by kendra Smith
She lay down on the pillow, the air thick with the citronella scent of insect repellent and the noise of the cicadas chirruping outside, and she wondered what was ahead of her.
12
Olive
Olive sat with her back bolt upright in the chair. There was a birthday today in the residents’ lounge. What a funny name: ‘residents’ lounge’. She played with the words in her mouth; who on earth else would be in it, if not residents? She stifled a giggle. All that faded flowery wallpaper and the faint smell of urine, slight mildew, or cabbage on a good day. It was hardly the Ritz.
She was in one of her favourite chairs, the one with the solid cushions and firm back to it. Not that flimsy rattan thing over by the French doors – that was the Last-Chance-Chair, or at least that’s what she called it. Beryl always managed to get lumped with it. Served her right, actually, if she couldn’t be bothered to get to the activities on time. But it was her birthday today, wasn’t it? She really had better hurry up or she would be left with the lousy chair again.
‘Olive dear, here’s your tea.’ Kind Clare was handing her some tea in a cup and saucer. They had a thing about using odd cups and saucers. She’d overheard the Entertainment Manager, Lucy, calling it ‘shabby chic’. Just plain shabby, if you asked her. How hard was it to match a cup and saucer? Olive frowned as she clutched the bone china saucer with gilt edges and noticed how much the teaspoon rattled.
‘There’s two sugars in there, Olive, just as you like it.’
Talks to me like I’m five years old. Olive smiled at her and carefully took a sip of tea. Hot. Always forgot to tell them she took milk.
‘Where’s the milk, love?’
‘But you don’t take milk, Olive.’ Clare glanced across the room at another nurse, then looked at Olive again. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll get you some.’
When had she changed her mind about milk? She sat there for quite a while wondering. It would come to her. It always came to her later.
‘Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you…’ She found herself singing the words and smiling at Beryl. She was eighty-seven today. She’d been in Maybank View House for five years. She was wearing a yellow crepe paper hat and looked mildly ridiculous, like an aged toddler. She had a string of pearls around her neck, so Olive knew she’d taken time to dress up – the pearls only came out on birthdays and Christmas. Clare was holding out a cake; it was a sponge cake with vanilla icing (Olive knew all the cakes that Maybank View did) and it also had jam in the middle, strawberry. Olive liked that. There were two sparklers on the cake and Clare made sure she placed it on a table right in the middle allowing everyone a good view of the ‘celebration cake’.
‘Happy Birthday’ was coming to an end. Beryl was beaming and clapping her hands. Olive liked her, she was in the room just down the corridor from her, but there was something missing, something Olive couldn’t place. She supposed it was the dementia. How many of her ‘friends’ around here were their true selves? Everyone was somewhat ghost-like, wandering around the corridors. You never knew, as they came towards you, who you would be meeting – would it be on-the-ball-Beryl, frustrated Beryl or would it be Beryl of ten years ago, who thought her husband and daughter were still alive? Or, occasionally, Beryl asking Olive if she’d seen her tennis racquet. She hadn’t played since she was twenty.
Olive wondered what it must be like to think your daughter was still alive, then suddenly, about three times a day, be told that she wasn’t. How unfair it was to outlive your children. At least she had Maddie. She hoped Maddie was grabbing hold of her life in Bournemouth – or wherever it was she went – on holiday. Began with a ‘B’. Olive sighed, took another sip of her Earl Grey and winced. Awful tea. Who puts milk in Earl Grey?
13
Maddie
There was a knock at Maddie’s door. She’d negotiated her own room with a lot of sign language – and it was across the hall from Ed’s. She jumped. It was the day after Ed had been released from hospital. He was safely tucked up in his room with magazines, an exorbitant bottle of Lucozade, his phone and laptop, and instructions to text her if he needed anything. What he really needed was rest. She’d almost cancelled her trip today. But what was she going to do? Sit in that dingy room?
She ran to the bathroom and peered at her face. She quickly applied some more mascara. There was something in the air that made her feel like she was young again, that she could do anything. Her heart did a little flip thinking about visiting Bali’s Tirta Empul temple. She didn’t really want to analyse why she was applying make-up to places she normally didn’t, she just shoved that little niggle to one side.
