Libby listened to the banging and chopping sounds from the kitchen. “Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps mother does love me. May thinks so and I believe in May.” She cuddled the baby and kissed him. “I’ll tell mother that she can adopt Michael. He is not bad at all, when he is not crying.”
***
The nurse propped Ruth up on the bed. “Will you try to get out of the bed and walk to the bathroom? I’ll help you. A wash would do you good.”
Ruth shook her head and closed her eyes. She slid down again burying herself in the hospital bedclothes.
The nurse muttered under her breath and looked disapprovingly at her patient. “You need to move. The X-rays have come back. There are no broken bones or fractures, although you are very bruised. Come! I’ll help you.”
Ruth turned over on to her side. She didn’t want to move. What was the point of it? She didn’t want to go on. She felt very tired, not only in her sore body but also in her chest and head. She was vaguely aware that people were speaking in hushed tones around her. She was detached from it all.
Suddenly she felt a hand on her arm. “I’m here,” May said. “The doctor said you could come home.”
Ruth didn’t reply.
“Here! We have a surprise for you.” Gently May helped Ruth to sit up, surprised at how light Ruth had become. May could feel her ribs as she helped her friend to sit upright.
“Mummy! Please wake up! Look at us! Look at Michael.” Libby held the baby to her mother’s face. “I am sorry for the spiteful things I said. I didn’t mean it.”
Ruth opened her eyes. For the first time that day there was a flicker of interest in them.
Libby edged closer with Michael. Ruth took him in one arm and with the other she hugged Libby. A tickling sensation hit her nose. She held back the prickling in her eyes. They were her reasons for living.
Chapter 41
RUTH MADE HER way down the hill scrunching the grass under her feet. It had been a dry summer and the grass had taken on a yellowy hue. A few metres down she stopped and peered into the distance. The hillside rolled gently down before her and at the bottom a river ran as far as her eyes could see. Tall rushes by its side swayed with the wind. To the right of her she could see a narrow stone bridge. In medieval times, horse carts used it as a main thoroughfare into the village on the other side of the river. Beyond the bridge, a church steeple rose high above a scattering of cottages with tiled roofs.
The hill and the surrounding countryside reminded her of her father’s farm. She had not been there since her return to England. It would bring back too many memories and memories were not what she sought.
Ruth dug her hands deep into the pocket of her dungarees and stood for a few more minutes on the hill slope. A wind picked up speed and the branches on trees swayed and rustled. Their soft whispers reminded her of coconut palms. Another country, another life, she told herself, one which she should not dwell on. Afraid that any more time spent on such thoughts would awaken the sadness she had buried within her, she resumed her descent, picking her way along the dirt path. Puffs of dust rose, for it had not rained for many days, the driest and hottest summer in a decade some said.
“Slow down!” James shouted as he ran after Ruth.
Ruth spun round. “Where is Michael?” Her voice was sharp, anxious.
“He is fine, at home with my sister. You know how much Sue loves Michael. So the minute she saw that I was alone with him, she volunteered to take over and shooed me out of the kitchen. So here I am.” He smiled sheepishly at Ruth.
Ruth made an apologetic gesture for being sharp with him and smiled back in return. They walked down the hill in step with each other. James would have liked to link his arm around Ruth. He gave her a sideways appraising glance and held back. He gauged that she would recoil. Ruth had a sad look about her. At times, caught unaware, she would stare into space with a wistful expression. He wished he could make her smile more. It had taken him a long time to break the ice and even longer still to persuade Ruth that she could call on him for emergency help. She did it rarely. Mentally, James counted. Perhaps only three times, when desperate for help she had asked him and Sue to look after Michael.
“How did it go?” he asked.
“Fine. Mrs Bennett liked what I did. I am to go to her to collect more of the same to be typed. She paid me handsomely in cash.” Ruth drew out a wad of notes from her pocket. “I can pay some of my rent now.”
