Separation, The

by Jefferies, Dinah

  ‘Oh, Lord! Sorry.’

  After the barman cleared up the splinters of glass, Adil looked serious. ‘Why exactly did you visit George?’ he asked.

  ‘Not that it’s any of your business but it was to ask questions. I got no answers. He insinuated I should take a break, for my nerves.’

  ‘Maybe he was right,’ Adil said with a half smile, and continued speaking with a touch of amusement in his voice. ‘Paddling upstream, birds circling up above, mangroves all around. There’s a lot to see. For instance, did you know mangrove trees grow their roots partly above the ground?’

  Her eyes narrowed. ‘You didn’t mention the mosquitoes or the sweltering heat.’

  He grinned. ‘No, I suppose I didn’t. You’d have to watch out for the blue coral snake too. Highly venomous.’

  ‘Well, thanks for the sermon, but now tell me what you were doing at George’s place. I thought I saw you outside, the day I was there.’

  ‘I work for him. Well, sometimes. Mainly I –’

  She burst in. ‘You work for George! Then why on earth should I trust you?’

  ‘Well, I used to work for him. Not any longer.’

  Taken aback, her eyes widened. ‘You’re lying.’

  He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry you think that. I’ll tell you the story. But let’s get out of here.’

  They got up and stood face to face. She felt light-headed. He realised and put out a hand to steady her, his eyes warm. Why hadn’t she remembered that warmth? Had she simply forgotten because he wasn’t white? He cupped his hand under her elbow and steered her through the narrow alley.

  ‘What about the park?’ he said. ‘Fresh air.’

  On the way they passed through a pulsating world of Chinese shops. With precision he eased her past curtains of dried fish hanging across an alley. By the time they reached the park the crowds were sparse, and they strolled along a path between leafy trees, where black tree rats bolted up the trunks, to disappear in branches high above. At a quiet spot overlooking a small pond, and surrounded by pink hibiscus, she sat on the bench he indicated, the new shoes pinching her toes.

  ‘It signifies peace,’ he said, pointing at the hibiscus. ‘Peace and bravery.’

  The sun was not much visible and, behind advancing clouds, a body of rain sat poised to fall over the city. She watched a peacock strut among the wild poppies, a feathered fantasy of bluey-green, and gold, where the remaining patch of sunlight lit its tail.

  ‘You smile,’ he said. ‘But that’s not a happy face.’

  Feeling hot and sticky, she kicked off her court shoes and rotated her ankles. A prickly silence stretched between them.

  She turned towards him. ‘You still haven’t said how you can help.’

  ‘I overheard a conversation he was having about the boy. Maznan.’

  ‘You mean George did know? I knew it. Patronising bastard. I’m sorry but I don’t like him.’ She slumped back on the bench, pressing fingers to her temples. ‘Why did he lie?’

  His face was glum. ‘There are things I can’t say.’

  ‘Adil, if you know, please tell me.’

  She held her breath while he paused for a moment before speaking.

  ‘I was waiting in the hall. He was on the phone in the office, but the door was open. I don’t know where the boy is yet, but there’s every reason to believe he is alive.’

  Lydia pressed a palm to her heart and exhaled in relief. ‘That means so much to me. Thank you.’

  A group of schoolgirls, in Emma and Fleur’s old school uniform of dark blue pinafores, crossed her line of sight. They dug each other in the ribs and giggled, then turned to stare at her and Adil. Her vision blurred and she closed her eyes. The feeling passed over and a light breeze from the pond broke through the heavy air.

  He looked on, oblivious to their stares. ‘I’ll do what I can. Whatever I can to help. Once again I’m so very sorry about your friend Jack and your children. I know what it is to lose someone you love, but I do need you to trust me.’

  She couldn’t catch her breath. Adil took her hand and squeezed it in a friendly way, as if to convince her of his good intentions. A green crested lizard ran right over her toes.

  ‘Did you see them?’ she said. ‘Those girls.’

  ‘It helps to develop selective vision.’

