Brixton Beach Read online

  ‘Of course not,’ Stanley said automatically, draining his glass.

  He should go home, he thought again.

  ‘Thanks for everything, Neville,’ he said.

  They shook hands. As he took his hat off the table, he noticed a book on Marxist theory and a pile of sealed letters with Canadian postmarks.

  ‘See you,’ Neville said. ‘I’ll try to come to the harbour tomorrow.’

  As Stanley closed the door, he saw Neville was already reaching for the telephone.

  Sita and Alice had just finished at the spice mill when the bomb went off. There had hardly been a sound, just a muffled thud. Had it not been for her constant worry over Stanley’s safety, the sense of violence brought on by the bomb would have been a welcome relief for Sita. At least a bomb had a certain energy to it. The possibility of danger released some of the tension locked inside her.

  ‘Let’s go home,’ she said, paying for the bag of chilli powder. ‘I want to check Dada’s all right. He’ll probably ring.’

  She hurried out of the mill, dragging Alice behind her. Outside, the sunlight was unnaturally bright, forcing them to screw up their eyes against the glare. Looking up, Alice saw the trees through a filter of fine red dust. A man on a bed of stones begged passers-by for things he would never get. Alice stared at his open, betel-stained mouth.

  ‘Where did the bomb go off, Mama?’ Alice asked.

  There was nothing to be seen, no broken glass, no policemen, nothing. The ambulancemen would gather the scrapings of human life, moving it out of sight quickly and with practised hands. And out of sight would mean out of mind, thought Sita bitterly. For wasn’t it true: what the eye didn’t see did not matter. The phrase was a refrain that never left her. The less she said it, the more she heard it.

  ‘Come on,’ she cried, pulling Alice sharply by the hand. ‘We’ll walk, it’s safer.’

  As they walked they heard the sounds of sirens and ambulances sweeping past, washing over them with an excess of sounds. Sita’s heart was pounding. Pushed and bumped against her mother, Alice dropped her bag of chilli in a hole filled with rainwater. The powder fanned out like coral in an explosion of colour. The city air smelled of a thousand different things: orange blossom hidden in a secret garden, and drains, and the blistering smell of freshly ground turmeric. There was something else, too, something sweet and metallic, like the smell of the fireworks on New Year’s night. They rushed back as quickly as they could.

  It was where Stanley, returning home, his breath smelling of whisky, found them. The first spots of rain were leap-frogging on the dusty ground. The monsoon was breaking with a vengeance.

  ‘Couldn’t you at least ring?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Stanley lied. ‘I had to go for questioning at the police station.’

  And they gave you whisky there, did they? While taking down your statement?’ Sita asked.

  Her eyes glinted dangerously. Alice watched yet another argument break like the rains. Unlike the monsoons, her parents’ rows never showed any sign of stopping.

  That evening, their last together for some time, the meal was eaten in silence. Each of them was deep in their own thoughts. The wind had died down and the rain was abating, leaving faint streaks of washed-out colour against the sky. The dusty sun-faded garden looked as though it had been touched with a coat of paint. Large fruit-bats took up positions on the telegraph line and sparrows that had made nests under the eaves of the house squabbled noisily, but the air of unhappiness inside the house recycled itself over and over again. Stanley glanced nervously at his wife, helping himself to a little more seeni sambal.

  ‘Is there any more mulligatawny left?’ he asked timidly.

  It occurred to him that he would never overcome his inbuilt fear of Sita. Her quick tongue paralysed him, making him feel a fool, leaving him no space to hide. Tonight, she seemed to have finished her litany of woes. The irony of this latest row did not escape him. Sita thought he had been to the Skyline Hotel to waste money on whisky. He could not tell her it was Neville who had been his supplier. Stanley sighed heavily. Was there anyone this wife of his liked? Without warning, the lights went out.

  ‘Good!’ Alice said, pleased. ‘Can I light the candles?’

  Her parents didn’t seem to hear. Her mother was already lighting the oil lamp and her father was scraping the last morsel of rice on to his plate. The sound of it was somehow very sad to Alice’s ears. Perhaps her mother thought so too, for she asked him in a conciliatory voice:

  ‘There’s some fish left, would you like some?’

