And Bea’s mother, where was she this balmy July afternoon? Intelligence and complete dedication had driven her rise through the ranks of the finance ministry to become one of the most senior career civil servants. Wednesdays, unless stopped by thunderstorms, she and a group of ladies walked the perimeter of the Savannah, Port of Spain’s main park. Then Mira would head home and potter around in her little garden, tending her exotic but temperamental orchids or coaxing pigeon peas, tomatoes, okra and melongene into ripeness. She had not remarried either. A couple of serious relationships after Alan, with the attendant emotional battering as each failed, had left her determined to be self-sufficient. Anyone who would listen knew that she was a woman with her own house and her own car and didn’t need a man confusing her head. Though in quieter moments, Mira had confessed to missing the companionship and intimacy that transformed a house into a home, a less lonely place to be.
When Bea left Trinidad on a scholarship that took her to a colder place, her relationship with both parents – never close to begin with – had deteriorated rapidly. Communication was hampered by her father’s dislike of computers, though Bea doubted that this would have changed anything between them. They settled on a rhythm of twice-yearly contact, acknowledging Christmas and birthdays. Alan’s preference was for oversized cards with long flowery verses executed in cursive script. The instant Bea received a card headlined ‘To A Darling Daughter At Christmas’ or ‘For A Special Daughter Overseas’ she knew Alan, rather than practical Mira, had sent it. Beyond signing the card ‘Your loving father’ he did not inquire into her world or offer details of his own. By last summer’s visit it was sadly evident that father and daughter related to each other as strangers.
Mira had made an effort to stay in touch with Bea, but it was not reciprocated. Occasionally her frustration at Bea’s silence spilled over into an angry phone call or email.
‘If you was living by your father growing up, you think you would end up teaching in a university? You think so?’ she screeched down the telephone. ‘Let me tell you something, you ungrateful wretch. You would’ve end up like all the rest of them no-good Clarks. You wanted to spend your life selling sandpaper and paint? Is because of me you get where you is, and now you can’t even pick up the phone to give your mother a call once in a blue moon. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what I do wrong in this life to deserve a child like you.’
Each of Mira’s outbursts worsened the strained relationship and led to further estrangement between mother and daughter. Bea knew her unexplained absence this summer was hurtful to both parents, a sign that the little contact they had was no longer sacred. Perhaps she should visit at Christmas. With goodwill and rum flowing, fruit cake almost a food group of its own, and a soundtrack of sweet parang music in the air, rapprochement was a possibility. It was worth considering.
In a session with Dr Payne, Bea asked if she should go to Trinidad for Christmas.
He seemed excited about the idea. ‘Excellent. Great chance to see your family. And when it’s freezing cold here you’ll be enjoying the Caribbean sunshine. I’m envious already.’
‘Growing up I just assumed I’d live there for ever. The beauty of driving through the mountains to Maracas Bay. It takes your breath away. When I was little, every summer we would stuff our tiny Vauxhall full of clothes and food and set off to Mayaro beach for a holiday. They say you don’t appreciate what you have until it’s gone.’
‘They are called clichés for a reason.’
Bea laughed. ‘But there’s no point in longing for those days. They’re not coming back. They don’t belong to me any more, or I don’t belong any more. Don’t know which. Maybe it’ll feel homey at Christmas. Trinidadians go all out then. Even if you haven’t seen someone all year, and you pop by for a visit, they’ll welcome you and insist you have fresh sorrel juice and a pastel to eat. That’s how Trini people operate. Food and drink everywhere you go.’
‘Sounds delightful.’
‘But it doesn’t last. And if you make the mistake of believing that you belong, you’re screwed.’
Bea looked suddenly agitated, wringing her hands.
‘You seem anxious.’
She looked away, still wringing her hands.
‘Bea, because your parents weren’t able to give you the sense of belonging you needed, doesn’t mean you can’t create it for yourself now.’
She smiled shyly. ‘You’re trying to tell me to grow up?’
