A Place to Call Home

by Carole Matthews

  ‘Will I be safe?’

  ‘Yes,’ she says. ‘Of course.’

  I can only hope that she’s right.

  Chapter Six

  Suresh slammed his phone on the table. ‘Where is she?’ he shouted at his parents. Spittle flecked the corners of his mouth. They cowered together against the kitchen cupboards, still dressed in their nightclothes. He’d dragged them from their bed when he woke and realised that his wife, Ayesha, and their daughter were gone. ‘You must know.’

  His mother was first to speak up. Her voice shook and he was filled with loathing for her. ‘My son, we don’t know.’

  ‘How could she leave without help?’ His wallet was still on his bedside table and was stuffed full of notes. Why hadn’t she taken that? He had her passport well hidden, so he knew she couldn’t be embarking on some vain attempt to get back to Sri Lanka. ‘Did you give her money?’

  They both shook their heads.

  ‘Then how has she got out of here? Where can she have gone? Did she have friends that I didn’t know about? A man?’

  ‘No,’ his mother said. ‘Nothing like that, Suresh. I am sure. She is a good wife.’

  ‘Then why isn’t she here?’ He felt a surge of red-hot rage. They were so weak, so compliant, so spineless, he felt like shaking them. ‘She’s taken Sabina, my only child, and you’ve let her.’

  ‘We heard nothing,’ his mother protested.

  ‘I don’t believe you. One of you knows something.’ He pointed a finger in his mother’s face. ‘When I come back, I’ll find out who.’

  Storming out of the house, he jumped into his car and gunned the engine. What time had she left? It was unusual for him to sleep so soundly. Why hadn’t he heard a single noise? Not the closing of a door or the creaking of a floorboard? It was as if she’d vanished into thin air.

  As he drove through the streets, heading aimlessly into the city, he wondered if there was any place that she’d be bound for. He racked his brains, but came up with nothing. She must have had a friend that he didn’t know about. Well, when he found her, she’d pay for that. Ayesha shouldn’t be keeping secrets from him, he was her husband. He’d make sure she couldn’t stand up for a week, let alone leave the house. And the child too. She was getting to be disobedient, wilful like her mother.

  Suresh couldn’t go to the police, that much he knew. The less contact he had with the boys in blue, the better. Besides, what could they do? This was a family matter. It was best dealt with privately and he knew people who could help him.

  He scoured the city centre, searching back and forth along the network of grid roads, his frustration rising as he got caught up in the rush-hour traffic. He trawled up Avebury Boulevard and then back down Midsummer towards the train station. There was no sign of her anywhere, but she could well have had a good head-start on him.

  As he swung round, it occurred to him that he’d assumed she’d still be in the city. What if she’d managed, somehow, to get enough money together for a train ticket? Would she have the nerve to go away on her own? In all the years Ayesha had been here, she’d never done more than catch a bus to go shopping by herself. She couldn’t drive, had no car. How far could she get?

  He laughed to himself. She’d never have the courage to strike out on her own. She must still be here in Milton Keynes, somewhere not very far away, and someone was helping her. He’d find out where and he’d find out who. Tonight he’d give out her photograph to some of his associates, perhaps offer a reward. It would reflect badly on him that he couldn’t control his own wife, but so be it.

  Ayesha wasn’t getting away. She was his and he’d bring her to heel. He’d make her pay for the pain and inconvenience she’d put him through. She couldn’t have simply disappeared without trace.

  As he’d promised in his texts, he would hunt her down and drag her back. The sooner the better.

  Chapter Seven

  Ruth also gave me directions to the house. Which I believe I’ve followed very carefully. But as I stand outside this very large house in this leafy lane, I check the piece of paper again. Surely we’re not to live here?

  ‘This is nice, isn’t it?’ I say to Sabina. My daughter looks tired now and I’d very much like to give her a hot bath and put her to bed to sleep for an hour. She needs some proper food too. A chocolate-chip cookie won’t sustain her.

  We’ve come to the north of London, a place called Hampstead. It meant another tube journey, but it wasn’t far. Just a few stops. I thought that all of London was dirty and busy, but this road certainly isn’t. It looks like a very affluent place and, across the road from where I stand, there’s an open park.