  She enjoyed the brief sensation of his cool hands on her bare skin. After a moment she moved away.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, his shoulders hunched. ‘Didn’t mean to overstep the mark.’

  She shook her head and glanced up. A gloomy sky now, the first tepid drops of rain as big as Emma’s fist. She forced herself to think of something else.

  ‘What work did you do for George?’

  ‘Mainly undercover operations.’

  She thought he looked uncomfortable. ‘Go on.’

  ‘I can’t really say. There’s a lot of corruption. The locals call Europeans the red-haired devil, you know. I sometimes think they’re right.’

  She stood. Alec had told her that too. Sorry to be leaving, she touched his arm. ‘We’d better get going before the rain.’

  He smiled back.

  Her first impressions, all that time ago, had been wrong. He had seemed cold and distant, but then turned out to be kind. Now she sensed this was a man who felt deeply. She saw it in his eyes.

  ‘How do I get in touch with you?’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll find you,’ he said.

  She was shocked by how much she hoped he would.

  34

  I sat in the lounge flicking the pages of an exercise book. I wasn’t really working. It was too nice a day, sunny and warm, bright rays of light coming in through two sash windows. I pushed one up to let air in, and looked out. The school grounds were covered with spring flowers, and the grass was bright green. Rebecca, waiting in there too, glowered, despite the lovely day.

  Veronica was late. Her letter had said she wished to see me. Though I still didn’t know if I could trust her, I could hardly refuse. I patted my satchel. Inside was the miniature I carried everywhere.

  A short, red-faced woman, in a bright yellow suit, bustled into the room and waved some papers in Rebecca’s face.

  ‘Oh, here you are. You’ve kept your new foster parents waiting, girl. And let me tell you, you’d better make a better fist of fitting in this time.’ She spoke in a strident voice, indifferent to who else might be listening. She turned on her heels, swaying her large yellow bottom as she went.

  Rebecca slid from her seat, chin in the air. As she passed me she hissed sideways, ‘I’ll kill you if you tell.’

  I smiled. I wouldn’t tell anyone, but at least I had proof she was a foster child, and not the daughter of wealthy parents living abroad. I was leaning back against the wall, enjoying the thought and feeling the sun on my face, when I heard the click clack of high heels cross the floor.

  Veronica looked tall and smart in an English sort of way. Low key that is. Not snazzy or exciting like Mum, but okay. Navy blue fitted jacket, and a flared skirt in the same colour that swished as she moved. On her head, a little round hat. White.

  She saw me looking at it and patted it. ‘Pill box. Do you like it? It’s the latest.’

  I nodded and her eyes sparkled. She held out a white-gloved hand. ‘Emma dear. How are you?’

  ‘Fine,’ I muttered, and found I’d turned into a grunting fool, especially as on a day exit you still had to wear school uniform, including a stupid panama hat. I felt like a clot.

  We sat on floral padded seats, in the restaurant of a big store in town, on a sort of balcony that overlooked the shop below. I felt out of place, but this was intended to be a treat, so I put my nose in the air, and looked at windows heavily draped with fringed red velvet curtains. The tapestries on the walls were romantic; the one behind us showed St George riding a golden charger, surrounded by bluebells. At intervals along the balcony were five tall lamps, with blue and gold striped tasselled lampshades.

  ‘Memories Ar
e Made of This’ was playing in the background. I doubted that very much, and thought of the shiny memories of my mother. I kept them safe in my heart, like Mum stored her best silks in the heart of her enormous Chinese linen chest. The waitress brought us a gilded cake stand, and the china, when it came, was white with pink rosebuds round the edge of the saucer and the cup. Veronica fiddled with her cup and saucer, and talked nervously about school and kept asking how was I feeling.

  I was halfway down a Knickerbocker Glory when I discovered why.

  ‘Your father and I have fixed the date,’ she said in a level tone, as if trying to make it sound as ordinary as Would you like another cup of tea?

  She was blushing furiously, her cheeks bright pink. I sat with ice-cream oozing from the corners of my mouth, and glowered.

