– We were talking about the family in Nairobi last Sunday. I couldn’t remember their name.
– The people you stayed with?
– Yes, the Sumners. Alexandra and Iain. It came to me just after you’d gone, of course. They’d been in Kenya for years, came out between the wars, he was in construction as far as I remember. They were both from Scotland in any case and Alexandra grew up in Fife, like your grandmother. I think that’s why she took to her.
It was still warm out when they finished eating, and still just about light. Alice said they should make the most of it, take their glasses into the garden, and she sent Joseph ahead with her grandad, promising to bring out coffee for all of them. The sun was just behind the roofs when she brought the tray out onto the patio, the bottle of wine they’d started over dinner wedged under her arm. The sky was still bright at the horizon but the long back gardens around them were just shapes of shed and fence and tree. Joseph had smoked half a cigarette out there while they were waiting for Alice to join them, watching the planes go over and the light slip out of the day. The old man had sat next to him, not saying anything, and when Alice came out, Joseph thought maybe he should have asked him something about Africa: kept the conversation going for her sake. But when she started pouring the coffee, David picked up anyway.
– No long evenings like this so close to the equator. More like a light being turned off. Took some getting used to. Kenya was like that altogether, somehow.
Alice passed a cup to her grandad and he nodded his thanks, told them Nairobi was quite high up, over five thousand feet, and the air could be cool all day, but the sun still so strong that it burned.
– I learnt that to my cost, sitting out in the Sumners’ garden, writing home. Only half an hour, and with a sweater on, but come evening the tops of my ears and the backs of my hands were pink and sore.
Alice sat down next to Joseph, opposite her grandad, who was looking out at the darkening garden. He said he remembered the gardener in Nairobi, and the pride he took in the Sumners’ lawn. Alice was sitting forward in her chair, holding her coffee but not drinking it, watching her grandad. He said that at first glance the grass looked like the suburban patches he knew from home, but it was tough and springy to sit on, not soft.
– That’s the kind of thing I mean: things out there were familiar and unfamiliar at the same time.
– Were they quite wealthy then? The Sumners. To have had a gardener.
– Comfortable. Nothing more. They weren’t at all keen on Baring, the governor, I remember that. Iain Sumner thought he was far too heavy-handed, the way he dealt with the Emergency. Thought the British might be a steadying influence, the military, I mean. On the Kenyan police, on settler politics. The Sumners would probably have counted as liberal.
The old man shrugged, and said that if you were white, and had any money at all, you had servants. Told Alice he’d had a dhobi boy up at the airfield, did his washing and ironing, and when he came to the Sumners’ house, they assigned a maid to him. He could remember her bringing vinegar solution, for his sunburn, and that she never wore shoes.
– None of their house servants did. Had them all barefoot. Alan would smile at that one, wouldn’t he? It would confirm things for him, I’m sure.
Joseph watched Alice blinking, and was glad when she said nothing: he knew her step-dad and David didn’t have much time for each other. The old man hadn’t been up north to visit them for years, and it was a bit of a sore point with Alice’s mum. Joseph didn’t mind listening to David reminiscing, but he didn’t want to get into their family politics, not this evening anyway. He had a job starting tomorrow, out in Kent, and a long drive in the morning. He’d switched to juice after dinner because he’d come over here in the van. Alice and her grandad hadn’t drunk much more than a bottle between them, but Joseph could still feel the difference. Alice had to go to work in the morning as well, but she wasn’t checking her watch, neither of them were, too wrapped up in talking. Joseph rolled himself another cigarette, thought it was someone else’s family, people he didn’t know, not really, and maybe that’s why he couldn’t concentrate. He’d seen the pictures in the living room, Alice’s mum and gran, and Alan, and he knew what David looked like too, when he was young and in uniform. Should try putting those faces into the stories he was hearing, maybe. David was talking about the people he stayed with again. Saying how they invited him to everything, but he knew he wasn’t obliged to attend.
– It was a good arrangement, because I was still quite weak. Being ill was a lonely business, away from the squadron, all the men who knew me. It sometimes helped to join the guests out on the veranda or in the drawing room. I wouldn’t stay long, but I liked to listen to their conversations for an hour or so. Gave me the illusion of company at least.
– Gran said she didn’t go to them much.
– No, your grandmother had started working again, at the hospital, and I suspect she used to take her time about coming home, to avoid them. It meant I didn’t often see her. I certainly enjoyed the evenings most when she was there.
Alice smiled at her grandad, and Joseph felt a bit awkward, sitting between them, watching her listening, and the old man getting lost in the telling. David said he’d been introduced to Alice’s gran the day he arrived, but he wasn’t told much beyond her name. She usually sat opposite him at the breakfast table, a young woman he’d assumed was a recent migrant, staying in Nairobi while her husband set up a farm or a business, and a house for them in another part of the country.
– What did you talk about?
– We didn’t actually. Not at first. I think we both enjoyed having someone to be quiet with while all the others were talking. I found out about her from other people. One of her husband’s colleagues used to come to the sundowner evenings. He worked for the same construction firm, and they had dealings with Iain Sumner too, as far as I remember. They were all connected to each other somehow, British in Nairobi. Knew each other’s business. I didn’t have to press the man. I think it was only the second time I met him that he told me Isobel was divorcing her husband.
