I took out my exercise book, sat cross-legged on the floor, and made myself concentrate on my latest story. It was about a death in Spain and was set in a seventeenth-century monastery. I couldn’t wait to show it to Mum. The chief monk had died in a beautiful crypt, having taken poison. Everyone would know what he’d done, because he left a note saying he was going to take his own life as he could no longer live with himself. Though I hadn’t worked out why, it would be something dramatic. Suicide was a terrible sin, and the young monk who found the note decided to destroy it, in order to protect his master.
I was trying to figure out how he was going to get rid of it, but the smell of fish ’n’ chips from a hatch at the side of the van distracted me. I got up and looked out again, and saw the fish man in his white chef’s outfit, with a tall white hat. My mouth watered. It was only by chance that my eyes flicked back across the room, and I saw Mr Oliver blocking the door. I hadn’t heard him come up the stairs, but, with a sharp breath in, I ran to my bed, shuffled my bottom right back against the wall, then held a pillow across my lap. He came over, his face smooth and white. My stomach turned over and I wanted to pee.
‘Hello,’ he said, and closed the door.
I told myself to run while I had the chance, but my body wouldn’t obey. I don’t know why, but I couldn’t move.
His left eyebrow raised and he gave me a funny look. I saw the little flecks of white on his lapels when he sat on my bed. He cupped my chin with his hand, squeezed and sort of pulled my face a little way towards him.
‘Please go,’ I said.
‘But I’ve been looking forward to seeing you,’ he said, and started to stroke my forehead. ‘You liked this, didn’t you?’
I wriggled away.
‘Now there’s nothing to be frightened of, is there?’ His eyes narrowed, and he let go of my chin.
I thought for a minute he was going to go. But then he held me by my arms. ‘It’ll be easier, dear, if you keep nice and still.’
He pushed me down by my shoulders.
I wanted to shout, but all that came out was a squeak. I struggled, tried to roll out of the side of the bed. He held me firmly and with one hand threw off the pillow. With the other, he kept a grip on me.
‘Let me go. Please. I promise not to tell,’ I begged.
‘Don’t be silly, dear. Of course you won’t tell.’
He pulled up my skirt a little way, and put his hand just above the left knee on the inside of my thigh. I was so frightened, I thought I was going to wet the bed. The same fear I’d had before. But worse. Much worse. I tried to push him off again.
And even though tears filled my eyes, he shook his head and smiled.
I longed for my mother. I could see her so clearly it hurt. Mummy. Mummy. Mummy. Where are you? My pulse was banging in my ears, and in my mind I was out of the door and running to her. I knew about people leaving their bodies and how if you concentrated hard enough you could do it. I tried but it didn’t work.
I looked at the wallpaper and started to count the flowers there, but all I could think of was my mum. As his fingers poked at my skin, my head filled with roaring and my chest hurt so much, I couldn’t breathe. He was strong, but if I waited until he was distracted and relaxed his hold. Maybe then. A wind whistled under the door. It was the only way. In that moment I didn’t care about any punishment. In my bedside table, that’s where they were. We were playing with them yesterday, Fleur and me. I shifted towards the edge of the bed.
‘So you have decided you like it after all,’ he said, mistaking my movement towards him as obedience, his fingers running just inside my knicker elastic.
A wave of sickness came in my throat, but I forced myself to wait.
His eyes were closed and a panting kind of breathing began. He removed the hand that had been holding me down, his left hand, and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. Now, I thought. Do it now. I slipped one arm out ever so carefully so as not to warn him, then whipped open the drawer. I clutched hold of the dart and with all the strength that I had, jabbed it into his neck.
His hand stayed at the edge of my knickers, not moving now, but his eyes opened wide and he turned scarlet. For a moment I thought his eyes would burst right out.
Then his head jerked sideways. He took his hand from me and put it to his neck. The dart was stuck. He lifted bloody fingers to look at them, puffed out his cheeks and started to cough and splutter. His started to speak, spat out the words through clenched teeth. ‘You – little – bitch.’
