‘She will be well. And all her life, she will be loved. This is what I see.’
‘Aunty, you promise? You promise me this?’
I nodded.
‘You will look over her.’ It wasn’t a question.
‘I will.’
So now all I can do is wait. And pray. The social workers say they are amazed at my progress. As if they had anything to do with it. They are looking for a house for me.
Dear Diary,
My house has a sitting room with a sliding glass door, that looks out over a back yard (containing an old rose bush and a plum tree), a kitchen and two bedrooms. Not much to look at, but it’s home. There is a bus stop just outside the gate, and at the end of the road is the sea.
Normally I would be so happy.
Pania’s funeral was today. I didn’t go. Perhaps I am a coward, but I have had enough of funerals. Instead I sent a card and a basket of flowers (how paltry!) and sat on the sand dunes overlooking the waves and prayed for her soul.
Infant Pania is at the hospital. Currently machines breathe air into her lungs, but in time she will grow and be strong. I have told Pania, her mother, this.
I will watch over her daughter and keep her safe.
I am so grateful to have this house. Here I can cry and no one complains.
Dear Diary
A parcel came from Pania today. Although she has passed away, she is still telling me what to do. Typical!
The parcel contained a white cloak. It is very old, woven by hand in a traditional style, and decorated with delicate brown feathers. Pania sent a note with it.
“Dear Aunty,
My great-great grandmother wove this cloak. It took her many months. Just as she finished weaving it her only son was killed. So my great-nanny named this cloak ‘my cloak of tears’ and she wore it for a long, long time. Only when the pain of her son’s death began to lessen could she set it aside. This cloak is a precious treasure in my family.
I entrust this cloak to you, Aunty. You can wear it, or hang it on your wall, which is what your people often do with such things. (Waste of a perfectly good piece of clothing if you ask me.) I want you to keep it until your pain lessens.
You are in pain, Aunty. I can tell these things.
This cloak is a promise to you, my friend, that your pain will pass. One day, you will be whole again. When that happens, I want you to give this cloak to my daughter. I trust you to do this, Aunty.
And you must watch over my baby as you promised. If you don’t, I’ll haunt you.
Your loving friend
Pania.”
I know Pania means well, but still I find this a little frightening. A dead woman is threatening to haunt me. I think Fatima has been haunting me for years. I wish she’d stop.
Chapter Nine
Excerpts of A Life
Dear Diary
I took Pania’s cloak to the museum. Wonderfully strange to see items from my childhood set behind glass. The curator, a stooped old man named Ben, drooled over Pania’s cloak. He asked to borrow it for a display, but I said no, it was a gift. So Ben kindly gave me suggestions on how to store it safely. He took me around the museum and seemed surprised at how much I knew about the things on display.
Pania is growing strong. She is almost ready to leave hospital.
Dear Diary
A phone call from Ben, the curator. They are looking for volunteers, would I be interested? Apparently he thinks I have an aptitude for this kind of work. It doesn’t pay (he is apologetic about this) but they will train me, and who knows where that might lead? I said I will think about it.
Dear Diary
Tommy asked – could I take Pania to school? I said of course, and have been smiling all day in anticipation. Of course I let Ben know I would be in late, although he’s so absent-minded I doubt he’d even notice.
Pania thinks I’m her godmother. Which I suppose is as good a description as any.
Dear Diary
Between Pania and the museum, my days fly by.
Tommy retires next week. His health is not so good; all those cigarettes and late night drinking have caught up with him. Pania is not terribly excited at having her dad underfoot. She likes her independence, does Pania. She calls me Nanny. I like that.
I catch occasional glimpses of Ebony. No changes. He lies in state, unknown and unmissed.
Dear Diary.
Pania phoned today. She’s going to Australia! Can you believe it? I’m going to be a nurse, she says, and work in Melbourne. Good for you, I say, but when I hung up I went over to her mother’s cloak – framed and on the wall, just as Pania-her-mother told me not to do – and the tears coursed down my cheeks.
I’ll never be rid of that cloak, I think.
Dear Diary
I received the invitation today! Looks so beautiful, gold lettering on cream card. “You are invited to the wedding of Charles Cuttriss and Pania Tipa in Saint Steven’s Church, Solomon County, North California.”
The postman said, “Wow, Missus Possett (everyone calls me Missus), that looks posh.” I said it was an invitation to my goddaughter’s wedding.
“Are you going?”
I shook my head. “It’s in California.”
Despite the cost of the call, I phoned Pania and explained I wouldn’t be there. The line was terribly crackly but I think she understood that at my time of life it was too far to travel.
When I was young, we would never have dreamed of being able to speak to someone on the other side of the world. Even the telegram seemed like a miracle. Hanging up was hard, so hard. I miss my girl.
That wretched cloak. The pain doesn’t lessen. It just changes.
Dear Diary
Pania telephoned me. Strange, to hear her voice from such a long way away.
The biggest wonder of all was her News! NEWS! NEWS! I feel like shouting it from the rooftops. I have been smiling all day.
Her baby is due in eight months. I will pray for her.
My joy is contagious. I dreamed last night of Ebony. He was smiling too.