James’s face grew a bright red. “You don’t have to pay me now. Keep it until you have the full amount.”
“I mustn’t impose on your generosity. You have helped me so much. I would not have been able to work from home otherwise. And I do need to work from home so that I could be with Michael.”
“Think nothing of it.” Embarrassed, the colour on James’s cheeks deepened even more.
“You gave me my first job, introduced me to clients, gave me this idea that I could earn a living by freelancing and typing.” Ruth would not be put off. She had wanted to thank James many times and each time he had shrugged it off. She was sure that the rent he charged for the cottage was nowhere near a commercial rate.
James stopped at the bottom of the hill and turned to Ruth. He placed both hands on her shoulders. He sensed her freezing at his touch and dropped them hastily. “I did what any decent chap would do. Moreover, you made a marvellous job of my report. So I should thank you instead.”
Ruth fell silent. Living a reclusive life these past years had lost her the skill of light chatter. Her previous attempts at thanking him had come out garbled. They walked on past the village and turned on to a narrow road that led to a cul-de-sac. A very large stone house stood at the end. Behind the house, the sun was beginning its gradual descent, its rays lingering to touch the house with a golden glow. The change in light was slow, almost imperceptible. Ruth thought of a sun that was fiery red, a place where the skies would darken in a flash, a place where the sunrise was a burst of red. She sighed. She must stop doing this to herself.
“Come in,” said James breaking into her thoughts. “Michael and Sue will be in the kitchen.” The sound of children’s laughter and voices could be heard from within.
“Hah!” he exclaimed. “Libby must be back from school. You must come in now that both your children are at our place.”
“I won’t stay long. Thank you for looking after them.”
“Come in and thank Sue. She is the one doing the baby-sitting. Mind you, she doesn’t consider it work. Listen to them! Why not stay for supper? Sue normally cooks far too much and you are not living that far from us to have to risk a long journey back.” James grinned and nodded towards Ruth’s cottage. His white teeth gleamed against his dark tan. Ruth’s house was a mere stone’s throw away from James’s. It had been a footman’s cottage in the past, before the entire estate was parcelled out and sold.
“Go on! Come in,” James said and strode towards his house before Ruth could protest.
***
James dried the last of the dishes and flicked the tea towel over his shoulder. “That was a lovely meal, Sue.”
“Do you think Ruth enjoyed it? She was awfully quiet.” Sue’s coppery hair caught the light as she tossed her head and blew at a wayward lock of hair falling over her eyes. “I worry about her. She seems distracted.”
“I guess she has a lot on her plate. I think she worries about the children and not having enough to cover her outgoings.” James looked out of the window towards Footman’s Cottage. A single light shone from a room on the ground floor, a room where he knew Ruth did her work. He could almost imagine hearing the clacking of the typewriter.
Sue observed her brother. His concern over Ruth was etched all over his normally cheerful face. She knew he was fond of Ruth. She remembered the day when Ruth had first arrived at the village. She had come alone on a bus. Sue and James had seen her looking lost and had gone up to her. She had told them that she was looking for accommodation, anything small that could house a family of thre
e. With a face turned bright red, she confessed that she could not afford much. Sue could tell even then, how much her brother was taken with Ruth. He offered Ruth Footman’s Cottage immediately, waiving the deposit normally due on rentals.
“Why don’t you ask Ruth out for a meal or a drink? I’ll baby sit.”
James leaned against the washbasin. “She might refuse.”
“You don’t know until you try. You could get to know her better. There is a mystery about her. She doesn’t say much. We hardly know her background, what she did before, except that her husband had passed away and that they lived for a while in Malaya. Libby told me something interesting though.”
James looked sharply at his sister. “I hope you have not been prying.”
Fine lines radiated from the corner of her eyes. They twinkled at her brother in jest. “I was curious. Surely you must have noticed that Michael is Eurasian? He is dark and has the loveliest head of strong black hair. Libby, however, told me her father was English.”
