Girl with the Golden Voice

by Carl Hancock

  ‘Mama, when the washing is finished, I will go home and rest. The tiredness is catching me.’

  ‘Go now, child. Your sisters are excited. They will be home early from school and they will be noisy. Do not expect too much sleep.’

  ‘I will finish the washing first, Mama. I love being here with you.’

  It was quiet in the village, but Rebecca did not sleep. There was a note from Tom asking her to meet him at Bertie’s place about four-thirty. They were invited for tea. She spent the few hours she had to herself in a kind of painful meditation. For a long time she lay on her bed and tried the impossible task of emptying her mind of all thoughts. Then she moved on. Since the moment she and Tom had embraced in the arrivals hall of the airport, her life had been wonderfully happy, joyful. Love was everywhere, in the familiar places and the familiar people. She took time to relive the happenings of the morning. Even she, with all she knew and believed, was half convinced that to give up such a life was crazy. She allowed herself a short time to dream what such a future could hold.

  Then she took out her diary and read it through. The words, the thoughts chilled her. There could be no other way. A random flash of a picture comforted her and shocked her, even frightened her that God would punish her for allowing it to enter her mind. She saw the Lord Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane on the night he was taken off by the men sent to take him off to trial.

  She let her mind dwell on the scene that was so familiar to her, the agony of Jesus and the longing for events to be shaped in a different way.

  ‘Please, Lord, forgive me. I don’t mean to blaspheme. Dear God, you know all this. And you know what lies ahead even for me. I am weak. I can’t see straight. I beg You to be close to me, holding me, leading me. I am walking through that dark valley, but I know that You are walking with me.’

  Rebecca sat up. She must be doing something. She washed her face, brushed her hair and changed her clothes. She would walk to Bertie’s. She had a gift for Ewan.

  Tables and chairs had been set up on the lawn. Bertie had company. Four horses were tethered in the shade of trees close by. Their riders had trotted over from their training session on Sanctuary Farm. They were from white farms around the lake and Rebecca had seen them around but wasn’t sure of their names. Olivia, Cara, Juliet and Monique were fourteen year olds, all ex Pembroke people now in schools in England and Ireland. They were good-looking, talented in a dozen ways and one hundred per cent Kenyan. When the time came, they would make fine wives for some lucky Rift Valley young men. The McCall boys would be in demand. The thought pleased her because it helped her to see that there would be life for Thomas after Rebecca and saddened her to know that she could not have any part in the special way of life that they would enjoy.

  The girls certainly knew her and they gathered ‘round her. She was taken aback when she realised that these girls saw her as a kind of heroine. They had seen the DVDs, knew the words of a lot of the songs. They were full of questions. Ewan could not understand how he had lost his popularity and been deserted. His present of a fluffy doll version of a New York policeman was a consolation.

  There was something for the girls, too. The house girl with the special voice, the new superstar, their own Kenyan superstar, their neighbour superstar offered to sing with them two songs which Bertie was going to record. They decided on ‘Lullaby in the Desert’ and ‘Acacia Dreaming’. One take and a promise from Bertie of copies for all of them.

  As they were finishing Tom arrived. It was Rebecca’s turn to lose her popularity, as the ‘Naivasha Four’ as they had named themselves rushed over to create their pool of excitement around the young man who set their hearts fluttering every time they saw him.

  Eventually tea and sodas were drunk and cakes and sandwiches wolfed down. The girls rode off in a cloud of dust and noise. The three adults chatted, mostly about New York which Bertie had visited years before and hated as the noisiest place on Earth. Other neighbours arrived and Rebecca and Tom left.

  They drove back on to Londiani land and made their way to a low knoll, a place with fine views in all directions.

  ‘I come out here every day. Erik and Luka made the bench.

  They said it was a present, for us.’

  ‘How much did you pay them?’

  ‘How did you guess?’

  ‘No guess, Thomas. I grew up with those two.’

