A Place to Call Home

by Carole Matthews

  She makes a gesture, rubbing her fingers together, which I assume means that they’re no longer having sexual relations.

  ‘We’re just mates now.’ Crystal looks askance at the plate of biscuits. ‘Good grief, they’re all gone! You must have been starving.’

  I think it would be impolite to point out that I’ve only had two biscuits and she’s eaten the rest.

  ‘I have no food,’ I tell her. ‘Are there shops near here?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Crystal says. ‘Up on the High Street. Don’t worry about that now though. There’s plenty of food for tonight. I’ll rustle something up later, if you like.’ She puts a hand on my arm. ‘You look all-in, sweetie.’

  The kindness in her voice makes my eyes prickle with tears.

  ‘Chill out for the rest of the day. Get to know the house. Put your feet up. There’s plenty of stuff to keep you entertained. Tomorrow we can take a wander up to the shops together and get you anything you want.’

  ‘I need to buy clothes too,’ I say. ‘But I don’t have much money.’

  ‘You literally left with what you’re standing up in, didn’t you?’

  I bite down the tears that threaten to flow. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then Auntie Crystal will take you shopping,’ she says, clapping her hands together. ‘You should change your image too, sweetheart. That way, if anyone does come looking for you, they’ll find a very different woman.’

  I look down at my shalwar kameez. It’s very worn and dull. Then I look at Crystal’s very small top over her very large breasts and I don’t think I can trust this lady to give me style advice.

  Chapter Nine

  Sabina looks much rested after her sleep and I snuggle up to her on the bed, enjoying the warmth of her small body spooned against mine. ‘I think we’ll be happy here, my child. I do hope so.’

  When we’ve dozed together for a short while and she’s starting to wriggle, I take one of her books out of the holdall and read it to her. As well as buying food and clothes, tomorrow I must find a school for Sabina to attend. I don’t want her studies to suffer as she’s a bright child and I want her to do well in life. The teachers at her last school understood her difficulties and I hope we can find somewhere here that will be as sympathetic.

  ‘One day, I hope that you’ll read out your books to me,’ I say. ‘I used to love to hear how clever you are.’

  My child slips her thumb into her mouth and leans her head against my shoulder, but still she doesn’t speak.

  When I finish the book, I say, ‘We should find something to eat. You must be very hungry.’

  It’s late now. Six o’clock. I like Sabina to be in bed by seven o’clock but it’s been an unusual day and tomorrow there is no school to go to. Her tummy rumbles and that makes my decision. I get my Sabina up and dress her again so that we can go in search of food.

  When we venture downstairs, Crystal is still in the kitchen, but has kicked off her high-heeled shoes. There’s music playing and she’s dancing around in bare feet. ‘Hey, ladies.’

  She grabs Sabina’s hands and twirls her. My daughter looks as if she’s in a state of shock and it makes me smile to see it.

  ‘I’m a dancer,’ Crystal says.

  ‘Ballet?’ I ask.

  ‘Hmmm. Not that kind of dancer. More exotic,’ she adds.

  ‘You move nicely.’

  ‘A lot of people tell me that.’ She laughs raucously. To Sabina’s delight, Crystal goes up on her tiptoes and whirls like a ballerina. Sabina copies her moves.

  ‘My daughter has always wanted to learn to be a ballet dancer, but my husband wouldn’t allow it.’

  ‘Well, now she can,’ Crystal says. ‘She can do anything she wants.’

  She can, I think. Yes, she can. The thought moves me to tears. Perhaps now I can start to take the simple things in life for granted. I can go out of the door when I wish, watch which television programmes I’d like to. Send my daughter to dance lessons.

  ‘I must get a job.’

  ‘All in good time,’ Crystal advises. ‘You’ve done a huge thing.’ She looks at me with sympathy. ‘I know what a big deal it is, believe me. Be kind to yourself for a bit. Chill out. Have you applied for benefits?’

  I nod. ‘Ruth helped me.’

  ‘You’ll get those through soon enough. It’s not a fortune, but it’ll be enough for now.’

  Crystal gives Sabina a big final twirl and my daughter spins across the kitchen like a top. I hope that she’ll laugh out loud, that I’ll hear the lovely sound of her childish giggle once more. But she does not.

