Reality, Reality

by Jackie Kay

  ‘Nothing to be sorry about, Cheryl,’ Sharon says.

  ‘I’m just a bit all over the place.’

  ‘We all have off-days,’ Sharon says. Her voice sounds nice and kind. Her voice is nicer than her face. When you speak to her on the phone, you imagine somebody quite slim and lovely. ‘You have a nice voice, you know,’ I say to Sharon. I manage to stop myself saying the other part: ‘when you hear your voice on the phone, you imagine someone quite slim and lovely.’

  ‘I was thinking . . . I wonder if you want to come to mine for Christmas dinner? I mean, I’ll be cooking for me and it’s a bit of a waste . . .’

  ‘Oh, that’s nice of you, Cheryl, but I’ve got other plans now,’ Sharon says.

  ‘Other plans?’ I say.

  ‘I thought you said you wanted to spend the day on your own?’ Sharon says.

  ‘What’s your other plan?’ I say. I mean, who does Sharon have?

  ‘I’m helping in the Soup Kitchen for the Homeless.’

  ‘Oh!’ I laugh. ‘Well, that’s good – easily changed. Come round for two, then?’

  ‘No, I can’t change it,’ Sharon says.

  ‘You can’t be serious? You’d rather spend Christmas with the homeless than your mate?’

  ‘I don’t want to let them down. Thanks anyway. What about Boxing Day?’

  ‘All right, then Boxing Day, stay over if you want. Bring your ’jamas.’

  Boxing Day is actually just the day after Christmas Day and now that I have company planned for Boxing Day, Christmas Day will pass in a whizz and I can save some of the aubergine parmigiana for Sharon. And actually, it’s kind of perfect because it’s what I wanted: to spend Christmas Day on my own for the first time in my entire life.

  I’ve bought myself some presents and wrapped them. In the morning, I will get up and put on the television. Then I’ll make myself my Christmas breakfast. I’ll have the same one that I used to have: scrambled eggs, smoked salmon, Buck’s Fizz. Then I’ll open my presents. Then I’ll watch It’s a Wonderful Life and cry when James Stewart is happy when the knob comes off the bottom of the stairs. Then I’ll try and call my middle sister and wish her Merry Christmas and keep my voice very cheerful. Then I might call my step-father and wish him Merry Christmas. Then I’ll slice my aubergine and salt it and leave that for a bit. It’s amazing watching the bitter juices come out of the aubergine. I’d like to do that with myself, just pour some salt over.

  On Christmas morning, I wake early. I open my pressies and disappoint myself. I should have splashed out a bit more. I can hear that it’s snowing outside because the voices are high in the street and I can hear the squeaky, muffled footsteps. I look out the window. I’m right, there’s a flurry of snowflakes. Snow is lying thick on the car roofs and on the roofs of the terrace houses. It looks pretty, the thick snow and the red brick, the white snow and the red postbox. I try not to think she is right now having breakfast with the love of her life and I am right now eating breakfast on my own. Sharon could have come, it’s my fault. But I had to face it. I had to say to myself, you are alone. You have lost your love. You have nobody to spend Christmas with. And you are having the time of your life. You are. It’s wonderful! You can do what you want!

  I channel-hop. I laugh hysterically. I sing ‘Silent Night’ at the top of my voice. I eat a mince pie straight after my breakfast. (I didn’t go for the silly smoked salmon in the end – just toast and marmalade.) I sing, ‘The holly and the ivy / When they are both full grown / of all the trees that are in the wood / the holly bears the crown.’ I dance around my small house. When I catch a vision of me in the mirror with the paper hat from the cracker on – I had to pull it myself; the left hand won, rubbish joke though – I stop and speak to myself, I say, ‘This is a blast. Isn’t it? This is such a blast.’ And then the doorbell rings. And I tear down the stairs. And who should be standing there in her navy duffel coat but Sharon. She’s carrying a big bird on a plate and she’s smiling sort of a shy smile. There are snowflakes in her hair, snowflakes on her duffel coat, flakes everywhere, melting. She says, ‘I did my volunteering on Christmas Eve.’ She says, ‘Is it OK if I come in, or do you want to be on your own?’ I grab hold of her and hug her. (There’s a lot to hug.) ‘Merry Christmas, dear pal,’ I say. ‘Merry Christmas!’