Then he lashed out.
I wasn’t scared of the blood, and dodged the blow. He took another swing at me. I dived out of the bed, charged down the stairs and ran.
I ran past the abandoned farm sheds where the boys played war and pirate ships: too scary when it got dark. Past the woods where Robin Hood plotted with Maid Marion. Too creepy. I went on running and when the stitch doubled me over, held my side, my breath coming in gasps. By the time I reached the barn, the light was almost gone.
I climbed the ladder and sat on the wooden boards, my head down between my knees. After the sickness passed, I hid under the hay, pulled it all around me, to keep the world out. I didn’t even care about the rats. I imagined what was happening at home. Veronica’s shock. The blood. Dad’s anger. Mr Oliver would lie, tell them he did nothing, tell them I attacked him for no reason. And if I told them the truth, they’d believe him, not me. I was the one with an explosive temper. But what if he was dead? What if I had killed him? I trembled at the thought.
Billy will come in the morning, I thought, help me get away, hide me first, then help me get away. I’d go to Liverpool, stow away, find my mum. I was proud I hadn’t passed out at the sight of blood, though Mum would have.
Oh, Mum.
When the loneliness came rolling in, I felt as if I’d fallen down a deep hole that I’d never get out of, and I wept for my mother like never before.
16
Jack’s face revealed little. He remained hands on hips, looking awkward, shifting slightly from foot to foot, in scuffed, open-toed house sandals.
She stood. ‘It’s bad news, isn’t it.’
‘Not great. That was a police messenger. They think the government offices in Ipoh are going to be targeted. All staff and paperwork are moving to the rest house. It’ll be cramped, but they can’t ignore the threat.’
‘My girls will be okay?’
He nodded. ‘Sure. But my meeting’s been cancelled. The boss won’t go near the office until the all-clear.’
Her face fell.
‘No, I didn’t mean that. I’ll still take you, Lyddy. No problem. Just that we’ll go straight to the rest house and not into town to the offices. And it’ll have to be quite a bit sooner. Tomorrow in fact.’
He looked forlorn but her heart leapt. She didn’t want to hurt him and felt torn, but she was going to be with her girls, and very soon. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Tomorrow. She opened her locket and lingered over their faces. She’d missed them so much. Tears welled up as she turned to him again.
‘Thank you. Thank you so much. Sorry to be a bother.’
‘You’re never that,’ he said.
She took the hand he held out, kissed his fingertips, searched his face. Felt a surge of longing, but looked down and let go of his hand.
‘Nothing has changed, has it?’ he said, then pulled up a rattan armchair and collapsed into it.
‘I’m sorry. You know I have to give it a go with Alec. For the sake of the girls.’ She bit her lip. ‘Maybe one day.’
‘One day I may be gone.’
‘Oh, Jack.’ She went to stand behind him. He leant the back of his head against her stomach. She wrapped her arms round his middle, kissed the side of his neck, bit his ear.
He sat very still.
She ran her fingers through the hairs on his chest.
‘Well, at least the rest house was fairly empty,’ he said, too brightly. ‘So there’s enough space for the influx.
Everyone’s there. They’re having a knees-up tonight to cheer everyone up. Should be quite a bash.’
‘We still have tonight,’ Lydia said. She came round to kneel, put a hand on his groin and looked into his eyes. Buried there she saw deep-seated hurt, too far for her to reach, and, she felt certain, not purely of her making. She tried to connect.
‘Best not,’ he said, removing her hand. ‘Early start in the morning.’
How times have changed, she thought, and couldn’t help but feel sad, remembering the thrill when they first met.
Funnily enough, just like Alec, she’d met him at a party. He came through the door, grinned at some other acquaintance, but then caught her eye as he scanned the room. She’d been at her best, in a black cheongsam with orange and gold flowers and a high split up the side, the black contrasting brilliantly with her pale skin. She’d had too much gin and flushed when he came across, Cicely by his side.
‘Look after him, darling. I need to mingle.’ And Cicely had winked at them both.