She opened the door to see Johnny standing there in cut-off denim shorts and a pink T-shirt, which had a picture of a woman in green bikini bottoms surfing topless on the front. The words ‘Babes who surf’ were scrawled across it in white writing.
‘G’day!’ He grinned at her.
‘Nice T-shirt!’ She raised her eyebrows and smiled up at him as he rubbed the stubble on his face. Only someone like Johnny could get away with a T-shirt like that.
‘Glad you like it! Right, it’s good you’re wearing long shorts – we’re going by motorbike. C’mon.’
Motorbike? She’d assumed it would be a cultural trip, a bus tour maybe with some loud Americans.
She was becoming intoxicated with Bali’s simple beauty and the little surprises on every street corner: a tiny Hindu shrine under the shade of a banana tree, the tangerine sunsets flooding the skyline or the toothy grin of the woman at the kiosk selling coconut water.
Tim had texted last night.
When you coming back? Surely Ed can survive on his own?
It was true, but something stopped her.
Ed’s fine. But staying another week – or so – to keep an eye on him.
‘Hop on.’ The chrome of the bike gleamed in the sunshine. Johnny revved it up.
‘Going to take you to the Holy Water temple near Ubud then on to Ginger for satay – it’s the best joint for satay in Bali, well, in Ubud, anyway.’ He grinned. ‘Got your cozzie?’
She swung her leg over the bike and nodded.
*
Maddie was trying to ignore how her thighs were clamped firmly next to Johnny’s and that her arms were squeezing him tight around his waist. She could smell him through his T-shirt, the sea coupled with the sweet smell of cocoa butter.
‘All right?’ he yelled over the traffic, as he reached a hand back and squeezed her thigh.
‘Yes,’ she lied as cars, pushbikes and scooters whizzed past, sending fumes into her face, and endlessly beeping their horns. The smell of petrol filled the air, and she leant her face into Johnny’s back. At one point, Johnny took a corner very sharply and she swore they’d come off the bike; she clung on even tighter, her nails digging into his chest, as she felt him tense up too. But once they’d turned the corner and straightened up, she found herself laughing. Maybe it was relief.
Maybe it was because she felt alive.
After a while the crazy-busy roads of Kuta thinned out and they travelled along a slightly rougher road with potholes. She laid her head on Johnny’s back and took a deep breath. Banana trees flashed past, changing the shadows on the road to zebra stripes as the sun flickered off and on her face. The scenery slowly opened out and rice paddy fields flanked them on either side, the lush wide greenery making a welcome change from the busy beach scene. There were some domes of grey cloud building up on the horizon, but the rest of the sky was sapphire-blue. There was so much more to life than Little Rowland, wasn’t there?
‘Maddie!’ Johnny was slowing down and turning in to a gravelly lay-by. ‘Look! Over there, a baby monkey!’
A tiny monkey – grey and white, adorably cute and fluffy – was clinging on to a tree. Just then, the mother appeared from behind the trunk and the baby clambered onto its back.
‘Need to watch them, though,’ Johnny said as he started the engine again. ‘They can pick your pockets – especial
ly the ones in Ubud. Be careful.’
Pick your pockets? She couldn’t really believe something as cute and tiny as that was capable of stealing.
‘Not far to the temple.’ Johnny revved up the engine and sped off again.
*
The temple wasn’t what she expected. For a start, it was enormous. She’d imagined some small shrine on the top of a hill, a few monks wandering serenely by. Johnny had gone to the booth and bought two tickets. He was now holding out a soft yellow-and-green batik sarong for her and he’d knotted a blue checked sarong around himself and slipped on a long-sleeved shirt over his T-shirt.
‘Put this on – you can’t come in without covering up.’ They wandered through the main doors onto the central courtyard – a large open space with worn stone under their feet. She looked beyond the walls of the temple at the canopy of jungle outside. The temple was an oasis amid the sweltering heat, offering shade and tranquillity, the fragrant smell of incense sticks lingering.