  The house itself is pretty and painted white. It sits quite alone in a garden filled with mature trees. There’s a tall wall at the front and high iron gates. A security camera regards us suspiciously. I look at the number again. Unless I’m very much mistaken, this is indeed the right one.

  I’m not sure how we’ll afford this house, but Ruth filled in lots of papers on my behalf and assured me that it will all be paid for. She promised that I’ll also receive money from the government for myself and for Sabina to help us get on our feet again. She also said to me that I should consider whether to divorce Suresh and apply for maintenance money from him. I told her that it wasn’t possible. That would mean making contact with him and he must never, ever know where we are. I’d rather be poor than have him find us.

  Still, I can’t stand here quaking all day. So I take my courage in both hands and press the buzzer on the gates.

  A crackly voice says, ‘Give the gate a good shove when you hear the click.’

  Sure enough, it clicks and I shove. Opening the gate, we walk up the path, our footsteps loud on the gravel. I take a deep breath as we stand on the doorstep and wait to be admitted. What if this lady, Crystal, decides that she doesn’t like us and turns us away? Then what will we do?

  Moments later, Crystal opens the door. She’s quite startling, with blonde hair, lots of it. It sits high on her head and tumbles to her shoulders in big waves. Her skin is very orange and her teeth very white. Her lipstick is so pink that it almost vibrates. She’s wearing hardly any clothes. Just small white shorts and a pink top that’s cropped to show her midriff. On her feet are very high shoes the same colour as her lipstick. I look at Sabina and her mouth has dropped open.

  ‘Hello, sweetheart,’ she says. ‘You must be the woman that Ruthie rang about. I’m Crystal. Welcome to your new home. You both look knackered. Give me that.’ She takes my bag from my hands and, before I have chance a to stop her, she whisks it away. ‘Where’s the rest of your stuff?’

  ‘That’s all I have.’

  ‘Really?’ She looks taken aback. ‘Blimey. You know how to travel light.’

  She clearly doesn’t know of our circumstances.

  ‘Come on then. Don’t stand on the doorstep, sweetie.’

  Anxious, I take my daughter’s hand and we follow her inside.

  The house is light, airy and spacious. Everything I can see in the large hallway is painted white. This is as different as it’s possible to be from the home we’ve been living in, with its dingy, subdued colours and bleak atmosphere. Instantly it lifts my spirits, yet it seems to make Sabina more nervous as her grip on my hand tightens.

  ‘I’ll show you to your room,’ Crystal says. ‘Then I’ll stick the kettle on. You look like you need a good, strong brew.’

  She starts to go up the stairs ahead of me and I can see nearly all of her bottom. I almost put my hand over Sabina’s eyes, but I feel it would be rude.

  ‘I’m Crystal, by the way,’ she says over her shoulder. ‘But you probably know that from Ruth. I’m glad she gave me a call. I haven’t seen her for ages and I could do with a good chinwag.’ She pushes open a door and disappears inside. We follow. She waves her hand at the room. ‘Here you go. Welcome to the madhouse.’

  The room is big and there’s a king-size bed. The bedspread is turquoise and the furniture – a ward
robe and a dressing table – is dark wood and looks expensive. There’s a very large television on the wall.

  ‘Like it?’

  Warily, I cross the room to stand at the big bay window and look out over the green expanse of park across the road. Tears prickle my eyes. This is nicer than anywhere I’ve ever lived – even my family home in Sri Lanka.

  ‘This is to be ours?’ I venture.

  ‘Sure is. Do you like it?’

  ‘Very much.’ I’m still looking round in awe. ‘This is your home too?’

  ‘Yeah. I’m on the next floor up.’ Crystal slings my holdall on the bed and then sits on it too. ‘There’s another lady called Joy. Miserable cow. Totally the wrong name for her. She’s on my floor too. Then His Nibs is up on the top floor.’ Crystal flicks her head upwards. ‘Has it all to himself.’

  ‘His Nibs?’

  ‘Hayden.’

  ‘A man lives here?’ Ruth didn’t mention this.

  Crystal shrugs. ‘It’s his house. I had to give him a bit of chat to get him to agree to you staying here, but he’s cool now.’

  ‘He’s a difficult man?’

