Separation, The (22 page)

Outside the tall grey walls of the nursing home, an icy January wind pinched my cheeks. At nearly fourteen, Dad said I was old enough now to come on the bus to visit Gran on my own. In my dream last night were Fleur and me, when we were small, playing hide and seek in the park in Malacca. I smiled at the memory of days when I called Fleur a Mealy Worm, and Mum strutted about, pretending she didn’t know where we were, and calling our names in an obvious voice. Now where can those girls be? I’m quite sure they were here a minute ago, she’d say. And we’d clutch each other and squeak with excitement.

I peeked through a large window, its frame peeling. Not, I hoped, a warning sign. Inside it looked as I expected, worn chairs placed around the edges of the room, like lonely little islands.

I was shown into a room overlooking the back garden, its windows draped in thin floral fabric, and where I sat stiffly on a high backed, wooden chair. I watched the hands of a wall clock move slowly. How awful to live surrounded by the musty smell of old age, watching your life tick on, with nothing to eat but semolina pudding.

When a young, pink-cheeked attendant showed Gran in, I blinked the wetness from my eyes. Gran had always been small, but it hurt to see her so frail. Shoulders stooped, and looking down, it seemed as if she couldn’t trust her own feet. And they’d given her a square haircut, with an odd side fringe that didn’t look right.

She looked up and her deep blue eyes lit up. ‘Oh, Emma ducks. You’re like a ray of sunshine.’ She lifted trembly fingers to where a vein throbbed in her neck.

I hugged her carefully, and led her to a brown nylon sofa. The
attendant promised tea and biscuits. While Gran settled back into the cushions, I felt strained, my hopes fading that she might be able to help me.

‘It’s my hip, dear. Not so steady on my pins now. But never mind that. How long are you home for?’

At least she remembered I wasn’t living at home. ‘Not long, Gran. It’s the end of the Christmas holidays now. Has Dad been to see you lately?’

‘I’m afraid I can’t really remember. I think he came with that woman.’

‘Veronica?’

‘That’s the one. Poor woman. She wanted a family you know. They came with her brother. Objectionable man.’

I bit my lip and looked at the floor, my crime uppermost in my mind.

‘Don’t worry, dear, I don’t blame you for sticking a knife in his neck. Given half a chance I’d do the same.’

‘Gran! You are terrible. And anyway it was a dart.’ We both guffawed, and the strain dissolved.

She patted my knee, and went to tidy the strings of her apron, but it was just out of habit, as she didn’t even wear one now. ‘He’s gone away abroad again. Never did like the man.’

With no chance to speak to Veronica yet, I hadn’t heard the news about Mr Oliver. I let out a huge breath, and couldn’t hide how relieved I was.

Gran sighed pointedly when tea arrived. It was far too hot for me, but she gulped it noisily. She liked her tea scorching, just like Dad. I watched her munch the digestive biscuit. Crumbs fell on her chest and showered her skirt, but apart from being messy, she seemed okay, her memory not so very bad.

‘Always digestives, even though it’s cream biscuits I like,’ she grumbled, then stopped, as if trying to rescue a memory. ‘There’s something I wanted to tell you, ducks.’

I looked up.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Something.’

My thoughts went straight to my mother. Could this be about what had happened to Mum? But Gran drew her brows together and shook her head. In any case, I was pretty sure she didn’t know what had happened to Mum. Nobody knew.

‘No, it’s gone.’

‘Never mind, Gran. If it’s important, it’ll come back.’

‘That’s just what your dear mother used to say. But I’m afraid I can’t count on things coming back any more. At least not when I need them to.’

Gran placed a heavily veined hand on my arm and studied my face. ‘How is it there, dear? Really. At school.’

I shrugged in an attempt to look indifferent, and spoke in a breezy tone of voice. ‘It’s okay. But Gran I wanted to ask you something. About my dad, and who’s paying my fees.’

‘Oh, ducks …’ Gran’s lips trembled as she looked at me, but then, just as I thought she was going to tell me, she turned and looked blankly at the window. ‘The garden’s a bit grey today. But it’ll come to life soon.’

I watched a tear slide down her left cheek. ‘I miss your granddad,’ she said. ‘Every day I think of him. Grumpy old sod.’

I patted her hand. ‘He wasn’t grumpy, Gran. Only with Dad.’

‘They rubbed each other up the wrong way, ducks. Always did. Didn’t help that the blighter left me when your dad was just a kid.’

‘Really? I didn’t know that. Is that what made Dad grumpy?’

She pursed her lips. ‘All over now.’

‘You forgave him?’

‘Of course. That’s what you do with people you love.’

‘Was Dad grumpy before?’

