I was feeling very happy at the prospect of having an extra day off work to put my feet up and pig out in front of the telly. Patsy had actually made an effort to clean up the house, and for once we managed to get through almost the entire evening without an argument. I was cutting her plenty of slack, because even though she seemed to have handled the loss of our mother with little outward sign of it affecting her, I knew that deep down she was still very damaged from everything that she’d been through. And in the weeks leading up to Christmas I’d become concerned that she seemed to have lost her zest for life.
Up till then, she’d spent all the money she got from the dole on women’s magazines and told me that she was still pursuing her dream of becoming a model – though I saw no evidence that she was doing anything about it; she spent most of her time at home, absorbed in the words and pictures of other women’s lives. At the beginning of the summer, she had started going out on the odd weekend, dressed to the nines in outfits that she’d cannibalised from the clothes she found at the charity shops on Streatham High Road. One skill she’d learnt from our mother was sewing, and I often marvelled at the creations she conjured from scraps of material, or dresses that were far too big for her. Some nights she didn’t return home at all, but when I tried to confront her about it, she would scream at me to mind my own business, and then lock herself in her room.
Tonight, though, she seemed happy to be at home with me, and we were quickly drunk on the cava and giggling like schoolgirls watching some puerile comedy on the telly.
‘Well, do you have any New Year’s resolutions?’ I asked her, as I drained the dregs from the bottle into our glasses.
Patsy looked at me with amazement, as if I’d asked her if she wanted to be an astronaut, or something. Then she swallowed what was left in her glass and stood up. ‘I haven’t got any resolutions,’ she said.
‘Really? There’s nothing at all you want to achieve this year?’ I persisted.
‘No, absolutely nothing,’ she said, stretching and yawning at the same time. ‘I’m tired. I’m going to go to bed.’
‘Don’t you want to wait up to see Big Ben?’
‘I don’t care for no Babylon Big Ben,’ she retorted.
‘Huh, where did that come from?’ I said.
‘Where did what come from?’
‘I’ve never heard you express a political opinion before,’ I replied.
Patsy shrugged her shoulders. ‘Maybe I’m just taking an interest in my roots and culture,’ she said.
I eyed her in amazement. ‘Well, I’m very pleased to hear that,’ I said. ‘It’s good to know you’re interested in something apart from fashion.’
‘Trust you to take the piss,’ Patsy snarled.
I put my glass down and stood up.
‘I’m sorry, Pats,’ I said. ‘I didn’t mean to be sarcastic. I’m pleased, I really am.’
‘Well, I’m glad you’re pleased, sister,’ she said as she headed for the stairs.
‘I am,’ I replied. ‘And, for what it’s worth, I’m looking forward to this year. My degree is going really well and I’ve decided to talk to my tutor about how I can go on to train as a teacher.’
Patsy eyed me from the bottom step. ‘You’d make a good teacher,’ she said. ‘You’re good at bossing people around.’
I caught the hint of a smile on her face and burst out laughing as I watched her clump her way upstairs to her bedroom. It felt like a small victory. But as winter ended and spring began, and everything started blooming again, my relationship with Patsy seemed to worsen, not get better.
It was a blustery evening in March, well beyond midnight, and the third consecutive night that I had had to get out of bed to open the door to stop Patsy’s incessant banging.
‘What on God’s earth is going on with you, Pats?’ I said, noting her dishevelled state. ‘You’ve got to tell me, right now.’
‘Nothing,’ she said, pushing past me into the house.
‘Well, just so you know,’ I shouted at her retreating back, ‘I was accosted by the neighbours when I got home from work this evening, and they said that any more of that loud music you play all day long and they’ll be calling the police. And what have you done with your key this time?’ I added in exasperation.
Patsy stopped halfway up the stairs and turned to face me. ‘It’s none of your business,’ she shouted, ‘and you best keep out of things that don’t concern you.’