Dear Diary
A little girl! I look at Pania’s cloak and imagine her smiling in heaven. Perhaps it’s time to send the cloak on, to Pania’s daughter and her new little granddaughter. Aroha. Such a pretty name. It means “love”.
Dear Diary
Pania sent photographs of her baby. It seems astonishing that people can take photographs so easily these days. I say this to Ben, and he nods as though he understands my amazement, but really he does not. No one can truly understand how I feel, unless they have lived as long as I. Fatima was stronger than she realized.
Dear Diary
Tommy slipped away peacefully last night. A merciful release.
I phoned Pania to tell her the sad news. She was silent, and for a moment I thought we had been cut off. Then she told me. Hadn’t wanted me to worry, she says. But now her father has passed, I’m all she has.
Like a knife through the heart.
Cancer, she says. Charles has been marvelous, she says. And I’m not to worry. The doctors say not to give up hope. She talks of beginning radiotherapy and other treatments with long names. Although she can’t come home for her father’s funeral. This upsets her very much.
“Of course you can’t.” I tried to sound understanding and soothing but really, I want to scream. I want to beat my head against the wall. What is the point of living, if the only end is death?
Pania is mostly concerned about Aroha. Who will look after the child?
I told her I will investigate a passport. She sounded relieved.
Dear Diary
My hesitations always lead to pain. First with Sir Roger and the snake, and then with Ebony and Fatima. I must act faster. What is the point in living so long, if I do not learn? I will book my flights tomorrow. Imagine that, flying above the clouds! If only Pania was not so ill, then I would look forward to it more.
Dear Diary,
The saddest phrase: “too late.”
<
br /> At least the end came quickly, and Charles assures me that Pania did not suffer. He will collect me at the airport. I shall stay as long as required. He sounds relieved. He calls me an answer to prayer. If only I hadn’t waited so long, I might have seen my girl again.
I must stop these thoughts. I must think only that Pania’s daughter needs me.
Sean, Ben’s replacement, promises to take good care of Pania’s cloak while I am away.
Pania would probably think I was stupid. Perfectly good piece of clothing, she’d say. You’re just wasting it, sticking it in a museum.
Wish me luck, diary.
P.S. I have changed my name. Leah suits me well, I think.
Much later …
Dear Diary
I’m sure little Aroha imagines I’ve fallen off the face of the earth. I write to her, but I’m not sure if Becky forwards my letters on.
I try not to let it bother me.
Aroha will be all right. Becky cares for her, a little, and Charles tries hard to be a good father.
I miss little Aroha terribly. Pania’s cloak is not ready to be handed over just yet. But I think things are about to change. At least, I hope they are. Yesterday, Bernie, (my new assistant) and I were inspecting a case of antiquities – ephemera from the gold fields, over one hundred years old, and in surprisingly good condition – when out of the corner of my eye I caught a reflection in the window. Just a flicker, and it was gone.
It looked like Ebony. He was holding a rose and smiling.
Things are progressing.
Soon, there would be an ending. I hope it is a happy one.
Chapter Ten
The Beast
The afternoon, once sunny, had clouded over. Aroha stood beside a brick wall, wondering. The property matched Dad’s description: a derelict entrance with rusting gate and a driveway leading to this briar-covered stonewall. The place had an indefinable air of people – as though someone had just left and was planning to return. Birds floated high overhead, drifting in long, lazy circles. It felt like thunder weather.
Beside her was a robust looking entrance, all wood and ironwork, like the gate to a castle. Aroha leant hard on the handle, until, with a reluctant squeak, the latch lifted. Shoving her entire weight against the wooden door, she squeezed through the narrow gap into the courtyard beyond. And stood, gaping.
The space was full of roses; a jungle of thorned stems. Some plants seemed healthy, with rich green leaves, intertwining stems and dark red blooms. Through the foliage she could just make out the stone walls and terracotta roof of the house. Not a house, a mansion. Must be three or four stories high. With its tightly closed window shutters, the place had a strange air of sleepiness. How could it have sunk into such ruin?
Aroha pushed through the undergrowth, past a long-dry fountain, its edges streaked with rust. Rose thorns snagged her clothes. Closer to the house lay fragments of roof-tiles. She picked her way up the steps carefully, watching the eaves in case more tiles fell.
This place was crazy, like a super-sized Spanish Mission. The double oak door was bound in iron. In case an invading party should appear, perhaps? Aroha knocked. Once, twice. Waited. Nothing happened. She knocked again. Rat-tat-tat. Then, as if in answer, a bird croaked once; a harsh scold across the silence. As she looked up, a dark cloud lifted from the eaves. Bats!
They flew like fragments of night, spiraling almost too fast to see. Aroha knocked again, quickly, urgently, a-get-me-out-of-here tattoo. The bat-cloud lifted and rocketed back, as if any sound in this quiet place was too much.
She rattled the door. The handle turned, but the wood was stuck fast. Aroha put her shoulder against it. Pushed hard, like in those movies where the police break down the doors. Should she kick it down? She had a quick vision of returning to Jamie with her ankle in plaster.