  ‘Hayden?’ Crystal laughs. ‘God, no. Troubled. He’s a musician. A singer. Was a big pop star once. You know what these artistic types are like.’

  But I do not.

  ‘We all share the kitchen, and there’s a mahoosive living room downstairs where Hayd has his piano. He hardly plays it these days, mind you. Likes to keep himself to himself. Sort of a recluse really. Goodness only knows why he has lodgers. Too much of a soft touch to say no, I suppose.’

  Crystal barely pauses for breath and my tired brain struggles to keep pace with her.

  ‘He’s taken in us two waifs and strays – me and Joy – and now he can’t get shot of us. He doesn’t charge anywhere near enough either. That’s why we both try to look after him a bit. He lets us pet him for a while, then we get on his nerves and he does a disappearing act. Takes himself off upstairs again, never to be seen.’

  I must look worried as she adds, ‘He’s a poppet. Honestly. Just stay out of his way and you’ll be fine. Don’t let the kid run wild.’

  ‘She won’t.’

  ‘What’s your name, sweetie pie?’ Crystal says to my daughter.

  Sabina stares.

  ‘Sabina,’ I answer for her. ‘My daughter doesn’t speak.’

  ‘Wow,’ Crystal says. ‘Not ever?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Was she born like that?’

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘It is something that’s happened recently.’ I feel my cheeks flush. This loud lady must think that I’m a bad mother.

  ‘Poor kid,’ Crystal says. ‘Pretty though. Takes after her mum.’

  ‘I’m Ayesha,’ I tell her. ‘Ayesha Rasheed.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Ayesha.’ She jumps up and crushes me to her ample bosom. ‘I hope we’re going to be best friends.’

  I don’t think I’ve had a best friend before and I’d like that very much, but this lady scares me half to death.

  Chapter Eight

  There’s a bathroom attached to our room and it’s very spacious. When Crystal has left us to go and put the kettle on, I run a hot bath for Sabina and she stands listless while I undress her. Sometimes I feel that I want to shake her, simply to get a reaction from her. Then I remember what it’s like to be treated cruelly and I wrap my arms round her slender body, pulling her to me.

  ‘I hope we’ll be happy here,’ I say to her. ‘No one can hurt you now. I’ll look after you and I hope that, one day, you’ll feel that you can talk to me once more.’

  She looks up at me with doleful eyes and I kiss her forehead. Helping her into the warm water, I wait for the contented sigh that should come, but it never does.

  Her clothes smell stale and I should wash them tonight. Tomorrow I’ll go to the shops and find us both something else to wear. I’ll ask Crystal where to go, as she looks like a lady who’ll know about shops. She looks like a lady who knows about a lot of things.

  I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror and feel very drab in comparison to her. My shalwar kameez is dark in colour and covers my arms and legs. It doesn’t hug the shape of my body. As is my culture, my mummy liked me and my sister, Hinni, to dress modestly. Once I was a married woman, so did Suresh. I’ve never worn make-up and I wonder how that shiny lipstick would feel on my mouth. I touch my lips, which are dry, parched.

  When Sabina has finished in the bath, I dry her with the soft towels that are on a warm radiator. They’re snowy white and plush. I don’t know if these are ours to use, but I can’t think why else they’d be here. This is, I think, more like a hotel would be than a home and I wonder how we’ll fit in. Already I feel out of my depth.

  I settle Sabina in the big bed. The sheets are soft, good-quality too, the duvet thick and fluffy.

  ‘Stay here and sleep,’ I say. ‘I’m going to talk to the nice lady.’ Sabina clutches my hand as if she doesn’t want me to leave. ‘I won’t be long. Rest. It’s been a busy day and I won’t be far away.’

  When I’ve made sure that Sabina is settled, I make my way downstairs and find Crystal in the kitchen. She’s sitting at the table filing her nails, but she looks up and smiles widely when she sees me.

  ‘Sit your bum down,’ she says as she jumps up. ‘Tea and biccies. The British cure for everything.’

  Soon I’ll have to go out and buy some sandwiches or something for us to eat as we have no lunch, no food.

