by Dara Girard
“I like what I do. There’s more to life than money.”
Joscelyn smiled amused. “Who’s been lying to you?”
“It’s the truth,” Clara said.
“I see you still have your Gay Best Friend. Is that still in fashion? I haven’t been keeping up.”
“She’s not gay.”
“She?” Joscelyn looked at Clara surprised. “You’re a girl, I’m sorry I didn’t know,” she said casting a look over Clara’s boy-like haircut, tie and trousers.
Clara folded her arms, used to the insult. She’d been mistaken for a man before, but didn’t care because she found the attire more comfortable. “There’s a difference between sexual orientation and gender identification. You—”
Joscelyn turned her attention back to Marie. “Why is she talking to me as if I would care?”
“What do you want?” Marie asked losing patience.
“It’s been so long since we’ve spoken. I just wanted to make sure my little sister wasn’t having a nervous breakdown or something.”
Marie adjusted her glasses. “Because I want to do something worthwhile with my life and help people?”
Joscelyn looked at the old Toyota and small building with pity. “You can help a lot more people without taking a vow of poverty. Although we both know you’re really not because of the money Emery left you—”
Marie tossed Clara the car keys, then motioned Joscelyn over to the side. “What do you really want? Are you worried I’ll say something?”
“Lorna’s mentioned it.”
“I won’t, so you can relax. I like it here. I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize that.”
Joscelyn studied her for a long moment. Her sister was somehow better looking than she had been in the past. Her skin brighter and her eyes not as sad. She wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. “There’s something different about you. What happened in England?”
“I had an awakening.”
Joscelyn stroked Marie’s chin with her forefinger as if she were a kitten. “That’s good.”
“You should try it.”
“That’s cute,” Joscelyn said, cupping her sister’s chin. “So nice to see you finally have a spine.” She tightened her grip until Marie winced. “Just don’t forget that I can break it.”
28
“My goodness she’s chilled to the bone, but I think she’s coming ‘round.”
Voices? Why was she hearing voices?
“That’s a good girl, Evelyn. Come on.”
Evelyn? Who was Evelyn?
“What were you doing out there?”
Catherine slowly opened her eyes and saw a pale wrinkled face, wispy brown hair and sharp green eyes. “You gave us a fright, you did,” the woman said, her voice high like a young girl’s.
“What were you thinking, mucking about out there with a storm coming?” another more serious voice chided her.
Catherine shifted her gaze to the other woman, a lady with silver streaks in her black hair, dark brown eyes and olive toned skin.
“Evelyn, you must—”
“That’s not Evelyn,” the darker woman said. “I just spoke to her.”
“You did?”
“Yes, she rang while you were looking after this one. Didn’t you hear the phone?”
“No, my hearing isn’t what it once was.”
“Ah well, never mind.”
“Are you sure she’s not Evelyn?”
“I just told you—”
The high voice shook her head. “I know, it’s just she looks so much like her.”
“It’s said everyone has a twin somewhere.”
“You think she’s Evelyn’s twin?”
“No, it’s just a saying. I…oh never mind.” A thick, rough hand touched Catherine’s shoulder. “What’s your name, luv?”
Name? Did it matter anymore? But despite her serious voice, and rough hands there was tenderness in her tone and Catherine didn’t know how to respond.
“She’s just come ‘round, don’t pepper her with too many questions,” High Voice said.
“We’ll let you rest some more or would you like something to eat?”
Catherine shook her head and closed her eyes again.
She woke up to warmth. Catherine felt the warmth of the room, the warm smell of something cooking on the stove, the warmth of the quilted blanket on top of her and the warmth of… she paused when she looked around the room. It didn’t suit the image of the two women. The walls were grey and one dark red with posters of women in bikinis and lingerie, another poster with a group of men and the name Wu-Tang Clan and another said NWA.
“Oh good you’re awake,” High Voice said, bustling into the room. “You’re looking much better than before. You looked like a right dog’s dinner when we first found you.”
Catherine sat up. “Thank you,” she said, unable to avoid looking at another provocative image.
The woman noticed Catherine’s glance. “This is my boy’s room. I haven’t had a chance to tidy it up yet. He’s actually at uni, can you believe it?” She threw up a hand. “God the noise that used to come from this room. ‘You call that singing?’ my man used to say when he was still alive, God bless him and they’d get at it, but now with him gone the house feels too quiet.”
Catherine nodded. She wasn’t used to people talking to her. She didn’t know the last conversation she’d had. She was usually behind a mask and offering help.
“Well, with you better, why don’t you freshen up? Evelyn brought over a change of clothes, I apologize but what you had on isn’t very suitable out here. Too flimsy.”
Catherine took a shower. They’d cared for her. It was the first time in years someone had cared about her. Wondered about her health, talked to her like a person. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she dressed.
But when she joined them in the kitchen, none of her sorrow could be detected. She sat keeping her gaze lowered. Even when they presented her with a potatoes and leek casserole.
“I have nothing to give,” she said. “But I work hard.”
“Never mind that now,” Dark Hair said with a wave of her hand. “We’re just glad you’re all right.”
