Separation, The (30 page)

The grass smelt of cat poo, and thistles and dandelions had spread over Granddad’s once pretty borders. The air was full of the smells of late summer. Father heaved out the old lawn mower, examined its rusty blades, shrugged and abandoned it. He went off somewhere, shoulders drooping, and, more to the point, his clothes dishevelled. He must be missing Veronica, I thought. I felt lonely too. Fleur was quieter than ever and Billy was busy helping his dad.

I was imagining the house at the end of the sea, where my next heroine would live. American, white clapboard, and surrounded by water. I’d just got her to the ocean’s edge, when I heard a voice.

‘Hello. Anyone there?’

She sounded different, and her voice caught in the way it does when you’re trying to hide your real feelings. I looked up to see her come round the side of the house. She looked awful, her usually flawless skin red and blotchy, and her hair untidy. I pulled up a garden chair and Veronica slid into it. Shoulders shaking, she dug in her bag for a Kleenex.

For a moment neither of us spoke. She gulped, then made a bottled-up hiccupping noise. Embarrassed by this display of unlikely emotion, I stared. For a moment I hoped Mr Oliver had died, then erased the bad thought.

‘I thought you were in Africa.’

She looked up. ‘It’s Sidney,’ she said and started to really cry. I bit my lip, looked at her eyes and saw the panic there. She gulped again and her face twisted. Veronica usually showed a happy face to the world, calm and in control. It was awful to see her like this. In the end she blew her nose and managed to stop the tears.

‘He wasn’t ill at all. He’s been arrested.’

I remained completely still, not even blinking, not daring to ask, but knowing all the same.

‘For …’ She trailed off.

There was a controlled silence, on both our parts. She looked at me, blue eyes watering, and my heart thumped.

‘For molesting a child,’ she managed to say, so quietly I almost didn’t catch it. She let out a slow breath and wiped her eyes. ‘There, I’ve said it. I’m sorry. I wanted to see Alec.’

‘He’s out.’ I hung my head.

‘Emma?’

I shook my head: couldn’t look up.

‘Emma.’ She put a hand on my arm. ‘Now, dear, I very much want you to tell me the truth.’

I shook my head again, this time with my hands over my ears. I didn’t want her to touch me, didn’t want to hear. I felt like a malu-malu plant, wanted to fold right up, conceal myself, so nobody could ever touch me.

She leant over, took my hands from my ears and lifted my chin. I knew from her white face, Veronica had guessed.

‘Is that why you stabbed him?’ she asked, in the tiniest voice.

I nodded and folded my arms across my middle.

‘Oh no. Please, not you, sweetheart. What did he do?’

I stood up abruptly, wanting to keep it all inside. Nothing would make me say the words. Nothing.

‘Why didn’t you tell us?’

The garden swayed. The tree at the bottom of the garden shook. I spun round. Felt trapped. Heat exploded in my head and I couldn’t get out. My voice seemed to disappear. If I spoke, the terrible words would stick to my lips. Then anything might fall from my mouth. All the secrets I’d been guarding would fall on the floor in front of my dad. All the poisonous things I thought about him, and about what had happened to Mum, all the sinful things I’d done with Billy. All my plans. Everything would come out of me.

‘Nobody would believe me,’ I managed to say.

‘You didn’t give us a chance.’

I took a step back. ‘He made me feel dirty.’

I turned on my heels, ran up to the bathroom, locked the door behind me, sat on the floor and sobbed. When I stopped crying, I looked at my swollen eyes in the mirror. All the pain of losing my mum was there. And the dread I’d never again see the person I loved more than anyone. I hadn’t been able to tell her about Mr Oliver. Hadn’t been able to ask her what to do. I thought I’d locked the pain away, but could everybody see it in my eyes? I filled the sink, sloshed water back and forth, then splashed my eyes and sat on the floor with my knees drawn up, arms wrapped round. I held on tight to keep myself together.

Voices rose from the bottom of the stairs. Dad, back again, and talking to Veronica. I couldn’t hear what she said, except for a loud sob, followed by my father’s voice, soothing and gentle. A side to my father I could never find.

The voices went on for a few minutes, then I heard footsteps on the stairs. Veronica I hoped. Not Dad.

‘Emma?’

It was her, but the words still stuck in my throat, and my heart jumped so much I could hardly breathe.

She tapped on the door. ‘Emma dear, I’m so sorry. I’ll do anything I can.’

A rush of anger drove me up and I threw open the door. I hurled the words at her. ‘You knew. You must have known all along.’