  ‘I want you to relax and enjoy your first night with us so, like I said earlier, I’ll rustle something up for us to eat.’

  ‘That’s very kind.’

  ‘I’ve got a black belt in cookery. One chop could be fatal,’ she quips. ‘To be honest, I’m not known for being the best cook in the universe. I’ve been known to burn water. I’m afraid you’ll have to take your chances.’ Peering into the freezer, Crystal says, ‘I’ll make us pizza. OK?’

  ‘Yes. Very nice.’

  ‘You can’t go wrong with pizza.’ She slides three pizzas out of the packaging and cuts off the plastic covering. A moment later and they’re slammed into the oven. ‘Easy.’

  While we wait for the pizzas to cook, Crystal chatters away about nothing in particular. Her words drift over me as I’m too tired to concentrate. Despite her sleep, Sabina’s eyes look heavy again too. She’s been so very brave, my child.

  Then, as Crystal is talking about something she’s seen on television, I jolt back into the present. ‘Can I smell burning?’

  ‘Oh, crap.’ Crystal bolts to the cooker and pulls open the oven door. Smoke billows out. The smoke alarm in the kitchen blares out and she grabs a tea towel, wafting it frantically in a well-practised move until it stops.

  When the smoke has cleared, she lifts the pizzas out of the oven. They are blackened discs of charcoal.

  She looks at the charred offerings despondently. ‘We could scrape them a bit.’

  Then we look at each other and laugh.

  ‘I think they’re perhaps beyond scraping,’ I suggest.

  We giggle again, and Crystal tosses the incinerated pizzas on to the counter with disdain.

  ‘I could cook something,’ I offer. Now my tummy’s growling and I’m worried that Sabina hasn’t eaten properly all day. ‘What else have you got?’

  She flicks the fridge open. ‘We’ve got plenty of eggs and quite a bit of veg. There’s rice and pasta in the cupboards. Any ideas?’

  ‘Have you got any spices?’

  ‘There’s all kinds of bits and bobs here. No one ever uses them, mind.’ Crystal flings open a cupboard to show me. There’s cumin, coriander and a jar of dried chillies. ‘Are you a good cook?’

  I’m reluctant to boast. ‘I think so.’ It was the one thing my husband didn’t complain about, so something must have been right.

  ‘Then perhaps you can show me. God knows I’ll never find the way to a man’s heart with my kitchen skills.’

  ‘I can make a vegetable nasi goreng, if you’d like me to.’

  ‘You’re on. Not a clue what it is, mind you, but it sounds all right to me,’ Crystal says. ‘I’ll peel for you. Or open cans. I can manage that. What do you want?’ She checks in the fridge again. ‘There’s a couple of courgettes, a red pepper and some onions.’

  ‘That will be fine.’

  ‘All of them?’

  I nod.

  ‘Wow. A feast!’ Crystal puts the vegetables on the counter and pulls two knives out of the block. We stand together at the counter and chop them up. I realise that, for the first time in many years, I’m not tense while cooking. I’m not waiting for the front door to open, not waiting to see what mood my husband has come home in.

  ‘We’ll make enough for everyone,’ Crystal says. ‘Though it might be a bit spicy for Joy’s taste. She’s an old stick-in-the-mud, bless her. I haven’t seen Hayden all day, so it’s unlikely
he’ll come out of his room to eat. Sometimes he slides into the kitchen when no one’s around and makes himself a pile of sandwiches. He stays in his room, holed up, until he runs out of grub. I’m guessing he must be having one of his funny days.’

  I don’t think she means the ha-ha type of funny and I feel a ripple of anxiety. The last thing I need is to be in the home of another difficult man. I push the thought aside and continue to measure out the rice, heat some oil in the pan and wait for Crystal to finish chopping the vegetables.

  After a few moments I finally find the courage to ask, ‘Why is he like that?’

  ‘Long story,’ Crystal says. ‘Tragedy really. For now, let’s just say the whole fame-and-fortune thing got to him. Sometimes it overwhelms him. Sad really. He should move on, but he can’t. I’ll tell you all about it one day over a bottle of plonk.’

  I don’t tell her that I never drink alcohol.