‘But you’ve made it my business, Pats,’ I replied. ‘I’m exhausted from getting up night after night to prevent you from breaking down the front door, not to mention waking up the whole street. And how many keys have I replaced now? This can’t continue, Pats. We could end up losing this place, and then what?’
Patsy’s glazed eyes registered little interest in anything I was saying.
‘You look terrible, Pats,’ I said. ‘Do you need a doctor, or something?’
‘No doctors. I’m okay,’ she slurred.
‘Well, get some rest then,’ I said, ‘and we’ll try to sort out whatever it is in the morning.’
I followed her upstairs and climbed into my bed, but it was hard to go back to sleep, especially as I could hear Patsy pacing around in her room. At some point I must have drifted off, because I awoke with a start and saw from the illuminated dial on my alarm clock that it was five in the morning. All I could hear was the wind sighing in the plane trees that lined the street. I got up and crept across the landing to Patsy’s room, but before I could even open her door I felt a cold breeze from downstairs. I ran to the top of the stairs and looked down to see the front door swinging open. Patsy was nowhere to be seen.
After a week had gone by and she still hadn’t returned home, I called Auntie Madge. I was consumed with worry, but Auntie Madge seemed surprisingly indifferent.
‘It’s either drugs or men, or both,’ she said. ‘Your sister was here a couple of days ago demanding what she described as “her inheritance” from your parents’ property. She was on edge the whole time. She said she needed money for food, but I don’t believe it was hunger that was making her behave so badly.’
‘But she gets money from the dole, Auntie Madge. It’s not much, but I pay for all our food, and everything else. I hope you didn’t give her anything?’ I said.
‘I am afraid I did, Erna,’ Auntie Madge replied. ‘I didn’t feel that I had a choice. She was in an awful state and I didn’t want the younger children to get wind of it. And there was a man leaning up against the car she arrived in. I was caught on the hop so I gave her twenty pounds, which was all I had in my purse. I tried to tell her that there were problems with the house, but I don’t know how much of that she took in.’
I had no idea that she had changed her mind about wanting money from the house. Mother had left everything to her six children in her will, and her husband having died intestate meant the house and everything in it had belonged to her. But Patsy had been adamant that she wanted nothing that came from either her mother or her father. Uncle Herbie had been dealing with the sale of the house, but it was in such a bad condition that he’d had to arrange for it to be renovated first, so there was no inheritance for any of us yet. Anyway, I was pretty sure that drugs were at the bottom of Patsy’s change of heart, because the way she’d been acting before she disappeared was as if she’d had a complete personality change. But the one thing she had never done before, at least not to my knowledge, was bring a man to the house.
‘Who was this fellow who was with her then?’ I asked.
‘Oh, he was one of those rasta people,’ Auntie Madge said. ‘He told me he was taking care of Patsy, helping her through her difficulties, though I very much doubt it.’
‘So, are you thinking this man doesn’t mean Patsy any good, Auntie?’
‘Erna, I can only tell you what I have seen with my own two eyes. I just don’t trust these rasta people. For all I know, your sister may have got caught up in something she may not be able to get herself out of. Can you belie
ve she didn’t even ask after the children?’
I suddenly felt guilty, as if this was all somehow my fault. ‘I am so sorry about Patsy’s behaviour, Auntie Madge,’ I said. ‘I promise you, I’ll give her a good talking to when she comes home.’
‘Erna, your sister is a grown woman,’ Auntie Madge replied, ‘and you don’t have to apologise for her actions. She’s going to have to learn to take responsibility for herself at some point.’
It was the end of April before Patsy finally showed up back at our house. I had spent nearly every night waiting up for her, and then late one Friday evening, just after I’d gone to bed, I heard the tell-tale scraping around the front door lock as Patsy struggled to insert her key. I leapt from my bed, dashed downstairs and pulled the front door open. Patsy pushed passed me, her head hunched on to her chest, and staggered towards the kitchen, before tripping headlong over the pile of books that I’d left beside the dining table. She muttered something to herself before crawling to the sofa and promptly passing out. I found a blanket in the cupboard under the stairs, which I draped over her, before heading back to bed, feeling safe in the knowledge that there was no way she’d be getting up any time soon.