“Oh Sue! You shouldn’t. It is none of our business.”
Sue looked at him with a triumphant smile. “Libby told me today that Michael is her adopted brother, adopted after her father passed away. I just find it fascinating. There must be an interesting story behind this. I am curious.”
James placed the tea towel onto a rail and gave his sister a disapproving look. “You shouldn’t pry.” He looked reproachfully at his sister.
“Libby told me that they stayed in London with May and Hugh when they first returned to England. She called them her aunt and uncle though, as far as I know, they are not related, just a term that is apparently used in that part of the world when the young address the old. Not that May and Hugh are old. May is certainly not old! She is quite young and lovely in fact. You must have seen them. We must invite them over the next time they visit. I often wondered at their connection with Ruth. Apparently Ruth had some problems in a London park. She had Michael with her. She was called hate names. That was why they moved here.”
“Did you dig up this information from Libby? You are incorrigible!”
“I am fond of all of them. It is just that my curiosity was aroused. Ruth has this sadness about her that whets my interest.”
James walked out of the kitchen. “I don’t want you digging any more information. Hear!”
“But James you like Ruth! Surely you are interested in knowing about her.”
James came back to face Sue. “When she is ready to tell me,” he said more gently.
***
James sat down in an armchair and flicked open a newspaper. The sitting room was large with white-washed walls, beautiful honey coloured flagstone tiles and a big open fireplace. Persian rugs peppered the floor and the table lamps scattered round the room lent it a warm comforting glow. It was a place he adjourned to each evening to read and listen to music. Overhead he could hear Sue moving in her bedroom. This evening he could not concentrate. After supper, he had walked Ruth back to her cottage. James carried Michael, who was already asleep. He recalled the child in his arms, the satisfying weight and warmth of his body. “I’m getting old, too old to think of fatherhood,” he mused. He wondered if he should ask Ruth out. He shook his head in answer to himself. She would think I am too old for her, he thought. Yet a longing persisted in his heart. “Really!” he chided himself.
Chapter 42
London
MAY SPOTTED THE empty bench and immediately hurried towards it with Lin skipping by her side. All round them, people were settling down on grassy banks or on benches to take in the sun. She guessed that the bench was empty because it was under the shade of a silver maple. Hugh would have pulled her leg for seeking out the shade. Everyone else seemed to be making for the sunniest spot they could find.
“Mummy, can I have an ice cream?”
“Yes, of course. Let’s have our picnic first.” May sat down and unloaded her little basket. Out came a round of ham sandwiches, a roast chicken leg, two slices of chocolate cake and lemonade. She could not help but compare it with what she would have filled the basket with if they had been in Malaysia. Coconut rice wrapped in banana leaves with sambal on the side would have been must items for a picnic.
“Sit down next to me here.” She patted the space beside her. Lin clambered up and stretched out both her sturdy legs with their white ankle socks and black shoes. She pointed and flexed her feet in play.
“Sandwich or chicken?” May asked. She hid a smile. Lin was looking round-eyed at the roasted drumstick that May held up. Without waiting for a reply, May placed it in Lin’s hand and sat watching her daughter munch and tug at the drumstick with relish. “Slow down, no one is going to take it from you.”
May had no appetite. She sat on the bench, one arm stretched out along its back, the other still holding on to the basket. A flock of pigeons landed in front of her, tempted by the crumbs of food on the ground. She watched them peck, their tiny heads bobbing up and down. She thought of her new life in England. It was so different from that in Malaya. Even the air smelt different.
Lin slid down to the ground and pushed the drumstick licked clean into May’s hand. “Finished,” she announced with a happy grin. “Can I go there?” She pointed to the play area a few yards away. Before May could answer, she was already running towards it. May sighed and followed her. She was wary about meeting other mothers in the playground, especially after Ruth’s experience.