  Hadassah

  Mordecai bring me up like I is his own and in a way I is his own. He call me Hadassah. It mean morning star. He say there is a song about the morning star; he say Hadassah shine a light where no light shine. My parents die when I am little, and that’s how Mordecai come. He is not uncle, not cousin to me, more like a father, more like father and mother. Days gone, I smile on my face when we stand by the river. I know my smile is same as Mordecai as he smile back. Look at us in the river, Mordecai say. The river know us. Then I imagine they have another life, the two people in the river; I imagine we leave them there. And when the men take us, and I lose Mordecai, it is there I go in my head – the time by the river. I like to think of a big reef basket carrying Mordecai and me down the dark river beside the river rushes and the lizards, the crocodiles and the logs that look like crocodiles, the white egrets on our tail, white blossom on the trees.

  Mordecai tell me I am around fifteen years of age when I am taken away, far away, to another land, a land of milk and honey. When I gets here a man who promise me food and shelter come and meet me. I don’t like the man who name is the King. On the day I arrive, the King is angry with a woman, name of Vashti. The King is angry with Vashti because she will not do as he say. He ask her to come to this big do where he say he fork out good money for the food, and he want to show her off to the men, name of Pimps. One girl, Nell, tells me Vashti say, ‘I will not eat with men who treat me like I am a piece of meat.’ And that the King get rid of her; he slice off her head as if she is an egg, Nell say. He can do what he like, Lily say, the police never come. Nobody care about us. We are scum. Then Lily starts dancing round our room singing at the top of her voice, ‘We are scum, we are scum, we are scum!’ Until Agnes quiet her and say she is going to get trouble with all her silliness.

  When Vashti leave, or has her head chop off like an egg, the King send for me! I tremble in his pad – white and green and blue hangings; tied round his purple curtain – silver rings. He say let me show you my pad. His pad is in the same building as the place we sleep, but it is different from our dump. We never go there unless he come and take us there or send for us. ‘I work hard for this,’ the King say. And he take me to his kitchen: grey marble top and cupboard and mixer tap. Then we go into his bedroom and I am embarrass. On the King’s bed is a cover of gold and silver. On his bedroom floor is a thick red carpet and smaller rugs, blue and white and black rugs. A wardrobe and drawer in dark wood. ‘See, the furniture is all matching,’ he say. In his living room: leather sofas and big lights and black and white walls with tall marble columns at the side of the room. The King wear a long quilted dressing gown, a dark purple. From time to time, it fall open and I see red Y-fronts.

  He say, ‘You’re going to be The One now. Do you know what it means to be The One?’ I don’t know, but I nod because I don’t want to be like Vashti and have my head slice like an egg. He say, ‘You will be my eyes and ears. Any talk of running off, you come to the King, have you got that into your pretty head, you give the King the nod and the wink?’ I nod and he say, speak up. ‘You are learning the lingo, aren’t you? You know please and thank you?’ I say, please and thank you. He laugh; but I don’t know what is so funny. He say, ‘You never come to me unless you got something to report. Get it? You never come to ask for anything for yourself. Girls that do that get punished. Sort yourself out. I don’t want to hear nothing about your problems, got it? You got your periods then get one of the girls to get you tampons or whatever. Understood?’ I blush, my cheeks hot. I say please and thank you again. He say, ‘I’m trying my best to keep you safe from the Pigs; if you girls don’t earn the bacon, how am I supposed to feed you?’ I don’t und
erstand, so I just say thank you with no please, and he likes that and say, ‘You’re a fast learner, aren’t you, Hadassah?’ And he pull my curly black head toward him. And he teach me a new word. After the new word finish, I say, thank you, again and then I leave the Pad quick, back to my dump where we girls, black and brown and white girls, lays in a bed – four or five girls on one mattress on the floor. I lie down on the bed and keep my eyes open, wide as I can.

  The floorboards are bare and there is the smell of fear in the room mix with the smell of sweat mix with some horrible smell and nobody trust anybody. I learn the King’s English fast so that I can do as the King ask. I learn words I don’t want to know the meaning of; I learn words I wish I did not; so many words for the same thing.

