Separation, The

by Jefferies, Dinah

  He saw her look. ‘Some women got picked up for … well, they call it cohabiting with terrorists, though of course they don’t live with them at all, and now the police are using them to set traps. See that lorry. Full of women and SEPs. Surrendered enemy personnel.’

  ‘Why do they surrender?’

  ‘The ordeal of life on the inside. Here they get housing, food, and medical aid.’

  She scanned the huts. ‘I went to a new village with Jack once. This seems less grim.’

  ‘They were only intended to be temporary, but they’re a bit cleaner now and there’s piped water.’

  Lydia watched as the lorry started to drive round, its sides draped with canvas.

  ‘There are slits in the canvas. Can you see?’

  She nodded. A couple of Malay policewomen walked alongside it, dressed in khaki with silver badges on the front.

  ‘The men and women inside will be made to point out anyone who is connected with the rebels.’

  People shuffled by in a wavering line, waiting to be scrutinised. They seemed calm, even if one or two sets of sullen eyes followed her.

  ‘Some of them don’t look too happy,’ she said.

  Adil shrugged. ‘Despite Independence there are still Chinese rebels in the jungle. These villages are run by the Malays now, and people get ownership of a little land. That helps.’

  The night’s cloudburst had long passed over and the heat was blistering. Despite appearing cleaner, deeper into the village, thin cats slid along alleys, where the smell of pig manure and rotting fruit made Lydia reel. She heard the harsh cry of a caged bird, smelt the chilli-pepper and tamarind as they passed women tending fires, and the sickly smell of Chinese cigarettes from small groups of men packed together.

  They turned into an alley, stepped over banana skins and pineapple peel, passed a flow of people coming and going, and at the end, where it opened into a little clearing, they stopped. Two children with glossy black hair, a boy and a girl, were playing in thick layers of dust, rolling stones, to see which went the furthest.

  The girl looked towards the interruption with an indignant shout. The skinny, long-limbed boy followed suit, but then his mouth fell open and he halted for a moment, before jumping up and charging over.

  ‘Mrs Lydia!’

  He stopped just before her, suddenly shy. She held out her arms to him. ‘Maz! You don’t know how pleased I am to see you.’ She pulled him to her, hugged him, then examined his face. He looked well, eyes bursting with intelligence. ‘You’ve grown, Maznan.’

  They stared at each other.

  ‘Yes, Mem,’ he said.

  She scanned the little clearing. ‘Where’s your mother?’

  He looked downcast. ‘Mem, I am staying with Auntie again. My mother has gone.’

  ‘This is for you,’ Adil said, holding out the parcel.

  His eyes wide, the child took it. ‘Really? For me?’

  Adil nodded.

  Maz sat on the ground to tear open the wrapping. First, a curled skipping rope fell out, then a shiny blue ball rolled in the dust.

  ‘I need to speak with Mem now,’ Adil said.

  The boy nodded, passed the rope to the girl, and with a shout began to dribble the ball around the clearing.

  Adil took Lydia’s arm and stepped a few yards back. Broken clouds were massing overhead once more and the wind began to rattle a nearby metal roof.

  ‘I wanted you to see that he was safe.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘And explain why he was given to you to take north.’

  Lydia stood completely still.

  ‘Maz was brought to you by his aunt, Suyin, on the orders of George Parrott. It was hoped that when the child’s mother heard of his disappearance, it would force her out.’

  She blinked rapidly, shocked to the core.

  ‘Let me explain –’

  She interrupted him. ‘Of course, you knew I was with Suyin when you drained the petrol. I hadn’t thought about why you’d known she was there.’

  There was a shout from inside a hut. When a woman came out, Adil moved forward, prepared to intervene, but she shook her fist and threw the shiny blue ball into the clearing. Adil ran for it, but Maz got there first and kicked it to the girl, who dribbled it down the alley. Maz was left with the skipping rope and a frown on his face.

  Lydia picked up the rope. ‘Look, it’s easy. You’ll soon get the hang of it.’ She showed him how, then went back to listen to Adil.