– Were you shocked? About Gran, I mean.
– Perhaps a little. But then I was quite pleased too.
They were both smiling now, Alice and her grandad, and both of them were quiet. Joseph didn’t want to interrupt them, but it was gone ten, and he needed to get moving. He’d arranged to drop Alice off at her flat, but thought maybe she’d want to stay talking with her grandad and make her own way home later. He wanted to give her the option anyway, but he didn’t know how to put it without sounding rude. Do you want to stay on? Because I should shoot off now. Didn’t like the idea of Alice going home alone either: too far to cycle all the way, but getting too late to stand around on station platforms on your own. He shifted forward a bit in his chair to get her attention, but then David sat up and said it was getting late.
– I shouldn’t keep you any longer.
He looked at Joseph like he knew he wanted to be off, but the old man wasn’t offended. More like he was being polite: ending the evening so Joseph didn’t have to. Alice was disappointed, he could see that. She stayed in her chair for a minute while her grandad started picking up their glasses. Joseph stood up to help him, but the old man told him to stop, said he would do the washing up after they’d gone, and then shook his head, smiling, when Alice protested. As they were walking back into the house, Joseph thought Alice was wrong about her grandad on one count anyway: she’d told him David wasn’t good with people, but here he was, smoothing their way to the door. Making up for the stopped conversation, indulging Alice in a bit of friendly bickering. She was still on about doing the washing up while they put their jackets on, but the old man held his hands up, said he wouldn’t hear of it because Joseph was a guest and she’d done most of the cooking. He came to the gate with them, held out an envelope to Joseph as they were leaving:
– Thought you may as well have these.
House keys. Joseph
could feel them through the brown paper, walking to the van with Alice, one hand on her waist, the other gripping the envelope.
He dropped Alice off at her flat, got her bike out of the back and watched her wheeling it up the path. She waved from the front door and then Joseph waited until he saw the hall light go on upstairs before driving away. He didn’t go straight home like he’d planned, drove past the turning for Eve’s and then doubled back on himself. She came to the door in her pyjamas.
– You alright, Joey?
Eve had stayed angry with him for about a year after he joined the army, the only serious falling out Joseph could remember. She came to his passing out parade, but refused the drink he bought her after in the bar. She’d dressed up, skirt and blouse, but couldn’t bring herself to do more than that, standing with her face closed while everyone else in the room was laughing and chatting. Teasing Joseph’s mum, because she’d cried when she saw him in uniform: Joseph’s dad said she’d missed half the parade, dabbing at her eyes with his hankie. Eve was the only one who didn’t join in, and Arthur told Joseph she gave their mum a row after, in the car on the way home. Went on at her on the motorway for a good twenty minutes, said she should be crying real tears about it, save the sentimental bubbling for weddings. Joseph’s dad pulled over in the end, told her to leave off being such a stupid cow, spoiling the day for everyone, so she started in on him instead.
– He’ll be sent off to God knows where for God knows why and get blown up for his pains. You’ll see. Somewhere he’s got no argument with in the first place, more than likely.
Joseph’s dad laughed: he wasn’t convinced.
– What’s that supposed to be? Politics?
– Might be.
– Since when? Never heard a peep out of you before now.
– My brother wasn’t in the army then, was he?
Eve was shouting by that stage, and she said it was her dad’s fault Joseph had enlisted, because he hadn’t tried hard enough to stop him.
– Not even nearly.
Three years later, Eve lent Joseph enough to buy himself out. It took him as long again to pay her back and she told him it didn’t matter, would have written it off, only Joseph wouldn’t let her. He knew she didn’t want it back, but she never argued with him about the money, and as far as he knew, she’d never told their mum and dad about it either.
Eve made him a cup of tea and they sat in the front room. Joseph hadn’t seen how late it had got, and thought he should make some excuse, but nothing came to mind.
– You had a row with Alice?
– No. Just wanted to come and see you.
He couldn’t think how else to explain it. Eve was sleepy, said she was sorry for yawning, pulled her legs up under herself on the sofa.
– Do you want to stay over? I can get the spare duvet down.
– Yeah, alright.
– Art’s due in from his shift about six, I’ll leave a note for him so he doesn’t wake you.
– No, tell him to give me a shout, I should get moving about then anyway.
Joseph hadn’t done this in a long time. Stayed here in the spring, after Arthur’s birthday, but that was different: they’d all had too many that night, and he just couldn’t be bothered going home. Turning up like this was much more like he used to be, years ago, but if Eve was worried, she didn’t let it show. She tucked the sheet around the sofa cushions with him and then kissed him goodnight. Said she’d most likely leave with him in the morning, because it was a market day tomorrow, and that was that. Both talking like this was normal made it feel that way too.
Seven
September came and Alice was allowed to take some time off again: she’d used up most of her last year’s holiday looking after her gran and hadn’t been away in ages. Joseph planned a week in Scotland with her for the end of the month, and Alice booked a train up to Yorkshire first, to see her mum, spend a bit of time with her out on the Dales, at her step-dad’s place. Joseph was due to finish off a job for Stan, so he wouldn’t be able to join them this time. He had some free days, but they were in the middle of the week, and he thought he’d spend them working at David’s.