Alec was there too, huddled in a group of smoking, drinking men, his back resolutely turned. In another room, she and Jack danced for much of the night, ignoring the risks involved. As she waited in the hall for Alec as the party was wrapping up, Jack had come over, pushed a strand of her hair behind her left ear, bitten the lobe, then slipped a warm palm inside the slit of her skirt. From then on, the heady mix of his sweat and the scent of her Shalimar brought the memory to life. He’d whispered something and she shivered from the warmth of his breath on her neck. Blotches came out on her chest. Too much to drink. Cigarettes. Desire. And with added risk, she was hooked.
‘Where? When?’ he asked.
‘In the park,’ she said, spotting Alec from the corner of her eye. ‘There’s a tea room. Nine-thirty tomorrow morning.’
‘A morning girl eh?’
‘Not really. It comes from having two kids to drop off at school.’
With a shake of her head, she let the memory go. Things had changed. Back then, to be so close, but not touching, would have been unthinkable.
Now, as it began to thunder, Jack went to sleep in his own bedroom, and Lydia joined Maz in the spare room.
‘Will you tell me a story?’ Maz said, and snuggled under the sheet. ‘Please.’
‘Do you know the one about the crocodile who ate a clock?’
His eyes widened. ‘Did it kill him?’
‘It didn’t. But it did scare Captain Hook.’
‘Who was he?’
‘Captain Hook was a pirate.’
Maz gave a sigh of enjoyment.
Once she’d told the tale of Peter Pan, Lydia felt the thundery air press down on her, and found it hard to drop off. The jungle night erupted with screeching cicadas outside her bedroom window, and in the distance, the desolate howl of wild dogs. She pulled the thin cotton sheet up to her nose. The sounds outside distorted, merged with others, became a booming, heaving, night-time racket. Wide awake, she heard the flapping wings of birds, the hum of the generator, and the bleak hooting Emma always said was lonely ghost birds.
She ached for her girls. It was for the best they were leaving, and as for her one night with Jack, she forced herself to stuff down her guilt. It had been only once after all.
The next morning they set off before dawn in the makeshift armoured car, Jack lifting Maznan from his bed, eyes still firmly closed. He gently laid the child on the back seat and across Lydia’s lap. A Malay policeman sat in the front. Though Maz slept soundly, Lydia had not slept a wink. On the plantation road the tall trees came into sight in the half light, and passing the squat workers’ building, she took in the bleakness. Nobody spoke.
She kicked off her shoes, hoping to relax. But Jack’s closeness, and the musky coal tar smell of him kept her tense.
‘Bear up, Lyd,’ he said, twisting his head to her as he drove along the boundary of the plantation. ‘Sleep if you can. It’s a fair way yet.’
She wanted to slip into their old ease, but there was a distance between them, and with the policeman there, her tongue was tied. In any case what more was there to say? She closed her eyes, and behind the lids her daughters played. She held out her arms for them, sniffed the talc on their skin and the apple fragrance of their hair. Fleur holding on and Emma spinning away and pulling her hand, impatience straining every muscle. Come on, Mummy, hurry up.
She slipped into the bumpy rhythm of the car and slept deeply, only vaguely awakened once, by a slow down and flashlights at a police roadblock, and the dawn chorus in the forest.
After a couple of hours, when daylight unveiled a pale pink sky with plump round morning clouds, the abrupt halting of the car broke through her dreams. She felt sweat at the back of her neck and opened her eyes. They’d been waved down and Jack was outside gesturing at a Malay officer. At the sharp exchange of voices, she sprang to attention. She saw Jack hang his head for an instant and the two men walk heavily towards the car.
A chill ran up her spine. ‘Jack,’ she called from the window.
He cleared his throat and looked her full in the face. His blue eyes had turned the colour of muddy water and his face had a strange raw look.
‘Jack?’