  ‘So,’ she said, ‘let me get this clear. You’re saying that George used me to draw Maz’s mother out of the jungle?’

  ‘His mother knew too much, and had become associated with one of the top rebel leaders. George Parrott wanted to stop her.’

  ‘Giving government information away you mean?’

  He nodded. ‘She worked in Alec’s office for six months, but left when she fell pregnant.’

  ‘Why did she join the rebels?’

  ‘Her brother-in-law was a comrade living on the inside. He was shot during a failed ambush attempt on a road train. His body was brought into town as a warning to others. Maznan’s mother saw him lying in the mud, riddled with bullet holes, and that’s when she vowed to get even. Maz saw too. The man was his uncle.’

  ‘The poor child,’ she said. ‘He told me he loved his uncle but he was gone. Never said why.’

  ‘She left her sister to care for Maz. With three children of her own, a baby on the way and her husband dead, the sister eventually baulked.’

  ‘Another mouth to feed.’

  ‘Exactly. Maznan’s mother sent word to her sister, telling her to go to the child’s father for money.’

  ‘Why did she need to send her sister?’

  ‘Once she’d spent time on the inside, which she had, she couldn’t risk being seen herself.’ Adil was silent, heavy eyebrows furrowed. He stared at the ground for some minutes before looking up again.

  Lydia watched the child’s attempts to master the skipping rope. It was clear he’d never owned a skipping rope before, and even though the rope kept tangling, he didn’t give up. So much had gone wrong for him, yet he had the sweetest nature, and it never seemed to alter.

  Adil explained he hadn’t agreed Lydia should take the boy. He had argued with George. Said it was dangerous and might not even work.

  ‘And George paid you to make sure I broke my journey at Jack’s.’

  ‘That was the only part of the plan that seemed sensible. You’d be safer with Jack taking care of the rest of the journey. And, of course, Maz’s mother might have come out into the open there, which again would have been safer for you than if it had happened somewhere on the road. We were confident Jack would take you to Ipoh himself. In the meantime, Bert knew of the plan and was on the watch for Maznan’s mother.’ He stopped suddenly and held her arm. ‘Look, Lydia, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you everything.’

  He looked sincere, his eyes full of regret, but she shrugged. Every time she thought there were no more secrets, there was something more.

  ‘Then the fire?’

  ‘Turned all the plans upside down.’

  ‘Did Jack know about all this?’

  ‘No.’

  Lydia tried to read his eyes. ‘You said you didn’t know why George wanted to delay my arrival at Ipoh?’

  ‘I don’t.’

  ‘He wasn’t anything to do with the fire?’

  Adil shook his head.

  ‘So who took Maz from Jack’s house? Was it his mother?’

  ‘With the help of insiders and Lili.’

  ‘But I thought Maz and his mother were together in detention.’

  He shook his head. ‘That was meant to happen.’ He paused and shrugged. ‘Best laid plans –’

  ‘Look!’ Maz shouted, interrupting them. ‘I can do it.’

  They both turned to see he’d finally mastered the skipping technique.

  ‘You clever little thing,’ she said, then ran to him and picked him up. But she couldn’t hel
p her breath catching at the memory of Fleur’s skipping rhymes.

  Along with his cousin, they took Maz for a sticky cake. Lydia grinned at the sight of jam spreading round his mouth. She ordered two more, but as she sat back down, Adil indicated the blackening sky. With a tiny burst of red at its centre it looked ominous.

  ‘We’d better get back. This one’s a real storm.’

  She bent to kiss Maznan’s cheek. ‘I’ll see you again. I promise.’

  As they headed off, Lydia waved to the children and Maz carried on waving until they were out of sight.

  ‘Why promise what you cannot know you’ll keep?’ Adil said.

  Sheeting rain exploded in the dust, sending trails of wet dirt running up Lydia’s bare legs. She ran to the car, too confused to speak.

