No Greater Love - Box Set

by Prowse, Amanda

  An hour later, the car broke out onto the coastal road and there it was in front of her, framed by lush forest and jungle-covered mountains – the sea! Dot pulled herself up against the door frame and stood, despite the protestations from her driver. She didn’t care; she wanted to see it all, unable to take her eyes from the pale blue ocean that went on forever and the clusters of giant palm trees that fringed the beach. Yachts peppered the horizon, and the sun smothered everything with a hazy glint of heat. It was beyond beautiful, it was just as he had described; it was paradise.

  Dot’s rose-print summer dress clung to her sweaty skin, and her hair, which she’d gathered up into a neat chignon, now hung limply in strands around her face, the rest of it blowing back­wards in the breeze. She could never have imagined the temperature; it was so strange to be breathing in hot air, like when you accidentally opened your gob under the dryer at the hairdresser and got a lungful.

  The car wound its way through the streets of Castries en route to Reduit Beach. Small crowds of children pressed for­ward as they passed, some snickering into their palms, others reaching with outstretched arms. Dot stared at them; she had only ever seen the occasional black person and felt a slight frisson of anxiety to find herself the only white person among the crowd. The kids were fascinated in return; for most, it was the first time they had seen anyone white and they wanted to touch her hair and stare at her face.

  She thought of Barb, remembering their conversation, it seemed like a lifetime ago, ‘Don’t be daft, Dot. If theirs was normal hair, everyone’d be walking around with it, wouldn’t they?’ ‘Well of course! And they do where he lives, you dozy cow!’

  It was late afternoon when she arrived at her little beach hut at Reduit Beach. She grinned at the sight: it was pretty and perfect. It reminded her of a gingerbread house in a fairy-tale book. It was wooden and painted sugar pink with bright blue curtains in the little windows. A wide wooden step led to the front door – perfect for taking in the mesmerising view. The key, as promised by the travel agent, was taped under the mat. Her little home comprised two rooms. In the bedroom stood an old brass bed that sagged in the middle; it was covered with a pristine white counterpane on which four fat feather pillows were stacked high. She considered the bed she shared with Wally, the greasy mattress in the curtainless room, but then checked herself. How many fancy beds would her ticket have bought? Quite a few probably. She was still in awe of his act of kindness and surprised by the eloquence with which he had summed up their dire situation, almost giving her per­mission to abandon him, possibly forever.

  The sitting room had a wicker sofa with plump sprig-leaf-patterned cushions on it and a cream and green tartan rug thrown over the back; she couldn’t imagine needing that. There was a multi-coloured rag rug on the floor and a small stove and a sink in one corner with a square of mirror above it. Local prints of beaches and palm trees hung randomly in clusters. Most were at jaunty angles, having shifted on their hooks. She fought the need to straighten them. Her bathroom was at the back of the hut with a shower pipe jutting from the wall; the water was warmed by the sun while it sat in a small tank on the roof. It ran straight onto the sandy floor, where there was a latrine hole – her loo. She was shielded from view by walls of rush matting that formed a cubicle of sorts. It was perfect.

  Dot placed her little suitcase on the floor and kicked off her shoes. She pulled out the remainder of the pins from her hair and, shaking it loose, stepped out of the front door and onto the hot sand. She dug her toes in and savoured the way the small mounds of salt-like grains piled up to fill the arches beneath her feet, cushioning her every step. She tentatively walked forward. After only a few minutes, she felt the sting of the sun against her skin, her hair lank against the damp sweat on her neck. She remembered Sol shivering and rubbing his palms together for warmth as he waited on an East End street corner with the frost beneath his heavy shoes. No wonder he’d looked so bloody cold.

  Tiny translucent crabs shot down minute holes as her foot­steps approached the shoreline. White bubbling waves fizzed on the sand before disappearing to leave a jagged, darkened line.

  She ignored the stares of fellow beach goers, dark-skinned locals whose muscles rippled and dripped with sea water. Their comfort in this intense heat would have made her feel foolish had she considered how much of an outsider she was. Instead, she looked straight ahead and took small steps until the Carib­bean Sea washed over her feet and lapped at her ankles; it was warm and welcoming. Dot grinned. She was really here; she was really in the sea! Bunching up the skirt of her dress with one hand, she held it just below her knickers and strode forward until the water pushed past her knees; tiny fish darted around this new object in their territory. Tomorrow she would put on her new bathing costume and she would sit in the sea. She couldn’t wait.

  Dot showered, washing away the sweat and fatigue of the day and night she had spent travelling, then pulled on her crop­ped trousers and a sleeveless top, and strolled along the beach­front to the cafe from which music pulsed. It took all of her courage to go in alone, but then she told herself it was no different from Paolo’s cafe, just a bit warmer. Choosing a table outside, Dot slid onto a bench and watched the sun sink down into the ocean. As it did so, flaming torches and strings of light sprung to life along the shore and beach road. She had no idea that places like this existed; it was like a different planet.