“Where were you heading?”
Catherine shook her head. “Nowhere.”
“Then where are you from?”
“Nowhere.”
“That can’t be right, dear. Everyone’s from somewhere.”
“And to be honest there aren’t many of the likes of you out here,” Dark Hair said.
“Orla,” High Voice said embarrassed.
“I’m being honest. You can count them on your hand. I bet your boy’s got more of them on those posters in his room than we have in the entire village.”
“But you’re very welcome here,” High Voice said with a smile.
“I didn’t say she wasn’t welcome, just that she’s—”
“My name is Grace,” she cut in, sending her companion a look. “And this is my sister Orla.”
“Same father, different mothers in case you were wondering.”
“I doubt she was wondering that.”
Orla shrugged. “People do, might as well tell them.”
“And what’s your name, dear?” Grace said eager to change the subject.
“Catherine.” She sipped her tea. She had no plan, no place to go if they could give her a place maybe that would give her time to figure things out. “I’m a good worker. I can clean your house.”
“Oh, we already have help,” Orla said.
“But,” Grace added seeing the look of dejection on Catherine’s face. “We can always use more.”
“We can’t pay you—”
“But you’ll have room and board.”
That was something. That’s all she needed. “Thank you,” Catherine said.
“Don’t you have any family?” Grace asked.
“No.”
“You still look worn out, go and have a lie down and we’ll talk more later.”
Cat
herine nodded and left the room, but as she climbed the stairs she heard Orla say, “Are you sure this is wise?”
“She needs help.”
“She could be trouble.”
“With a sweet face like that? Don’t be stupid.”
“Don’t judge a book by its title.”
“Cover. And I’m hardly doing that. I selected Evelyn, didn’t I? And didn’t she work out well?”
“You’re right, but it’s going to be strange to have two of them, don’t you think?”
“The likeliness is striking. Let’s hope they get along.”
29
Evelyn Williams could have been her twin. Catherine could see why Grace and Orla had initially been confused. She looked as if she and their housekeeper could have been sisters. But that’s where the similarities ended. Evelyn was more refined, carried herself as if she were mistress of the house and spoke flawlessly. She barely gave Catherine a glance and could be brusque and impatient when Catherine didn’t do things to her exact specifications, but Catherine never took offense.
She’d learned about the other woman’s life in bits and pieces from Grace and Orla. She’d learned that she was not much older than her and had once been married to a wealthy businessman who’d emigrated from Jamaica, but who had lost his fortune in a bad investment and his business soon went bankrupt. He died soon after. She had no one else and he had no family since he had no siblings and both parents were dead. She’d had an elderly aunt who’d raised her and passed on so she needed a way to make a living and offered her services as a maid.
Catherine learned to stay out of Evelyn’s way as she admired her from a distance. She was too grateful to have a place to stay and work to do to be bothered by Evelyn’s curt manners.
One early morning that changed. She’d overslept by five minutes and hurried to change, afraid that she’d meet Evelyn’s wrath. She was pulling on her blouse when she heard a gasp behind her.
“Dear God what happened to you?”
Catherine spun around and saw the horror in Evelyn’s face as she stood in the doorway. Catherine wasn’t surprised to see her. She’d gotten into the habit of leaving the door of any room partially open. She didn’t like locked rooms or closed doors and she’d never been granted privacy so didn’t consider it. But for the first time she wished she had. She’d forgotten how ugly her body was—how it was marred by scars. She wanted to hide like an animal. The animal she’d been. The one kept in a cage, the one beaten, the one fed scraps and worked from morning until night.
Evelyn looked suddenly contrite. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean.” She held up another set of jeans and a pink shirt. “I thought you might want these.”
Catherine nodded and took the items, setting them on the bed.
“Who did this to you?” She lowered her voice. “Are you running from a man? A husband or boyfriend?”
Catherine bit her lip and shook her head. For so long there had been no one to tell her story to, but now she had a chance and she wanted to. Needed to. So in a monotone voice, distancing herself from the ten year old she’d been in Lagos, the sixteen year old in the Salako household, the twenty year old who’d become Epic, she told Evelyn everything until she came to the present moment. Halfway through the story Evelyn had collapsed onto the bed as if her legs had given way, by the end tears had stained her cheeks.
She waited for Evelyn to say, ‘I don’t believe you’ or ‘That couldn’t have happened’, instead she stood up and hugged her and said, “I thought you may be using the kindness of the sisters, that’s why I was a bit short with you. I had no idea you’d suffered so much. You poor thing.” That’s when the waterworks burst forth and Catherine sobbed and Evelyn cried with her and that’s how Orla and Grace found them.
“What’s going on here?”
“Can I tell them?” Evelyn whispered.
Catherine nodded.
So Evelyn told the sister’s a condensed version of Catherine’s story and soon they were in tears as well.
“You don’t worry about anything like that,” Grace said, wiping her eyes with a tissue as she sat on the bed. “We don’t have any of that here.”
Catherine nodded. She’d learned not to argue.
“But we still have to be careful,” Orla said. “She’s got no papers. She’s not here legally.”
