Separation, The (9 page)

‘The local police have stopped us. The bus has to turn around. It’s road mines. They’re not taking any chances.’

Lydia caved in a little. Why did everything have to be so damn hard?

‘But my girls,’ she said. ‘I can’t go back.’

‘I’ve arranged a lift for you to your friend’s plantation. One of the constables here was due to transfer there in the morning. He’s agreed to take you, and will leave now instead.’

At the thought of seeing Jack, her heart skipped a beat. She imagined the blue hills and dark green valleys of the plantation, as he’d described them. The chirp of chi-chack lizards outside his bedroom window, the guttural song of bullfrogs. She shook her head. Jack wasn’t why she was here.

‘How do you know about Jack?’

‘You mentioned him, remember? I checked with the police here at the block, and Bert is one of the officers who have been assigned to the estate. It will give you and the child a chance to rest, eat, sleep, clean up.’ There was amusement in his eyes as they swept over her face and clothes. ‘You don’t want to meet your children looking like that, do you?’

In the fading light, she stared at her blistered feet, and legs covered in weeping sores. She smiled grimly. Everything itched. She hesitated. It was too much of a risk. As a wave of weariness washed over her, she wiped a hand across her forehead and wriggled her swollen fingers. She tried to twist her wedding ring.

‘I can’t go to Jack.’

He looked at her kindly. ‘It’s really your best chance. The bus won’t come this way for another week.’

‘What about you? Aren’t you coming?’

‘No. I will go back with the bus. It will turn round immediately.’

She sighed, surprised by a flash of disappointment.

‘Can’t I go back with you?’

He shook his head. ‘A week’s a long time. What would you do?’

She gave in. He was right. This way she’d reach Emma and Fleur sooner, but what would Alec say if he found out?

Adil carried her case, and holding on to Maz, shepherded them to the armoured police car, where a stocky British officer in green camouflage stood smoking beside a turbaned Sikh police sergeant.

Adil nodded at the man. ‘This is Bert.’

With one hand, she shaded her eyes from his torch to see the man who’d be driving them. With the other she brushed away air full of flying ants. From what she could see, Bert had a friendly face, slicked back wavy hair and freckles like her own.

‘No problem, anything to help a lady,’ he said in a broad Yorkshire accent. ‘I’d have been going in the morning anyway.’

She smiled faintly, surprised by how sad and homesick for England it made her feel.

Lydia settled Maz and climbed into the car. Just as she was about to close the door, she hesitated. Bert was in the driver’s seat, key in the ignition, ready for the off.

‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Just a sec.’ She got out and walked back to Adil.

‘Who are you? I mean really. You’ve been so … so kind.’ She touched his hand. His face was in shadow, but she saw his eyes glitter as he smiled. She saw real depth there, realised that his dignity and reserve reminded her of the old legends she’d read to the girls, about powerful native priests. Tranquil, like Adil, but warriors in their hearts.

‘No problem. We live in dangerous times.’

They looked at each other just for a moment and she enjoyed the fleeting contact.

‘Well, whoever you are, I wanted to thank you. For your kindness.’

‘It was nothing. A friend. Think of me that way.’

Bert stuck to empty tarmac roads. As it grew darker, far into the trees they glimpsed the occasional brightness of kampong fires. At a high barbed-wire perimeter fence, they stopped. Bert shone his torch upwards, and Lydia saw two policemen staring down from a watchtower partially hidden in the trees, both armed with Bren guns. Bert flashed his credentials to a third man at the gate, who accompanied them to the house. In the distance great beams of light from even more watchtowers shone directly into the plantation.

The estate road itself was longer than Lydia expected, but when they arrived at a brightly lit two-storey building, surrounded by more barbed wire, her heart picked up speed. After unlocking another gate, the guard let them through. He walked round an azalea bush lit by a lamp rigged up on a post, then waited in the shadows.

The main house was square and imposing, circled by a veranda and what looked like a sizeable garden, with an annexe at the side. She’d never seen the estate before, their rendezvous taking place in hotels during the day, and more daringly once or twice at her own home.

Lydia wondered at the wisdom of this. What would Jack think of her turning up out of the blue? Better to have gone back with Adil, even if she’d had to wait a week.