  I look round while she makes tea. The kitchen is also spacious. There’s a big table in the middle and a huge cooker. It looks like the kind of cooker you might have in a restaurant rather than a home. I hope that I’ll be allowed to use it as I love to cook.

  At the end of the room there are French doors that open out on to a large, secluded garden that sweeps away from the house. It’s fresh and blooming with a hint of the summer to come. It will be a nice place for Sabina to play.

  ‘The garden is very lovely.’

  ‘Joy looks after that. She’s probably out there somewhere now.’ Crystal opens the fridge. It’s one of those big American ones like you see on television. ‘Hayden gets milk delivered every day and eggs once a week so that we don’t fight over them. Joy’s got a veg patch out there, so there’s always courgettes or tomatoes or something kicking about. We can help ourselves to stuff in the cupboards – rice, pasta, flour. Hayden sort of pays for that too. Joy usually tops it up when we’re running low. We all have our own shelf in the fridge,’ she says. ‘Mine is the one with chocolate on it. Joy’s is the one with yoghurt and fruit. Hayden’s is the one with a dozen bottles of beer and nothing else.’

  ‘He’s a drinker?’

  ‘No.’ Crystal shakes her head. ‘He just doesn’t eat.’

  She splashes milk into the mugs, then puts one down in front of me, and a plate of chocolate biscuits. ‘I can’t have any,’ she complains. ‘Watching my figure.’

  I’m ravenous and have to force myself to be polite and eat with restraint.

  ‘There are loads of rooms in this place,’ she says. ‘He hardly ever uses half of them. Some of them are full of decorating stuff where he started to renovate them and never finished. Apart from the ones that we have, they’re mostly shut up. Those that do have furniture are all covered with dust sheets. Don’t know why he doesn’t sell up. But I’m glad he doesn’t. He bought this house with all the dosh he made from his hits.’

  I look at her blankly.

  ‘Hayden Daniels,’ she says. ‘That’s your new landlord.’

  My expression doesn’t change.

  ‘Didn’t you know?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You’ve never heard of him, have you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Don’t you watch The Fame Game?’

  ‘No.’

  She screws up her face, disbelieving. ‘Have you been living in a cave?’

  ‘Milton Keynes,’ I say.

  ‘Oh. Same thing, I suppose.’ Crys
tal takes a biscuit.

  Perhaps I should remind her that she’s watching her figure, but I don’t.

  ‘It’s a talent show. Mahoosive. On Saturday nights. Everyone watches it.’ She shrugs. ‘Anyway, he won it several years back. His song went straight to number one, so did his album. Then he had loads of hits and the money rolled in. That’s how he ended up here. Now he can’t stand it all and hides himself away like flipping Howard Hughes.’

  I don’t know who Howard Hughes is either, but I don’t say that. Crystal makes me feel as if I know nothing.

  ‘You’ll like him,’ she says. ‘Underneath it all, he’s very kind.’

  I think I’ve forgotten what kind men are like.

  ‘What’s your story?’ Crystal asks as she takes another biscuit. ‘How come you’ve rocked up here with nothing but a titchy holdall and a kid in tow?’

  I don’t want people to know my business but, if I’m to be sharing a home with this lady, then she has a right to know. ‘I’ve left my husband.’ I hang my head in shame. ‘He wasn’t a good man.’

  ‘Knock you about?’

  Reluctantly, I nod.

  ‘Tell me about it, sister,’ she tuts. ‘I’ve had more than one bloke who’s been handier with his fists than with a tea towel. At least you’ve got away from the bastard now. Good for you, love.’

  ‘I’m frightened that he’ll find me.’

  ‘Not here,’ she assures me. ‘You’ll be safe in this house. We’ll look after you. Hayden can’t stand people so he has this place done out like Fort bloody Knox. As well as the gate, there are CCTV cameras everywhere.’

  I feel relieved to hear it. Tears well in my eyes. She puts her hand on top of mine and smiles kindly at me. ‘You’ve landed on your feet, Ayesha. This is a nice home.’

  ‘How long have you lived here?’

  ‘A couple of years now,’ she says. ‘I met Hayden at a club after… well… He was having a bit of a rough time. We got on OK and he brought me home. We had one night of passion and then, well, I never quite left.’ Crystal bites another biscuit. ‘We’re not, you know…’