‘When, dear?’

‘When he was young. When he was a pilot.’

‘Pilot, ducks? Oh no. He was never that.’

‘In the war, Gran. Mum said.’

She frowned. ‘Your Dad was never a pilot. Ground crew, that’s what he was. And very proud I was too.’

I kept quiet. At the bottom of the garden the wind was swishing branches about. Gran’s shoulders drooped, and the sad look on her worn face really hit me. Impossible to know if she was right, or if it was her memory again. Poor Gran. She was like a dry leaf, still hanging on, but about to be blown away.

‘Now what was it you wanted to know?’ she said.

‘The fees?’ I tried one more time.

A burst of sunlight streamed across the floor, and a watchful look came into her eyes.

‘Look,’ she said, squinting as the light fell on her face. ‘It’s clearing up. Though mind you, wrap up, it’ll still be a bit nippy.’ She shook her head. I felt she had understood, but it wasn’t fair to force her.

Unused to such high heels, Lydia clattered up the steps of Harriet Parrott’s colonial home. Today, not even tight shoes could wipe the smile from her face. She smoothed down the new red skirt. Cotton sateen. Cicely’s choice. The slim pencil shape fitted perfectly, moving against her legs and hips as she climbed the steps, and together with a crisp white blouse, her hair newly styled, she felt smarter than she had in months. She glanced back at the noisy street, and took a sharp breath.

In a small library, the walls, newly painted the colour of blue-green glass, gave an impression of cool, though not entirely successfully, as beneath the three-bladed fan the humidity remained. A shame, she thought. The day had started off so fresh, but now, through the window, she saw the garden looked flat, colour and depth already stolen by the sun.

While she waited for Harriet, two Siamese kittens padded across the gleaming oak floor, and rubbed against her bare legs. Harriet would know who to approach, would talk to the right people. She leant down to stroke the kittens, but looked up, surprised to hear George trumpet down the corridor, then stand in the doorway, cracking his knuckles.

‘Harriet is out, I’m afraid. Have to make do with me. Drink?’

She shook her head, and sat on the edge of a narrow teak chair, her bag beside her on the floor. ‘I thought she was expecting me.’

‘Anything I can help you with?’ he said, as he mixed his drink.

She paused for a moment. ‘To be blunt, I’m here because I need help to find out why Jack was killed.’

He leant towards her, his salt and pepper hair receding now. He was waving a whisky and soda in a meaty hand.

‘But you already know, my dear. The communist insurgents.
There’s no more reason than that.’ He gave her a commiserating look.

‘Someone set it up.’

‘My dear, I don’t think it’s possible to find out. I understand. It’s a normal reaction to want to know. But these people are here today and gone tomorrow. And now, with Malaya on the brink of independence, who knows what chaos is coming our way? Be glad to retire, that’s for sure.’ He walked to the drinks cabinet. ‘Sure you won’t have that drink? Sounds like you need one.’

She fanned herself with her hand and paused, aware of her heart pounding. It was embarrassing to have to say it out loud. ‘George, there’s something else. A Chinese woman Jack was involved with. I think she could provide a lead.’

‘Chinese, you say. Sounds like a touch of the green-eyed monster.’

‘Exactly what I thought.’

‘No. I meant you, my dear.’

He smiled, then opened the window wide, though no breeze relieved the stale heavy air. Somewhere else in the house, a telephone was left unanswered. She felt sweat at the nape of her neck, reached down to her bag, and fumbled for a tissue. She looked up to see him staring at her.

He was not an attractive man, with large ears, a pug nose, and small eyes swallowed by bushy brows and fat red cheeks. He cleared his throat.

‘Always had you down as a bit of a butterfly. Didn’t see you as the jealous type.’

There was an awkward silence, broken only by the high-pitched drone of a mosquito. Lydia wiped the back of her hand across her brow and ignored his comment, unsure if he was trying to needle her, or if he was merely insensitive.

‘Her name is Lili and I think she may have betrayed Jack.’

‘I can put out the word, while I still can.’

‘I was hoping for more.’

He looked her up and down and gave a snort of approval. ‘You’re in good shape. Bit thin, but young enough to start again. Why not let it go, my dear?’

She shook her head in disbelief. ‘How could you say such a thing? I’ve lost my husband, my children and now Jack.’

‘You’re not supposed to feel insulted. You’re supposed to feel flattered.’

She saw a smile flicker across his face, followed by a suggestively raised eyebrow. She gritted her teeth. The man was insufferable, but she needed his help. She ploughed on.