His eyes smiled. ‘I’m saying that the isolation you feel is in part a choice. There are other choices you can make.’
‘Fine.’ She looked down and mumbled, ‘Can we talk about something else? Please.’
Dr. Payne rocked back in his chair and took a deep, audible breath. ‘Just an observation, but whenever I mention your parents, you become a different person.’
She did not answer and after a few moments he continued, ‘So what’s been happening otherwise? Going into the office?’
She looked up in relief. ‘Yup. Getting ready for next semester. Luckily I’m not teaching any new courses. Only updating ones I’ve taught before.’
‘Take it slowly,’ he urged. ‘When does the new semester start?’
‘End of August. I’ve got a bit more time.’
‘I’m sorry, I know you’ve told me before,’ he said scratching his head. ‘What sort of history do you teach?’
‘I teach courses with a transnational approach to history. So I do a course on comparative approaches to anti-colonial politics and ideologies, comparing colonial India with, say, nationalism in Vietnam. And I also teach more theoretical courses that consider major themes in world history like colonialism, imperialism and post-colonialism.’
He leaned forward. ‘I can see you’re passionate about this.’
‘Yup.’ She nodded, pulling her shoulders back in pride. It felt good, talking about something other than tweaking the antidepressants to mitigate side effects such as her perpetually dry mouth or the feeling of constant, low-level sedation. ‘Wouldn’t want to be doing anything else.’
‘Few people can say that.’
‘Guess I’m lucky.’ She paused for a second then blurted out, ‘Do you like what you do?’
‘Sure. Especially when you see someone go from being really quite ill to functioning in society.’ He leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. ‘I definitely have a rescue fantasy.’
A shaft of sunlight burst through the window, warming her, giving her a sense of comfort with the conversation. ‘I don’t want you to break any confidences,’ she said, biting her bottom lip. ‘But do you have a case that makes you specially happy?’
He rubbed his chin. ‘Well, maybe the ones where the patient is desperate to be free of emotional pain and can’t see a way out except through suicide. When you prevent that and help the patient back to health. Yes, those are the ones I feel good about.’
It was only a snippet of his life, but she clamped down on that information and stored it in her memory. Rescue fantasy.
He can rescue me any time.
He pulled her out of her thoughts. ‘That’s enough about me. What about the guy you’ve been seeing? Michael?’
Bea blushed. ‘Don’t know why, but he comes by every week. Not sure what he’s getting out of it.’
‘He would not still be seeing you if he did not find you a bright, interesting woman.’
‘Maybe I’m his charity case.’
‘Don’t put yourself down. Now, what about your colleagues? How’ve they reacted to you being back?’
‘Everyone’s kind. At least to my face.’ She shrugged. ‘Maybe behind my back they’re calling me a nutcase.’
‘No one’s calling you a nutcase.’
‘I guess. It feels genuine enough. But I still hide in my office. It’s easier to deal with people by email rather than face to face.’
‘You understand that you still have to work toward increasing proper human contact. We can’t let this social phobia ge
t out of control.’
She sighed. ‘That’s tough.’
‘It’s a goal, not something you have to do today,’ he said. ‘And physically, how’re you feeling?’
‘Sleeping better. Most nights I get around seven hours. The meds make me drowsy. And I’m eating better.’
‘Good.’
He looked at her in a curious way. ‘I know this is unprofessional, but I still can’t get accustomed to this very short hair of yours. You look completely different from when we first met.’
She touched the sides of her hair. ‘Good different or bad different?’
‘The contrast is stark. Much tougher than your old style.’
‘Well, I like it, and for a girl I don’t have to blow dry it. Wash and wear. Just like a man.’
He nodded. ‘You do seem to be doing a lot better.’
‘I am. Even bought enough food for a week. Really shocked the grocery lady. She made her sidekick, Ed, wheel it to my place in a trolley.’