“But we can’t turn her out. She has no place to go.”
“But aren’t we just as bad as them, keeping her here when it isn’t right and above board?”
Catherine pressed her hands together, understanding Orla’s fears, but not wanting to be tossed out. “Please, mah.” She rubbed her hands together. “I’ll cause no trouble.”
“Quiet, child,” Grace said with a soft smile. “We know that.”
Orla frowned. “It’s not you we’re worried about, it’s—”
“Who’s going to ask questions?” her sister cut in.
“Someone might.”
“For now she’ll just be a cousin of mine,” Evelyn said. “No one will question that.”
Two weeks later, Evelyn caught Catherine leaving the living room after dusting and stopped her.
“You must stop walking like that.”
Catherine blinked. “Like what?”
“With your head down and stooped as if you don’t want to be noticed.”
“I don’t wan’ notice.”
“Want,” Evelyn said putting emphasis on the ‘t’. “And yes you do. You’re a pretty girl. How you present yourself is essential. It tells people how to treat you. You’re no longer in bondage. Come on. Chin up, back straight. Yes, now walk. Good, keep looking ahead. Eyes focused on the horizon. Good.”
It was scary at first. Many times Catherine expected to get scolded by Grace or Orla for her new posture, but instead they’d inadvertently call her Evelyn and ask her to make their favorite pudding.
On their day off, Evelyn took Catherine to a pub in town and said, “Your speech is very different. You slide into a strange pidgin English and sometimes American expressions and British ones. When did you start doing that?” Before Catherine could reply, Evelyn shook her head. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. How you speak now will limit you. It’s a mishmash of too many things. I’m not a snob, but the broken English just won’t do. You must speak slowly, with purpose. Expect people to wait to hear what you have to say, that’s how you control the conversation.”
“Control? Why?”
“Why would you want to control a conversation?”
Catherine nodded.
“So that people don’t waste your time and you’re able to get your point across.”
“Statements such as ‘Is no good here’ or ‘sit down’ becomes ‘I don’t like it here.’ ‘Please take a seat.’ Now you try.”
“Idon’tlikeithere, pleasetakeaseat.”
Evelyn waved her hand. “No, that sounds like gibberish. You’re talking too fast.”
“People no listen, unless...” I’m reading their dreams.
“Unless what?”
“Nothing.”
“They will. And you can’t say ‘dat’ or ‘dis’, you must put your tongue between your teeth and say ‘this’ and ‘that’. Round your vowels and pound your consonants. You must have more confidence in yourself.”
“Dere’s no point. I’m nobody.”
“There,” she corrected. “And how can you be a nobody, when you’re somebody to me? To Miss Grace and Orla? If you want a better life than this, then you must study and work hard.”
Catherine shrugged. She didn’t believe her, but she wouldn’t argue.
“There aren’t many of us here. I think it was fate that brought us together. I’m not going to be here forever.”
“You’re leaving?” Catherine asked afraid that she’d soon lose her new friend.
“Not yet, but hopefully one day,” Evelyn said with a mysterious grin, but didn’t expand. “When I’m gone you need to be able to handle yourself.”
Catherine nodded.
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“Will you do as I say?”
Catherine nodded again.
“Don’t just nod. Say it. Say yes.”
“Yes.”
“Good. Next time I want you to say it a little louder. Don’t be afraid of the sound of your voice.”
That night, Catherine went to sleep with a happy heart. She had someone who believed in her. A friend. She hadn’t had a friend in so long…
And for the next year she did all that Evelyn told her to. Studying gave her a purpose, something to do, something to aspire to. She didn’t see all that Evelyn was determined to teach her doing her much good, but it made the days and weeks melt away. She read stories she’d never heard before. Children’s stories she’d missed and then novels, and books on science and math, computers, music, history.
“What’s the point of learning all that stuff?” Orla had asked her one day when she saw one of Catherine’s books on Greek civilization left on the kitchen table. “You’ll never use it.”
Catherine just shrugged, but when she told Evelyn about Orla’s comment, she said, “Pay her no mind. She has a good heart, but she doesn’t see you the way I do. Or how you should see yourself. Her nephew’s off to uni studying heaven knows what and no one will bat an eye, but someone like us picking up the Greeks, now that’s a laugh, isn’t it? We’re just hired help. I say let them laugh. You must depend on yourself. I learned too late not to depend on a man for all my needs. I should have known a lot more than I did. Knowledge is important, but growth even more so. The mind must be used like a muscle or it goes limp. That’s why most people’s lives are unhappy. They let others do the thinking for them.”
Catherine nearly wept at her words. Her mind. She had her mind, something that had been with her all this time. It was powerful, it was a tool, and it was something that could get her out of this one day. Someday. Evelyn was giving her permission to think again, to feel again. To be her own woman. Her sisters had tried to see her destroyed. She would disappoint them, but before seeing them again she had to plan. My name is Catherine Ojo she wanted to say, but kept her mouth shut. The time would come, but not yet. Not now. Now she still had a lot to learn. She wasn’t clever like Marie and had to sometimes read things twice and take notes before grasping, but she did.