  Alice watched her father curiously.

  ‘What are you staring at?’ he asked suddenly. ‘It’s rude to stare, especially when someone is eating.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Alice.

  But as always, no one answered her. Her father pushed the last of the food into his mouth.

  Alice,’ her mother said quietly, ‘don’t be rude. Haven’t you finished eating yet?’

  ‘Are we going to the Sea House tomorrow?’ Alice asked. ‘You said we’d go tomorrow.’

  ‘Stop pestering,’ Stanley told her sharply. ‘Your mother and I have a lot to discuss before I go.’

  Are you going to have another fight?’ Alice asked.

  Alice!’ Sita and Stanley said together.

  She didn’t care. She knew they would fight anyway. If not now, then later, before they went to sleep. Why were they pretending they would not? All she wanted was to go to the Sea House. Alice looked at her parents. Her mother’s face was still pretty, but her eyes were unhappy. Her father’s face, glistening with sweat, had a different look altogether. She felt he was excited about something and she suspected he wanted to hide this from her mother.

  Lowering his voice, Stanley began to talk to Sita. He found dealing with his daughter a tricky business. It wasn’t that he felt no affection for her. He was mildly fond of Alice, but he told himself that, with him gone, the child would need to stand on her own two feet, learn to fend for herself. Survive.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ Sita was saying, placatingly, ‘after Dada has gone, we can go to the Sea House.’

  Alice could hear that her mother did not sound excited at all.

  And then, in no time at all, it was the day of Stanley’s departure, at last. A bleary-eyed, tearless Sita watched the dawn rise. So he was going, leaving her alone with not one small gesture of love. Her life with him had begun with the dawn, she thought sadly, remembering the milk train that had brought her to him, hugging the coastline, thrusting onwards with the promise of a new beginning. On that day the sea had been flat and full of possibilities; now it was this same sea that was taking him away to his new life. He was trying to hide it, but she knew all about his delirious excitement. It only served to increase her own sense of isolation.

  The black-hooded golden oriole woke Alice. It had rained hard in the night, but now the sky had almost cleared and the crows were drying out their feathers in the sun. When she went in search of her mother, she found a stream of red ants coming in from the wet, marching steadily through the kitchen. She shuddered, forcing herself not to scream, knowing it would get on her mother’s nerves. The roof in the hall had been leaking again. Sita had adjusted the plastic sheeting over the small hole in the night and placed a bucket under it. Alice could hear her mother moving in the kitchen. There was an unfamiliar smell of kiri-bath, milk rice. Her mother was making the auspicious dish for her father’s departure. The smell reminded Alice of the Sea House. Her grandfather would be here soon, she thought happily.

  She found Sita crouching beside the low stone sink in the dark kitchen, washing saucepans. The old gas stove stood against one wall and there was a series of clay pots lining a shelf. Sita had her back to the door. Alice stood silently watching her. There was something beaten about the way her mother bent over the low sink, washing the pans so quietly. Even her sari, the red and yellow silk, a present from Alice’s father, worn long ago only for special occasions, had lost its lustre. It was old no
w; Alice could see a tear in it that had not been there before. They were too poor to afford a servant. Staring at the sari, it occurred to Alice that her mother spent too much time in this damp dark kitchen. Her heart flexed wordlessly, she wished she could make her mother happy. Turning to place a lid on the pot of rice that was cooking, Sita gave a start at the sight of her.

  ‘I didn’t see you,’ she said sharply. ‘What are you doing? Go and have a wash. Grandpa will be here soon.’

  Fully focused on her mother’s face, Alice saw the sunken cheeks and the dark smudges under her eyes. Sita was painfully thin. Caught unawares by a new emotion, Alice opened her mouth to speak but her mother had already turned her back.

  ‘Where’s Dada?’ Alice asked instead.

  ‘He’s gone to the kade to buy some shaving cream,’ Sita said shortly, sounding tense. There was the sound of a car turning outside and Alice ran to the front door.

  Ah!’ Bee said. ‘Well, look who’s here, then.’

  He alone sounded happy. Alice grinned.

  ‘What have you brought for me?’ she demanded.