As they passed by an open-air pavilion, she stopped. She was struck with the ornate wooden pillars, engraved so intricately. The filigree work on the overhanging eaves must have been painstaking work. ‘So this is Tirta Empul,’ Johnny explained, as he led the way. ‘It’s pretty much one of the biggest water temples in Indonesia – dedicated to Vishnu, a Hindu God.’
‘You’ve been here before?’
‘Only with people who’d get it.’ He glanced at her. ‘Means “holy water spring” in Balinese. Shall we take a dip? This way.’ He led her to a small door at the end of the courtyard and stood next to it. ‘Jaba Tengah.’ He nodded to the water. There were several people all bathing in the murky pool, waterspouts gushing from the wall. They were submerged in the water, holding it up to their faces, as if in a shower, wetting their hair. Tourists as well as locals were bathing in the cool water.
‘What’s the point of these?’ she whispered. It seemed wise to whisper; they were, after all, in a holy space.
Johnny shrugged. ‘For me, I’m bloody hot – it will be good to take a dip.’ He laughed, the crinkles at either side of his eyes bunching up. ‘But the locals believe it’s got magical powers.’
Most of the women were wearing T-shirts in the water, so Maddie quickly changed into her swimsuit in a small cabin, but kept her T-shirt on too. It was cool next in the water, a relief from the overhead sun on the ride up to the temple. Once they were waist-high in water, there seemed to be some sort of ritual going on, with people moving from one stone waterspout to another.
She and Johnny stood on the stone floor beneath and watched the proceedings, not wanting to interfere. There were stone carvings of elephants, and pale green moss had settled between the slabs of stone on the walls. A musty, damp smell in the inner womb of the courtyard mingled with the sweet smell of burning incense whilst the pale green leaves of the banana trees swayed in the breeze. Patches of water shimmered as shafts of sunlight cut through the shadows. There was a thatched umbrella giving shelter to a small temple on the side, an incense stick with smoke rising slowly from it, burning amongst an offering of fruit. It was all so… Maddie searched for the word – erotic! No… exotic.
She felt a jolt of electricity as Johnny touched her arm, awakening something in her. When was the last time she’d felt that? The reunion. Oh, Greg.
‘Like it?’ Johnny was standing next to her, nudging her in the ribs, bringing her back to the silent waters. It was hard not to notice his tall frame, the water dripping off his toned chest, his tanned broad shoulders, and how his muscles rippled when he held his arms above his head to sweep the water off his forehead. She caught him staring at her wet T-shirt then he quickly glanced away.
‘It’s very magical.’ She smiled up at him, breathing in the sweet woody smell of the burning incense.
‘Knew you’d love it, but time to get some food – right? There’s a new tasting menu at Ginger I want to try out.’
As she was getting out of the water, she was aware of Johnny’s eyes on her. What would he think of her? She glanced quickly backwards. ‘Hey, what you looking at?’ she tutted at him self-consciously.
‘Looks fine to me.’ He grinned at her as she quickly turned and walked to the cubicles. As she changed again, she checked her phone in her money belt. There was a text from Ed.
Where are you?
Should she say she was with Johnny? That did seem an odd thing to say. But why would she hide it? A range of emotions swept over her, from defiance (I can do what I want, surely?) to anxiety – was Ed all right?
She quickly texted back:
With Johnny – testing out new restaurant in Ubud. U OK?
Ed texted straight back:
Be careful!
She slipped on her shorts and the fresh T-shirt from her rucksack. Be careful? Of Ubud? Or Johnny?
Outside, Johnny took her hand and yanked her towards the car park. ‘C’mon, we’ve got some satay to eat!’
Laughing, she ran alongside him and hopped on the motorbike. What could go wrong?
14
Ubud was a twenty-minute drive back to the south. She laid her head on Johnny’s back and watched the paddy fields flash past her, a green patchwork set against a backdrop of tropical sky, as if the white plumes of moist air and blue swathes of sky were melting into each other. She was amazed at the terracing, how the farmers had carved out steps of rice fields into the hills. As they pulled in at a junction, a farmer balanced a bamboo pole with two baskets on either end, each filled with greenery. He was in a dirty grey T-shirt, a royal-blue sarong tied around his waist. The humidity and thick clouds were both gathering pace, hanging in the air. As they slowed down, sweat collected in the crevices behind her knees and elbows.