  Then the back door opens and an elderly lady with short grey hair comes in. She’s sturdily built and is wearing sensible clothing that seems to lack co-ordination, even to my untrained eye. On top she has a navy sweater with a checked shirt underneath, and brown, shapeless trousers. The lady looks out of sorts, her mouth turned down in a scowl, and she stamps her feet on the doormat as if she’s making a point that no one else bothers to wipe their feet. She eases off her shoes and leaves them positioned neatly by the door.

  ‘Hey, Joy,’ Crystal says. ‘Come and meet our new lodger.’

  She looks at me and I’m sure that she recoils slightly. ‘I didn’t know we were expecting a new arrival.’ She doesn’t look pleased by it either.

  ‘We weren’t. Not until a couple of hours ago.’

  ‘What does His Lordship say?’ Joy casts her eyes heavenwards.

  ‘He’s pleased,’ Crystal assures her. ‘Glad to help someone in need.’

  I wipe my hands and hold out one to her. ‘Nice to meet you.’

  ‘Mine are filthy dirty,’ she complains. But when she eventually holds one out, it doesn’t look too dirty at all.

  ‘This is Ayesha Rasheed,’ Crystal continues. ‘And her lovely daughter, Sabina. This is Joy Ashton.’

  Joy turns her scowl on us. ‘I hope she’s not noisy.’ She nods towards Sabina.

  ‘No,’ I answer levelly. ‘She’s not noisy.’ She is most definitely not noisy.

  ‘Good. This is a quiet house.’

  ‘Don’t be so bloody miserable, Joy,’ Crystal says with a laugh. ‘It’ll be nice to have a kid in the house for a change. It’ll liven us up. We could all do with more fun in our lives. Right, Ayesha?’

  I nod at that.

  ‘How old are you?’ Joy asks Sabina. When my daughter doesn’t reply she says, ‘What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?’

  ‘My child doesn’t speak,’ I explain. ‘She’s not being rude.’

  ‘Oh.’ Joy purses her mouth.

  ‘Sabina’s eight years old.’

  ‘She’s very small for her age.’

  ‘Yes,’ I agree. She’s also seen too much for her age.

  ‘Are you having dinner with us, Joy?’ Crystal brandishes the knife. ‘Ayesha’s making nasi goreng.’

  ‘What’s that when it’s at home?’

  ‘Rice and veg and stuff.’

  Joy shakes her head. ‘I don’t like that foreign food. Not my cup of tea at all.’

  ‘I could make you an omelette, if you’d like something more plain,’ I suggest.

  ‘I can do it myself, thank you very much,’ Joy bristles. ‘I might be old but I’m not incapable.’

  ‘Lighten up, Joy,’ Crystal tuts. ‘Ayesha’s being nice. She’s only been here for five minutes, for heaven’s sake. Don’t frighten her away before she’s even got her feet under the table.’

  ‘Humph.’ Joy stomps out of the kitchen.

  ‘Don’t mind her,’ Crystal says. ‘She’s always like this. She’s just lonely.’ Then she looks wistful. ‘Like the rest of us, really.’

  Chapter Ten

  Sabina and I have dinner with Crystal. Mrs Ashton doesn’t reappear to try my nasi goreng and neither does our landlord, Mr Hayden Daniels.

  ‘You’re one hell of a cook, Ayesha,’ Crystal says. She pinches a little bit of fat on her tummy and frowns. ‘You might have found yourself a new job.’

  ‘I like to cook,’ I tell her. ‘I find it relaxing.’

  ‘Don’t let me stand in your way,’ she says. ‘I’ll load the dishwasher. It’s only fair.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I’ve got to go to work soon. Tomorrow we’ll sit down together and sort out what you need to do. We’ll get you some more clothes, and any special food you might want.’

  ‘I must also find a school for Sabina.’

  ‘We’ll do that too,’ she assures me. ‘There’s one near here that’s supposed to be a good one. I don’t get in until late though, so don’t expect me around too early. Have you got enough with you to see you through tonight?’

  ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Thank you, Crystal. You’ve been very kind.’ Then, I can’t help myself: the strains of the day, our flight during the night, all of this catches up with me and I start to cry. Heaving sobs rack my body.

  ‘Don’t,’ Crystal says. She strokes my hair. ‘Don’t cry. This is a new start. No more tears. Think only happy thoughts.’

