She stepped back in through tall French windows and found herself in a large wood-panelled office. No rugs, no pictures, just one lamp on Jack’s metal desk and a single comfy-looking chair. Choosing the further of two lacquered doors, she opened it silently and entered another hallway with pale painted walls. This room had two brown doors, both ajar. Peering in, she discovered one led to a badly lit corridor, the other to Jack’s bedroom. She padded into the latter.
It was cool and dark. The windows were wide open for air to pass through the wire mosquito mesh, but with the slatted shutters and the door to the veranda firmly closed to keep out the sun. She inhaled deeply, smelling Jack’s leathery aftershave, his cigarettes and his sweat. She hesitated. There was something else. Something faintly exotic.
She looked round: took in a neat pile of freshly laundered clothes and the deeply polished floor. This was not the Jack she knew; undomesticated, he was a man who only felt alive when there was a thrill to be had.
She headed for the soapy-smelling bathroom. This was too good a chance to peep into Jack’s hidden world. His toiletries sat on a glass shelf above a slightly discoloured wash-hand basin, with a magnifying shaving mirror to the right and a small tin bathroom cabinet to the left. Jack’s damp towel was draped over the edge of the bath, and the showerhead dripped intermittently. She picked up the towel and held it to her face. It smelt smoky: coal tar soap, she thought. She washed her hands in his basin and splashed her face. The water came out cool, though flecked with rust. She dried her hands and face with his towel, her scent mixing with his. She folded the towel the way it had been and turned to face the cabinet on the wall. She really shouldn’t, she told herself. But her hand lifted up and turned the cabinet key.
Inside, along with Jack’s toothbrush and toothpaste, was a jar of Pond’s cold cream, a lipstick and a tiny glass vial of scent.
She folded her arms across her middle, the breath knocked right out of her, and sat abruptly on the edge of the bath. A voice in the back of her head told her not to be silly. He must have had other women. Alec said he had. And Cicely insinuated as much, even when Lydia was seeing him. But it was Jack who’d begged her. Leave, he’d said. Live with me. It was he who kissed her and pleaded for her not to end it.
She knew that it was stipulated in his four-year contract that he couldn’t marry or live with anyone on his first tour, but when she’d raised it, he said there were ways. He’d been saving money to buy his way out of the contract. They’d take the girls; go back to England. In the end she couldn’t do it; Alec saw to that.
Her heart was racing. Who was the woman? Well, for a start her things may have been sitting there from before she herself had met Jack. She picked up the tube of lipstick, a make she didn’t recognise, and wound it down. Pale pink. Blossom it said on the back. The scent only had two Chinese characters on its label, which she didn’t understand at all. She dabbed a touch on her wrist. Jasmine? No. Without a doubt, it was the unidentified fragrance in Jack’s bedroom. Her heart sank. The woman was recent after all. She looked at her watch. Nearly twelve. He mustn’t find her there. She pulled herself together, escaped by the door to the veranda and shuffled into her seat at the front of the house.
With a hand on her heart, she forced herself to smile as Maz ran across and clattered into the seat beside her. He chattered and pointed at drifts of butterflies, impossible to count, and they both listened to the high-pitched trill of a flower pecker. Though she felt hurt, there was no point fretting, after all she’d be leaving soon to go to her family. And by the time Jack strode back, her breathing was calmer and her face composed.
‘You seem better.’ He grunted as he flung himself into an armchair and pushed the wave of blond hair from tired eyes.
‘One of the great unwashed. I must have given you a fright. I didn’t start off that way, you know. In fact I looked rather nice.’ She grinned. Her navy dress, piped with white, was now in the bin, ruined beyond repair.
He laughed. ‘You always look good to me. Though I prefer your hair long. Is that what they call a pixie cut?’
She ran her hands through her shorn locks. ‘Not quite. It’s easier like this.’
He ate rapidly as if on red alert, curry soup with noodles, followed by chicken satay.
‘What’s that?’ Maz said.
‘A magpie robin. Why don’t you see if you can find him?’
While Maz went off in search of the bird, she was able to tell the whole story, only feeling a lump in her throat when she spoke of the girls.