‘That’s fantastic.’ He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, staring her straight in the eyes. ‘This doesn’t mean you stop taking the medication. I want you to stay at this dose for a while. We’ll review it of course, but let’s get a good period of stability going before even thinking of reducing it.’
Bea folded her arms around her body. ‘Okay.’
‘It’s important you understand that feeling better for a couple of weeks is not enough. When you start teaching again, you’ll be facing another set of challenges.’
‘I’ve been teaching for a while, you know.’
‘Yes, but these are early days of your recovery. In an ideal world I’d give you another month off before full-time work.’
‘I can cope.’
‘And you will cope. Just don’t fall into the trap of underestimating what you’ve been through and how fragile you still are.’ He wagged his finger in mock accusation. ‘Don’t start self-medicating. I’m the doctor.’
‘Promise. I won’t,’ she said in an exaggeratedly meek voice.
‘I don’t mean to sound like you’re on the naughty step. You’re doing great and we want to keep it that way.’
‘Yes, Doctor Payne.’
He pulled a face at her, rolling his eyes. ‘The things we doctors have to put up with.’
He was dressed in a casual blazer and was not wearing a tie. Bea liked the informality. It made him more accessible – like a real man she could have rather than a distant doctor.
‘Bea?’
‘Sorry, yes. You were asking?’
‘Are you going to the group therapy sessions?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘Isn’t there one today?’
‘Yeah. I guess I should go. By bedtime I’ll be up to my eyeballs in analysis.’
‘Before you go I need to tell you about the next few weeks. I’ll be away for three weeks. There is another doctor if you need to see someone.’
‘Who is it? Anyone from St. Anthony’s?’
‘No. His name’s Dr. Wise. Josh Wise. Hopefully you won’t need to see him, and I’ll be back right after your semester starts. We can take it from there.’
Bea smiled. ‘Full of wisdom, is he?’
‘Tut-tut.’
‘Well, you’re called Dr. Payne. The only thing worse would be Dr. Hurt.’
‘I wondered how long it would take you to make fun of me. My whole family dines out on it. My sister especially is always telling people I became a doctor just to call myself Dr. Payne.’
‘I’m sorry. That was a bit wicked,’ she conceded. ‘So, is this vacation?’
‘A combination. I’m giving a paper at a conference, then taking a holiday.’
Bea considered the odds of having another opportunity like this. ‘You’re taking your family with you?’ she asked, her voice as disinterested as she could manage.
He hesitated. ‘I’m on my own. Might meet up with friends along the trip.’
She felt emboldened by his willingness to reveal these scraps of personal information. ‘Where are you going?’
‘Starting off in London for the conference. After that I catch a bit of the Edinburgh fringe theatre festival and then head back home.’
‘Hope you have a good time.’
‘I need a break,’ he replied sighing. ‘And I’m not going to come back and find you’re flipping pancakes with Pizza Man or self-harming, am I? Of course your hair is so short now you can’t hide cuts in your scalp.’
‘You’re like a mother hen. And you know I’ve not been cutting myself. Honest, I feel, well, how should I put it? It’s not jubilant but not down either. Kind of level. Neutral.’
‘Good. So I’ll see you in about three weeks?’
‘Yeah. See you. Don’t forget to come back – your patients need you.’
‘I’ll be back before you notice I was gone.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Queen’s College is putting on the Bump and Wine Fete the weekend before Carnival to raise money for computer equipment. It’s an all-day fete and the PTA is organising food stalls and running the bars. They are having a corn soup station, a doubles[1] station, a shark-and-bake stall, a roti section, and a tent with the usual peas and rice and stew chicken and that kind of food. If you still have room they’re making old-fashioned ice cream right there – coconut, soursop, and rum and raisin. DJ Mad Menz playing the latest soca tunes and Indian chutney music and Krazy Kool steelband from Laventille will keep the vibes going. One tune I can’t get out of my head is all about how a wasp (we call it a jep) sting this girl name Naina on she behind. I know it sound real foolish but I been singing it nonstop.