  ‘Anyway, look at this. It’s the rough sketch of a floor plan for the house. Something for us to work on. There are some smart architects in Nairobi. Rafaella knows an Italian … designs churches, banks. I just want to please you. Perhaps you’d like a herb garden. Mary … you know she lives in Gilgil. She can help us with those. Don’t you like it here? I thought we could have a sitting room with a big window looking towards Longonot.’

  She could wait no longer. It would be too cruel for both of them. A huge rush of emotion forced her to her feet. Gently she removed her engagement ring and held it out to Tom.

  ‘Tom, this house. I will never live in it.’

  He saw the ring in her fingers and took in her words, but the implication of the message they gave eluded him. About the ring: ‘I can get it fixed. You should have told me. Is it too tight?’

  ‘It’s a perfect fit.’

  About the house: ‘The house. All this is just an idea, a sort of base. Come and sit down. We can work this out.’

  ‘It’s too late.’ Her voice was flat, her tone cold.

  The subconscious realisation moved like lightning to his conscious mind. The shocked mind fought back.

  ‘Too late?’

  Her lips were drawn tight, her tongue was dry, her cheeks wet and her heart was beating furiously as Rebecca heard her words make their sound on the air of the late afternoon.

  ‘We cannot be married, Thomas. We must not.’

  But we love each other …!’

  Their eyes were locked into each other, his full of bewilderment, hers wide open, compassionate and fearful. He grasped her by the shoulders. ‘But we love each other … don’t we?’

  She hesitated and he misunderstood why.

  ‘You’ve found somebody else! Over in America!’

  ‘Tom,’ she said solemnly, ‘there is no one else. That’s the truth.’

  ‘Then why?’ There was aggression in his voice, bordering on anger. Rebecca moved a step backwards, releasing Tom’s grasp. She had rehearsed several excuses without convincing herself with one of them. She felt uncomfortably weak under the mounting pressure but strong enough to keep the truth inside her. She blurted out, ‘Tom, I can’t speak now.’

  ‘Can’t? ‘Becca, stop playing games with me! You are only ruining the whole of the rest of my life!’

  ‘Mine as well.’

  ‘I know it … but this is so sudden … Is that the reason for the dark glasses?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Just “yes”? All the phone calls, everything that’s happened today. Years and years, then, suddenly pow! You don’t love me any more.’

  ‘I never said that, Tom.’

  ‘So, you do love me. This is ridiculous, ‘Becca! Let’s stop it and go home.’

  ‘Yes, Tom.’

  ‘Yes what?’

  ‘Yes, I do love you, more than I can tell you.’

  ‘But you won’t marry me!’

  ‘I cannot. Please, trust me!’

  ‘Trust? Oh, brilliant! Look. There’s one small thing we’ve got to finalise. There’s a secret party tonight. Welcome home and all that!’

  ‘I know. Mama told me by accident.’

  ‘Well, does it still go on, after all this?’

  ‘I would like that.’ Her voice was firm and confident. ‘A lot of people have worked hard, I know it. I am causing enough hurting. But …’

  ‘Yes, I know we must keep all this to ourselves. I’ll tell the family tonight when the friends have gone. If that’s what you want.’

  ‘Yes, that is what I want.’ These were the hardest words of all for her to speak.


  Tom, half resigned to his own pain said quietly, ‘Rebecca, if you don’t mind, I’d like for us to walk home. I’ll fetch the Landy tonight.’

  Chapter Twenty-two

  he party was a success. The long rains were doing their work and it was pleasant to be out in the fresh evening air. The company was congenial and the spread of food and drink at its Londiani best. Not many noticed that Tom and Rebecca did not spend much time together and most of those who did put it down to the fact that they were busy being thoughtful hosts. But there were a few who suspected more

  Rebecca willingly responded to requests and sang unaccompanied. Rafaella watched Tom pick up a tray of empty glasses and glide away from the veranda to return moments after the end of the second and last song. A sensitive soul with antennae for picking up on moods and atmospheres would have quickly taken in the air of sweet melancholy that hung about Londiani that evening in spite of the general good humour and the smiling faces. The party finished a little early by lakeside standards.