‘And you’re sure they’re in Ipoh?’ Jack asked.
‘At the rest house, George said. Is it okay if we stay for a couple of days?’ She gestured at Maz sloping between the nearby trees and pocketing the prettiest stones.
‘Stay a bit longer. I’m going up to Ipoh next weekend. I can give you a lift in the truck. In fact the Company office is right next door to the Government Building, so I can take you straight there. It’s where Alec is based, right?’
She nodded her thanks. ‘It’s nice, your house,’ she said, waving her arm around.
‘Not bad. Used to be the owner’s. My boss didn’t want it so I was next in line. The Japanese occupied it during the war. Left it in a terrible state.’
She didn’t mention the perfume in his bathroom and searched for something else to say, but the fragrant vial hung between them, and she struggled for words.
‘How are things here?’ she eventually said.
‘Not so good. A few tappers were threatened. Then we found one strung up yesterday, hacked to death with a parang. The Chinese bandits don’t waste bullets on their own.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Save them for us. And last night an estate truck was burnt.’
‘Dead?’
He let out a slow breath. ‘No, but yesterday was a hell of a day. Probably why I was so bushed when you got here.’
She shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘After lunch I usually take a snooze. Best way to escape the afternoon heat.’
He got up, stretched, loosened the muscles in his arms, then stood behind her chair. He began massaging her shoulders. She was sweaty and tried to suppress her response, but couldn’t help arching her back. With one hand he stroked her neck, the other slid to the curve of her breast. She touched the blond hairs that curled at his wrist. A strong, wide wrist. She turned his palm over, saw it was pale against his tan. Did it matter very much?
‘God, Lyd. They’re like rock. Your shoulders.’
He came round in front of her and bent down to look at her. A tremor ran through her. She opened her mouth and leant back. He held her chin so she had to look straight into his eyes and then covered her mouth with his own.
‘Come on,’ he said, as he pulled away. ‘I know what you need.’
‘But the child?’ she said, as Maz turned up at her side.
Maz pulled a face. ‘I did not see the bird.’
Jack chucked him under the chin. ‘There’s always next time. Now, young man. Off to bed with you.’
Lydia led Maz to his room, and once he was settled, closed the door.
Before they went to Jack’s bedroom, he opened a door into a shuttered room. ‘I should have said last night, but if there’s an attack, grab the boy and both of you get in here. There’s water and tinned food in that cupboard.’
She looked at the walls piled high with sandbags. ‘But how will I know?’
‘You’ll know. If it’s dark, the sentries raise a heck of an alarm by banging on empty tin drums. All the lights in the house go off and you mustn’t speak.’
‘Heavens!’
‘Don’t worry. You won’t be here long. Can you handle a gun?’
She shook her head and hummed a tune that kept repeating. Alec got irritable when she hummed, but the more nervous she became, the more she couldn’t help it.
‘What’s that song?’ Jack asked. ‘I know it.’
‘ “Stranger in Paradise”.’
He laughed. ‘Aren’t we all
…? By the way the phone’s on the wall in the hall. There might be a telephone call while you’re here ’
‘I’d call the offices in Ipoh to speak to Alec, but George said the lines had been cut.’
‘He’s right. The local police headquarters test our line here daily. Make sure it’s not been cut too. There’s a special code, so it’s probably best if you don’t answer. They’ll call back anyway. And don’t ever open the door after dark.’
She thought of the yarns she’d heard of Penunggu pranksters: poltergeists who ring doorbells or phone you up in the middle of the night. She grinned. ‘Anything else I should know?’
‘No. Just watch out for the giant millipedes, poisonous scorpions, and deadly, biting vipers!’
He laughed and grabbed her by the waist, driving her back against the wall. ‘Here, or in the bed?’
A wave of guilt gripped her. She paused, thought of Alec, held her breath. But the heat of the moment won. She brushed the guilt aside, and with a broad grin, broke free. Her feet thudded as she arrived in the relative cool of his bedroom, where she quickly undid the buttons of her shirtwaister, leaving it in a green stripy pool on the floor. Jack was already beneath the thin cotton sheet, his blond hair sticking up in the breeze from a fan. Eyes closed, hands clasped behind his head, he gave her his come and get me smile. She slipped in beside him and smelt musk on his warm skin. She tingled and put a palm to his chest. She felt the thump, looked at him, and saw his bright blue eyes stare right into her. She felt a shiver of longing.