  ‘So, I have to bring something each time, do I?’ he asked, raising one eyebrow. ‘We’re going to have to be strict with you once you come to live with us in Mount Lavinia,’ he said seriously. ‘Or you’ll get spoiled. Spare the rod…’

  ‘And spoil the child,’ finished Alice, laughing happily.

  Absolutely!’ Stanley remarked, coming up swiftly behind them with his shopping. ‘Nearly ready,’ he added, nodding at Bee.

  ‘Good!’ Bee said, noncommittal.

  They drank tea and toyed with the kin-bath. The air was tense with unspoken thoughts. Only Alice, overjoyed at the sight of Bee, stopped caring. Finally Bee stood up and began loading the luggage into the boot of the car. Stanley looked around at the annexe where so much of his life had been wasted. Suddenly, desperately, he wanted to be gone, freed of the chains that held him. Good, thought Bee, looking at the ground. Just go. Get the hell out of here, then. Oh God, I shall have to face his mother, Sita was thinking. And his aunts. I shall have to endure it all.

  ‘Who wants to come with me on the launch?’ Stanley asked with false jollity as the car was speeding towards the harbour.

  ‘Me!’ Alice said instantly.

  ‘Right then!’

  Once again Alice detected the curious note of suppressed excitement she had heard earlier in Stanley’s voice. Bee must have heard it too, because he looked sharply in the mirror, accidentally catching Alice’s eye. She had a feeling her grandfather was trying not to laugh. Instantly, happiness rose in her. The sky was clear and very blue.

  ‘I don’t think I will,’ Sita said quietly. She knew she would not be able to face it. ‘I’ll say good-bye on the jetty’

  No one said any more for the rest of the journey.

  The harbour was a strange mixture of tension and emptiness. Passengers were decamped everywhere. Luggage labels spelt out the names of exotic places.

  ‘Sitma Line. P&O Liners, Port Said, Aden, Gibraltar, Genoa…’Alice read out aloud, wishing she knew where these places were, glad she wasn’t going there.

  Sita shivered. She thought the place was terrible. Women in saris carrying their whole life in a bundle, children eating gram for the last time, old grandmothers, pressing a last bottle of seeni sambal on a relative they would never see again. Alice stood open-mouthed and riveted, absorbing the noise and confusion. Never had she seen such a place as this. They had entered an alien world. At last Stanley handed in his ticket and his luggage was whisked away. Instantly, he appeared apart from them, holding nothing except a small plastic briefcase with his few travel documents. He had slung his sweater around his shoulders, but now found this made him unbearably hot.

  ‘Here, hold this for me, Putha,’ he said to Alice, who stood quietly absorbing the activity.

  Bee turned away and lit his pipe and she slipped her hand in his when he had thrown away the match. Looking down at her excited face, Bee winked.

  ‘Should you buy something to eat?’ Sita asked Stanley.

  No one answered her. She felt superfluous to the buzz all around her.

  ‘I think I’ll get something to eat when we embark,’ Stanley said, at last. ‘Oh, look!’

  Ahead of him, in a line of faded cotton saris, were five dark Tamil women. It was Stanley’s mother and her sisters. As she came nearer they could see his mother was crying. She took her son’s face in both her hands and kissed him. Then she nodded in the direction of Sita. It’s all your fault, the nod seemed to say.

  ‘You don’t know how lucky you are,’ she told her daughter-in-law. ‘You at least will see him again.’

  Sita could think of nothing to say.

  And then, in the smallest space of time, with no warning, Stanley, still smoking his last cigarette, was gone. Like a condemned man, thought Sita dully. Thank God, at last, thought Bee and Stanley simultaneously and with enormous relief. The tannoy announced the arrival of the motor launches to take passengers and relatives to the ship that sat a little way out in deeper waters.

  ‘Okay, I’m off then,’ Stanley told them awkwardly, kissing each one; his mother, Sita, his aunts. Then he shook hands with Bee.

  ‘Look after yourself,’ Bee said, adding quietly, ‘and don’t forget the family.’

  Stanley swallowed, wanting to say something, not averse to marking the moment, but not knowing how best to do so. Picking up his briefcase, he glanced at Sita and gave her a last quick hug. Pity touched down fleetingly on his heart; then took off again. He took hold of Alice’s hand.