  Angela and Rebecca were the last to leave after helping with the tidying up. Rebecca slipped out to the laundry garden for one last look at a place where she had enjoyed good times. She stood against one of the concrete troughs. The cicadas were well into their night music. She was not surprised when a familiar voice came out of the shadows around the water heater.

  ‘Too late for washing, I think. And I forgot to light the heater. I’ll remember next time.’

  His voice was weary and defeated.

  She did not move and said nothing. Her breathing was even and her mind calm. She could not see him and wondered if he had moved away. She wanted to make the break. She was strong and she needed to get on with the business. She waited for the right words to come but they did not. She did her best.

  ‘Thomas, take care. I will tell my family tonight. In the morning I will be going to Nairobi. After that … I’m not sure. I will think about you every day. Some day, perhaps …’

  She ran off around the hedge and on to the village. When he knew that she had left, he released his fingers from the firm grip of his teeth. And he was weary and defeated. He had spent most of the interval between being on the knoll with Rebecca and sitting on his own there on the stone wall that supported the water heater struggling to find some answer to the question why. He had tried the plausible, the implausible and the impossible, knowing that even if he hit on the right reason, he would never find out if he had done so. It was time to go inside and speak to the family.

  In the Kamau home four family members were sitting around the table waiting for Angela to return from Big House.

  When she arrived and sat down, Rebecca was brief with her news.

  ‘Thomas and I will not be getting married.’

  During the very long silence that followed Angela and Stephen exchanged deeply pained looks across the table. For Rebecca her own reaction was unexpected. She experienced the phenomenon of complete detachment. She was sharing a secret that she had carried for a long time. She had got used to the idea and it was as if she sat in a corner looking in on the scene and listening to this other self speaking these ordinary but shocking words.

  Martha was the one to break the silence. ‘Rebecca, I don’t understand. If you are not getting married, why was there a party tonight?’

  Martha had unwittingly raised a smile from her father, but his focus was on his firstborn.

  ‘Child, are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, Papa. And you must all know that it is not Tom who has done this. We are both … upset.’

  ‘Then why?’ Her mother’s plea was bewildered but passionate.

  ‘Mama, I could make up stories, but I am not going to lie to you. But, God have mercy on me, I cannot speak.’

  ‘Then I must go! Martha, Jane, come with me.’

  With her daughters in tow, Angela hurried along the grassy path towards Big House. It helped her that the girls were grumbling about being deprived of their sleep. She must speak to Memsahib at once.

  Back in the house, Stephen was inclined to take the situation to his Lord in prayer. It was his instinctive reaction to crises big and small. His judgement here was that he should delay this comfort. As always in his life he wanted first to put the wellbeing of his daughters right.

  ‘So, child, what can we do now?’

  ‘I think I will have to go away.’

  ‘You could stay with the family at the coast. Or if you are so hurt to be far away from each other, travel to a new country together.’

  She did not reply. How could she explain to her father that she had thought of that way out but had rejected it quickly because she did not want to take the smallest risk with Tom’s life? The Rubais had the money and the will to have them hunted down wherever they tried to hide.

  ‘Papa, tomorrow morning I will begin again.’

  * * *

  Angela was surprised and pleased by Maura’s sympathy and her strength. The two mothers alone together in the kitchen talked about the mystery of what had caused the break-up.

  ‘The crazy thing, Angela, is that these young people are still desperately in love.’

  ‘You are right. I am so sorry that it is our girl that has done this thing.’

  ‘Angela!’

  ‘For bringing trouble to this house where we have received only kindness.’

  Next morning Rebecca was up early. Another difficult day lay ahead. She had drawn up a plan, written it down in her diary. First was the talk with her parents before the girls woke after their late night. The three of them sat around the table. Rebecca pushed an envelope across to her father.

