by Roma Tearne
Frieda read swiftly.
Only two of them know what I have been going through. Christopher and Aloysius. Who would have thought it possible, that my drunken husband, the man who wasted my money, who gambled away my home, should have kept me sane through these terrible days! Even though I have betrayed him with another man.
Frieda gasped. In an instant her world seemed to have turned upside down.
Nothing will bring Vijay back, nothing can change the past and yet, in spite of everything he knows, Aloysius does not judge me. How can this be? All he wants, he tells me, over and over again, is that I can be happy again. Poor Aloysius. I never knew how much he loves me. I will never leave him, never, never. We have both suffered enough.
The sound of her father returning made Frieda jump. Shutting the diary, she hid it quickly. The palms of her hands were sweating and she was breathing rapidly. It was the servant’s day off and Aloysius would want a cup of tea.
Later on, after they had finished their evening meal, she read to Aloysius from A Tale of Two Cities. But all the time she was distracted by the words she had read about a man whose existence she had not known of until this afternoon. My mother? she thought incredulously. The past rolled like thunder. She sensed a passion she had never experienced in her own life. I always lagged behind, she thought, behind Alicia, behind Thornton, behind all of them. Life has passed me by. There had been the business of Robert Grant but she could no longer even remember his face. She was impatient to get back to the diary.
Aloysius had had enough of Dickens. Frieda switched on the radio so he could catch the evening news. The Sinhalese newsreader warned the fighting was very bad in the Batticaloa area. The Tamils were bearing the brunt, being stopped suddenly and hauled away at roadblocks, never to be seen again. The sky had begun to darken; the evening was over.
‘Look,’ Aloysius said, with pleasure. ‘Your mother’s jasmine bush is opening its flowers. She must be thinking of us!’
The air was fragrant with perfume as Frieda stared out into the garden, seeing it with her mother’s eyes. Her mother as she had never known her. A sentence repeated itself in Frieda’s head.
Until everyone can have the same opportunities, Grace had written, until we stop this cruel caste system, until everyone is given the same chances, my dearest Vijay will have died in vain.
Tomorrow, Frieda decided, I will go to the orphanage and offer my help. I will see what I can do to give some Tamil child another chance.
Anna-Meeka failed her physics, her maths and her chemistry A levels. Biology was a borderline pass.
Her father, sounding like a reversing lorry, shouted, ‘Retake! Retake!’
But in the end even Thornton could see it was useless. Anna-Meeka did not have the makings of a doctor. Savitha, watching her daughter slowly turn into a bad-tempered beauty, was at a loss as to what they might do for the best.
‘Perhaps you’re right,’ she conceded reluctantly. ‘We should think about introducing her to someone from Sri Lanka.’
It was Saturday afternoon and as usual Meeka had gone to her friend Gillian’s house. She was meant to be revising for the retakes. Thornton gave the grass its last cut for the year and came in for his cup of tea.
‘I can’t do any work,’ he said, abruptly. ‘I’m too upset by her results. After all our hard work, after the struggle we had to get to this country, she’s ended her schooling with no career. She won’t become a doctor now, men.’
He sat at the kitchen table, defeated. Savitha said nothing. She too was upset, but for different reasons. Anna-Meeka’s wanton behaviour was what confused her.
‘How’s she going to manage when we die?’ Thornton asked belligerently. He waggled his finger at Savitha. ‘She has no brothers, no sisters. She can’t go back home. So who will look after her? At least if she had become a doctor she could have got a job anywhere in the world.’
Savitha closed her eyes. She was tired of listening to Thornton and worrying about their daughter.
‘Well, you’re not a doctor and we managed,’ she ventured. ‘I told you, you should have let her do her music. Maybe she could have become a music teacher.’
Thornton snorted. ‘How much money d’you think she’ll make as a music teacher, for God’s sake?’
‘Stop shouting, she’ll be back in a minute.’
If Anna-Meeka were to hear them there would be another one of their eternal arguments. Savitha was sick of them. Gone were the days when they could tell Meeka what to do. Gone was that sweet smile. These days Meeka was eager to pick them up on more or less anything they said.