She stepped back as if I’d hit her, shook her head and clutched the banister rail behind her.

‘No, I swear. I promise.’

I saw the shock in her eyes and heard Dad approach. We stood squashed on the little landing at the top of the stairs, just outside the bathroom door. I wanted to run, but when I looked at his moist eyes and stricken face, I stayed put. Nobody moved or
spoke. I looked past my father at the flocked wallpaper. Pink roses, sprinkled with blue forget-me-nots. Granny’s choice. I felt a lump grow in my throat. The silence deepened. The whole world seemed to stop its business. Then he held out his arms to me and with a gulp I went to him. For the first time that I could remember he held me, and gently stroked my hair.

‘Forgive me, child.’

We stayed like that for several minutes. In the end I sniffed, wiped my face and pulled away. After that he didn’t know how to look at me. I took a breath and reached out a hand to him. He frowned at it, as if he didn’t understand the gesture. He looked thin and worn suddenly. I let out my breath slowly.

Veronica put her arm round me and led me downstairs, where Fleur sat white faced at the kitchen table.

‘It’s all right now, isn’t it?’ she said, in a small voice.

They woke at dawn and left to the rattle of shopkeepers pulling up metal blinds and throwing their doors open to the day. The mist lay heavily over the water, giving rise to a pale morning, with wispy clouds stretched right across a surprisingly washed out sky. Out of town the trees were buried in shadow.

Lydia shut her eyes and the image emerged, always the same. A woman in a pale blue dress, with dark blue cornflowers at the hem and neck. But something was different. This time the woman turned and spoke. Lydia couldn’t see her face but felt her hands, as soft as a child’s, and heard the words ‘Tell her I came.’ That was all.

She opened her eyes, not realising she’d been asleep. By the time they reached a resettlement village, the sun was so bright it bleached the colour from the day.

It was an uneasy time among colonial administrators. Malaya had, at the end of August, achieved independence from Britain. Lydia had seen the new ten-dollar notes, the queen replaced by a farmer and buffalo ploughing a paddy field. A few British Civil servants, like Ralph, were retained to keep the administrative arrangements running smoothly. Others had gone. The new prime minister was setting up an Inspectorate General of Police with responsibility for internal security, though some British police stayed put. Lydia didn’t know how much it would affect her life, but was aware of feeling less comfortable in the streets. Eyes followed her where none had before, and she began to hold her handbag tighter.

Adil looked sideways at her, his slanting eyes intense. ‘What do you see when you close your eyes?’

‘Memories. Images. You know. Things I want to remember.
Sometimes things I want to forget.’

‘Do you want to know what I see?’ He paused and grinned at her. ‘Well, perhaps not.’

She smiled. ‘Tell me.’

‘I see a woman who doesn’t realise how strong she is.’

‘I don’t know. Sometimes it all feels too much.’

‘Don’t lose heart. You’ve come so far.’ He made a wide sweeping gesture. ‘After all you’ve been through, you’re still out in the world. Still doing your best.’

His words brought tears to her eyes.

‘How are you really, Lydia? I can’t always tell.’

She shrugged.

‘You have good days and bad days, right?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘Well, I hope this will be a good day. There’s someone I think you’ll be happy to see.’

She noticed he carried a brown paper parcel.

‘What’s in there?’

He tapped the side of his nose.

With a gesture of authority, flashing his ID, he led her through security at the gate of the village. The smell of exhaust fumes met them, as an armoured car, packed with Malay police holding submachine guns, drove in.

He saw her look. ‘Some women got picked up for … well, they call it cohabiting with terrorists, though of course they don’t live with them at all, and now the police are using them to set traps. See that lorry. Full of women and SEPs. Surrendered enemy personnel.’

‘Why do they surrender?’

‘The ordeal of life on the inside. Here they get housing, food, and medical aid.’

She scanned the huts. ‘I went to a new village with Jack once. This seems less grim.’

‘They were only intended to be temporary, but they’re a bit cleaner now and there’s piped water.’

Lydia watched as the lorry started to drive round, its sides draped with canvas.

‘There are slits in the canvas. Can you see?’

She nodded. A couple of Malay policewomen walked alongside it, dressed in khaki with silver badges on the front.

‘The men and women inside will be made to point out anyone who is connected with the rebels.’

People shuffled by in a wavering line, waiting to be scrutinised. They seemed calm, even if one or two sets of sullen eyes followed her.

‘Some of them don’t look too happy,’ she said.

Adil shrugged. ‘Despite Independence there are still Chinese rebels in the jungle. These villages are run by the Malays now, and people get ownership of a little land. That helps.’