  Whenever I think the girls are whispering something the King want to know, I lie quiet and listen. I always been a girl who can listen long time and keep still. Quite a few plans, I tell him, and every time I do he give me a gold coin. Know what this is? This is a two-quid coin. I collect my gold coins in a tin. I find a good place to hide them under the wooden floorboards on a low shelf. I am careful nobody is watching when I put a new coin in my tin. I like doing that. I like to count them.

  One night, when I am asleep in a huddle with the other girls in our dirty dump, I hear a knocking at the window. I open it and see Mordecai standing on the balcony! Mordecai! He say our people are in trouble; they holding them in Immigration. Mordecai say we must seek asylum. I never know what asylum means then. I still not sure. I know if you go mad you sent to asylum. Mordecai told me the King is a good man, who has his faults and is with the wrong people, but has a heart of gold because he is the one who is help people like us get asylum. At night, I lie awake thinking about this and thinking about the King who help send the women mad. At night in that one room you hear the sound of girls and young women cry, and sometimes pray and sometimes cry and pray together.

  I don’t think Mordecai really know the kind of man the King is or the kind of things he want girls to do. I tell Mordecai that I learn words I wish I didn’t. Mordecai don’t understand what I say. He say he has no influence over the King and that I am close, that word on the street say I am as close to the King as anybody. I tell Mordecai, the King say you can’t trouble him for nothing or else he will have your head. On day one, he tell me: ask for nothing. Mordecai say, ‘Did I bring you up to care about yourself? No, remember our time by the river back in our own country? Remember how you were happy then? One day you will have a decent place again, not like this. You have to be brave and go to the man they call the King and speak up for your people.’

  There is eight of us who come from our country. Eight of us who is with Mordecai and me, hidden first as cargo on the boat, and then in a lorry, inside boxes, where we can’t breathe, where we think we are going to die, no air, no water, just the dark. We arrive, and a man who is a friend of the King’s take me and Mordecai and we never see the rest of our people. ‘They were stopped. They didn’t make it through,’ Mordecai tell me now. ‘They have been kept in a holding place.’ ‘I have not been out,’ I whisper to him. ‘I have not felt the air on my face. I am prisoner here.’

  ‘You have to talk to the King and get him to help. They need help to fill in the questionnaires.’ I shake my head. I can’t. I can’t. I will get into trouble. Mordecai say, ‘Hadassah, remember what I used to tell you when you were a girl, how you shine a light where no one else can shine?’ I remember, I say, but in this godforsaken country, it is each man for hisself. Mordecai look astonish, maybe surprise at my big word. I hear somebody say godforsaken the other day and I like the sound of it. I been waiting for a chance to say godforsaken. ‘Don’t you see, Hadassah, if they get them, they will get us. We’ll be sent back home where they will find us and kill us.’ Mordecai’s eyes looked sad and small and black, not like the eyes of the man he is when we stand by the river. Mordecai plead one more time, ‘See what you can do.’ And Mordecai climb down the drain pipe and vanish into the dark.

  The next morning I still don’t feel brave and leave my bowl of cereal uneaten on my lap. At lunch time, when our soup come, I leave that too. And at dinner time, when pasta is there, I leave that. One of the girls, Chiamake from Nigeria, notice. She say, Eat your food, girl, or you will starve. Another girl, Betty from Glasgow, say, Are you no wanting this? I’ll have it then. And she wolf down my pasta. Next day, I do the same. And Betty wolf my food. Third day – the same, the same. Betty can’t believe it! All I have each day is a lemon squeeze into a glass and hot water. Each day I sip my lemon and hot water slow, slow. By then, the hunger gone, and I feel light-head but also concentrate, and I am frighten no more. Not eating make me strong, make me see clearly. Strange it is – nothing in my belly but my thoughts see-through.

  And then I ask Clara, who is the one who do the shopping, who is allow out because the King know a girl will not run away because no one has any place to go and even when someone do run away the men find you and sometime Nell say they chop your body into pieces and throw it in the river. They do that even with the small children. Even when they are put in Children Home, they wait and they find them and they steal them away. I tell Clara to use the money in my special tin, my two-quid coins I been saving for my rainy day, a rainy day I imagine will change to sunshine when Mordecai come and take me to another place in England; when Mordecai take me where people wear funny hats and push long sticks in the river. I see a picture like that in a mag in the King’s Pad.