In the hush of the entrance hall, she looked round, unsure, and breathing very slowly to calm her heart. It felt empty, barely lived in, apart from one pale blue Chinese rug in the middle of the floor. She took in sparse furnishings, dark woodwork and the masculine odour of tobacco and wax.

A slim Chinese girl, with unsmiling eyes and silky blue-black hair right down to her waist tripped across the smooth tiled floor. She had pale olive skin and delicate features, and something about the fluid way she walked was confidently sensual. Lydia felt hot and sweaty, but attempted a smile.

‘Yes,’ the girl said, in English. Her eyes flicked over them.

Bert looked a bit taken aback, but remained polite. ‘Is Jack about please?’

‘He may still be up. Who shall I say is here?’

‘Bert Fletcher. I’m one of the additional Special Constables relocated to this estate. I was meant to arrive tomorrow.’

Lydia knew there’d been trouble at Jack’s plantation. But she hadn’t realised it meant Jack required Special Constables of his own.

‘Just temporary, then I’ll move on to the new resettlement village,’ he said, turning to Lydia. ‘We work in pairs.’

The girl left and Lydia stared as a pinkish-brown gecko crept across the wall. She tugged at her damp dress and absently brushed the flies from her face. Another gecko raced along to clutch hold of the first. She watched as the original one left its tail, which continued to squirm. It was a good omen and she was so absorbed in watching and trying to stop herself from crumpling she failed to see Jack’s face as he entered the room. By the time she spun round at the sound of his steps, the moment had passed and she’d missed whatever his first reaction had been. He stood barefoot, muscular shoulders visible beneath a thin blue bathrobe, sleeves rolled up, hair damp. She watched his bright blue eyes, tried to gauge what he was feeling.

The Chinese girl stood silently behind him, her perfect tiny frame outlined against the light of the standard lamp behind.

‘Lyddy,’ he said, coming across to her. ‘What on earth?’

Aware of scabby sores and dirty hair, Lydia suppressed the urge to cry and put on what she hoped was a brave face. As his eyes swept over her, he made no attempt to conceal surprise. Self-conscious despite the exhaustion, she smoothed her sweat dampened hair.

‘This is Maznan,’ she said, extracting the boy from her skirt, where he clung, limpet like. ‘Maz for short. I’m sort of looking after him.’

Jack looked completely bewildered, brushed his dark blond hair from his eyes, swung round to the girl and spoke rapidly in Chinese.

The girl inclined her head and left the room.

‘Lili will run a bath and sort out some food. You look done in.’ He came up to her and held her by the shoulders. Suddenly his face lit up. ‘Have you changed your mind? Is that why you’re here?’

She felt herself tremble, shook her head and clenched her hands to hide the shaking.

He lifted her chin. ‘What on earth has happened then?’

She bit her lip to stop the tears, but they fell anyway. She wanted him to sweep her up, take her to his bed, make everything all right. But she’d promised Alec. Made her choice.

He wiped the tears from her cheeks. ‘Very well. I can see this isn’t the time. I have to be up before dawn. Back by twelve. Then you can tell me. There are twin beds in the spare room.’

He nodded at Bert. ‘The guard will show you where to go. See you tomorrow, Lyddy.’ And with a light kiss on her forehead and a fleeting smile, he left.’

The window had three sections, with metal criss-crossing the glass in diamond shapes. I stared out at the summer sky, turned pink by the sun, and felt homesick. I still smelt the dusty spot under the house in Malacca, where I crept to spy. Whenever I used to slide out, clothes and hair crawling, Mealy Worm stuck her snubby nose in the air and said, ‘Poo. You stink.’ She never went under the house. And Mum would say. ‘Honestly, Emma. What have I told you? You’ll get bitten to death.’

I ached to bursting for my mum’s speckled eyes. I imagined her pinning up her hair, and laughing when it all came tumbling down. But could she still be laughing, without us? Without me? It was getting harder to find her in my dreams. When she did come, I was breathless with smelling her perfume and wanting her.

We’d been in England for six months, but memories of Malaya still beat inside me. I missed the beasts and ribbons of jungle scent that wound round the trees at the bottom of our garden and trailed us into town. If you were unlucky and one caught in your hair, it would wind right round, then pull you into the undergrowth by the neck. There weren’t any ribbons of scent trailing from Worcestershire trees, though I looked, just in case.