  ‘It’s a chequebook, Papa, and all the details of a bank account. The money is in Barclays in town. One day, when you have time they want you to go over and write your signature in their book.’

  Stephen opened the envelope and scanned the paperwork as Angela cleared the table.

  ‘Child, there is a mistake here.’

  ‘No, Papa. I checked it all twice.’

  ‘But a million shillings! We can’t …’

  ‘Yes, you can. Now, something more important.’

  ‘More important than all this wealth you’ve …’

  ‘Yes, much more. I am going to Nairobi this morning. I have some people to see in the city. Then I would like to spend a few days at the coast. Mary is home. She will come if I ask her. Everything is so uncertain just now.’

  Angela was wide-eyed, gazing at her eldest girl in awe. ‘Rebecca, you are such a surprise!’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well …Yesterday. Today you are so calm, like you’ve forgotten.’

  ‘No, Mama, I forget nothing. I must be doing, even if it is to fool myself.’

  ‘Rebecca, I have been thinking. We could all move to the coast. I could get a job.’

  ‘No, Mama!’ Rebecca was firm. ‘The future is dark but, Papa, you say that we are given just enough light to see our next step.’

  ‘King David said it.’

  ‘My little light tells me that I need you to be in this place for me. Mama will go down to Big House and Papa will be with Thomas on the farm. You will all look after each other.’

  Stephen shook his head in disbelief. ‘Mama says you are a surprise to her. To me you are a puzzle. You love this man and yet you are ending the possibility of marriage. Just when Mama and me are beginning to believe that a white man and a black girl …’

  Rebecca looked at her parents in turn and smiled. She needed to be away and wanted no long goodbyes. Alone in the house she packed her one bag and looked around for the last time. There was a phone call to be made. She borrowed her father’s bike and she was glad to see that there were no customers down at the Lucky Bar. She got through to the Coulson house straight away.

  ‘Rebecca, I’ve just this minute finished speaking to Maura. I’m so sad about this …’

  ‘Mrs Coulson.’

  ‘Please, Mary …’

  ‘Mary, your son, Philip, he is a lawyer?�
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  ‘Yes, he is.’

  ‘With a big company in Nairobi?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘I need to do business with a lawyer just now. Perhaps he will be willing to help me. I am going down to Nairobi this morning.’

  ‘Of course he will. Let me look up his address and number. How are you getting down?’

  ‘One of the farm boys is taking me into town. Then there are plenty of coaches.’

  ‘How about if I picked you up? It’s my day down in Nairobi and I can easily come to the village.’

  There was a long hesitation at Rebecca’s end. Mary thought they had been cut off but, at last, she was there again.

  ‘Yes, that is kind. In town, at what time?’

  ‘Shall we say an hour, at La Belle Inn. If you’re late, I’ll wait.’

  Rebecca was late through no fault of her own. Rafaella had spotted her moving awkwardly down the track towards the main road on her father’s bike and wanted to catch up with her. She needed the help of four wheels.

  They crossed paths just as Rebecca was returning to the village. Rebecca dismounted and as she parked the bike against the fence, she glanced towards Tom’s grandmother with a pained expression, as if she was expecting some kind of reprimand and a few uncomfortable minutes of questioning. At first there were no words. They came together on the dusty verge in a long embrace. In the firm grasp of that slim body, in the feel of the thick, perfumed hair against her cheeks, Rebecca thrilled to the silent expression of deep love. The compassion her old friend showed in her eyes overwhelmed her and the tears began.

  Rafaella spent no time on trivialities. ‘I know you love him and want to be his wife. You know you have broken his heart, but you cannot tell him why.’

  ‘But if I said …’

  ‘You are doing this to save his life.’

  Rebecca gasped.

  ‘So, I am right. I have been up since three. I have read my favourite pieces. Remember those poems we enjoyed not so long ago? I have talked to Don … Don’t worry, darling, we often chat. After that, I’m ready to pray … well, think, pray and try to listen.’

  ‘But, Madam …’

  ‘No more Madam. You know my name.’