She showed no sign of waking the following morning and I thought it best to leave her to sleep off whatever it was she’d taken. It was early evening when she finally surfaced and wandered into the kitchen. Her face was creased in an ugly grimace and her hands trembled as she tried to reach for the mug of strong black coffee I poured for her.
‘Let it cool down a bit,’ I said, placing the mug on the counter.
‘Erna,’ Patsy said in a pained voice, ignoring what I’d said and picking up the mug, ‘you have to understand, I’ve told you before, I’m not like you. I’m tarnished goods. Dirty goods. The only people who want me are others like me.’
I was so horrified I couldn’t think what to say to her in reply. Patsy glared at me for a moment before continuing.
‘Look, I have to go, Erna. I need my thing.’
She attempted to walk out of the kitchen, but she only made it as far as the doorway.
‘You need your fix, is that what you mean?’
‘No, Erna, I don’t need no fix. You got me all wrong, girl.’
‘Well, at least let me help, Pats,’ I said. ‘I could arrange for you to talk to someone. A psychiatrist perhaps.’
‘So that’s what you think is it?’ Patsy railed, this time managing to keep her balance as she headed into the front room. ‘My little problem, is it? My life gets totally screwed over and I get the blame, and my own sister tells me I’m mad. Thanks for nothing, Erna. You and your psycho-whatever can fuck right off!’
‘Patsy,’ I cried, chasing after her and gripping her hand to prevent her from leaving, ‘I’m trying to help you, can’t you understand that?’
But Patsy seemed oblivious to what I was saying. ‘You must be mistaking me for Mum,’ she continued, ‘but let me tell you right now, no one is going to bang me up in some crazy hellhouse for the rest of my life. I’d rather be dead. I used to believe you really cared, Erna, but you know what? You just wanted to fucking gloat all along. The only person you really care about is Erna. You’re Mum’s daughter alright! Fucking only care about yourself.’
I grabbed Pasty’s arm in frustration, but she shook it loose.
‘Pats,’ I shouted, ‘how can you say such horrible things, when all I have ever done is try my best to help you? I don’t know what more I could have done, and I certainly don’t have a clue what to do now. That’s why I think you need to talk to someone who can help you get that stuff out of your head, so you can put it behind you once and for all. I’m your sister, Patsy, not some bloody doctor, and I love you, don’t you understand?’
When she didn’t respond, I tried to grab her again, but once more she squirmed from my grasp.
‘Pats!’ I pleaded.
‘No, Erna, I have to go. I‘ve had enough. I have to go.’
She headed towards the front door before spinning around to face me. She pulled herself up to her full height and addressed me in a low, calm voice. ‘We waited, Erna. We waited. Clifton, Sonny and me. We thought Grandpa Sippa and Grandma Melba were going to come and get us. Come and take us back to the village. Sometimes when I was in the house doing one of the endless chores that my horrible Aunt Ruby piled on me, I would swear I could hear Grandma Melba’s voice out in the yard. I would rush to the window, but it was never her. They never came, Erna. No one came.’
I listened to my sister’s words with tears streaming down my face, but I had no idea what else I could say to make her feel better, apart from to tell her what I remembered.
‘Pats, for months we had no idea where you’d been taken. Grandpa Sippa and Grandma Melba never gave up searching for you, but what could they do? They were old and there was no way for them to cover the whole island looking for you. When they finally found out where you were, there was still nothing they could do. Your father had every right to take you. You were his children.’
‘Whatever, Erna. The fact is, right now, I really don’t care who knew what, when.’ And with that she strode out of the door and slammed it behind her with all the force she could muster.
I stared numbly at the still vibrating door. Then I dragged myself back to the kitchen and sat down and wept. Her coffee was still on the counter where she’d left it, untouched.