It was still early and while my sister slept, Gran and I got on with making a doll’s house for Fleur’s ninth birthday. She thought she was getting a plastic tea set, so we had to be quiet. Granddad hammered the bits of wood together while we were at school, and Gran and I painted and decorated it in her bedroom, to keep it away from Fleur. We’d already glued pieces of leftover orange wallpaper on to the walls, and stuck down bits of brown lino for the floors. Now, I was sewing one of the dolls. Gran sat in her
apron and slippers, making a table and chairs out of matchboxes. She’d finished the table and was starting on the chairs, when there was a tap at the door.

‘Are you in there?’ Dad’s voice.

I groaned.

His voice came again. ‘Veronica and her brother are coming to lunch. They’ll be here at eleven. That is in two hours’ time. I expect you to be here, Emma. All the time. Take a leaf out of your sister’s book. Understand?’

Unlike me, Fleur sat on his lap, sweet and dimply, and his face went soft as he smiled at her. Now she wasn’t sickly, she looked even more like him, with the same cool blue eyes and quiet well-behaved hair. I heard the tick of the brown clock on the mantelpiece. I could choose not to answer, pretend not to be there. But he’d only come in and find me. Gran gave me a nudge.

‘Yes, Daddy,’ I called out, trying to make out I was smiling.

Veronica was okay. When her husband fell sick, Mr Oliver went out to help her with the special school there, and after the death had been kind enough, Dad said, to accompany his sister back to England. Veronica was a bit sad, which I understood, but Dad smiled more when she was around.

Gran had to get on in the kitchen, so we stowed the doll’s house away in her big wardrobe, and I got ready to slip out of the house to see Billy.

Fleur woke up just as I was putting my last layer on, and stood hands on hips. Fleur loved dolls so I had to stuff the one I was sewing under my pillow, just as she marched over to my bed. She said she knew I was up to something, and if I didn’t share the secret, she’d tell. I was so cross I almost said, just for spite. But she was only little and it would be mean. And now she was going to have to wear specs too, so I tapped the side of my nose and said mind your own beeswax. She pouted a little, but when she saw I meant it, shrugged in a funny grown-up way.

‘You’re not going out?’ she said.

‘Just for a bit. Don’t tell, will you?’

Fleur put her head to one side and looked at me with narrow eyes.

Billy and I had something in common: we loved to use our imaginations. For about a month we’d been working on new ways to be in the world, and we did it every Saturday at the barn. He didn’t usually get there before ten, but when I climbed the ladder, I saw he was there already.

‘Oh good,’ he said with a toothy grin. ‘I didn’t know if you were coming. Can you stay all morning?’

I groaned. ‘I’ve got to be back by eleven.’

Billy was a joker and bad, like me. We slapped our hands together and said it together in loud voices, ‘Bad like
meee
.’ Then fell about laughing. It was my turn to come up with an answer to a problem that would save lives. If you couldn’t think of anything, you had to take off a piece of clothing. To make sure it’d be okay, I wore a vest, a long sleeve cotton top, a jumper, a cardi, a pair of shorts, a pair of socks, and my skirt. All of it under my tight winter coat. It was August and I was sweltering.

Billy didn’t have many clothes, and stood with skinny legs poking from baggy underpants, and wearing a holey vest passed down from his brother. It didn’t quite cover his chest, and wasn’t really fair, so I relented and gave him my coat. Billy’s family was quite poor, mainly because his dad drank. That’s what Granddad said. They had a cottage on the edge of the village. Occasionally the smell of wee lingered, though he said he had washed. Not well enough, I said with a sniff, sticking my nose in the air.

We began our imaginings, and immediately lost track of time.

‘What about seeing with sound instead of light,’ he said, stroking a pretend moustache, sticking out his chin and turning down the corners of his mouth, like a mad professor.

I laughed. ‘You mean like bats?’

‘Yeah! Blind as a bat.’

By the time I remembered, we were lying in the hay in our underpants, slapping each other to stay warm.

‘What time is it?’ I yelled.

‘Dunno.’