  Once in the car neither of them could have been heard if they’d spoken. The rain was so loud it even drowned out the thunder. Though she’d been elated to see Maz, Adil’s revelation had darkened the occasion for her. He focussed on driving, and where the road surface was obliterated by red mud, the car slid repeatedly. Rain blurred the view and no other headlights came their way. She took a deep breath, tucked the hair behind her ears, and held her hands tightly together in her lap. Outside, wind bent two-hundred-foot tualang trees almost horizontal. At the edge of town, it ripped off attap-leaf roofs and lifted tin shacks as if they were toys. There was not a flicker of light anywhere.

  The storm was brief but intense. Instead of a normal sunset, the sky turned a strange orange-brown. In the face of so much destruction, Lydia’s perspective gradually restored itself, and by the time they reached Adil’s flat, she was calm. She’d been used by George, it was as simple as that, and Adil had been an unwilling part of it. But the question now was whether he’d told her everything.

  Upstairs, she watched him pick up a copy of The Straits Times and flick through. He hesitated then folded the paper to show her.

  ‘There’s to be a memorial, Lydia. For those people lost or killed during the Emergency.’ He paused to see her reaction. ‘Will you go? I’ll come if it helps.’

  Lydia shook her head and handed the paper back. She didn’t want sympathy or condolences, genuine or otherwise.

  She looked down on the mismatched houses and shops changing colour in the orange light, and at the glowing Chinese mansion opposite. A steady hum rose from the street now that the rain had passed.

  ‘Tell me about George,’ she said, as he made them some coffee.

  ‘Newspaper and governmental records were pretty much destroyed by the Japanese, but I got hold of some old press cuttings. Before the war there had been a whiff of scandal, nothing concrete.’

  ‘Didn’t you trust George?’

  ‘I had my reasons not to.’

  ‘Yet you worked for him?’

  ‘I had very mixed feelings. Put it that way. Just before the Japanese invasion, the Parrotts managed to get out. They went to Australia, taking Cicely with them, and all traces of wrongdoing disappeared in the post-war chaos.’

  ‘But you carried on digging?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  She felt a stab of weariness in the pause.

  ‘Look, enough of all this,’ he said. ‘I don’t like to see you look so sad.’

  She shook her head. ‘I’m not. It’s just lonely sometimes. Without them I mean.’

  ‘I understand.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Maybe we need some diversion. Let’s go out, see a film or something?’

  She held her breath as a moment from the past tugged at her memory. One of the times she and Alec had taken the girls out. It might be nice to go once more. It would be as if she was watching just for them.

  ‘What about the Chinese circus?’ she said, and breathed deeply.

  ‘If you prefer.’

  She’d be happy to go with Adil. There were fewer associations, and like a snake rising to the charmer’s whistle, she was drawn to him. Whether he’d told her everything or not, she felt she had no choice. This was not the physical passion she’d had with Jack, nor the security that Alec had once seemed to provide. She didn’t yet have a name for it.

  ‘I’m glad I met you in an ambush,’ she said, as she picked up her bag.

  He frowned. ‘You’d recommend it, would you?’

  ‘No. It’s just that I met Alec and Jack at parties. Look at what happened.’

  Adil was exotic, intense, like Malaya itself. She walked over and put a hand on his shoulder, felt the muscles tense beneath her touch, smelt the scent of rain still on his hair. He wrapped his arms round her, smiled, and she realised each time he did, she felt as if the door was opening a little wider.

  ‘You’re not angry?’

  She shook her head. ‘Not any more.’

  Who cared about class or colour now? She looked back at herself, caught a glimpse of the woman she’d once been. The one who cared about fancy dress parties, drinks at the tennis club, playing bridge and getting plastered. And despite her doubts, all that mattered now was standing with Adil, and looking out at the full moon casting shadows through a break in the clouds.

  45

  A smell of burning drifted through my open window. I’d lost the thread trying to tell the story of our arrival in England, and found myself writing about Billy and me. I wanted to experience things so I could write more realistically, yet the words were dull and the draw of the bonfire was enough to pull me away.