‘She has no respect,’ Thornton fumed. ‘In Sri Lanka, girls have respect for their elders.’
What d’you know about the girls in Sri Lanka? thought Savitha, wearily. But she didn’t say this. Nor did she tell him that only the other day she had noticed Ranjith Pieris staring at Meeka a little more intently than he needed to.
Meanwhile, the subject of their concern was standing on the corner of the street talking to a group of teenagers from school. She was carrying a pile of books.
‘Where’s you been, Meeka?’ one of them asked her.
‘None of your business,’ said Meeka, tossing her long mane of hair and laughing. ‘I’ve been revising for my retakes.’
The group gave a disbelieving guffaw. ‘That’s what you tell your parents, Meeka, not us!’
Meeka smiled demurely. ‘Must go,’ she said, ‘talking of parents! I’m late and they’ll kill me.’
‘Oy, Meeka, what’s that on your neck? You got a love bite, or ’ave you been bit by a snake?’
Anna-Meeka, ignoring them, was running towards her house. Her father was sitting drinking his tea. He looked nervous and her mother looked cross. She guessed they had been having an argument. She took a deep breath. There was simply no easy way to do this.
‘I’ve got a job,’ she said, bending her head low for the shrapnel which would soon be whizzing around the small kitchen. ‘It’s at the hairdresser’s. They’re going to train me while I work. Then when I’m older I can set up a salon. So you don’t have to worry about my future any more.’
She had expected disapproval, but to her surprise Thornton had looked merely crushed, and although her mother had glared at her and folded her lips, she too had said very little. This silent disapproval had been unnerving but the relief of leaving school was so great she didn’t care. She had given up trying to please her parents. When she was not learning how to cut or shampoo hair, she spent her time daydreaming. Music continued to fill her head. The sounds followed her everywhere, faint echoes that haunted her waking moments and sometimes also her sleep. She listened to Elgar and to Vaughan Williams and she listened to Benjamin Britten’s Curlew River until she knew it by heart. She spent all her money on cassette tapes which she listened to on a pair of headphones. It made it impossible to hear her parents’ complaints.
One evening, on her way home from work, she bumped into Philippa Davidson. Why did she have to meet her when she smelt of shampoo and hairspray, looking her worst with nothing to say? Oddly enough Philippa did not seem to notice. She appeared really friendly. Meeka listened curiously as Philippa Davidson told her she was going to university. Of course, thought Meeka a trifle sourly. Clever, sorted-out Philippa was going to read English at Oxford. Meeka could not think of anything to say in response, but Philippa, hardly noticing, promised she would not lose touch.
That winter Meeka began to write a new piece of music. Every evening after work she would sit at the piano and work on it. Occasionally Savitha would stop what she was doing and listen. Her daughter’s music was strangely beautiful. It always reminded her of home, fleeting images and snatches of conversations, memories from that distant life, all just out of Savitha’s grasp. When she tried to talk about this to Thornton he would shake his head and refuse to be drawn. His daughter was eighteen; he had given up.
A new pattern began to emerge. Most evenings, after Meeka had spent some time at the pia
no, the three of them would eat their meal of rice and curry. They no longer laughed or argued as they used to. Then when the plates were cleared and if it wasn’t too late, Meeka would go round the corner to Gillian’s house. No one stopped this new-found freedom. No one dared.
‘Don’t be too long,’ her mother would say.
Her father would look at his watch, pointedly. ‘Shall I come and meet you?’ he would ask tentatively each time.
And each time, Meeka would tell him, easily, ‘There’s no need, Dad. Gillian always walks me back.’
She was never very late and they knew Gillian, so they said no more.
One night after dinner Jacob phoned unexpectedly and Thornton went to meet him at the White Hart. It was the first time in months that Thornton had seen him.
‘Don’t drink too much,’ Savitha warned, but she spoke mildly.
‘No, no,’ Thornton said. And he went out.
It was with a sense of relief that he began to recount the changes in his daughter to Jacob.
‘She’s always out,’ he said, ‘visiting that friend of hers, Gillian. She’s completely dropped her studies. Even Savitha can’t understand it. Can you believe it, a de Silva working as a hairdresser? After all we’ve been through to get her to this country.’
