‘More than we need ?’
‘I never thought I’d say that either.’
‘How are the men ?’
‘As loyal as an old dog.’
‘And Bartica ?’
‘No different. Are you resting ? Is it madness to ask ?’
‘This baby’s taking it out of me but I’m tired of resting. Tell me what’s going on out there. Tell me everything.’
‘I’ll tell you this, Hannah. I’ve told you already. I think we have more than we need. I’m ready to pass on Omaia.’
Song saw a glimmer of a smile in Hannah’s face. ‘Are you pleased ?’ he asked.
‘If you are.’
‘We have enough. Enough for us. Enough for the children. Enough for the children’s children. It’s the right time.’ Song paused. ‘Or maybe I’m late. I should have done it years ago. Should I ?’
‘Maybe.’
Song stroked away the strands of loose hair from his wife’s face. ‘I’ve been away a lot. If not in body, in my head. I miss you. I’m missing the children. I know that now.’
Song saw Hannah was holding back the tears. Her eyes were wet. She looked more beautiful than ever.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be sorry, Song. You were providing for your family, I know that.’
‘It was getting all muddled up though. I wonder why I was still doing what I’ve been doing. Can I blame gold fever ?’
Hannah shook her head. ‘Ambition, I think.’
‘You’re kind to me, Hannah. Kinder than I deserve. I fear I’ve disappointed you over the years.’
Hannah shook her head. A tear rolled down her cheek. ‘You haven’t.’
‘I haven’t always been a good husband, a good father, a good man.’
‘There are always struggles. I knew what I was taking on, Song.’
She had forgiven him. He had needed that. More than he realised. He pulled her close. ‘Who would I be without you, Hannah ?’
CHAPTER 35
The next day Song called Tobias Shelf into his office.
‘I want to bequeath Omaia to the Silent Temple Foundation,’ he told the young accountant. ‘I need you to do whatever you need to do to make it happen. The foundation can manage the company and the profits but I want there to be a direct feed from the mine to the sports club. And I want the structure there to be unchangeable. That anyone can join the club. Anyone. For always.’
‘You’re giving up the mine ?’
‘We need all the numbers and paperwork in perfect order. Not a flaw.’
Life at Sugar House slowed down. Dr Patel had requested bed rest for Hannah. Jon and Rose stopped by from time to time; Rose was pleasant company for Hannah, always ready to regale her with funny little life sketches of Georgetown. There was Mr House, who sometimes showed up unannounced. Mr Hing regularly came for dinner on Sundays, although Hannah didn’t always stay up. ‘The world gets smaller as you get older,’ Edward Hoare used to say. It was true.
Vivi had settled in, although Song noticed how he still behaved like a guest sometimes, asking permission to enter a room or to choose a book to read. He had brought something to their home that had been diminishing, a greater sense of appreciation, of gratitude. Phillip and Flo had taken to him, begging Vivi to tell them stories from his head or to read passages from their favourite books with all the drama of a bawdy tale told in a dark bar.
Beyond family and their close group of friends, Song shunned Georgetown life, preferring to spend his days at home. He was no longer interested in receiving or accepting invitations. He was done with those battles.
One afternoon Song watched Phillip and Vivi lying on the lawn from the bedroom window. Hannah was resting. The boys weren’t aware he was there and Song was reminded of the many times he’d sit in the hallway listening into Father Holmes’ conversations on the terrace with Edward Hoare and Tom Jameson.
His thoughts were interrupted as he saw Flo walking down the path.
‘Where’ve you been ?’ Phillip said to his sister.
‘Is that all anyone asks me ?’ Flo let herself go limp and fall to the ground. She lay back, staring up at the sky. ‘Where’ve you been ? Where’ve you been ? Can I not do a thing without being asked where I’ve been ?’
Song smiled to himself. He hoped always to remember this scene. It looked like a painting, the three of them on the grass as they were. A pure uncomplicated existence. Lives yet unsullied. Fresh, full of hope and wonder.
‘Stop hassling your sister,’ Vivi said to Phillip. ‘She can come and go as she likes.’
Phillip pressed her. ‘Were you with Ash ?’
Ash ? Song hadn’t heard that name. He wanted to know more.
‘And what if I was ?’
‘You think we don’t know ? We know, don’t we Viv ?’
‘What do you know ?’
‘He’s sweet on you. You’re sweet on him.’
Song was startled. Was his daughter already old enough for this ? And who was this boy ?
‘What makes you think that ?’ Flo asked.
‘Phillip’s right. You two aren’t so subtle,’ Vivi added.
‘Mrs Burford says you’re sinning,’ Phillip said.
Flo sat up straight. ‘Mrs goddamn Burford. Like she knows anything about sinning.’
Song watched on. He could hear how his children were challenging the world now, eager to be part of it, to explore beyond the range of their home. He remembered that eagerness, that curiosity, but was also glad they’d had more years than he had sheltered from the hardship and the horrors, with only books to speak to them about the realities of life.
He watched Flo let herself lie back on the grass again. ‘It’s my life,’ she said. ‘I can do what I like with it.’
‘And if Papa finds out ?’ Phillip asked.
‘Finds out what ?’
‘Finds out you’re seeing him.’
‘Papa always tells us that we shouldn’t pay attention to gossip. He doesn’t care what others say. And nor should we.’
She knew something, Flo did. Song was touched that his daughter had suggested she was learning lessons from him. It was Jingy who used to say a town’s no good if it’s built on gossip and half-truths.
Vivi whistled. ‘But he’d ’bout have a heart attack if he knew you were sweet on the governor’s son.’
Song was taken aback. Ashford Bolton. The son of the governor. Could he be so different from his father ? Perhaps this was Song’s test. It sounded more like literature than real life. The children of sworn enemies finding each other.
‘I am not sweet on him,’ Flo said.
‘Imagine if you married him . . .’
‘Married ? Suddenly I’m getting married, am I ? Never. You watch me. I’m going to cut my hair, smoke cigarettes and play tennis.’
Vivi laughed again. ‘Marrying Ashford Bolton might still be the more shocking option.’
‘Ash is nothing like his father. He’s like us. He hates everything we hate. He wants to change Guiana, too. Jeff Jeston and their lot.’
Phillip’s attention had been caught by a yellow-breasted bird but he repeated their schoolmate’s name. ‘Jeff Jeston ?’
‘Don’t you know anything ? They control the sugar, the rice, the logging. And they’re taking us back to the days of slavery. People have to work for them but they are treated no better than animals.’ Flo saw she had lost her brother’s attention. ‘Are you listening to me ?’
Song looked at this fierce young woman. His daughter.
‘I’m listening,’ Vivi said. ‘Sounds like someone needs to take them on.’
‘I think I’ve seen a Guianan trogon,’ Phillip said.
He could see Flo was exasperated with her brother. ‘There is abuse going on all around us and what do you have to say ? That you’ve seen a bird.’
And here was his son, in wonder at birds.
Phillip was crouching down looking up at the bird in the branches. It let out a few small whoops in
close succession. ‘It is. It’s a Guianan trogon.’
Flo rolled her eyes. ‘And so the world keeps turning. What are you going to do ? Look at birds all your life ?’
‘Worse things that that,’ Vivi interrupted.
Flo picked up a book on the ground. ‘What is this ?’
‘Phillip found it in Song’s study,’ Vivi said.
‘Birds of the Coastal Regions, British Guiana, Volume I, Part I,’ Flo read out loud. She opened the first page.
‘Whose book is it ?’
‘Papa’s, of course,’ Phillip said.
‘It isn’t his handwriting.’
‘I think it must be Father Holmes’. Later in the book I think it’s Papa’s. I think they’re Uncle Jon’s drawings.’
Flo flicked through to the end of the book. ‘You’re right. The writing looks like father’s, I think, but also that of a child.’
‘And it’s only part one of volume one,’ Phillip said. ‘Why did he never show us ?’
Song was struck by their interest. Had he never shown them ? He hadn’t even realised he hadn’t shown them.
‘Look at the letter about halfway through,’ Phillip added.
Flo leafed through the pages swiftly. She slid out a loose leaf of paper, picking out some of the written words. ‘Master Song Holmes, Esquire. Parish of Bartica. How funny that sounds. A whiskered white-headed song warbler. That’s one of Uncle Jon’s pictures, isn’t it ?’
‘The one in the dining-room.’
‘A song warbler,’ Flo continued. ‘It’s named after him.’
‘I want to go there,’ Phillip said.
‘Where ?’
‘To London. To the Royal Ornithological Society. But it would break Papa’s heart.’
‘No, it wouldn’t,’ Vivi said. ‘You must. You have to continue what Song started. It’s important.’
‘It’s true, Phillip,’ Flo added. ‘I’ll put Papa’s heart back together again after you leave. You have to go to The Royal Ornithological Society. It’s at the heart of everything that you love. And everything Papa loved.’
Song looked at the three of them supporting each other and wondered about his own sisters and brothers. Is that how it would have been ? In another life.
‘And the journey ?’ Phillip asked. ‘What about the boat ?’
‘Papa is unreasonable about boats. After all he goes on a riverboat all the time. You can’t allow a boat ride to halt your dreams.’
Song felt a welling of pride; he was close to tears.
‘I guess I could set up a chapter of the Society here.’
‘The Society is in London, not in Georgetown,’ Vivi said.
‘It’s halfway around the world.’
‘It doesn’t matter how far it is,’ Flo said. ‘Now that we know about it, you have to go.’
Phillip smiled. ‘Are you sure you’re not looking for me to take the heat off you ?’
‘I’m serious. You have to do this. We have to live out our lives.’
The following week, Vivi had gone to see his family in Bartica. He’d become a treasured member of the Holmes household, and after a few weeks without him around, and all his sharp observations and seductive stories, everyone was missing him.
‘We’ve grown used to him,’ Hannah said. ‘He’s a special young man. He brings humility to this house of ours.’
‘Humility ?’ Flo scoffed. ‘It’s stories that he brings, Mama. Stories that make the hairs on my neck stand on end. Stories that make me weep. Stories that make me whoop with joy.’
Hannah smiled at her daughter. ‘Sometimes it’s hard to remember life before a child arrives in a home.’
‘When do you think he will be back, Papa ?’ Phillip asked.
‘He’ll be back soon. But remember there are people in Bartica who miss him very much when he’s here.’ Song hated to think of him at Josie’s. Among the smoke. Among the fumes of liquor. He imagined the strained conversations with his mother, with his sisters. Vivi full of hope; them depleted.
It was another week before Vivi finally returned. Song could smell Josie’s on him as he walked through the door. Vivi looked crushed.
‘They wouldn’t come back with me,’ he said, ‘I promised I’d make them a home in Georgetown, the loveliest thing they could ever imagine.’
Song had known they would never have come. Not Josie. Not Maia. None of them. ‘Bartica is all they know, Vivi. Don’t take it personally.’
‘It was all I knew, too. But I left.’
‘There is much more for you here than for them. It’s easier for a young man, you know that.’
‘But what are they going to do ? Stay there all their lives ?’
Song sighed. ‘I know. I know how you feel.’
‘It was so hard to see them there. I didn’t know myself what a place it was when I lived there. It’s terrible. The darkness. The stale liquor.’
As Vivi described it, Song could smell the bar. ‘I know. I wish they would leave, too.’
‘I could never go back. I wish I could say I’ll go back and be there for them and make something of a life in Bartica. But I can’t.’
‘I didn’t go back either.’
Vivi was unconsoled. ‘It’s much further to China.’
‘I wouldn’t have gone back if it had been close.’ Perhaps for the first time, Song realised that was true. ‘Maybe the distance gave me an excuse. Looking back now, I know I would never have wanted that life.’
Vivi sighed. ‘I’m grateful for you bringing me here. But I feel like I’ve abandoned my family.’
Song thought how abandoned Vivi had been for so many years.
‘A mother once told me, “mothers want what’s best for their children, not what’s best for them,”’ Song said. ‘It’s cruel but it’s true. Let me tell you this. Your mother is about to be very proud. While you’ve been away, you were awarded a place at Queen’s College.’ Song picked up the fountain pen on his desk, the gift of Father Holmes. ‘I want you to have this.’
Vivi’s expression was how Song had imagined his might have been all those years ago when he received the same pen.
‘It’s all down to your fiery imagination and your storytelling skills,’ Song said. ‘It’s time you wrote down some of those stories.’
It was late when Flo came home that night. Song was still waiting up when he heard her padding through the hallway. He called her into his study.
Flo saw he was reading. ‘What’s the book ?’
Song looked at his daughter’s bright eyes, even more dazzling in the sweat of the night with her skin shining like molasses.
‘You’re asking me what’s the book ?’ Song echoed quietly. ‘I was going to ask you, Flo, what’s the time ?’
Flo glanced up at the wall clock. ‘Sorry. I’m late. What are you reading ?’
‘Robinson Crusoe. It captivated me when I was a boy. But it reads differently now. A desert island seems like a welcome uncomplicated life. With a friend, too.’
Song was aware how Flo had cleverly distracted him. ‘So tell me about your evening ?’
Flo was studying one of Jon’s framed drawings. It was a hoatzin. ‘Have you really seen this one ?’
‘Many times. Come and sit down, Flo. Do you want to tell me something ?’
‘I’m tired, Papa.’
‘Too tired to sit with your papa ?’
Flo threw herself into the armchair. ‘No, not too tired. I’m glad you sold the mine.’
She had startled Song. ‘Are you ?’
Flo nodded. ‘But don’t you miss the river ? Mama says the Essequibo runs in your blood.’
Song shook his head. ‘I don’t miss it at all.’ That was a lie.
‘Tell me more about Robinson Crusoe,’ she said. ‘And I’ll tell you about Phillip. He found your bird book. Why didn’t you show it to us ?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe it makes me too sad.’
‘Phillip loves his birds. That’s all he does. Looks at birds. Record
s birds. Draws birds. Badly. Not like Uncle Jon.’
‘We can’t all be good at everything. Except you, perhaps.’
‘Phillip’s going to ask you if he can go to London. Will you try to stop him ?’
‘I don’t think you should be telling me this.’
‘I won’t then.’ Flo was unravelling her tied-up hair and then picking off tiny strands to plait. Song looked at the fixed countenance of his daughter. She was captivatingly frank, like her mother. Bold, too, he hoped, like him.
‘What is it you want to do ?’ Song asked.
‘You know what I’m going to do ? I’m going to put the Jestons out of business.’ She looked up at her father with her strong dark eyes. ‘After that, I’ll buy racehorses and play tennis every day.’
Song wondered how the personalities of his children could be so mismatched with the roles society would try to foist upon them. He wanted Florence to live an unhindered life but knew in his heart how hard that would be. ‘I’ll look forward to watching that, Flo.’
She got up to leave. As she walked out of the door, she turned around and said: ‘I love you, Papa.’
Flo’s words started Song. His heart was full of love. But he also realised his daughter had completely outsmarted him to avoid the subject he had wanted to address. It seemed there was nothing she couldn’t do.
The following night, Song was writing in his study. When he looked up, Phillip was standing in front of his desk. ‘You moved so quietly, I didn’t even hear you.’
Phillip looked lonely there in the big space of Song’s study. ‘I know this will be hard for you, Father,’ he said, ‘but after I graduate I want to go to England.’
Song sighed. ‘Will you sit down, Phillip ?’
His son shook his head. ‘I don’t want to talk about this too long. I can’t ask you, Father. I can only tell you. It was your other dream. The one you didn’t live. A life of birds.’
Phillip wasn’t to know, after seeing the books and illustrations around his study, that it had never been a dream of Song’s. Song could never have indulged himself in that life. But he realised how hard that might be to understand if you’d always had a full belly. His son had never been hungry and Song was glad of that.
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