Separation, The

by Jefferies, Dinah

  Lydia narrowed her eyes. Cicely didn’t seem to have a stab of conscience, and chatted light-heartedly of the latest Malacca news. Lydia was on her fourth gin by the time they got to the subject of Jack.

  ‘You loved him though?’ Cicely said, then continued with a look of guarded friendliness. ‘It seems we share a similar taste in men, doesn’t it?’

  Lydia frowned. ‘Not Jack! You didn’t …’ Her voice trailed off.

  ‘No, but it wasn’t from lack of trying. He only had eyes for the voluptuous Lydia Cartwright.’ She gulped a mouthful. ‘A bit skinnier now, mind you. But go on. Tell me. I’m dying to know. What was he like?’

  They stared at each other.

  ‘But I was forgetting, darling. You’re one of those women who can’t live without love.’

  Lydia sighed. ‘That isn’t true, and not that it’s any of your business, but at first we couldn’t keep our hands off each other, then we got caught up emotionally, and shouldn’t have. I was married with kids, and then, after the fire, he was so wonderful –’

  She didn’t declare her most hidden thought, that though she had loved him dearly, and he her, there was a chance that marriage to Jack might have ended up being no more than the dream of recreating a lost family. A substitute. How sad it would have been if the passion had died, and they’d discovered, after all, there was nothing more.

  ‘I understand. So that leads us to Adil, unless you’ve got a few more hidden away. Oh, do confess, darling. I’d love to think of your life littered with discarded men … or women.’ She growled and gave Lydia a look from under her lashes.

  Lydia shook her head.

  ‘Well?’ Cicely said. ‘Where does my ex fit into the scheme of things?’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Darling, it’s all right, he’s all yours if you want him.’

  Lydia flushed, but whatever Cicely said, she’d seen the look of alarm in her friend’s eyes.

  ‘You mean naughty Adil didn’t tell. Yes, sweetie, the gorgeous Adil and I.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘I met him soon after the war, when I was only in my teens, and before it all kicked off.’ She ran a hand over her breasts. ‘Darling, it’s okay. If anyone can certify how scrumptious he is, it’s me.’

  ‘You make him sound like dinner.’

  ‘Well, isn’t he a bit of a dish, sweetie? A mouth-watering dessert, say. Or perhaps that was Jack.’

  She pouted, then bit her lip and bent across to Lydia. She flicked a speck of nothing from Lydia’s shoulder, licked her finger and slowly ran it down Lydia’s neck to her cleavage. Lydia froze and Cicely took her chance, pulled Lydia to her and kissed her firmly on the lips.

  For a moment Lydia didn’t react. She had never been kissed by a woman before, never even imagined it. She blinked rapidly, came to with a start, then shook Cicely off and held her at arm’s length.

  ‘You’re drunk.’

  ‘Don’t say you didn’t find that just the littlest bit enjoyable. You are luscious, Lydia dear, and I want to go to bed with you. I’m staying here. So it’s awfully convenient, isn’t it. What do you say?’

  There was a silence.

  ‘Just one night, darling?’

  Lydia shook her head and began to laugh.

  Cicely’s face spasmed, then she smiled brightly. ‘Is it so funny?’

  Lydia shook her head again. Cicely, used to attracting the stares of men and women alike, suddenly looked pitiable, an aging, melting ice queen. There was another long silence as Lydia raked her fingers through her hair. What was the source of Cicely’s misery? She looked at her friend closely, at the slightly flaring nostrils, her painted lips and the gorgeous topaz eyes.

  ‘I loved him you know. Adil. The only one I ever have. Something in his eyes. And, oh my, what a body!’ Cicely declared. ‘But don’t underestimate Adil. He’s a dangerous man.’

  ‘Funny, that’s what he said about you. Come on.’ Lydia seized her arm. ‘I’m putting you to bed. On your own.’

  Outside the wind was getting up and Lydia felt the cool air as she bundled Cicely into the lift. She heard a mumble and decided to ignore it, but Cicely repeated the words.

  ‘What was that?’ Lydia asked, not really expecting clarity.