Quite suddenly, with a scraping noise, the door opened inwards. Grabbing at the air, she only just managed to catch herself from splatting head-first onto the stone floor.
Her first thought: Well, that was embarrassing.
Then: Why wasn’t the door locked?
Dust motes, disturbed by her entrance, spun silently. Cautiously, she got to her feet. “Hello? Hello?”
No answer.
The place wasn’t much to look at. The plaster ceiling was spotted with damp (although the thick wooden beams were attractive, in a rustic kind of way) and the room was completely bare. Cautiously, Aroha got to her feet, and stepped into the next room. Here, furniture covered in white sheets gave a creepy impression, like the setting for a Halloween party.
“Hello?”
No answer, but – what was that?! Aroha spun so fast she nearly fell. A tarnished silver mirror reflected a tall woman with dark hair and wide, dark eyes.
“Just a reflection. Get a grip, girl.”
She turned away, and the girl turned too, which was unnerving, although probably not as unnerving as it would have been if she hadn’t moved at all.
Slowly, Aroha passed through room after room. Fly-spotted glass chandeliers, encased in fringes of spiderwebs, hung from roofs. Afternoon sunlight, peeping through cracks in the shutters, created a fine golden haze.
She kept on walking. The house was huge; the rooms began to blur into one long thread of decay. Until finally she arrived back at the empty entrance hall.
“Done a full circuit.” Her voice sounded flat in the dust-filled air.
There was a large wooden door set into the wall behind her. Compared to the other elements of the house – seemingly crafted to withstand a siege – it seemed curiously of place and gave the impression of an afterthought, or a modification. As if someone had wanted to close off a space which had once been left open.
Cautiously, feeling like Bluebeard’s wife, Aroha turned the handle. This door opened easily; she peered around its edge. A stairway!
“You could leave,” whispered an inner voice. “Leave, and don’t come back.”
But then she’d never find out what was up there.
Dammit.
Marble stairs wound up two flights until finally (treads turning into wood) reaching the top floor. Trying not to spoil the silence, she tiptoed up the steps to the first floor. Here was a library, full of bound leather books behind glass. The room smelt of must and damp. Beyond lay a music room, containing a sheet-covered grand piano. And beyond that?
Aroha stood in the doorway, blinking. This apartment was light, and warm, and airy. Not damp like the rest of the house. A chesterfield sofa faced an empty hearth. Through another door she glimpsed a scullery kitchen, as cluttered as the rest of the house was empty. And in the far corner? Her breath caught.
In the far corner stood a low bed, covered with a patchwork counterpane.
The bed was occupied.
He was snoring.
Aroha clutched the door frame. How could he not have heard her, falling head first into his house? She felt for her gun, then remembered she’d left it in the car. Smart, Aroha.
The man seemed oblivious to her; oblivious, apparently, to the world. A leather-bound book lay open on the table, its spine bent and broken. The yellowing sheets of a newspaper, printed in heavy typeface, were scattered about the floor, as though the wind had strewn them about and refused to pick them up again.
He lay on his back, hair spread out on the pillow. He seemed to be unclothed, but his chest and shoulders were covered with hair. Could this be the same man Dad had seen? The black hair and burly build matched the description. Yet Dad had been here nearly twenty years ago. Could there be two men? Father and son, maybe?
Aroha tiptoed over, stood looking down at the sleeping face. What would he look like awake? A tiny crease appeared between the sleeper’s brows. As though he was thinking of something.
Get out of here Aroha.
The man on the bed stirred.
She froze into silence. Held her breath.
The sleeper snuffled. Snorted. Turned his head on the pillow – left, right. Sighed once, twice, cough
ed and … opened his eyes.
Aroha jumped backward. The world seemed to stop. Desperately, she took a breath. Another, and another. She felt dizzy, as though something was spinning, changing.
The man shook his head, blinked at her and smiled. His eyes were blue. And, seeing her, they seemed … surprised? He had a nice smile. “Hello.”
She swallowed. I’m going to faint. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to trespass. But the bats, they scared me, and when the door opened I just came inside.”
It’s okay, Aroha, she whispered to herself. It’s all perfectly fine. I’m sure there’s a normal, rational explanation. You just woke him up, that’s all.
“Bats?” His voice was thick. As though he’d been asleep for years.
“In your roof.” She was gabbling. “Sorry,” she said again.
Flinging the sheet back, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, sat up slowly. He kept the sheet lying across his lap. Just as well. Definitely no clothes. Quickly, she looked away.
He rubbed his face. “Bats in the roof?”
Aroha nodded.
He looked over at the shuttered window, at the light streaming in rows through the gaps in the wood. “Daylight.”
“I’m sorry I woke you,” she said again. “You were so deeply asleep.” Perhaps he was the caretaker. And worked night shift. And hated shaving, or something.
“What time is it?”
“Um, about two o’clock. I think. In the afternoon.” In case, despite the sun, he might think it was the middle of the night.
“Can you?” He nodded at the shutters.
Dust fell from the hinges as she folded the tall shutters back. He smiled again as the light entered. “That’s better.” Rubbed the back of his neck in such a male gesture that she almost laughed.
Upon a Time Page 7