  I nod, though the tears continue to roll down my cheeks. She gets me some kitchen roll and I stem the flow. Sabina slides on to my lap and lays her head on my shoulder. I hold her tightly.

  ‘You need to look after your mum,’ Crystal says. ‘She’s had a really horrible time. But everything will be OK now.’

  I mustn’t cry. I have to be brave for both of us.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I sniff. ‘Really fine.’

  ‘Get an early night,’ Crystal says. ‘I bet you haven’t slept a wink since yesterday. No wonder you’re all tired and teary. Everything will look better in the morning. Trust me.’

  So we clear our plates and, while we leave Crystal to load the dishwasher, Sabina and I climb the stairs. It seems strange that this is our home now, and I wonder if we’ll ever feel comfortable here. Crystal’s happy to have us, but I’m worried about Mrs Ashton and Mr Daniels. Perhaps they won’t like us and will ask us to leave. Ruth said that it might be a temporary arrangement, and I have to be prepared for that. Perhaps she’ll find us a cheaper place in a refuge and we’ll have to go there instead. I hope not, because I think that I could really like it here.

  In our room, Sabina changes into her pyjamas. We settle together on the bed and I turn on the television. It’s only eight o’clock, but we struggle to find something that’s suitable viewing for her. I’ve never been allowed to watch the soap operas that I hear so much about, but when I turn them on they just seem to be people shouting at each other, and I’ve had more than enough of that in recent times. In the end we settle on a cookery programme but, after only a few minutes, Sabina’s eyes are rolling and she drifts into sleep.

  I watch the rest of the programme, but take none of it in. My mind is whirring with all the things that I know I must do. I want to be strong for my daughter, but I’m anxious about our future. I may not have loved my husband in the last few years – for the most part, I didn’t even like him – but he’s controlled my life for so long that I’m concerned that I’m now unable to think for myself, and I want to do the very best I can for both of us.

  Darkness falls and I turn on the bedside light, which makes the room look more cosy. In the bathroom I slip on my nightgown and fold my shabby shalwar kameez. It looks even more jaded in these crisp surroundings and I suspect that I may do too. This nightgown and ones similar have also been the cause of much trouble. It covers my arms and flows down to my ankles. My husband wished me to wear something more revealing to bed, but I found that I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I was brought up to be modest, and baring my body isn’t something I like to do. It was a source of many rows. I know that I didn’t please him in the bedroom, but
it’s difficult to be intimate with a man who doesn’t kiss you or show you love.

  At the window, I look out over the street. There are a few cars parked under the trees now, but other than that it’s very quiet and there’s no one around. Then a taxi stops by the gate and for a moment my heart skips a beat, but then I hear footsteps on the landing outside my door and going down the stairs. I remember that Crystal said she was going to work, though it seems late to be setting out, so I assume that she must work a night shift. Seconds later, the front door slams and I peep out to see Crystal tottering up the path. The gates swing open, she jumps into the waiting cab and it pulls away. I draw the curtains, closing out the night.

  Lying down next to Sabina, I enjoy the soft comfort of the duvet. Yet, tired as I am, sleep won’t come. I turn down the television so that it’s providing background noise and let my thoughts filter through my brain, hoping that they’ll finally start to make some sense. I should write to my mummy and daddy at home and tell them what I’ve done. In all these years, I’ve given them no indication that I was unhappy as a wife, because I never wanted them to worry about me; this will come as a terrible shock. But tell them I must. Tomorrow I’ll get some paper and confess to them that Sabina and I are starting out on a new life. They’ll be so saddened, but I also hope that they’ll understand.

  I must have drifted off as a noise startles me awake. I can hear the rhythmic clang of metal every few seconds. The bedside light is still on and I glance over at the clock. It’s gone midnight and thankfully Sabina is still fast asleep. Straining to listen, all senses on alert, I think it’s coming from downstairs. My heart begins to thump erratically. A new house is always full of unnerving sounds. In my old home in Sri Lanka, I could hear the sound of the waves on the ocean, the rustle of the palm trees in the breeze and the gentle whirr of the overhead fans. When I moved to Milton Keynes I had to get used to the blare of police sirens and clanking plumbing and the shouting of drunks coming home from the pubs and bars. This house is no different. The creaks and groans it emits are alien and worrying.