‘Do you like it that way?’ he said, watching her closely as his large hands slowly began to move over her inner thighs.
She felt the rough skin of them, and the heat of him along her entire body. Oh God, what was she doing? This couldn’t happen. She had to make it stop. She’d promised Alec. But she needed the contact with Jack so much, needed him so much. She knew she shouldn’t, but couldn’t stop. Somehow he’d settled in her flesh, and now she wanted him so much, it made her eyes water. She bit her lip.
He looked puzzled, scratching his chin. ‘Don’t cry. Hey, Lyddy, you know I love you.’
He wiped away the salty tears, licked his fingers and used them to trace the soft skin of her throat.
‘Sex is all about the woman,’ he said with a grin. ‘Not many men know that.’
She laughed.
In the sweltering afternoon, he explored the skin at the back of her knees and the place behind her ears, stroked the moist curls at the nape of her neck. Kissed her eyelids.
She looked past his shoulder at the late, flat light on the patchy walls, on the door, on the folds of their clothes. With Alec, three drinks and she could fake it. With Jack it was different. She took a deep breath and fell head first into the animal smell of him, and though she didn’t voice it, knew that danger made the heat even stronger.
‘Damn it, Lydia, you’re so bloody fuckable,’ he said, and they rocked together, bodies burning.
Afterwards she scratched the sores at her ankle and watched him shave. The room filled with the scent of coal tar as the cutthroat blade slid against his skin. She laughed at his facial contortions: nose to the right, nose to the left.
‘What’s so funny?’
‘You.’
‘You should see yourself put on lipstick.’
One hand on his hip, he minced to the mirror, formed his mouth into a wide-open O shape and mimed the lipstick going on. Then he came back to stroke her cheek and plant kisses down the side of her neck.
‘Jesus, Lyd. I’ve missed you.’
‘Have you?’
‘What kind of a question’s that?’
Back in bed she pulled the sheet up. Had he missed her? She remembered the perfume bottle, and felt the ache of separation.
After Jack went back to work Lydia stayed there to sleep, only rising when a breeze rattled through the trees, and sent a draught of cool air into the room. She showered, towelled her hair, then went out into the greenish evening with Maz. They walked in the shade of the nearest rubber trees, their silky branches reaching upwards to the light. Long before Lydia heard hastily retreating footsteps crack the twigs and leaves, Maz cocked his head. It was enough to remind her of ever-present dangers.
‘We’d better go back,’ she said. ‘At least to the veranda.’
The air spun with screaming insects, and Jack appeared in his dusty clothes and jungle boots. His face lit up when he saw them, and they began walking back together. He stopped, bent down, and then scooped something up with his hands. Opening his palm, he showed Maz a delicate red and green moth, its wings outstretched.
‘Why does it not fly?’ Maz said, his eyes glowing with interest.
He shrugged. ‘It’s dead, I’m afraid. Come on, or we’ll be eaten alive.’
The light was fading fast and screeching monkeys echoed all round. They got back just in time to watch the sun setting orange in the west.
‘Look, Maz,’ Jack said. ‘Before the light goes completely.’
Maz giggled as Jack pointed out a large, untidy nest under the veranda, loosely made from dried leaves, twigs, and moss. ‘It’s a magpie robin nest. But the birds have flown.’
Lydia looked up at the sky. ‘Sunsets here are beautiful,’ she said. ‘But over so quickly.’
He put an arm round her and squeezed her shoulder, then, looking worn out, leant against the railings, shoulders hunched.
There was the rasp of a door opening behind them. Lili walked over and bent to speak to Jack, her features unfathomable. The girl stood poised, waiting. He took a step away from Lydia and replied in Chinese. There was a restrained outburst as the girl narrowed her eyes, then, with what looked like a sharp expression, left. There was something unsettling about the look and Lydia went to Jack, frowning slightly when he didn’t explain.