  ‘She’s coming with me,’ he said, grinning, ‘as a stowaway!’

  ‘No,’ Alice replied, her voice panicky. ‘I’m only coming to see your cabin.’

  ‘Go with her, Thatha,’ Sita murmured with soft, keening desperation so that, seeing her face, Bee nodded quickly and followed them out on to the launch.

  The ocean liner, white as snow with two black funnels, lay at anchor surrounded by a flock of large seagulls. The sea was calm in spite of the night’s storm, reflecting the sun’s rays through a clear lens. Alice caught a glimpse of coastline from an angle she had never seen before, wide sandy coves and fringes of coconut trees looking strange from the water. The land seemed small and the fishing huts and harbour buildings shabby from her low-slung position on the motor launch. They climbed the long, swaying gangway. People seemed to be hanging from every part of the ship, through portholes and on the decks, watching as they climbed. Once on board, everything grew in size. The ship was bigger than it had appeared from land.

  ‘Come on, quickly, quickly,’ Stanley called. ‘If you want to see my cabin, you mustn’t dawdle.’

  But even as they hurried to find it, using the map Stanley had been given, getting lost amongst the faceless corridors, struggling with the heavy doors, climbing lower and deeper into the boat, the great booming sound of the horn was heard and a voice advised all guests to leave. The sound of the ship’s engine had changed and there was a slow creaking of wood. Suddenly Alice had had enough. It was hot and the sickly smell of diesel everywhere made her feel slightly sick.

  ‘I want to get off,’ she said, pulling at her grandfather’s hand. ‘Now!’

  ‘Yes,’ Stanley agreed.

  He too had had enough of this protracted farewell and his father-in-law’s obvious disapproval.

  ‘It’s just a cabin, after all.’

  He turned to Alice.

  ‘Give your Daddy a kiss. Be a good girl,’ he said meaninglessly.

  Alice was hardly listening. Fear was rising in her.

  ‘You’ll have exams as soon as you get to your new school in London,’ he said. ‘So do some reading every day, and look at the history book I gave you.’

  ‘Yes,’ Alice agreed.

  The corridors had become crowded with relatives making their way to the exit as the horn sounded again, more urgently.

  ‘Let’s go, Putha,’ Bee said. ‘Hold my hand.’ And he led the way
down the ladder, past the waving, noisy crowds, down to the waiting hands on the motorboat returning home. But by the time she had found a seat and looked up again at the great ship, it was impossible for Alice to distinguish her father from all the other smiling faces.

  5

  FOUR RED CACTUS FLOWERS BLOOMED on the window ledge in the annexe in Havelock Road. For months Sita had wanted them to flower.

  ‘There’s no point taking them with us,’ she told Alice.

  Alice picked one anyway; then she went outside. The ginger cat from next door came up and rubbed itself against her legs.

  ‘I’ll be coming back, Roger,’ she told the cat.

  Picking him up, she buried her face in his fur listening to the thunderous purrs, but the cat leapt fastidiously from her arms into the jungle of next-door’s garden and disappeared. Alice narrowed her eyes until they were slits, trying to turn them into cat’s eyes. Roger would be here tomorrow and the day after that, while she would be far away at the Sea House. She didn’t like the annexe; it was coated in rain-damp sorrow, dead feelings and useless hope. Nothing had come to much here. Not her mother’s baby or the landlord to mend the hole in the roof. And now they were leaving. The morning tightened like a rubber band around her throat. The lime tree under which she had played for as long as she could remember, squeezing out lime juice into her toy teapot, stood impassively. The sky was becoming overcast again and rain threatened. Sita emerged carrying the suitcase and, almost instantly, as if they had been hiding behind the jasmine fence, one or two of the neighbours, all Singhalese, came out to say good-bye. They kissed first Sita and then Alice. Mrs Pereira gave Alice a round of juggery wrapped in a palm leaf. It had been tied with twine. And Mrs Mehdi gave Sita a packet of tea from the estate where her relatives worked.

  ‘We’re not going to England yet,’ Alice said. No one took any notice of her.