a shower and my bed. I had to be back at the café for eight o’clock in the morning. One thing is sure – if I stay in this job I’ll save plenty money because I’ll be too tired to go spend it in the mall.

Within a few days I understood the rhythm of the café and how to deal with the men that want to get fresh. None of them mean anything – is only talk, and if you don’t encourage them they end up treating you like a normal human being. It’s a long day on your feet. With traffic I have to leave the house by seven to make sure I’m on time. And when I finish is still rush hour. It takes anywhere from thirty minutes to a whole hour to reach home. I am so exhausted when I reach home that I only want to shower and go in my bed. I don’t see much of Nanny thankfully since I don’t want to get my head bite off every time I open my mouth.

First Saturday I had the day off Nanny came at me as soon as I woke up.

‘Don’t think because you giving me a little piece of money that go be enough. I expect you to cook and clean when weekend reach. I getting too old to have to keep house when it have a healthy young person living under my roof.’

I didn’t say anything. I just vacuum the house and clean the kitchen and bathroom. I’m not cooking. She could starve for all I care. I tried calling Charmaine to go for a little lime in the mall but she said the work you have to do for A levels is ten times the amount we had before and she don’t have time to go out. She sounded different. When I told her about my job all she said was that she’s glad I found something. I texted Ken but he hasn’t texted back. Maybe he has a new number. Whatever. I don’t need them. The girls at work planning a beach lime next weekend and I in that. I think Gerry, who is like the main cook, is the one driving us to the North Coast. It might take most of my money but I going to get a new bikini to wear. I’m looking real thin these days.

I’ve been thinking it’s time I made a serious attempt to find my father. Someone must know something. I am going to swallow my pride and beg Nanny to tell me.

I waited till the afternoon when she was rocking in the veranda and reading the Bible.

‘Nanny, I sorry to bother you, but I want to ask you something.’

She didn’t look up. ‘What you want?’

‘I finish school. I’m working for my own money. I giving you rent. You don’t think is time you tell me who my father is?’

She laughed one nasty laugh. Actually it was more like a pig snorting, with a laugh at the end.