  ‘What can I get you?’ The woman spoke with the same gentle roll as Sol. She was petite, like an elf, with close-cropped hair, high cheekbones, large, hooped gold earrings and brass bangles around the tops of her arms. She was wearing a tiny, triangular halter-neck top, without the need for a bra, and a floor-length patchwork cheesecloth skirt. She looked amazing.

  ‘Oh, can I have a Coca-Cola?’

  ‘Sure. And to eat?’

  Dot thought of eating conch and her stomach flipped. In fact, the thought of eating anything made her wince, but it had been a long time since she’d had food and she knew that when the fatigue kicked in, she would need something in her stomach. ‘What is there?’ She bit down on her bottom lip. Wednesday night in the flat was chippy night – was it Wednesday night? She couldn’t be sure.

  ‘We got a callaloo special?’

  ‘Sounds lovely.’

  And it was, just as Sol had described it, warm and peppery. ‘Oh, it’s so tasty and filling that you will eat until you can barely move.’

  ‘How long you staying?’ the woman asked as she cleared Dot’s empty bowl.

  ‘Truthfully, I dunno, maybe a week, maybe forever!’

  ‘Forever, eh? I better make another batch then. I’m Cilla by the way.’

  ‘I’m Clover.’

  ‘Clover, that’s a pretty name. Well, I’ll see you around, Clover.’

  ‘Yes, I hope so.’

  ‘Honey, I know so! How many girls like you d’you think are strolling around a small place like this?’

  ‘I guess not many…’

  ‘You’d be right, not any! Where ya from?’

  ‘London.’

  ‘Hey, my uncle is over there, working on the Tube. His name is Grayson Amable, he lives in Ealing – do you know him?’

  Dot laughed out loud. ‘Course I don’t! Ealing’s miles away from where I live and there are millions of people!’

  Cilla looked more than a little offended.

  Dot did her best to make amends. ‘But if I do see him, I’ll send him your love.’

  Cilla sniffed, smiled and nodded, satisfied, before leaving.

  Despite the excited bubbles that grew and burst in her stomach, sleep was fast in arriving. Dot was lulled to sleep by the gentle sound of the small waves lapping the shoreline, the rustle of trees and the chirps and trills of insects and frogs around her. It was like magic. I’m here Sol, I’m right here.

  Without a clock or watch, she had no idea what the time was, but judging from the sounds of laughter and chatter on the beach, it had to be waking-up time. Dot stretched on the large br
ass bed and leapt to her feet, then peered through the little curtain, just to make sure it wasn’t an elaborate dream. No, it was real! The sea lay in front of her on this beautiful beach, just as she had left it the night before.

  A quick splash in the shower and Dot squeezed her shapely form into her new bathing suit. She was glad there was no tall mirror to dent her confidence; had there been the opportunity to study her lumps and bumps, she would have chickened out of wearing it in public. Slipping her frock over the top, she donned her sunglasses and made her way down the beach to the cafe, feeling quite at home for a girl who had previously travelled only a handful of miles in any direction from the neigh­bour­hood of her birth. In truth, she felt like a different person; she felt like Clover.

  Cilla was dancing on the deck to the strains of a slow beat with her arms raised above her head. Dot wondered what it must feel like to be that happy, that abandoned.

  ‘Don’t you love Laurel Aitken? Morning, Clover, sleep good?’

  ‘Yes! Thank you. Phew, it’s hot!’ Dot fanned her face with her hand.

  ‘You’ll get used to it, especially if you’re staying forever. What you having for breakfast?’

  ‘Have you got any fresh pineapple juice?’

  ‘Coming right up.’

  Dot sat back in her chair and let her eyes wander along the shore. Families dumped their towels and bags in sandy heaps on the beach and ploughed into the sea. Everyone seemed so confident and familiar with their surroundings – there was no tentative toe dipping required. She watched as old and young, big and small dived headlong into the small breakers, disap­pearing only to emerge feet away like interested seals popping their heads above the water.

  Cilla placed a large glass of pulpy juice in front of her.

  Dot held it between her palms. ‘Can I take it down to the beach?’

  Cilla nodded and shrugged, indifferent.

  Dot ambled over to the group of palm trees that threw their spiky shade out across the sand and sat with her back against a ridged trunk. She pushed her sunglasses up onto her head, all very Natalie Wood, and took a sip. It was sweet and cold and utterly delicious. ‘So that’s what this feels like.’ She smiled.

  A little boy aged about two waddled across the sand and into view, pursued by a slightly older brother who looked none too pleased to be on child-minding duty. Dot watched as the toddler’s fat little feet pounded the sand, revealing a glimpse of pale sole each time he lifted his foot. With arms pistoning up and down either side of his round tummy, he ran as fast as he was able until a small rock that lay hidden from view tripped him. He fell down and wailed, with a mouth full of tears and a curly head full of sand. She didn’t realise she too was crying until she felt the hot tears drip onto her arms as they lay across her drawn-up knees.