  I was wearing holey shorts and an old shirt, and hadn’t bothered to brush my hair. My pixie cut had grown wild during the summer holidays, and the colour had brightened to a flaming orange. Dad insisted I go to the hairdresser, but I wanted to look like Bertha Mason in Jane Eyre, my all time favourite book. I was different from other girls, though I’d seen them with their stiff hairstyles and even stiffer clothes, looking all the same. It must be Malaya that made me different, I decided, as I loped off down the stairs.

  Outside, plumes of smoke rose from the fire, and at first I didn’t see who was poking it with a long stick. When I got close enough for the smoke to make my eyes sting, I saw Billy look up. He’d heard the crunch of my footsteps above the crackles. We stared at each other, listening to the sound of neighbours’ gossip behind the fence. He was the first to break the awkward silence.

  ‘I thought everyone was out,’ he said, and swung round to the fire again. ‘Haven’t seen you lately, Emma.’

  ‘You were working with your dad.’

  ‘Just for one week, Em.’

  I stared at my feet. ‘Everyone is out. I didn’t feel like going.’

  He turned and took a step towards me. ‘I called round the other day. Saw your dad. Fleur said she’d tell you, but you never came round.’

  I kept my eyes on the debris that Dad had been threatening to clear for weeks.

  He shrugged. ‘Have I done something wrong?’

  I shook my head. ‘No, of course, not … How are you?’

  He didn’t speak, just sighed.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Isn’t that obvious?’ he said. ‘Don’t worry. I didn’t just march up here and decide to light a fire. If that’s what’s bothering you …’ He trailed off.

  ‘No, of course.’

  He prodded the fire. ‘Your dad’s paying me to do some gardening. Get the place under control in the next couple of months, before winter. He wants it to sell quickly.’

  I gaped at him.

  ‘Didn’t he say?’

  I shook my head and listened to the crackling fire, the droning insects, the breeze. All the sounds and smells of early autumn were already there, and now, with a new school year coming up fast, Dad was planning to sell.

  ‘Aren’t you going to offer me a coffee?’

  I felt I couldn’t refuse. In the days when we made go-karts out of old crates, we used to be able to say anything to each other, but now we were no longer just friends and I felt tongue tied. He was cagey with me and I knew it was my fault.

  ‘If you like,’ I said.

&n
bsp; While I made the coffee, Billy hung about the small kitchen, looking out of place. He pulled out a bag of Smiths crisps from his back pocket, and sprinkled the salt from the little twist of paper. He offered me the bag but I shook my head.

  ‘We’ll have it in my room,’ I said, and placed two mugs on a tray with a couple of custard creams, then headed for the stairs. Half way up I hesitated, hoping he wouldn’t take going to my room as a sign.

  The smell of smoke from his clothes came up with us. We sat on the bed about a foot apart talking about nothing, in the way you do when one of you has something important to say, but doesn’t know how to begin. The only sounds came from Billy crunching the crisps.

  He put down his mug and shifted closer. ‘Do you fancy coming down the music shop. There’s a new record I’m after. We could listen together in the booth. One headphone each.’

  Before I could reply, he pushed the blond hair from his forehead and kissed me.

  I tasted the salt on his lips and pulled away. As I did, I saw his jaw clench.

  ‘What’s wrong, Em?’ he said. ‘You liked it before. Are you turning square or what?’

  I sighed. ‘Billy, I can’t.’

  I couldn’t think of what to say. I looked about the room and then at the floor. I saw my notebook had fallen on the carpet beneath my desk. Billy noticed it at the same time, and must have seen the anxiety in my eyes, because he picked it up. I tried to snatch it, but his eyes slid across the page. He held it out of my reach and his face grew rigid. After a while he read aloud.

  I need experience to write well; flights of imagination only take me so far. And when it comes to sex, surely nothing beats the real thing. After the first effort, I’m unsure and unsettled, but I begin to see the wealth of experience Billy offers me. What a perfect opportunity to give my characters depth.

  I hung my head, and chewed the inside of my cheek.

  ‘Well. Aren’t you going to say anything?’ He practically choked on his words and stood up abruptly. ‘Bloody hell. How could you, Emma?’

  I shook my head, wanting to hide my red face, but I managed to look at him. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Is that all it was? A chance to give your characters depth.’ He spat out the words.