‘She never smiles,’ she said, sitting again.
He sat opposite, tanned thighs spread apart. ‘No. Not at the moment. I guess you’re right,’ he said, and looked at her blankly, the skin around his eyes pinched.
The silence stretched and went on too long.
She made a point of looking at her watch. ‘Maz should be in bed. I’ll just sort him out.’
Jack seemed relieved.
In the bedroom she saw pebbles laid in a line all round both their beds.
‘Fifty-seven,’ Maz said. ‘For protection.’
She longed to cuddle her own daughters, but hugged him in their place. He held her hand and covered it with kisses.
Back outside she caught the citrus scent of pomelo flowers on a sudden breeze.
‘Tell me about your work,’ she said, pulling a chair closer to Jack. ‘Tell me about the plantation. What you do, day to day.’
‘Heck, it isn’t what I expected, I can tell you that. Falling in streams, hacking through lallang grass as high as our shoulders. I guess it keeps me fit.’
Lydia closed her eyes.
‘There’s an art to rubber tapping,’ Jack said. ‘The cut has to be just right or the tree bleeds and dies.’ He sighed. ‘And I can’t tell you how grim it is to see dozens of good trees burning. They set them alight and there’s very little we can do.’
He was interrupted by the sound of a motor bike, then someone calling his name from the front of the house.
He stood up, stretched, and, flexing the muscles in his arms, went round the veranda to his office at the back. It was nearly dark. The still time in the tropics when the sounds of day have gone, and the world waits for the noises of night to begin. She fanned away the mosquitoes with her hands, and a sensation of being out of place ran through her. She was so far away from her real life. Her real self. The minutes inched by. She heard a flutter of wings and the scream of an unknown animal, then jumped as a flight of bats swooped over her head.
She heard Jack say, ‘Christ!’ After that, his voice became a murmur, and she listened to the increasingly subdued tone as he spoke.
15
I lay on my bed and tried to read, hoping that
Mr Oliver was snoozing and wouldn’t move until the others came back. I already knew Heidi and Black Beauty. Now it was time for Treasure Island, one of very few books in the house. I was shocked when Gran said they handed them in during the war at a book drive. The paper was needed for ration books. Dad promised we could have comics delivered instead. I asked for Eagle but he said it was for boys, and Girl landed on the doorstep.
Boring.
Something really exciting had happened though. On Friday a letter with a Malayan postmark lay on the hall table waiting for Dad. Mum must have got home and read my letter, I thought, and wished she’d written to me as well as Dad. He was out at the time, but all day long I went back to it, picked it up, held it to my lips, sure it was from Mum, telling us when she’d be coming. It was typed so I couldn’t tell from the handwriting, but who else would be writing to Dad? I wanted to find out, but now I was in trouble again, it wasn’t a good time to ask Dad.
In the pale summery light of England, I longed to play under the hot Malayan sun, until it whizzed into the sea at night. I had missed my mum terribly and was so excited as I thought of all the places we’d go. The barn, the little alleyway behind the church where all the cats lived. The long walk round the village.
I tried not to think of Mr Oliver, and spent ages counting the faded roses on the carpet and the number of squiggly lines on the wallpaper. Spare bits of both had decorated the doll’s house we were making for Fleur. Granny had even made some artificial flowers and a little tree to stick on the side of the house.
I looked out at the field opposite, dotted with black and white cows now, and the same long line of dark trees at the very end. I thought about making a dash for it as the sun lit up the garden and the roofs of the village turned silver. I could keep a look out from over there, and hide until I saw the car come back.
But even though it was summer, the sun disappeared and it quickly became a grey watery day. I was hungry. I’d hardly eaten any lunch, and would give anything for a jam sandwich. There were Catherine wheels and walnut whips for tea, and Gran had made a Dundee cake, but I didn’t dare tiptoe down the stairs. If Mr Oliver was asleep, I didn’t want to risk waking him. I peered out of the window again, in case I could catch sight of the car coming back early. But only saw the Worcestershire fish ’n’ chip van, with ‘Meals on Wheels’ printed on the side.
Separation, The Page 9