  ‘George paid Adil to get you to stop off at Jack’s, you know, paid him to delay your arrival at Ipoh.’

  She decided to put it down to Cicely’s drunken rambling, but that night dreamt her teeth were crumbling. As soon as they were rebuilt they began to crumble again, as soft as chalk. It left her feeling as if she was no longer walking on solid ground.

  41

  Billy and I saw each other a lot at the start of the summer holidays. It was a good way to put the forthcoming wedding to the back of my mind, and he was fun. We sloped about the village, or met at the bus stop with other local kids, or hung about at the old Thomas Telford Bridge to see what came down with the river. Mostly it was debris, though once a dead sheep dipped and plunged on its way past. Of course Billy and I were waiting for the day a body appeared, all puffed up and crinkled.

  We were in the bus shelter keeping out of the rain when Billy gave me a nudge and said, ‘Em. Why don’t we go to the barn again?’ He shrugged. ‘Only if you want.’

  It was as if he read my mind. With a big grin, he looked me straight in the face. Then, he combed his great shock of dark blond hair back with his hand, and turned bright red. He made a roll-up, I reckoned to cover his embarrassment, and offered it to me. Though he fancied himself a James Dean look alike, he was really a sweet young man, calm, and very kind. I refused the roll-up.

  On our way there, I kept thinking of the moment he had kissed me before. Every time I tried to think of something else, I came back to his lips. The way they were warm but not wet. The way the shiver went down my neck when he said I was beautiful. The way I felt like a child, but grown up too.

  I was nearly fifteen, well fourteen and a half, almost, and quite well developed, and I reckoned the heroines in my stories needed some sexual adventures to keep things realistic. Though I hadn’t fallen in love with Billy myself, there was something cute about him, and lots of the village girls were after him. Apart from how embarrassing it’d be to take off my clothes, I thought it was time, even if I did regard him as more of a mate.

  The barn was due to be demolished by developers who wanted flats in its place, so this was our last chance. We scrambled up the ladder, me first. I slipped, and he gave my bottom a shove to heave me up, leaving his hand there as I climbed. I was only wearing a thin cotton skirt and it felt hot and strange to have his hand on me like that, and the warmth made me tingle.

  Up there, it smelt of mould and damp and musty straw. It scratched my skin, the straw, made me itch, and I felt thin and gawky, despite my newly acquired chest. You couldn’t see much from up there, just a strip of green where the field stretched into the distance.

  When he kissed me, his lips were cool and moist, not wet or sloppy, though they smelt slightly of tobacco. He told me he really liked me, speaking with a bit of a local accent, which added to his appeal. I muttered I liked him too, and thrilled by the feel of his hands on my body, I felt miles away from my normal life. It became a bit of a blur. He pressed his body so close I felt as if my own heart thumped inside of him, and as he slid his hand between my thighs, I felt hot and an electric flutter passed through me.

  I stopped thinking, surprised when my body automatically knew what to do when he lay on top of me, in just a pair of white Y-fronts. Though we both wanted to, we didn’t go all the way, but held each other really tight. Something definitely did happen though, because we moved about, bumping on the uneven floorboards, until he shook a couple of times, and said, oh my God into my neck.

  While he put his tongue in my ear, I looked past his head to the roof of the barn. The rafters were black and rotten, and the underside of the roof was mouldy green. Where some of the slates were missing, you could see little squares of pale sky. I noticed it had stopped ra
ining and a fresh new sun had appeared.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said, when I saw him frown at my distant expression.

  ‘Doesn’t matter,’ he shrugged, but I could see that he was hurt.

  ‘I’d better go. I’m meeting Veronica at the library.’

  I didn’t want to make things worse, so I said there was always next time.

  He turned to look at me with a big grin. ‘Really?’

  ‘When are they pulling down the barn?’

  ‘End of the holidays.’

  ‘Well then.’

  The reading room was in the basement, with a strong smell of varnished wood and yellow light from angled table lamps. I had an idea for a story set on the continent, and wanted to research European history. While I waited for Veronica, I put Billy to the back of my mind, and laid out several heavy books on the table, glad that I almost had the place to myself.