He took Alice to the station. The idea was to drop her off at King’s Cross and drive on to work, but when they got there he decided to look for a meter, said he wanted to come in with her.
– Won’t you be late, Joe?
– Doesn’t matter. We might get a space by the arches if we’re lucky.
They had to park a couple of streets away from the station in the end, and they were cutting it fine for her train by then, so Joseph took Alice’s rucksack because it meant they could go a bit faster. He’d wanted to make it a proper goodbye, but the half-jog up the platform made it all a bit hectic. And then the train was packed, and it was hard to say anything to each other with all the people trying to shove onto the carriage past them, both out of breath and sweating. Alice smiled down at him from inside the door.
– I’ll give you a ring later, yeah?
– Yeah. Take care of yourself.
– You too.
She pushed the window open further, so she could reach an arm out and touch his face.
– Don’t spend all your days off at my Grandad’s, will you?
Joseph walked along the platform, watching her through the windows, as she found her seat and lifted her bag onto the rack above. This time next week, he’d be getting on the same train and she would be meeting him off it at York: the plan was to have some lunch with her mum and step-dad before getting another train further north. He stayed on the platform, by her window, but Alice had a paper with her, and started leafing through it after she’d sat down, so Joseph thought she might not look out again. He felt a bit stupid then, waiting for someone who didn’t know he was there. But when the train started moving, Alice raised her head. Saw him, and then lifted a hand to wave to him, surprised. Looked almost shy, pleased to see him still there, and then Joseph was glad he’d stayed.
There was no answer when he rang the bell, so Joseph went to the garage and got changed before he let himself into the house. It was cool and quiet in the front room and strange to be alone in there, so he put the radio on and set to work quickly, rolling up the rug and standing it in the porch, ready to take out to the garage for safekeeping later. Laying out the dustsheets, he noticed for the first time the dark, worn wood on the arms of the old man’s chair, and the red and green light falling on the carpet through the coloured glass panels in the tops of the windows.
– Joseph? Is that you, Joseph?
The voice was upstairs, muffled by distance, and it took him a couple of seconds to adjust: not alone. He turned down the radio.
– Yeah. Only me. I rang the bell earlier. I thought you weren’t in.
No reply. Joseph wasn’t sure what to do, and why the old man hadn’t answered the door. He went out into the hallway, listened a moment and then called:
– I’ll be making a start down here then.
But he stayed where he was, looking up the stairs to the empty landing.
– No. Come up, Joseph. Would you come up, please?
The old man’s voice sounded further away than upstairs, and it didn’t seem right to Joseph somehow. Halfway up to the landing, he saw the trapdoor to the attic was open, the old wooden ladder pulled down and sagging on its hinges. He thought, Jesus. And then: fucking stupid. Took the rest of the stairs two at a time, thinking David must have climbed into the loft and fallen, but when Joseph started up the ladder, the old man was above him, stooping over the hole in the gloom.
– I haven’t been up here for years.
He was smiling.
– Found a few things to show you.
One of the bulbs had gone, but the other still cast its forty-watt glow at the far end by the water tank. Joseph moved slowly away from the square light of the trapdoor, careful where he put his feet, waiting for his eyes to adjust. Lagged pipes and loft insulation, trunks and crates and cardboard boxes. In the m
iddle was David, watching him, nodding.
– We can see well enough, can’t we?
He pointed at the dead bulb.
– Didn’t want to risk another journey down and up that ladder again to get a spare from the kitchen. Isobel’s knitting patterns.
He gestured to a box next to Joseph’s leg, stuffed with magazines, their pages swollen with damp.
A trunk was open next to them, clothes, summer dresses, pastels and florals for a middle-aged woman. David lifted one of them out, held it up.
– I’d forgotten all of this.
The dress hung from his fingers but he was still smiling, and Joseph had to look away, down at the square of daylight next to him in the floor, and the landing below.
– Sorry. I didn’t call you up for this. Thought you might be interested in my old service things.
The old man was making his way over to the water tank, head ducking the roof beams, one arm out to steady himself. He sat down on a trunk and pulled a small box up onto his knees. Joseph followed, hunched and careful, squatting down next to him under the dim bulb.
– I was looking for pictures of Isobel to show Alice. Found these. Our squadron.
Men in uniform on wet tarmac. Maybe a hundred or so: five or six rows of them in front of an aeroplane, the propellers on either side marking the edges of the frame. The men were arranged behind one another in tiers, the heads of the top row level with the wing.
– See if you can find me.
He passed the picture over and Joseph tried but they all looked the same. Front row on chairs, hands on knees, the men behind them standing, arms by their sides. All stiff backs and cheerful faces.
– Fourth row down. Third from left.
David prompted, but he didn’t seem offended. And then Joseph thought the face did look like him: long with a thin mouth smiling, but then so did the man next to him. All with their caps on.
– That was Norfolk. This was Kenya.
Afterwards Page 9