The night’s cloudburst had long passed over and the heat was blistering. Despite appearing cleaner, deeper into the village, thin cats slid along alleys, where the smell of pig manure and rotting fruit made Lydia reel. She heard the harsh cry of a caged bird, smelt the chilli-pepper and tamarind as they passed women tending fires, and the sickly smell of Chinese cigarettes from small groups of men packed together.

They turned into an alley, stepped over banana skins and pineapple peel, passed a flow of people coming and going, and at the end, where it opened into a little clearing, they stopped. Two children with glossy black hair, a boy and a girl, were playing in thick layers of dust, rolling stones, to see which went the furthest.

The girl looked towards the interruption with an indignant shout. The skinny, long-limbed boy followed suit, but then his mouth fell open and he halted for a moment, before jumping up and charging over.

‘Mrs Lydia!’

He stopped just before her, suddenly shy. She held out her arms to him. ‘Maz! You don’t know how pleased I am to see you.’ She pulled him to her, hugged him, then examined his face.
He looked well, eyes bursting with intelligence. ‘You’ve grown, Maznan.’

They stared at each other.

‘Yes, Mem,’ he said.

She scanned the little clearing. ‘Where’s your mother?’

He looked downcast. ‘Mem, I am staying with Auntie again. My mother has gone.’

‘This is for you,’ Adil said, holding out the parcel.

His eyes wide, the child took it. ‘Really? For me?’

Adil nodded.

Maz sat on the ground to tear open the wrapping. First, a curled skipping rope fell out, then a shiny blue ball rolled in the dust.

‘I need to speak with Mem now,’ Adil said.

The boy nodded, passed the rope to the girl, and with a shout began to dribble the ball around the clearing.

Adil took Lydia’s arm and stepped a few yards back. Broken clouds were massing overhead once more and the wind began to rattle a nearby metal roof.

‘I wanted you to see that he was safe.’

‘Okay.’

‘And explain why he was given to you to take north.’

Lydia stood completely still.

‘Maz was brought to you by his aunt, Suyin, on the orders of George Parrott. It was hoped that when the child’s mother heard of his disappearance, it would force her out.’

She blinked rapidly, shocked to the core.

‘Let me explain –’

She interrupted him. ‘Of course, you knew I was with Suyin when you drained the petrol. I hadn’t thought about why you’d known she was there.’

There was a shout from inside a hut. When a woman came out, Adil moved forward, prepared to intervene, but she shook her fist and threw the shiny blue ball into the clearing. Adil ran for it, but Maz got there first and kicked it to the girl, who
dribbled it down the alley. Maz was left with the skipping rope and a frown on his face.

Lydia picked up the rope. ‘Look, it’s easy. You’ll soon get the hang of it.’ She showed him how, then went back to listen to Adil.

‘So,’ she said, ‘let me get this clear. You’re saying that George used
me
to draw Maz’s mother out of the jungle?’

‘His mother knew too much, and had become associated with one of the top rebel leaders. George Parrott wanted to stop her.’

‘Giving government information away you mean?’

He nodded. ‘She worked in Alec’s office for six months, but left when she fell pregnant.’

‘Why did she join the rebels?’

‘Her brother-in-law was a comrade living on the inside. He was shot during a failed ambush attempt on a road train. His body was brought into town as a warning to others. Maznan’s mother saw him lying in the mud, riddled with bullet holes, and that’s when she vowed to get even. Maz saw too. The man was his uncle.’

‘The poor child,’ she said. ‘He told me he loved his uncle but he was gone. Never said why.’

‘She left her sister to care for Maz. With three children of her own, a baby on the way and her husband dead, the sister eventually baulked.’

‘Another mouth to feed.’

‘Exactly. Maznan’s mother sent word to her sister, telling her to go to the child’s father for money.’

‘Why did she need to send her sister?’

‘Once she’d spent time on the inside, which she had, she couldn’t risk being seen herself.’ Adil was silent, heavy eyebrows furrowed. He stared at the ground for some minutes before looking up again.

Lydia watched the child’s attempts to master the skipping rope. It was clear he’d never owned a skipping rope before, and even though the rope kept tangling, he didn’t give up. So much had gone wrong for him, yet he had the sweetest nature, and it never seemed to alter.

Adil explained he hadn’t agreed Lydia should take the boy. He had argued with George. Said it was dangerous and might not even work.

‘And George paid you to make sure I broke my journey at Jack’s.’