‘Forget it, Thornton,’ Jacob said, shaking his head. ‘Haven’t you noticed? Everything’s changed. All the old values are slowly being lost. The young people from our country just want to integrate with these white fellows.’
He looked at his brother not unsympathically, for he knew how ambitious he had been for Anna-Meeka. Coming here had been a gamble, they had always known that. Jacob himself was not without troubles of his own.
‘It isn’t any easier for me,’ he said. ‘The twins are fighting with next-door’s children. Aiyo, they’re all ready to start a war! Geraldine just laughs and says boys will be boys, but I’m worried about where it will lead.’ Really, Jacob was appalled. ‘I’ve got the Irish situation right on my doorstep, you know, men.’
Lately, now that he saw less of Thornton, Jacob had come to feel a lingering affection for his brother. Looking at Thornton’s whitening hair, he felt as though he was watching the tide go out. Helplessly, unable to stop it. He himself was completely bald.
‘Meeka has grown up here, Thornton,’ he said consolingly. ‘You can’t expect her to obey you as though we were back in Sri Lanka. She is part of this system. I told you long ago, women here are different. They do what they want. Look at Savitha. Does she listen to you? Remember when she got that job in the factory?’
Thornton could not deny it. His brief sense of relief had passed. He moved restlessly, wanting to get back and check that Meeka had returned home safely. They finished their drinks and parted. Walking back, crossing Vassall Road in the moonlight, Thornton passed a young couple caught in an embrace. Dimly as he passed, he registered the girl’s slender form and her long dark hair. Thornton sighed deeply and continued quickly down Southey Road, towards home.
At the end of January the weather got colder and snow threatened. Ranjith Pieris came to say goodbye. He was returning home. Savitha gave him some parcels to take back for Frieda and Aloysius. Meeka was nowhere to be seen. Later that evening, not long after he had left, Anna-Meeka came home from the hairdressing salon to find her mother cooking a chicken curry. Her father was reading the New Statesman and did not immediately look up. Meeka did not mind. She went over to the newly installed radiator and began warming her hands.
‘I’m cold,’ she said.
‘Well, why don’t you wear something warmer?’ Savitha told her, bringing a bowl of rice to the table.
Meeka gave her mother an odd look. Savitha brought a dish of ladies’ fingers to the table. Seeing it, Thornton gave a sigh of pleasure.
‘Ah, bandaka,’ he said. ‘Good!’
Meeka grinned. The grin did not quite reach her eyes.
‘I’ve got some news,’ she said.
‘Don’t tell me you’re leaving that bloody hairdresser’s at last?’ Thornton said, mildly.
Savitha looked sharply at her daughter. Some strange premonition made her heart miss a beat. Meeka was shivering with suppressed excitement.
‘Mum, Dad,’ she announced, hardly managing to contain herself, ‘guess what? I’m getting married in the summer!’ She held up her hand, anticipating their questions. ‘He’s from Calcutta,’ she said. ‘And his name is Naringer Gupta. He’s a doctor and he’s dying to meet you!’
Alicia opened her letters over breakfast. Robert poured her some fresh orange juice and signalled the waiter for more coffee while watching her surreptitiously. She looked relaxed. It was the first holiday they had had together. The last few years had been very difficult for him. He was absent as often as he dared but sometimes he suspected Sylvie knew what was going on. He had wanted to confess and leave but Alicia would have none of it. She did not want Robert to hurt Sylvie more than they already did. Every time Robert brought up the subject of his wife, Alicia appeared on the verge of flight. So this was how they had lived for nearly four years. He did not like it but he did not want to lose Alicia either.
A week ago they had arrived by water taxi from the airport. Alicia had never been to Venice. Robert wanted to show her his favourite city. Sipping his coffee he reflected on the previous day. They had had an astonishing night. He had booked tickets for La Clemenza di Tito at La Fenice. It had been a wonderful performance. On their return to the hotel, whether as a result of the music or not, Alicia had gone to the grand piano in the reception area and without any warning played Mozart. Robert had been speechless. Alicia had stumbled a little but the receptionist and a few Americans who were present had burst into spontaneous applause. Afterwards, without a word, she had taken Robert’s hand and led him upstairs to their room. They had made passionate love to the soft sounds of the water lapping outside. This morning the Grand Canal sparkled and shone as though studded with diamonds. Robert felt a lightness in his heart. A change had occurred. It made him afraid to breathe. The day stretched before him. He felt full of optimism and youth.
