It Never Rains in Colombia (8 page)

             
Harlow raised an eyebrow, “I don't even know what to say to this. I'm all out of jokes.”              

             
Sophia gave her a wry smile. “It's not mine.”

             
“Possession is nine tenths of the law.”

             
“I thought it might cheer you up. Your room looks a little bare.”

             
“Oh, I thought it was for your mum or something,” she replied.

             
“No,” Sophia said. A shadow passed over her face. Her eyes steely with repressed grief as she said, “She's dead.”

             
“Oh, I'm sorry. Um, thanks,” Harlow said awkwardly, reaching for the lemon tree. She should have remembered that one little thing, but it was hard to connect what she'd read about Sophia in the glossy magazines with the ordinary girl with sadness in her eyes who stood before her.

             
Sophia recovered her composure, hiding the unhappiness like a magician hides a watch making it disappear with one quick effortless movement. She said, “If you have plants in your room you'll feel better soon. I read it in the Metro. When you put plants in a patient's hospital room or they have a view of the garden, they're more likely to be back in good health faster than those who don't have it,” she trailed off with a smile.

             
The next morning, Harlow left for school with much trepidation, grabbing her backpack and making her way slowly downstairs. The pain was gone, but she stepped lightly, weary of agitating the injury.

             
“What about breakfast?” her mother called as she headed toward the door.

             
“I'm not hungry,” she called back, opening the door. Her mother rushed out from the kitchen. “Wait, wait,” she called holding a plastic box. “I made you lunch.”

             
“Thank you,” Harlow said with a wide grin.

             
“I put some extra snacks in there just in case you get hungry before lunch.” Her mother handed her the box then waved good-bye as she left to catch the 07.31 train to Rutherfords.

             
She saw Sophia standing idly outside the class room door. The hallway was full so nobody took notice of her.

             
“Harlow,” a girl shouted from behind her. “Harlow.” She turned to find Mei running to catch up with her, her brown hair swishing freely behind her like a Pantene advert. She looked meticulously clean, neat, and well presented as always. A couple of people turned around to look at Mei. Harlow braced herself for the onslaught of mockery as a few students grouped together gawking at her. Mei caught up with her. Sophia gave Harlow a short pep talk before heading off to her class and Harlow followed Mei into history class.

             
Mei looked anxiously at her, “Where have you been?”

             
“I didn't feel well.”

             
“Are you okay now?” Mei probed.

             
“Yes, much better,” Harlow said looking around the class. A few heads turned as she came in and she quickly took her seat next to Mei in the first row, averting her gaze, avoiding making eye contact with anyone.

             
Mei looked over at her with concern as the teacher entered and Roberto followed. There was a purple bruise around his eye. He passed by, taking a seat somewhere behind her. For a few seconds, everyone was quiet. Then something hard hit her back and she turned around quickly. A piece of scrunched up paper lay idly on the ground next to her feet. Another thick ball of paper hit her on the side of the face, catching her by surprise. She wanted to burst into tears, angry frustrated tears, and balled her fists under the table. She wouldn't give anyone the satisfaction of seeing her cry, especially not over this, not over him.

             
“Oww!” she cried as another paper thudded against her temple.

             
Another paper bounced off her nape. Laughter erupted from the back row.

             
She jumped up shouting, “Who threw that?”

             
The papers lay scattered at her feet. The teacher shocked from his preparations reacted by shouting, “What's going on?”

             
Harlow glanced at the teacher quickly, his face red with irritation. She saw Roberto in the back row, surrounded by his cronies, Patrick, James, and Howard, looking around innocently. She fought the fit of temper that she knew was coming.

             
“Sir, may I go to the bathroom?”

             
The teacher nodded.

             
Mei hissed, “That guy really needs a good slap.”

             
Harlow walked slowly to the girls’ bathroom, trying to cool her hot temper before it got her expelled.

             
On the way back to class, she felt as if someone were watching her and turned around as Roberto appeared, slinking out from the corner behind her. “You!” he shouted, and rushed toward her with a strange look in his eyes, his brow furrowed in what seemed like concentration, then she realised it was anger and darted away running as fast as her legs could carry her. The truth was he was much bigger than her and she had punched him, discoloured and bruised his perfect face and made the skin around his eye look like an ugly vegetable.

             
It felt like her heart would burst from terror when she heard him running behind her.
What kind of psycho is this guy?
she thought. Suddenly, he seemed so big and powerful and she felt stupid for punching him, imagining his fists battering her delicate face in retaliation.

             
Why did I like him? This psychotic maniac.

             
He shouted in fury, “Why are you running?” Sneering, “Don't run. There's nowhere left to go.”

             
She wanted to cry bitter tears, realising she'd reached the end of the hallway and banged against the emergency exit door handle, pushing down desperately, shaking it in frustration. Turning around, her heart beating rapidly in fear, her head whipped around the empty hallway looking for help. Everyone was in class. He reached her and she closed her eyes, waiting for the hard blow that would knock her out, shielding her face with her arms, eyes closed.

             
“Where are you going?” he asked breathlessly.

             
She couldn't see his face. He grabbed her arm and she shuddered at his touch wanting to cry, she kicked him in the shin instead.