Everybody in Queen’s get two tickets that we must sell, but you can sell more if you want. When I brought home the tickets you should hear how Nanny start to carry on. Carnival is the devil’s doing. People does use it as an excuse to prance about half-naked and get on bad. The kind of grinding-up you see these days, they might as well be having full sexual intercourse in public. And is the women them who really doing the dirty, not the men. No sir, she not spending she little pension on no Carnival fete ticket. I explained how all of us have to sell at least the two tickets they sent home, but Nanny not budging.
‘Charmaine going with her family to the fete,’ I said.
‘Who is this Charmaine?’
‘Remember I went by her house during Christmas holidays? Is not like I went by anybody else.’
‘The white girl with curly dark hair?’
‘Yes.’
‘How much years she have?’
‘Same as me. Fourteen. Nearly fifteen.’
‘And what a girl with fourteen years doing going Carnival fete?’
‘She’s not the only one. Other girls in my class going. Is no big deal.’
‘No big deal? Well, all I have to say is that them can’t be proper Christian people. I should have sent you to the Convent school. Queen’s getting slack.’
I followed her in the kitchen. ‘But Nanny, please. I can’t be the only one who doesn’t buy the tickets.’
‘How much for them?’
I went and got the tickets from my backpack. ‘A hundred each.’
Nanny fold her arms and set up her face like rain. ‘Tina, you must be joking.’
‘That’s cheap. Most fetes nowadays cost a lot more.’
‘Hear you! Since when you know what fete does cost?’
‘I know from people in my class.’
‘You tell me where I going to find two hundred Trinidad dollars for fete tickets that we not even using?’
I sucked my teeth.
‘What you just do?’
‘Nothing.’
‘I hope that was nothing in truth, because if that was a steups it go be me and you today. You not too big to get a good cut-tail.’
‘Is not fair. I want to go.’
‘You too young for fete. And Tina, I can’t make no donation of two hundred dollars. You know how things tight.’
I sucked my
teeth good so she could hear. ‘I don’t ever get to go anywhere except where you want to go and all you ever want to do is go to church.’
‘Go to your room.’
‘I don’t want to.’
‘Go right now before I put two hot lash on you.’
So that is her last word. Carnival is the devil’s work. Really? I don’t know what planet she living on. She doesn’t seem to understand that I am fourteen and a half. I will be fifteen soon and then sixteen next year. I could leave school and get a job when I’m sixteen. I don’t care what she says, I am going to be Bumping and Wining in three weeks’ time. Endless boys from the college next door will be there. The thing is how I going to find the hundred dollars for the ticket. Aunty Indra no better than Nanny, so no point in asking her. Granny Gwen has money but I can’t see her supporting a fete. I’ve heard enough about Satan in Carnival from Nanny to have to hear it from Granny Gwen too.
It’s now two weeks to go before the fete, and the only talk in school is who wearing what. Most girls going in denim shorts, and if you have a shiny top then you’re like the coolest thing ever. I tell people that I haven’t decided yet if I feel like going. Charmaine said I could go with them. Her parents could pass for me on the way to the fete and drop me back home after. This is the lime of the year. Everybody who is anybody going to be there. It will be like so amazing. I tried Nanny again but she threatened to hit me with the broom if she heard one more word about that so-and-so fete.
One week before the fete and the girls trying out different hairstyles in lunch break. Charmaine is going to have some tiny plaits in her hair with red and silver beads to match her top. Another girl was showing us how to do the latest eye makeup – thick lines of kohl on the eyelids. All I can think about is going to this fete. Even the teachers stop giving us homework because they too busy with the organising to have to mark it. I wish my Dad was around. He would be one of the dads helping in school and he would take me to the fete with him. He would tell Nanny she is over-reacting and that it’s normal for girls my age to party. And he would have a hundred dollars for the ticket – no problem – because he would have a big job and a nice ride.
If I Never Went Home Page 12