The road into Ubud was narrow and full of potholes; a stray dog with only three legs barked at them, then limped away as they pulled in.
Johnny locked up the bike and then gestured to a small side road. ‘This way.’ Temples flanked the road, with stone statues of various Hindu gods, adorned with flowers. A young girl in a green dress with lace at the edges was carefully placing a bright pink flower on top of an elephant statue next to the restaurant.
‘What’s that?’
‘Hibiscus,’ said Johnny, picking one from a nearby bush. He leant in towards her and placed it behind her ear. It was such a gentle gesture. She wanted to capture the moment.
‘Hold on.’ She smiled at him. ‘Let’s get a photo.’ And with that she and Johnny put their heads together and they grinned at her phone as she took a selfie of them by the restaurant doors.
‘C’mon.’ Johnny nudged her. ‘I’m starving!’
Inside was tiny and crowded. The walls were a warm terracotta colour swathed in batik art. In one corner a stone Buddha sat serenely surrounded by white, waxy frangipani flowers. Small scrubbed wood tables had been paired with metal chairs and a white linen napkin marked each place setting.
‘Hey, Mr Johnny!’ A squat man came up to them and he and Johnny high-fived each other.
‘New friend?’ said the man, winking at Johnny and nodding to Maddie. ‘You give me good review?’
‘You give me good satay!’ Johnny grinned. ‘Maddie, this is Leng.’ Johnny introduced her as he led them to a small table by the wall.
The first dish that arrived was satay smothered in peanut sauce. There were also tiny swirls of light green pickled cucumber on the edge of the plate, a cut lime and a bright red chilli. Maddie bit into the succulent chicken, which came away tenderly from the bamboo skewer; it was easily the most delicious thing she had ever tasted. The peanut sauce was coconutty and rich, with a sweet but salty taste.
‘Good, eh?’
‘Unbelievable,’ said Maddie, wiping her mouth with a napkin. ‘I’m not used to this.’
‘So, what are you used to?’ Johnny was looking at her in a peculiar way.
‘Fish pie?’ She shrugged. ‘OK, I’m used to a small village in Hampshire, doing a weekly Tesco shop, being a part-time dinner lady at a local scho
ol and…’
‘And your husband?’
She kept it simple. No backstory.
‘A wine salesman. He travels a lot, meaning I’m home alone quite a bit. When Ed was still around—’ she shrugged ‘—it was fine, but now—’
‘Now you’re lonely?’ She couldn’t look him in the eye. She just nodded as she felt a sting of tears. Was it hormones? Peri-menopause? She’d read about that. She’d read about all the symptoms in some stupid article on the plane and had nearly thrown the glossy magazine across the aisle. All the symptoms seemed to point to it. Hot flushes (sometimes), anxiety and mood swings (well, yes), a feeling of being invisible and loss of confidence (Holy Batman, yes), decrease in sex drive (well, yes, but some weird sex drive of an imaginary sort had arrived in her frontal lobe, and had her fantasising about other people having sex all the time). She shook her head.
A beautiful girl with dark hair and eyes, dressed in simple black trousers and a pink floral blouse tied at the waist, revealing a taut coffee-coloured midriff, came up to the table and placed a dish in front of them. Now, she probably had lots of sex. Maddie!
‘Nasi uduk,’ the girl murmured, then walked away.
Rice and what looked like fried chicken and shredded omelette were beautifully presented on a pale blue china plate.
‘That’s tempe.’ Johnny pointed at it with his fork, he put the emphasis on the last ‘e’. ‘Soya bean cake.’
‘Listen, Johnny, I just wanted to say thank you, you know for saving Ed. I really don’t know—’ She felt her throat catch.
‘You don’t have to thank me,’ he said, smiling warmly at her. ‘Anyone would have done the same. Now, tell me more about yourself.’
She opened her mouth to start, then closed it again. She didn’t know how to answer. She certainly wasn’t going to say that she was scared of becoming invisible. Instead, she took a mouthful of food; it tasted of the beach.