Alicia was frowning as she read Frieda’s letter.
‘Now what?’ said Robert.
The de Silvas had such colourful lives compared with his own.
‘Frieda is thinking of adopting a Tamil orphan.’ Alicia said. She began reading aloud from her letter.
‘I’ve decided to try to help a Tamil child. They are in a desperate state. If they go back to the North they will simply get sucked back into the insurgent movement, which will mean certain death. I’ve been visiting the convent for some time. The nuns are very grateful for any help they can get. Of course I haven’t said anything to Daddy as yet. He’s very frail and I don’t want to upset him unnecessarily. I wanted to ask you what you thought about the idea. This house is too large for the two of us. Mummy would have approved, don’t you think? Remember how she used to help the nuns?’
‘Well,’ said Robert. ‘Why not? She is a remarkable woman. Why not?’
‘Mmm,’ Alicia said uncertainly, ‘I suppose so. She was wonderful with Anna-Meeka when they lived there. She was wonderful with me too,’ she added softly.
Robert nodded. He wondered how much Alicia had told Frieda about him. For all their differences, he knew the sisters were closer than was at first apparent. There was only so much Alicia divulged to him and there were some places where he felt unable to intrude, but he was certain Frieda knew. Alicia was opening her other letter.
‘It’s from Thornton,’ she said, surprised.
The waiter brought them more coffee. Outside, coins of sunlight danced a ballet on the water. A traghetto packed with businessmen was crossing the canal. Robert felt impatient to show off the city to Alicia.
‘Does he know you are with me?’ he ventured.
Alicia shook her head, briefly. Then she began to read her letter.
‘Oh no,’ she said suddenly. ‘Oh my God, no!’ She looked at Robert horrified, her mouth moving
soundlessly. Then she threw her head back and began to laugh.
‘Now what?’ Robert asked again.
‘Oh, Robert,’ said Alicia. ‘Oh my goodness, Robert, you’re not going to believe this!’
Robert smiled. It was good to hear Alicia laugh.
‘Honestly, that girl!’ Alicia continued, barely able to speak for laughing. ‘Would you believe, Anna-Meeka has just announced she is getting married. To an Indian! Thornton is beside himself!’
So that was that. She was getting married and the de Silvas were in uproar. The telephone lines were almost on fire.
‘Well,’ said Jacob when he heard, ‘why are you so surprised? At least she told you before she did it!’ Try as he might, he could not resist the dig.
‘Has Princess Meeka blotted her copybook then?’ asked Geraldine, picking up one of the twins and kissing him.
‘An Indian! But why an Indian?’ asked Savitha flabbergasted.
Her daughter’s foolishness amazed her. Meeka glared at her mother and self-righteous rage kicked in.
‘Mum,’ she shouted, belligerently. ‘He’s a doctor! What’s the matter with you? He’s not English. What’s your problem? I thought you’d be pleased.’
Savitha was speechless in the face of this new development. She stared at Anna-Meeka helplessly.
‘You better get used to it, Mum,’ Meeka was saying. ‘We’re getting married anyway.’
What was wrong with her parents? she asked Gillian in despair. ‘They’ve spent my whole life telling me how they hated all my white friends. Now I’m marrying someone like them but they’re still not happy. And he’s a doctor, for God’s sake! You’d think my dad would be happy, wouldn’t you? What the hell do they want?’
Gillian had no idea. Meeka’s family had always been a mystery. ‘What will you do?’ she asked.
‘Get married, of course,’ Meeka said, shortly. She wished for the umpteenth time she had parents like Gillian’s. Nice, quiet English people. The sort of parents she deserved. ‘I’m worried Naringer will think they’re freaks. He hasn’t even met them yet. God knows what sort of a wedding we’ll have at this rate.’