I looked at my watch. Oh no! Half past twelve. Lunch was always at twelve forty-five sharp. How could I have forgotten again?

I hopped about getting dressed, throwing my clothes on higgledy piggledy, while he looked me up and down.

‘What?’ I said.

‘Straw in yer hair.’

I stepped back, ran my fingers through my hair, clambered down the ladder, tripped on the laces I’d left undone, landed in the dirt, and arrived home filthy. I came in by the back door in the hope I could get away with it. Say I’d been doing something in the garden. Dad, Gran, and Veronica stood together in the kitchen, and the table was laid with a new checked oilcloth. Veronica was looking very pretty with baby pink lipstick, and wearing a cotton dress with a full skirt that swished as she came over. Dad’s face looked rigid, his mouth a thin hard line, his Malayan tan faded to yellowy grey.

Gran ran a hand over her untidy hair, put her face in a big smile so that her bright eyes had crinkles all round, and said, ‘Ah, the chimney sweep has arrived.’

I stared at the brown lino floor.

‘What did I tell you, Emma?’ Dad said.

I risked a proper look at his face. I should’ve kept quiet but I couldn’t help myself. Keep talking, make them smile, I thought.

‘I was busy teaching Billy about monkeys. He wanted to know what they liked to eat. I said leg of lamb. He didn’t believe it, but it’s true, isn’t it … Mum said she left one on the side and they nicked it. So they must like leg of lamb.’

I caught Gran’s smile, which she hid behind a hand, but from the look of Dad’s clenched jaw, I knew I was only making it worse.

‘That is enough, Emma,’ he said, in a sharp voice, the Adam’s apple rising and falling as he spoke.

‘Keep your shirt on, Son,’ Gran said. ‘She didn’t mean anything by it. She’s just a bit of a scallywag. No harm done.’

Veronica smiled and said hello.

I turned my back on her without speaking. Gran started picking the straw out of my hair.

‘Well, she hasn’t missed lunch,’ she said. ‘Though what you’ve got all those clothes on for I don’t know. You’d better get them off and give your face and hands a scrub, ducks.’

I imagined the looks going on over my head. So far there was no sign of Veronica’s brother. I breathed more easily, but then Granddad came in from the lounge and I saw Mr Oliver follow behind.

After lunch, Dad arranged to drop Gran and Granddad down at the doctor’s Saturday afternoon surgery, then go for a drive with Veronica and Fleur. Granddad had palpitations and this was the only way Gran could get him to go. The doctor was on call seven days a week, and would have come to see Granddad, but Gran said the fresh air would help. I was to be sent to my room in disgrace, punishment for coming back late and being rude to Veronica. I don’t know why I was rude to her. I wanted to say sorry, but the words stuck in my throat and just wouldn’t come out. I was cutting off my nose to spite my face, Mum would have said.

‘But who’ll look after Emma?’ Gran asked.

‘Oh, that’s not a problem,’ Mr Oliver said. He gave me a wink.

My heart wobbled. I wanted to shout, ‘No. Don’t leave me with him!’ But whatever I said, they’d think I was making it up. I went upstairs, opened my window ever so quietly, and wondered if I could jump out. They were still talking on the doorstep.

‘Don’t know what’s got into her,’ I heard Dad say. ‘She was always a difficult child but now it’s much worse. I blame her mother for letting her run wild.’

I imagined my father throwing his hands in the air and rolling his eyes, shaking his head with a worried face, smiling charmingly at Veronica, to sort of suggest his helplessness.

From outside I heard Veronica say, ‘Don’t be too hard on her. She’s missing her mother.’ It made me feel doubly bad for turning my back on her.

I squeezed my eyes shut and thought of Malaya, of the deepest places where I’d never been, but imagined in the middle of the night when I woke from a dream.

Our gardener used to say beware the lure of the dusk, when demons would come out to play in the shadows of the long grass. They called to children with sweet dainties made of coconut and threads of spun sugar and only came out if somebody was lost. You had to be careful not to be lost, and if you went further and further, trying to find your way, they tempted you with sweet limes and sugar trees. And if you followed them, even once, you’d never be seen again.

Yet despite all of that, it felt safer there than it did here in Worcestershire, being left alone in a house with Mr Oliver.