  ‘I wanted to tell you myself,’ she stammered, and looked at me, her blue eyes matching the shadow on the lids. I stared at her eyelids. How did they make eye shadow so shimmery?

  ‘Emma?’

  I wiped my mouth with the side of my hand holding the spoon, and as I did, accidentally tipped a spoonful of chocolate ice-cream on the carpet. It was blue with pink in the middle and ran through the whole store. I couldn’t believe I was thinking about carpet at a time like this and glared at her.

  ‘What about my mother?’ I said, unable to keep my voice from rising.

  She sighed, with such a look of sadness on her face, I thought she was going to cry.

  ‘I’m sorry, I really am. But your mother’s gone, Emma. I hoped you might accept that by now.’

  I pulled my hat down, and hung my head, as a lump formed in my throat. There wasn’t any way I accepted my mother was dead, though I could see that Dad and Veronica suited each other. Something about her made him feel safe, in a way that Mum never had.

  ‘I love your father, Emma.’

  I wanted to shout out loud, And I love my mother. And she’s only missing. I bit my lip and choked on the words. Sunlight shone on the bright white tablecloth, and all the sounds in the shop merged into a loud hum.

  She gave me a big smile. ‘Isn’t it better for you and Fleur to have a stepmother than no mother at all?’

  ‘Fleur,’ I snorted.

  The conversation paused. I tried to spoon up melted ice-cream as she looked down at her hands folded neatly in her lap. A baby at the next table made a high-pitched whining noise, and in the distance a car honked its horn again and again. I wanted to scream shut up at them.

  ‘What did you expect to happen, Emma?’ she said after a while. ‘Your father isn’t old and neither am I. It’s a second chance at happiness for both of us. Would you deny us that?’

  She reached out and tried to take my hand. I snatched it away, stared past the white tablecloth, the melting ice-cream, her, and then looked down at the people shopping in the hall below. I wanted to be alone and out of the stuffy department store, but it was too far to walk back to school, and I didn’t have any money for the bus.

  I pursed my lips and watched her. She was fidgeting with her gloves, pulling the fingers out, then pushing them back again. She carried on looking down as she spoke, with a little catch in her throat. ‘I allowed myself the hope that you might like me a little.’

  There was a silence as I thought about it. I didn’t mind her, as it happened, but I didn’t want a stepmother.

  ‘I’d like to be your friend. I can’t replace your mother. But I can make things a little easier with your father.’

  I looked up.

  ‘He’s no saint and he can be a bit hard on you.’

  ‘That’s an understatement,’ I said, with a faint smile.

  She pulled a face and tilted her head. ‘I know what you mean. But if you let me, I can be on your side. I don’t have to tell your father everything.’

  I looked at her, still unsure, but an idea was forming.

  She looked around for a bit. ‘He doesn’t really like England you know. Sometimes I think he’d rather go back to Malaya.’

  I brightened up, pictured the squirrels, the peacock pheasants, the bats. ‘Really?’

  ‘Well, I don’t actually think he will. It’s nostalgia mainly.’

  I felt deflated. Going back to Malaya was my dream. First I’d visit our old house and hide under it like I used to, then I’d lie in the long grass, without a thought for the snakes. Then I’d look for Mum.

  Veronica looked at me. ‘Emma, are you okay?’

  ‘I miss my mum,’ I said, feeling my eyes grow wet.

  She reached for my hand again. This time I let her.

  ‘I know it must be awful for you. But what if we were to become allies?’

  There was a long silence. I looked out of the window for a time, watching workmen climb up the scaffolding on the building opposite, my thoughts conflicted. She didn’t prod or push or chatter on, just waited for me to answer. It was touching because it showed she was not at all like Dad, who never listened. In the end that was what decided it.

  ‘Could you help me with something? Dad mustn’t know.’ Even as I said the words, I noticed a tight feeling in my stomach. If she told Dad, I’d be in trouble, but if I didn’t ask her, who else could help? Sister Ruth had done all she could.

  ‘As long as it’s not illegal,’ she said.