Over the next month, Patsy apparently returned home several times while I was at work, her rapidly reducing wardrobe being the only clue I had to her elusive visits. She was never far from my thoughts, though, and I constantly wondered where she was and whether she was okay. Sometimes, I would imagine a policeman turning up at the door to tell me that her body had been found in a ditch somewhere. In the end, I felt I had no choice but to blot out my worries all together. My exams were rapidly approaching and I was spending every hour when I wasn’t at work revising for them.
I was sitting at the dining table one evening immersed in my studies when the phone rang. As soon as I answered it, I recognised Auntie Madge’s voice and my heart skipped a beat. I was convinced she was going to tell me something bad had happened to Patsy. I took a deep breath and steeled myself for the worst, but I was surprised to detect a note of joy in Auntie Madge’s voice.
‘We’ve sold the house!’ she was saying.
I had to shake my head, so uncertain that I’d heard her right, but she continued in the same happy vein.
‘Your uncle signed over the deeds with the solicitor this morning,’ she continued, ‘so there’s going to be some money for all of you.’
‘Oh my God, that’s fantastic, Auntie,’ I said, as the truth of what she was saying finally got through to me. ‘Thank you so much, both of you!’
‘You don’t have to thank me,’ Auntie Madge said, ‘you children deserve it after all you’ve been though. It’s not a fortune, Erna, but there should be about a thousand pounds for each of you, after all the costs have been covered and a little put aside for the younger children’s care.’
One thousand pounds? It was a fortune to me. I finished the call and went into the kitchen to make myself a cup of coffee. Suddenly, a world of possibilities opened up before me and, as I waited for the kettle to boil, a parade of fantasies passed through my mind. I saw Jennifer and me traversing the globe, looking sophisticated as we swanned around art galleries and ancient ruins. I went into the front room with my coffee, sat down at the table and picked up the copy of Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales that I’d been reading. ‘The Merchant’s Tale’ was surprisingly bawdy and, despite the difficulty I had with the language, I was enjoying it immensely. I took a deep breath and carried on where I’d left off. One step at a time, I thought.
The following Saturday morning I went downstairs to find an envelope stuck through the letterbox. It was covered in colourful Jamaican stamps, but instead of Grandpa Sippa’s spidery handwriting, the address was written in a bold, simple style. I tore the envelope open to discover that the l
etter was from Grandpa Sippa, but it had been dictated by him to one of his grand-nephews. I instantly wondered if his eyes were starting to fail him.
May 1976
Dear Erna,
I hope when these few lines of mine reach you, in the name of the Most High, they will find you well. I am telling this to your cousin Sherwin because my health has gone down and I cannot write no longer as you can see, and I am more or less housebound now. But still, I can’t complain.
I have not heard from you for a long time now, but I know you England people keep a busy life. My brother Basil and his wife want me to come and live with them in St Catherine, but I am too old now to make that kind of journey. And that place is like going to foreign for me. I am happy here in the village, Erna. Miss Blossom is getting on herself, but she still strong and she treats me well and there are still plenty family around who all help me out best they can. We are both born and bred right here in the village and this is where I want to die and bury. I don’t want for a thing and I don’t plan to spend my last few days on this earth being a burden to other people. But I long to see you, Erna. I long to see Patricia, Clifton and little Sonny again. But I am beginning to worry in my heart that it’s not to be.
God’s blessing be upon you. Please write when you can.
Your grandfather, Sippa.
My heart ached reading his words. I put the letter on the table and stared out of the window, thinking that the news about the sale of our old family house was providential. I was just about to read it again when I heard a key turn in the lock and looked up in surprise to see Patsy walk through the door. It was an even bigger surprise to see that not only was she completely sober, but she was glowing with health and looking more beautiful than ever. Her attitude hadn’t changed, though. She ignored me and walked straight towards the kitchen, so I followed her and watched as she perched daintily on a stool.
The Day I Fell Off My Island Page 28