‘I know what you said before, but has it been possible to compile a definitive … you know, of people killed in the fire. When Jack asked you said it was impossible. But I wondered –’

He squared his shoulders and narrowed his eyes. ‘After all this time? Even back then nobody knew who exactly had been there that night. The girls and Alec for sure, and his entire department. Other than that is just conjecture.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I hope you’re not suggesting I’d lie to you?’

She suppressed the stab of irritation. ‘Not at all, but couldn’t you phone the department.’

He shrugged. ‘If you insist, but I fear it’s a wild-goose chase. People are getting themselves killed all the time, what with one thing or another.’

‘You mentioned you’d start the process for obtaining the death certificates.’

‘Oh my dear, didn’t I say? I do apologise. The woman dealing with all that went off to have a baby. Left everything in a dreadful state. I’m afraid we may well have to begin all over again. I’ll chase it up now.’

While he made the call in his office, she turned things over. A man in his position. Did he know more than he’d said?

He came back into the room and lit a cigarette drawn from a silver and ivory case. She looked up expectantly.

‘Sorry. No list, though someone will start afresh on applying
for the death certificates. But take my advice. Put the past to bed.’ He spoke carefully, his tone flat.

She sighed. ‘Well, at least give me your word that there’s nothing more you can do to help me find Jack’s killer.’

He came across to sit beside her, legs spread wide, one hand rubbing his knee. She shifted slightly. He reeked of whisky and sweat, and, sitting too close, placed a damp hand on her thigh.

‘You’re a very attractive woman, Lydia.’

She found it hard to breathe. Outside there was a burst of rain, followed by a weak sun, but it wasn’t enough to alter the humidity in the room.

‘No point chasing about in this heat. Like I said, my dear, I’ll put the word about and we should know soon enough if there are any leads.’

She squeezed her eyes shut. ‘There is one more thing.’

‘Oh?’

‘A little boy I was looking after. He disappeared.’

She saw the sweat on the back of his thick red neck as he strode over to a filing cabinet.

‘Should be something in here. Missing persons. His name?’

‘Maznan Chang.’

He frowned. ‘European?’

‘Mixed race, Chinese, Malay and something else.’

He slammed the cabinet drawer shut. ‘In that case I can’t help. We only record missing whites here.’

She stood up, felt the heat like a blanket, couldn’t breathe for it, her skin flushed and prickly.

‘Nice seeing you, my dear,’ he said, ‘but my advice is leave all this. It’s all change now in Malaya. Get on with your life. No point digging around.’

She watched him loosen his collar; saw beads of sweat appear on his brow. He wiped it with a crumpled handkerchief and paced the room. ‘Too bloody hot,’ he said. Then, hands behind his back, turned to face her, a muscle twitching in his jaw.

George’s risky sexual exploits, though largely disbelieved,
might still be useful. She straightened her back. After Cicely’s revelations, could she use the information to twist his arm?

‘I hear you like Singapore, used to speak of it with affection, so Alec said. Go back there. Get a job in admin with one of the expanding companies. I could put in a word. With your looks, shouldn’t be hard. Tobacco maybe.’

There was a silence. Instinct told her he’d withheld something, though she had no idea what. Suddenly making up her mind, she took a step towards him.

‘George, there are things I know about you. Things you’d prefer to remain behind closed doors.’

His eyes narrowed to slits. ‘That’s uncharitable. Personally I wouldn’t flog a dead horse. And I wouldn’t tangle with me, dear. Bringing back the past can be unhealthy. With your nerves the way they are, a little holiday would be the thing. Kuala Terengganu. What do you say? Palm trees, white sands, a bit of a breeze? I can arrange it.’

She shook her head, marvelling at his complete dismissal of her threat.

‘No? Then there’s nothing more to say. Always a pleasure.’ He held out his hand, and called the boy.

The door clicked behind her. She blinked in the sudden brightness, then hurried off, heels clicking furiously. Just before she turned the corner, she stood to catch her breath, looked round at the dusty street and stood thinking. Maybe George was right. Maybe she did need to simply get on with her life. Nothing would bring Jack back, and if George wouldn’t help find Maz or Lili, who could? She heard his door close again, glanced back over her shoulder, and spun round. A tall angular man stood on the pavement, backlit by the harsh, mid-morning sun. She couldn’t see his face but the long legs, the upright posture, the shaved head, instantly suggested Adil.

She turned away for a moment, unsure, felt herself redden. Should she approach him, say hello? Maybe just wave, to see if he’d come over to her. She very much wanted to see Adil again,
but felt shaky after the encounter with George. She quickly thought it through. A friend right now was exactly what she needed. She spun round, but the man had gone. Perhaps it hadn’t been him at all, but if not, this was the second time she’d mistaken someone else for him. Once when they left the resettlement village, and now here too.