  I reached into my satchel for the painting. I held it to my chest for a moment, still uncertain, feeling my heart bang against it. Then looked up at her eyes. She looked so honest, her kindness real, it was hard to believe she’d betray me. I turned the painting round and held it out for her to see.

  She took it, stared, looked up, studied my face, and then down at the painting again. ‘Surely it can’t be. The clothes are too old fashioned.’

  ‘No. It’s not my mother. It’s my grandmother.’

  She smiled. ‘She’s beautiful. Alec never mentioned another grandmother. Only your granny. This isn’t her.’

  ‘She’s my mum’s mother. That’s the thing … I need your help to find her.’

  ‘And your father mustn’t know?’

  I held my breath, hoping I’d made the right decision. It was a gamble. If she told Dad, he’d take it away, and then it would be even harder to trace her.

  ‘Okay,’ she said at last. ‘It’ll be our little project. Can I ask why your father mustn’t know?’

  ‘Until I know where my grandmother is, or at least until I know a bit more about her, I don’t want Dad to interfere.’

  ‘We must make plans then,’ she said, entering into the spirit of it. ‘Confidentially, of course.’

  ‘Would you be able to find out who the artist is? His initials are in the corner and the date. C.L.P. Nineteen twenty-three. The year before my mother was born.’

  ‘I go up to London quite frequently to see Freddy, my solicitor. He’s staying in my flat at the moment, and as all the museums and art galleries are close by, it can’t be too difficult.’

  My ears tingled. This might be my chance to casually ask. ‘So your solicitor isn’t Johnson, Price & Co. of Kidderminster?’

  ‘No, my love.’

  ‘And you haven’t got another solicitor?’

  ‘Freddy’s the only solicitor I’ve ever needed. And a good friend too. I’ve known him since he was at university in Birmingham, and before his first placement in Worcester. Now, of course, he’s quite the London hotshot. Why do you ask?’

  ‘No reason.’

  She nodded. ‘Funny question though.’

  She went to pay the bill and I went to find the lavatory. I decided then that I’d write to Mr Johnson, throw myself on his mercy and beg him to tell me.

  In the ladies’ powder room, I waited in the queue for a moment or two and felt a tugging pain at the base of my belly. When a cubicle became vacant and I sat on the seat, I found out why. The bleeding wasn’t heavy but had stained my knickers. For a moment tears pricked my lids, and I sat feeling awfully sorry for myself. But when I heard exasperated sighs coming from the waiting women, I wiped my eyes, then stuffed some folded
sheets of toilet paper inside my pants. I twisted round to check there was no blood on the back of my skirt, opened the door and walked past the queue with my eyes down. I was mortified. The toilet paper was the stiff kind that rustled slightly as I walked.

  Veronica stood at the exit and must have seen something was wrong.

  ‘What is it, Emma? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

  I pulled a face. ‘Not a ghost.’

  ‘What then?’

  If I didn’t want blood all over my skirt, and her car seat too, I had to say. I swallowed hard, and managed to speak in a small voice. ‘I’ve started. You know, I’ve come on.’

  ‘Oh. Oh, I see.’ She blushed. ‘Is it the first time?’

  I nodded miserably.

  ‘Have you got what you need?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Oh, darling, come on, back to the ladies’ with you. There’s a machine there.’

  ‘I saw it, but I didn’t have any money.’

  ‘Not a problem.’ She paused and lowered her voice. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve even got a sanitary belt?’

  I shook my head, feeling myself turn beetroot and wanting the floor to open up.

  ‘First we’ll get a towel from the machine here. They come with safety pins, so that’ll have to do. At least it’ll get you back to school.’

  I felt my eyes water again and brushed the tears away with my knuckles.

  ‘Then we’ll go to Timothy Whites, get you a belt and some decent supplies for later.’

  I didn’t feel more grown up, as I’d expected to. Quite the opposite. It made me feel small and lonely, and grateful as I was to Veronica, I really wished that Mum was there.

  When she dropped me off, I climbed out of the car and held the door open for a moment.

  ‘Thanks, Veronica.’

  She smiled. ‘You’re welcome.’

  ‘By the way, the wedding, you didn’t say when?’