             
“Owww”, he cried in pain, jumping back in surprise. “I don't hit girls,” Roberto exclaimed, hopping on one foot and grimacing. “I just want to talk to you.”

             
“Oh,” she replied, lowering her arms, feeling foolish when she saw the gentle, apologetic look in his eyes. He looked embarrassed.

             
“Sorry if I scared you. I understand if you don't trust me at the moment. I was out of order the other day.”

             
He walked her back to class.

             
“I didn't mean to scare you,” he said ruefully.

             
She shrugged, speechless.

             
“Here,” he said giving her a black gift box about the size of her hand, tied with gold ribbon and topped with a bow. Disgusted by it, she thought,
What does he think, he can buy me a gift and I'll forget?

             
“It's not what you think,” he said, reading the look in her eyes, the anger, the evident distaste. “Please, just have a look.”

             
Harlow began to tug at the bow.

             
“Don't open it now,” he said as if realising something. “It's just to say I'm sorry about what happened …” he trailed off.

             
“Why? Why did you do all of that? I thought we were friends, if nothing else.”

             
Roberto was silent for a while. “I don't know what came over me. When I was younger. I didn't really have any friends, I guess,” he said lamely. “I've never known a girl that I could just—that I felt so comfortable talking to, like I could just be myself and not this ... this person that everyone wants me to be.”

             
“I can't imagine that,” she interjected. “Everyone has friends.”

             
His face fell. “My family moved around a lot when I was growing up. I was really shy, so it was hard to get to know people. That first week when no one really talked to you, it brought back a lot of memories. I started off by trying to be helpful, but I guess I let things go too far. I took it too far. I'm really sorry about—.”

             
He can't even say it?
she thought, feeling a wave of humiliation come crashing down around her. “My letter?” 

             
“Yes.”

             
There was so much she wanted to say, to shout at him, insult him, to answer coldly,
Well, it was a joke anyway. I never liked you.
To ask,
Did you ever really like me?
But she couldn't bear the answer. It was clear.
Why rub salt into the wound?
He'd made it obvious, he even said: “Why would I like you?” It didn't matter if he apologised one hundred times. It still hurt.

             
Roberto was preoccupied with trying to read the emotions that flashed by in her eyes as he spoke. He tried to lighten the mood by telling her stories about living in France, his childhood in Kenya and being caught in a rainstorm in Cali, Colombia. It was the only thing that made Harlow look up in surprise as they walked. She looked over at him incredulously, with a shy almost childlike curiosity. “Floods, wow. I thought, well, I assumed, that it never rains in Colombia.”

             
Roberto seemed taken aback for a moment, then burst out laughing.

             
Harlow continued, embarrassed, as if to reassert her geographical knowledge. “I've heard all sorts of things about Colombia. I've heard about the Farc, the kidnappings, the peace talks, the stories about Pablo Escobar and his drug trafficking. I've heard good things, you know, about its natural beauty, the beaches, the Jaguars, and even about Shakira, but I never once thought that it rained there, not to the point of flooding,” she amended, feeling silly. “I never thought about it as a real place. It always seemed so far away.”

              “Trust me; it rains more there than in London. It's a different kind of rain, more powerful, tropical, a wild kind of rain that drenches all your clothes if you go out in it. A humid, hot rain that washes the streets. Not like this chilly London mist.”              

             
Harlow nodded, considering that like pain, the occurrence of rain was universal, something that everybody experienced and remembered in different ways. There probably wasn't a country in the world where there was no rain. “I thought it was sunny there all year round. Sunshine and beaches,” she said thoughtlessly.

             
“Things aren't always what you think they are,” Roberto said, glancing quickly at her. There seemed to be more meaning in those softly spoken words than in anything he'd said so far. With his stories, he'd unwittingly sketched a picture of a lonely, vulnerable young boy, a boy who'd always been the stranger, the new kid; everyone's acquaintance and nobody's friend. A boy who remembered the seasons and sprawling cities of Colombia more than he could ever remember the words in the local dialects of the new places his parents moved him to. He was a portrait of insecurity painted over with layers and layers of charm, good looks, and what seemed to be easy confidence. When all he really felt was detachment, he remained emotionally disconnected from everyone he met, thinking by force of habit that any relationship he formed would never last.

             
Finally, they reached the doorway and went back to history class. As he opened the door for her, Harlow saw Roberto as more than just that boy she had a crush on, she saw him as someone she felt connected to.

             
Mei gave Harlow a strange look when Roberto trailed into the class after her. Harlow took her seat, quickly stuffing the black box into her bag.

             
“Are you okay?” Mei whispered in between Mr. Hargreaves's sentences.

             
Harlow realised her face was flushed from running and everything else, the sweat barely off her brow. She nodded quickly to Mei.

             
Mr. Hargreaves went on talking. “Harlow, Sarah, Harold, Emma, and Ngotsi.”

             
She looked up in confusion as Mr. Hargreaves went on, “Group 2. Elizabeth, Christian, Patrick, Mei, Jonathan, Group 3,” he continued.

              At home, Harlow sat on the sofa carefully untying the gold bow. When it unravelled, she lifted the lid. There was a white cushion with a pink phone. She lifted it out and found a card underneath: