Going back out to Crystal, I hang my head. I don’t wish to seem ungrateful for her kind attention. ‘I’m so very sorry, but I can’t wear these,’ I say. ‘I’m uncomfortable. I must have a top that covers my arms, clothes that don’t cling tightly to my shape.’
Her face falls. ‘You know most women would die for a figure like that.’
I shrug. ‘It’s not who I am.’
‘What else would you wear other than those pyjama things?’
‘Sometimes a sari.’
‘Is that a religious thing?’
‘No. Not really. But it’s my culture, I suppose.’
‘You’re not dressing like this as it’s what that husband of yours wanted?’
I shake my head. ‘I was brought up to be a modest woman. I can’t change that.’
She tuts and rolls her eyes. ‘I can do modest. Two minutes. Don’t move. Let no one take that changing room. Lie down on the floor in it if you need to!’
Crystal dashes off and, sure enough, she’s back moments later, arms loaded with more clothes.
‘The definition of modest.’ Crystal dumps her stash on to me. ‘Give this lot a go.’
Back inside the changing room, I see that she’s brought me a pretty smock top. It’s white and embroidered with pink flowers. Another is a loose blouse in a pink and blue floral design. The trousers she has brought are white linen and loose-cut. Quickly I slip them on.
I smile at my reflection. This is much more to my liking. I feel modern, different, but not under-dressed.
Re-emerging from the changing room, I wait for Crystal’s pronouncement on my appearance.
‘Fabulous,’ Crystal announces. ‘You’re right. That’s much more you, sweetie. Now work your stuff!’
She pouts and preens in front of the mirror as if she’s a model and, hesitant, I follow her moves. She grabs us all pink feather boas from a nearby stand and we strut up and down in Primark.
‘We’re supermodels,’ she declares over her shoulder as she wiggles ahead of us. ‘We don’t get out of bed for less than ten thousand a day, dahling!’
The song playing says ‘You don’t know you’re beautiful,’ and Crystal sings along with it loudly, pointing at me. That makes me giggle and other women in the store stop to look at us but, for once, I don’t care. I feel lovely. And silly. In this moment, my very being is lighter than air. Sabina hides her mouth with her hand and I hope that, behind it, she’s laughing too.
‘Is that better?’ Crystal throws over her shoulder.
‘Much better,’ I say.
‘Modest. Modest. Think modest,’ she chants, and rushes off again.
When she comes back, Crystal has picked out a summery maxidress and a little cardigan to go with it. I like these too and we do more parading. Then they go on the pile of clothes deemed To Be Bought, along with the white linen trousers, the blouses and a white jacket.
‘You want Sabina to dress in the same way?’
‘Yes please,’ I say. Our personal shopper scoots off again.
When Crystal returns, laden down, she ushers my slightly startled daughter towards the changing room with a pile of clothes. ‘Now you, Beanie.’
I hold Crystal back while Sabina, barely visible above her clothes, takes a cubicle number from the lady. ‘I must run an errand,’ I whisper to her. ‘It is Sabina’s birthday tomorrow and I’d like to buy her a gift.’
‘Tomorrow? Why didn’t you say? We can have a party.’
‘It isn’t necessary.’
‘She’s a kid. Of course it’s necessary.’
‘Sabina has never had a party before.’
Crystal recoils in horror. ‘What, never?’
‘No.’ Now I feel ashamed that she’s never known this small pleasure. ‘No one but family was allowed to come to our house. We never really celebrated birthdays.’ Or Christmas. Or anything very much.
‘What a miserable bunch,’ Crystal says. ‘Well, it’s not exactly going to be a red carpet event at our place as you’re new to the ’hood, but we should do something. Toast the start of your new life together.’
‘I’d like that.’
‘OK. You nip off quickly while I help Beanie. By the time she’s changed, you’ll be back.’
So Crystal follows my daughter into the changing rooms and, with only a moment’s misgiving, I leave them to go in search of a suitable gift.
Minutes later, I’ve bought a Hello Kitty backpack for her. Not an extravagant purchase as she’ll need this when she starts her new school, but I’m sure that she’ll love it. My daughter may not speak, but in other ways she’s exactly like any other little girl. Everything has to be pink and sparkly.
I’m back as they emerge from the changing rooms together. Sabina looks shyly at me. My daughter too has abandoned her shalwar kameez, and I can’t help but stare at the modern girl who looks back at us in the mirror. She’s wearing a loose-fitting floral dress and underneath she has on a white long-sleeved T-shirt. When she gets older, I will be happy for Sabina to choose her own way, but for now I’m very pleased with these clothes.
Crystal shows her how to walk up and down as if she’s on a catwalk, and it makes me giggle to watch. Yet my throat is constricted and my eyes brim with tears when I ask, ‘Do you like your lovely new outfit?’
She nods enthusiastically. I hope in her excitement that she’ll forget herself and cry out. But I’m disappointed once more.
‘Come. We’ll try on your other things.’ I take her back to the changing room and we work our way through the clothes that Crystal has chosen until we’re both weary and in need of refreshment.
‘We’ve earned a coffee and some cake,’ Crystal says as we emerge for the final time. ‘You look like you’re flagging.’
Indeed we are.
She scoops up an armful of clothes. ‘Let’s pay up and get out of here.’
‘Crystal,’ I say. ‘I can’t afford all of this. We must choose just one outfit. Until I get a job, I must watch every penny carefully.’
‘Not today.’ She wags a finger at me. ‘This lot is on me.’ As I open my mouth to protest, she says, ‘I insist. One day you’ll do something nice for me. That’s how it goes.’
From my limited experience, I don’t think that’s always true but I will always, most certainly, be very grateful to this lovely, brash, loud lady for bringing me and my timid daughter out of our shells.
Chapter Fifteen
Hayden was lying on his bed listening to music on his iPod when there was a knock on the door. He didn’t want to see anyone now, but then he rarely did.
‘I know you’re bloody well in there, Hayd.’
Crystal. Who else? Joy knew when the darkness had descended upon him and stayed well out of his way until it eventually lifted. Crystal wasn’t cut of the same cloth.
‘Open the door, you muppet.’
‘Go away, Crystal.’
‘No.’ She rapped again. ‘I’m not going to talk to you through a piece of wood either.’
Sighing, he pulled out his earphones. He’d get no peace until he found out what she wanted. When she first moved in here, she’d tiptoe around him, but that didn’t last long. In recent months she’d certainly become more strident in voicing her opinions on his retreat from the world. The thing was, the less he saw people, the less he wanted to see them. He was much happier being alone. Less pain that way. But sometimes he couldn’t avoid it, and he knew Crystal wouldn’t go until she’d spoken to him.
Opening the door, he said, ‘Yes?’
‘We’re having a party,’ she announced. ‘The kid is nine tomorrow and we’re going to celebrate their new life with a few drinks and some cake.’
‘Count me out,’ Hayden said.
‘No.’ Crystal wedged her foot in the door before he could close it. ‘You’re going to get your arse out of that bedroom and come and play nicely with us.’
Hayden grimaced.
‘We’ve forgotten what you look like while you’re locked away up h
ere, doing your Mae West thing.’
‘It was Greta Garbo who wanted to be alone.’
‘Whatever,’ Crystal said and made a W with her fingers that she held in front of his face.
That made him smile and she took that as her cue to press on.
‘They’re nice,’ she said softly. ‘They’ve had a really crap life and deserve a bit of affection and fun. Ayesha’s going to cook some Sri Lankan dishes too. You like a bit of curry.’
‘I don’t really do children.’
‘There’s one,’ Crystal tutted, ‘and she doesn’t even speak, bless her. It’s not as if the bloody Brady Bunch are coming to run riot in the backyard. It’s just us.’
‘When?’
‘Tonight. Six o’clock. That gives you three hours to get your arse in gear. You need to have a shower and a shave. You look like shite.’
‘Thank you.’
Sometimes he thought it would be easier to live completely alone. Ask both Crystal and Joy to leave. But something stopped him short whenever he thought of it. On the whole, it was better to have someone around rather than no one. Most of the time they let him be. Crystal did the shopping now, so he didn’t really have to go out. Joy looked after the garden. If they didn’t, he’d have to get someone else in to do those jobs. The alternative was unthinkable. He might have to do them himself, and he couldn’t even bear the thought. Paparazzi no longer camped at his gates as they knew he rarely ventured out. Yet if he did start to go out again, they’d soon be all over him. (Conversely, the less he went out, the more it was a story when he was star-spotted.) And to think, all he’d ever wanted to do was play his guitar and sing. He never appreciated the intrusion there would be into his life until it was too late to turn back the tide.
‘Do it for me,’ Crystal wheedled. ‘Even for you – you don’t come out much these days. It can’t be good to hide away all the time like this, Hayd. Life goes on, you know.’
But does it? Does it have to?
He’d been happy once. Delirious. The days had been golden. He was adored, revered. His music was played around the world. He had fame, fortune, a woman he loved more than life itself. Who wouldn’t want that?
Then the dark side of celebrity culture had reared its ugly head. He couldn’t step out of the door without being followed by a crowd of jostling photographers. His life was no longer his own. The tender, romantic moments he tried to share with Laura were captured digitally and beamed around the world to appear in every newspaper and glossy magazine. Within minutes they were all over the internet. He attracted a dozen different stalkers, some more serious than others, and had eventually been forced to surround them both with a round-the-clock security team. What had begun as a golden life rapidly became a gilded cage.
‘Hey,’ Crystal said, snapping her fingers. ‘Back in the room.’
He realised that his attention had drifted, as it so often did, his brain going round and round on the same old loop, going over things that he could have done differently. How his life would have been so much simpler had he never won The Fame Game.
‘Say you’ll come,’ she begged. ‘Don’t be a miserable bastard. You need to come out of your room sometime. All this night-time stuff, Hayd? It’s starting to freak me out. You’re not a bloody vampire.’
He held up his hands. Resistance, he knew, was futile. ‘I’ll come.’
She grinned at him, victorious. ‘Don’t think of not turning up. Don’t you dare be late either. Or I’ll be back for you. I’m warning you.’
‘I fully appreciate that.’
‘Six o’clock. In the garden. If you look out your window, you’ll see that the weather is fantastic.’
It shocked him slightly to realise that he hadn’t actually noticed that. To cover his anxiety, he teased Crystal. ‘Dress code?’
‘Casual. But make a bit of an effort. The millionaire-tramp look is so last-year.’
‘Point taken. I’ll see you later.’
Crystal trotted away happily now that she’d bullied him into submission, and he listened to her clomping down the stairs in her ridiculous shoes.
He closed the door and went back to his bed. All he wanted to do was lose himself in his music again. He tended now to listen to jazz or heavy rock, anything but the commercial pop that he had been so famous for himself.
However, when he put his earphones in again he found he couldn’t settle. Crystal was right: the sun was shining for all its worth out there, and he wondered how long it had been since he’d felt its warmth on his skin. Perhaps it would be nice to go out into the garden for once. A party, though? That was a whole other area of terror.
Chapter Sixteen
It’s very hard to find time away from Sabina now that we’re sharing the same room, so, while she’s showering for her party, I quickly rush downstairs and find Crystal in the kitchen.
‘Can you write for me in Sabina’s card please?’ I’d normally feel ashamed by my failings, but already I know that Crystal will understand and I’ve no embarrassment in asking her to help me. ‘I’d like to do it in English and my writing isn’t good enough.’
‘Sure.’ She finds a pen in the drawer and comes to sit beside me at the table. ‘Do you want to copy it?’
I shake my head. ‘I’d love to, but I fear it’ll take too long and I must have it completed before Sabina comes out of the shower.’
‘OK. Shoot.’
‘To my beautiful daughter,’ I say as Crystal writes down my words. ‘May your life be filled with love and laughter. May you be strong, independent and happy. With love always, your dear Mama.’
‘That’s lovely.’
‘They’re words that come from the bottom of my heart. I hope that she’ll find a man to love her as she should be loved and for who she is.’ A man who won’t squash her and beat her into the person that he thinks she should be. I don’t care if he’s black, white or green. Or if he’s short, tall, thin or fat. I don’t mind if he has a mop of ginger hair or a pate as shiny as a conker. I don’t care if he’s Buddhist, Muslim, Hindu, Christian or nothing at all. I simply want her to find someone who cares deeply for her.
‘Shut up.’ Crystal nudges me. ‘You’re going to make me blub.’ When she’s finished, she hands the card back to me.
‘Thank you.’ I lick the envelope and seal it. Then I hurry upstairs to wrap the Hello Kitty backpack.
This afternoon, we all visited the small primary school that’s only a few streets away from the house. It’s a pretty little school and the headteacher showed us around and then helped me to fill in the forms that were necessary. Now Sabina has to wait to see if the local authority will accept her, but the headteacher was very hopeful. She didn’t seem to mind that Sabina is unable to speak any more, and I think that my child will be comfortable in that environment. Crystal – who’s now self-appointed Auntie Crystal – says that we must keep our fingers and everything else crossed.
After that, Crystal took us to the supermarket and, again, insisted on buying all of the food for the party this evening. As soon as Sabina is able to start school, I’ll be free to look for suitable employment. I don’t know what I’ll be able to do. My spoken English, I hope, is impeccable, but my writing and reading are of very poor quality. It’s something that I must address or I’ll only be able to do lowly work, and I want to make my daughter very proud of me. So proud that she will be moved to cry out, ‘Mama, my mama, you are wonderful!’ That’s my dearest dream.
I spent the rest of the afternoon cooking up some of my traditional dishes to serve this evening, and I hope that my new housemates will like them. I didn’t risk anything too spicy, so I’ve steered away from the very hot devilled foods that we Sri Lankans are so fond of and have made a white chicken curry, fish koftas, aubergine salad, dhal, some fried potatoes and rice. My style of cooking has changed since I’ve been in England and is now mixed with both Indian and Western influences which I learned from my mother-in-law. I hope that they’ll like it.
Sabi
na and I go down to the garden, where Crystal is already setting the table that’s out on the patio. There are brightly coloured plastic beakers and plates. She’s filled jars with pretty flowers that have been picked from the garden, but I don’t know what they are.
‘They look very nice.’ Sabina, in her new dress and T-shirt, stares at them in awe. The evening is pleasantly warm and it’ll be nice to sit and eat outside. Where I lived before, the garden wasn’t attractive. It was small, overlooked by houses to the side and behind us. The grass was scrubby and unkempt. At the bottom there was a shed; an old freezer propped against it was all that kept it from falling over. It wasn’t a place to sit out and eat in comfort. My mother-in-law wasn’t a gardener. Neither can I profess to having green thumbs.
‘You look great,’ Crystal says, taking in my new outfit. I’ve worn the white trousers and floral smock that she chose, and my hair is still loose. It’s nice to feel the warmth of the sun on my arms. One has been broken three times in the same place and is now pinned with a metal rod. When it’s cold or damp, it aches terribly. ‘There’s one thing that both of you need though.’
She goes back into the kitchen and reappears with her handbag. ‘Sit your bum down.’
I take one of the chairs and Crystal sits next to me. ‘A bit of slap,’ she says. ‘Not too much.’ She pulls out a make-up bag.
‘I’m not too sure,’ I begin to protest.
‘Shut up, woman. Indulge me.’ She proceeds to daub me with a variety of colours that she picks out seemingly at will.
‘I’ve never worn make-up before,’ I tell her.
‘You don’t really need it,’ she says, tongue out in concentration. ‘You’re delish as you are. I’m adding a few highlights, that’s all.’
Sabina is rapt.
Crystal’s hands fly over my face with great precision.
‘There,’ she says, eventually. ‘Beautiful.’
Sabina nods her agreement.
Crystal hands me a compact mirror and, reluctantly, I hold it up. I’m worried that she has made me look like a clown. But I need not have feared. True to her word, Crystal has put only a subtle touch of make-up on my face. My eyelids have been shaded with a shimmering powder and my lashes look longer and fuller. There’s a pleasing blush to my cheeks and my lips are slicked with a bronze gloss.
A Place to Call Home Page 7