  Glued to the history, I failed to hear her footsteps, so when she spoke my name, I jumped.

  ‘Sorry, sweetie. Didn’t mean to startle you.’

  I started to pack up. ‘Do you want to go now?’

  She dumped her shopping and pulled up a chair next to me. ‘To be honest, I’m so hot, I’d just like to sit for a moment. My poor feet!’

  I glanced at her stilettos and grinned.

  ‘I know. I know. Anyway what are you reading?’

  I shoved the open book across to her and she peered at the page. She lifted her head.

  ‘Oh dear, it’s a bit dry, isn’t it?’

  I grinned.

  ‘By the way I told you I’d ask my solicitor friend, Freddy, if there was a way to discover the identity of a client. Well, I saw him last week. As you know he’s staying in my flat in Wandsworth.’

  I looked up hopefully. ‘Did he suggest anything?’

  ‘Unfortunately not. He said no solicitor can risk breaking client confidentiality.’

  I shrugged. ‘That’s what I thought.’

  ‘He did remember the firm though. His first placement was with a rival solicitor in Worcester, but he and a chap at Johnson, Price & Co. had to work together for a while. On the transfer of land deeds apparently.’

  I gave her a nod, piled up the books, and began to feel hungry. She took the hint, collected her bags, and we walked to the door together.

  ‘He did say he’d look into it for me, but not to hold out much hope.’

  After dropping me at our house, Veronica went straight on to her cottage, but came back later on looking like she’d been crying. She told us she’d received a telegram from abroad, a summons from her brother. He was really sick now and the wedding would have to be postponed. Fleur and I went outside to wave her off. Veronica didn’t look too happy to be going, but kissed us both goodbye, and went home to pack before going to nurse Mr Oliver in Africa. I stared after Veronica, and Fleur started skipping. Trouble was, I liked Veronica and without her help, I had no idea how to search for Emma Rothwell on my own. So far Veronica had found nothing.

  ‘Everyone leaves,’ Fleur said.

  ‘Veronica will be back.’

  Fleur began a skipping rhyme.

  ‘Cuddly bear, Cuddly bear, turn around.

  Cuddly bear, Cuddly bear, touch the ground.’

  She was brilliant at skipping, the best in her class, and could do all the movements in time, without breaking the rhythm. As she concentrated on turning around and touching the ground, I thought she’d stopped listening, but then she said, ‘Will Gran ever come back home?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Cuddly bear, Cuddly bear, show your shoe.’

  ‘Let’s remember the good things,’ I said.

  There was only the sound of Fleur skipping through the rhyme once more.

  I joined in on the last line and we shouted it out together.

  ‘Cuddly bear, Cuddly bear, that will do!’

  She stood still for a moment. ‘I liked Gran’s apple pie.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Let’s remember Granny’s dinners.’

  She started skipping again.

  ‘Cottage pie for breakfast, cottage pie for tea,

  Cottage pie for every meal will be the end of me!’

  ‘What about liver and onions?’ I said.

  ‘Ugh!’

  ‘Roast pork on Sunday.’

  ‘Fish pie on Saturday.’

  Tears came and I couldn’t get my breath. Oh, Granny, I thought, I’m so sorry you can’t be here. And I was sad, not just because she was in the home, but because it brought back to me how things can be going along as normal, and then suddenly end.

  Fleur dropped her rope, came over and touched my cheek. ‘Never mind, Em. You’ve still got me.’

  I looked in her eyes. I did still have her. She smiled and I thought that perhaps, one day, when we’d both grown up, we might be real friends. I wanted to talk about what I’d done with Billy, but she was too young, so I kept the secret to myself.

  I stared out at the dog rose trailing over the front hedge and thought about Billy. I wasn’t sure if I’d really enjoyed what we did. While I was with him, I still had my writer’s hat on, imagining what feelings would be stirring Claris. It made it much more acceptable to think of her in my place.

  I couldn’t tell Billy I didn’t love him. I liked him a lot and didn’t want to hurt his feelings. But I always felt safer with stories, and while Claris benefitted from my tender experiences, I had to be more careful than ever to hide my sensationalist scribbling. Dad would kill me if he saw it. What I really enjoyed was sitting by the willow tree on Coal Quay steps, and dangling my legs in the river with Billy, watching the dragonflies and feeling like a kid.

  42

  An intense smell of cooking, sweat, and patchouli reached her where she stood perspiring in a doorway in the Street of the Three Dragons. The green paint of the building was still peeling and the place seemed seedier than before. She kept her eyes on his door. Before leaving Singapore, she’d slipped into a silky cheongsam, slit high at the side. Too suggestive. She took it off. Tried a simple cotton blouse and crisp skirt. Too dull. In the end she’d plumped for a shift dress in sea green; understated and fitted, it made the most of her hair and eyes. She drew on her eyeliner like a Chinese girl and applied bright lipstick, then she pulled herself together, and stowed away her feelings.

  She didn’t want to loiter like a streetwalker, but made the decision to show herself only if she saw him at the door. It would be as if fate had taken a hand. If he didn’t appear, she’d get the next bus back, and he’d never know.

  A woman settled in the shadows of an alleyway nearby, a thin boy squatting beside her. She cradled an infant in her arms and with deep sorrowful eyes cried out for food in Malay. ‘Makan. Makan,’ she said, and pointed at the little boy’s mouth, her palm held out.

  Lydia felt helpless. What could she do, other than give money and hope that it would be spent on food? But a furtive glance at the baby and Lydia caught her breath; the infant’s stiff grey face suggested it was too late for food.

  She dipped in her purse for some coins, and in doing so, almost missed him. Startled, she heard her name called, realised it was he who’d seen her, as he’d started to walk off down the street.

  He stepped across the crowded street and grinned at her, sable eyes full of curiosity. ‘I take it you’re coming over,’ he said. ‘It’s been quite a few months, hasn’t it?’

  ‘Have you been keeping track of me?’

  He shrugged and offered his hand.

  A dusty gust blew grit in eyes that began to water badly. ‘I hate the wind,’ she said.

  ‘Ah. So you’ve been touched by the wind demon too.’

  She wiped her eyes with a tissue.

  He looked at her face and laughed. ‘Oh dear. I don’t usually make women cry.’

  ‘So I’ve heard.’

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘My guess is you’ve been talking to Cicely.’

  She bit the loose skin at the side of her thumbnail, and felt the heat ri
se to her face.

  ‘You have black smudges. Here let me.’ He took the tissue from her and she looked at the ground as he wiped them away.

  She muttered her thanks.

  ‘Seems like I’ve got some explaining to do. How about we get inside first? You look like you need a cold drink.’

  Upstairs the blinds were down. He left them like that, turned on a couple of lamps, and a ceiling fan jerkily moved the sticky air about. It was another humid day, in desperate need of a downpour to clear the air.

  ‘I’m sorry to call unexpectedly. I don’t want to inconvenience you.’

  ‘How British of you, Lydia, but since you ask, you’re not inconveniencing me at all.’ He smiled and with a questioning look, held up a large orange.

  ‘You remembered.’

  He sliced the orange, then squeezed it, and a lime, into a tall glass. The citrus scent filled the air.

  ‘You lied to me.’

  ‘Could we call it an omission?’

  She wasn’t there to quarrel. ‘Call it what you like. Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘About Cicely?’ He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry. I wanted to. Nearly did, the day we went to see Lili, but the truth is – well it’s complicated.’

  She stared at her feet, glad she’d painted her toenails, but avoiding exactly what that meant.

  ‘I have a question for you as well. Why did you run off like that without a word?’

  She sighed. ‘That was complicated too.’

  There was a silence while he added soda water and ice to the glass.

  ‘Did George pay you to see that I didn’t get to Ipoh too quickly?’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘You don’t deny it?’

  He held out his arms wide in a gesture of surrender, then passed her the glass. ‘George was my boss, and the sad truth is that I didn’t know you then.’

  ‘And when you did?’

  ‘When I did – you left.’ He looked her in the eye and smiled a slow smile.