The playground was crowded. There were children playing, young mothers chatting and grandmothers knitting. It was literally a whole community of women of all ages charged with minding kids. She saw a bench and went to it. “May I?” she asked of the two women seated there. They nodded and returned to their chatter, cigarettes in hand. May perched herself at the seat’s corner. She was conscious of being alone in a crowd. Ruth had told her that London could be a very lonely place, revealing bits of her previous life when she was with Mark. May agreed. She stared at the women around her and wondered if the person who had shouted abuse at Ruth was among them. She had not suffered racial discrimination like Ruth. Neither Craig nor Lin looked typically oriental. Their light complexion and hair helped and she would probably be mistaken as their nanny.
She recalled the day when Ruth came back from the park with Michael in her arms. She was furious. Her face was pinched white and her freckles stood out like tiny specks the colour of sea sand. “You know what they called Michael? Black! All because I intervened when a bunch of kids harangued a Jamaican lady and her little girl. They obviously thought that Michael’s father was West Indian. I will not stay a moment longer in London. “
They couldn’t stop Ruth. “Let her go,” Hugh had advised May. “Ruth needs to find her feet, be more independent. She will feel more useful if she finds work. Leaving London might do the trick. We can help her set up home, find a local school for Libby, give her some seed money to get her started. Anything. I think it is time we let her go.” So May let Ruth leave and felt a part of her wrenched away.
Hugh was proved right and for that May was thankful. Ruth seemed revitalised. Work gave her a sense of self-respect. That was possibly what she needed.
For want of something to do, May took out a sandwich and bit into it. The two ladies on the bench turned. “Have I seen you before?” one asked. “Do you work in that Chinese eatery round the corner, the one with the hanging ducks and roasted meats in the front window?”
May shook her head. “No! I...”
“Well then, ... Sorry!” Their interest waned as fast as it was aroused and they returned to their chatter leaving May little chance to say anything else. The woman who had asked the question shrugged. “Difficult to tell them apart. I wanted to ask her the recipe for the roast duck,” May heard her say.
***
The door clicked shut. “I’m back,” Hugh called.
May switched off the gas stove and placed aside the wooden spoon she was using to stir the rich sticky sauce in the saucepan. She could hear him taking off
his shoes. She hurried out to the hallway.
“That smells wonderful. What is it?” Hugh wrapped her in his arms and gave her a resounding kiss.
“Duck roasted with five types of spices; cinnamon, cloves, fennel seed, star anise and Szechuan peppercorns, roasted and ground to a fine powder. And of course salt. I did it on the spur of the moment, prompted by ... something I heard today.” May thought of the comment made by the woman in the park. “It is in the oven and I have a rich plum sauce to go with it.”
“Yum! How did you learn to cook this way?” Hugh looked ruefully down at his middle and patted his belly.
“Fu Yi.” May returned to the kitchen with Hugh in tow. “A cup of tea?’ she asked. “Lin is having a nap. I will wake her up soon or she’ll not settle down this evening.” She busied herself with the kettle and teapot.
“Good day?” he asked. He stood behind her and slipped both arms around her waist.
“The same. We went to the park and had a picnic. Lin played. And you? Any news of what is happening in Malaysia?”
Hugh released May. His face became grave and his voice serious. He had been following news from Malaysia. “From today, Singapore is no longer part of Malaysia, just two years since its formation. It is now an independent and separate sovereign state.”
May gasped. The teaspoon she was holding fell with a clatter on the table.
“This has taken everyone by surprise. I suppose if we think about it, it is inevitable. I must confess that I had found it hard to believe that Singapore would accept the conditions set for her inclusion into Malaysia. Apparently the tiny island would have to foot thirty-five percent of Malaysia’s Federal budget and contribute forty to sixty percent of its revenue. And of course, with its predominantly Chinese population, Singapore is viewed by its mainland neighbour as a potential threat to the balance of political power. This is probably the reason for Malaya’s ready agreement to have Singapore leave. Some say that Singapore was actually booted out.”
Where the Sunrise is Red Page 27