‘That was the only part of the plan that seemed sensible. You’d be safer with Jack taking care of the rest of the journey. And, of course, Maz’s mother might have come out into the open there, which again would have been safer for you than if it had happened somewhere on the road. We were confident Jack would take you to Ipoh himself. In the meantime, Bert knew of the plan and was on the watch for Maznan’s mother.’ He stopped suddenly and held her arm. ‘Look, Lydia, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you everything.’

He looked sincere, his eyes full of regret, but she shrugged. Every time she thought there were no more secrets, there was something more.

‘Then the fire?’

‘Turned all the plans upside down.’

‘Did Jack know about all this?’

‘No.’

Lydia tried to read his eyes. ‘You said you didn’t know why George wanted to delay my arrival at Ipoh?’

‘I don’t.’

‘He wasn’t anything to do with the fire?’

Adil shook his head.

‘So who took Maz from Jack’s house? Was it his mother?’

‘With the help of insiders and Lili.’

‘But I thought Maz and his mother were together in detention.’

He shook his head. ‘That was meant to happen.’ He paused and shrugged. ‘Best laid plans –’

‘Look!’ Maz shouted, interrupting them. ‘I can do it.’

They both turned to see he’d finally mastered the skipping technique.

‘You clever little thing,’ she said, then ran to him and picked him up. But she couldn’t help her breath catching at the memory of Fleur’s skipping rhymes.

Along with his cousin, they took Maz for a sticky cake. Lydia grinned at the sight of jam spreading round his mouth. She ordered two more, but as she sat back down, Adil indicated the blackening sky. With a tiny burst of red at its centre it looked ominous.

‘We’d better get back. This one’s a real storm.’

She bent to kiss Maznan’s cheek. ‘I’ll see you again. I promise.’

As they headed off, Lydia waved to the children and Maz carried on waving until they were out of sight.

‘Why promise what you cannot know you’ll keep?’ Adil said.

Sheeting rain exploded in the dust, sending trails of wet dirt running up Lydia’s bare legs. She ran to the car, too confused to speak.

Once in the car neither of them could have been heard if they’d spoken. The rain was so loud it even drowned out the thunder. Though she’d been elated to see Maz, Adil’s revelation had darkened the occasion for her. He focussed on driving, and where the road surface was obliterated by red mud, the car slid repeatedly. Rain blurred the view and no other headlights came their way. She took a deep breath, tucked the hair behind her ears, and held her hands tightly together in her lap. Outside, wind bent two-hundred-foot tualang trees almost horizontal. At the edge of town, it ripped off attap-leaf roofs and lifted tin shacks as if they were toys. There was not a flicker of light anywhere.

The storm was brief but intense. Instead of a normal sunset, the sky turned a strange orange-brown. In the face of so much destruction, Lydia’s perspective gradually restored itself, and by the time they reached Adil’s flat, she was calm. She’d been used by George, it was as simple as that, and Adil had been an unwilling part of it. But the question now was whether he’d told her everything.

Upstairs, she watched him pick up a copy of
The
Straits Times
and flick through. He hesitated then folded the paper to show her.

‘There’s to be a memorial, Lydia. For those people lost or killed during the Emergency.’ He paused to see her reaction. ‘Will you go? I’ll come if it helps.’

Lydia shook her head and handed the paper back. She didn’t want sympathy or condolences, genuine or otherwise.

She looked down on the mismatched houses and shops changing colour in the orange light, and at the glowing Chinese mansion opposite. A steady hum rose from the street now that the rain had passed.

‘Tell me about George,’ she said, as he made them some coffee.

‘Newspaper and governmental records were pretty much destroyed by the Japanese, but I got hold of some old press cuttings. Before the war there had been a whiff of scandal, nothing concrete.’

‘Didn’t you trust George?’

‘I had my reasons not to.’

‘Yet you worked for him?’

‘I had very mixed feelings. Put it that way. Just before the Japanese invasion, the Parrotts managed to get out. They went to Australia, taking Cicely with them, and all traces of wrongdoing disappeared in the post-war chaos.’

‘But you carried on digging?’

‘Exactly.’

She felt a stab of weariness in the pause.

‘Look, enough of all this,’ he said. ‘I don’t like to see you look so sad.’

She shook her head. ‘I’m not. It’s just lonely sometimes. Without them I mean.’

‘I understand.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Maybe we need some diversion. Let’s go out, see a film or something?’

She held her breath as a moment from the past tugged at her memory. One of the times she and Alec had taken the girls out.
It might be nice to go once more. It would be as if she was watching just for them.

‘What about the Chinese circus?’ she said, and breathed deeply.