  I give her the coins and I say, Buy food for a party. What do you want? she ask me. So I tell her to get rice so I can make jollof rice, and plantain, and cassava, and chicken legs and cabbage and carrot and onion, pumpkin and black-eyed peas. I say, We can get all those in England? And she say, Yeah yeah yeah, course. You can get anything in England: you can make what you like. You want moyin moyin, cassava, coconut, curry goat, ackee, green plantain, paw paw, prickly pear, egusi soup, collard greens, sweet potato, cocoyam, garri, akara? What you want? Say the word, Clara say, egusi? Just say the word. What in particular you want for the big party? She got so carry away she forgot I tell her already! So I tell her again. I say, Get me some rice so I can make jollof rice and some chicken so I can make fried chicken and some plantain and some collard greens and some cabbage and carrot and onion and salad cream so I can make coleslaw and some black-eyed peas so I can make moyin moyin. Get me some banana leaf. I like to make moyin moyin for Mordecai but he is gone now with disappointment. He does not know my plan. Clara leave the house with my gold coins to get the food for the feast. ‘You’re crazy?’ Lily say. ‘Using up all your money like that! It’s a waste, girl. What about your rainy day?’ But I do not have another rainy day and I have to think how to save my bacon.

  The King is out and is coming back with new girls. Out a good few hours. I always feel sorry when the new girls arrive and I see the fear in their eyes and I know the words they are going to learn and what they are going to do with them.

  Clara arrive back with all the ingredients she buy from a fab shop in Finsbury Park. Usually Clara come back I like ask her question about Finsbury Park: Can you see ducks? Are there children on swing? Can you see big bird? Lots of tree? Did you see yourself in pond? A picture of Mordecai and me by the river jump into my mind and I like that. But today, I ask Clara nothing about the park. I am focus because I fast.

  I ask three girls to help prepare the food – Nell and Lily and Chiamake. I say, Follow me to the King’s kitchen. At first they scare because we never go there. He never even lock the door he know we too scare. But I tell them the King say it is ok and they believe me. ‘You sure about this?’ Chiamake say. ‘I’m sure.’ Anyway, hunger come first! We pound the onion and the chilli and add paprika and magi cubes and rub on the chicken wing and thigh and leg, then fry, then roast; we fluff the jollof rice, and we fry the plantain and chop the cabbage and carrot fine-fine for the coleslaw. We steam the collard greens. I am happy when I see black-eyed peas. We wrap the moyin moyin in b
anana leaves and steam for pudding.

  We lay the table with red napkins and silver cutlery. I am hungry and just the smell of the food feel like eating. While the chicken roast – before the return of the King and the Pimps and the new girls – I go into the King bathroom and pour bath. I pour myrrh in the bath, lavender oil, sprinkle sea salts – my, how the King like pamper hisself! – and I wash my hands and feet and hair and then I dry in the most soft towel I ever feel. I don’t feel worry any more. The fasting make me brave. I pour bath for Nell and she pour one for Lily and Lily pour one for Chiamake. It like they are all under my spell. Chiamake say, ‘If anything bad happen to us it is worth it to feel clean like this.’ Nell say, ‘If the King comes back early and is angry that we have taken a bath to clean ourselves for the feast, so be it.’ I nod and smile. It is the most happiest feeling I have all the time I am in England. If he is furious and want to hit me; my body can take it. It is strong; it is without food for three days. Inside my head I am the girl of the morning star.

  After the bath, I dress in clean clothes that I find in the King’s wardrobe, women’s clothes that I am surprise to find. And I dress the girls too. We are all ready in our red and purple and black dress, in our silk stocking. We have no shoes, no nice shoes, so we just remain in our stocking soles. We are all waiting. I go into the kitchen and open a bottle of red wine. I find a big jug and pour the wine into the big jug like I see the King do. Then I tell the rest of the women to come and sit round the table and enjoy the feast. They also frighten at first, but the smell of the food change their minds! All the women sit down: Betty sit down first, then Lily, Ruth, Chiamake, Ivy, Clara and Nell and Abigail; Elisabeth and Mary and Hannah and Phoebe and Joanna and Judith; Eunice, Hannah and Anna and the other Anna. All of them gather around the big King table, eyes wide at the feast. All the women, the white, and the brown and the black women, in the big dining room with the oval-shape table and the wall hanging and the rude picture of girls on the wall.