The immediate woods were quiet. But it was a throbbing quiet, and from beyond the rest house came the hum of the jungle. She climbed out and stood barefoot on the tarmac. She covered her nose from a sharp smell of burning, eyes darting round for the source. Over to the right a plume of grey smoke rose in the pale morning sky.
She began to run. Jack too, the officer coming up behind.
‘Madam,’ he called. ‘Madam, you can’t. The site is out of bounds, dangerous. There’s nothing left.’ The man caught up with her and grasped her arm, the smell of saltfish on his breath.
She shrugged him off, unaware of Maz’s light footsteps following her.
Jack grabbed Maznan’s hand. He bent to speak to the child. ‘Stay with this man. Okay. Stay here.’
‘You will come back?’ Maz asked.
‘We’ll come back.’
Lydia ran on. ‘Why didn’t you see the smoke?’
‘I did, but there was no way of knowing what it was.’
In the woods they ran through tunnels of green, stumbling over snaking roots and colliding with low-hanging branches. At each dead end, they turned back, through mushrooming smoke trapped under the great canopy of trees, and tried again, until they found the driveway and the signpost for the Governmental Rest House. They ran up the drive to a large colonial building, dark with soot, its roof collapsed, smoke still rising through the black rafters and a stink of combustion coming from inside. A constable guarded the entrance.
Feet planted in ash, Lydia froze. Her vision blurred and her teeth chattered as if it were an English winter.
‘For Christ’s sake, Jack. Ask him if the girls got out.’
The officer overheard her. ‘I’m sorry, but they found no survivors, madam.’
She looked again at the remains of the building. She felt distanced, as if she was somewhere on the outside looking in. She blinked rapidly, sank to her knees, and gathered a handful of gritty ash. Jack came to squat beside her and attempted to wipe her dirt-smudged face.
‘Get off. Get the fuck off.’
She felt her stomach turn over. She heard Maz sob somewhere behind them, and turned towards him with a confused look. Jack tried to cradle her. She came to life, jerked into action, pushed Jack off, and ran past the startled officer, into the charred building.
Millions of particles of white dust danced in unexpected shafts of light. Further in, the smell caught in her throat. Rafters still smouldered and there seemed to be no oxygen in the air. She stood still, twisting her head from side to side, hearing the thud of blood in her ears and a strange hissing sound. Which way? She began to run. What if they’d hidden in a cupboard, or a bathroom? They might still be there. Might still be safe. She struggled through the building looking for their hiding place. Skeletal metal and broken glass blocked h
er path. She ducked and dived, her own safety irrelevant. She stopped only to gasp for breath, the voices of her children in her head. Mummy! Mummy! She didn’t feel her feet seared by burning embers.
Jack was calling from somewhere inside the building. An idea surfaced. They might have run outside and hidden in the woods, might still be there, frightened, waiting. She followed a source of light and crawled out. On all fours, she shouted into the trees, but the harder she looked the more moving shadows she saw.
‘Emma, Fleur. Where are you? It’s Mummy.’
Jack fell out of another back exit, found her and tried to lead her away. ‘Lyd, there’s nothing we can do.’
Still on hands and knees, she panted like a dog and fought him off. Her throat closed as she opened her mouth, unaware of her own silent scream, hands flapping at the air and her eyes huge with shock. The trees blurred. Rooted to the spot she heard beating wings, Jack speaking, and another man’s voice in the distance. In her mind’s eye she saw the yellow flames move through the building, hissing, crackling. Saw the heavy black smoke slip under their doorway followed by curling flames. Saw the looks of terror in her daughters’ eyes. Breathed their agony and smelt her own babies’ burning flesh. Mummy! Mummy! Her mind went flat and empty, her legs gave way and she sat back on the ground cross-legged, skirt bunched up.
Beside her, a child’s teddy bear with melted plastic eyes gazed up, its fur black with soot. She held it, rocked it in her arms, and through swollen stinging eyes, looked past the roof at the sudden brilliance of a sharp Malayan sky. Her last image was of the ground racing up as she bent forward, then she slipped backwards into the sky.
Separation, The Page 10