  ‘Simon… My Simon…’

  Dot returned to the cafe and ordered a coffee. Sitting with her back to the sea, scanning the little beach cafe that already felt familiar, she decided to make a plan. She couldn’t hide away down here for her entire stay, so once she was accli­matised she would seek out her lover.

  ‘You look miles away.’ Cilla placed the coffee on the table and sat down opposite her.

  ‘I’m just thinking, I need to go and see someone, a friend of mine. I’ve come all this way just to see them, but now I’m here I’m not sure how to find them.’ Dot was unsure of how much to tell.

  ‘Well, if they live around here, chances are I know them. It’s a small place and I’ve lived here my whole life! What’s their name?’

  Dot swallowed, her confidence was evaporating. She had little choice but to talk to Cilla, she was her link to this new world.

  ‘His name is Solomon, Sol, Sol Arbuthnott.’

  Cilla smiled, which turned into a laugh that shook her whole body. She giggled, with tears glinting in her eyes and one hand at her throat. ‘Oh, Clover, you have friends in high places! The Arbuthnotts are big shots around here, girl! Trying to find some­one that doesn’t know them would be harder!’

  Dot looked at her lap. She had known that Sol’s family were wealthy, but not that everyone would know them. This made her quest both easier and harder. She felt swamped by the enorm­ity of the situation.

  Cilla continued, ‘And today is your lucky day.’

  ‘Oh, why’s that?’ Dot laughed.

  ‘He is right over there…’ She pointed with her arm out­stretched and index finger directed over Dot’s right shoulder.

  Dot felt rooted to the spot. She wanted to turn around, but her shaking legs wouldn’t budge. Her hands gripped her coffee cup and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, making speech difficult.

  ‘Is… is he really?’

  ‘Yes, and if I’m not mistaken, he’s coming this way.’

  Dot gasped and placed her trembling hand over her mouth. ‘Oh my God.’

  Cilla watched the colour drain from Dot’s cheeks and saw the fear flicker across her eyes.

  ‘Think I’ll leave you to it. Holler if you need anything.’

  Dot’s heart raced. She could hear the blood pulsing in her ears and was sure she would have fainted had she been stand­ing. It was surreal. She sat for what felt like an age, wait­ing to hear his footsteps approach and climb onto the wooden deck of the cafe. The old man nursing a bottle of rum in the corner disap­peared into the background, the music overhead faded until there was just her and the empty chair opposite, waiting.

  She remembered grabbing a pen from the pot on the counter at Paolo’s and scribbling on a napkin, See you tomorrow, soldier boy. Exhausted, but happy! Your Clover xxxxx. She had folded it with a tired but happy heart, confident that he would be given it within the hour. She hadn’t known he was already heading home, back to paradise. She hadn’t known she was carrying their baby. She hadn’t known a lot of things.

  She heard the creak of the timber as he climbed onto the step and the scrape of a chair and then silence; he hadn’t sat down. She felt the heat of his stare against her back. He had seen her. She closed her eyes and waited. His bare feet shuffled across the floor, four paces until he was stood by her side; she heard his sharp intake of breath. He moved slowly until he was in front of her.

  ‘Open your eyes.’ It was a whisper.

  Dot slowly raised her lids and it was as if it had been seconds and not more than a year since she had seen his face. He shone, this beautiful man. He stared at her in disbelief. His skin was darker than before, there were new lines etched around his eyes and he had lost weight; some of the muscle had slipped from his bones.

  He continued to whisper. ‘I dreamed about you last night. I wished you to me, just like I’ve wished you to me every night since I last saw you. Am I going mad? Are you really here? How—’

  ‘It’s a long story…’

  ‘Oh, your voice! Your voice! I’ve missed it. I’ve missed you… every second.’

  Sol pulled the chair away from the table and almost fell into it as the strength left his legs. He was wearing a shirt with the collar up and the buttons undone and tennis shorts. He gripped her hands and held them inside his own, crushing them to his face; it was almost painful.

  Dot looked up into the face of the man she loved, the man she would always love. ‘You broke my heart.’ She cried, unable to stop the flow of tears.

  Sol nodded and let his own tears fall. ‘I broke my own.’

  ‘You said you’d never let me go, but you did.’

  ‘Oh, Clover, my Clover, I never let you go in my head or my heart, never.’

  I had a baby, I needed you. He was perfect, he was ours.

  He shook his head. ‘We can’t talk here, where can we go?’ He was thinking aloud, not really asking her.

  ‘I’m staying along the beach…’

  Sol stood and reached for her hand and just like that she placed it inside his palm, where it fitted snugly; it felt like coming home. The two walked along the beach as though they had never been apart, able to breathe and think for the first time since they h
ad been parted, without everything being filtered through the grief of separation.

  Cilla watched them from the kitchen window. ‘Oh dear, oh dear, there’s gonna be big trouble up at the Jasmine House.’

  Dot pushed open the door of her little hut and Sol followed. They had walked in silence; there was so much to be said that it was difficult for either of them to know where or how to start.

  The moment the door closed, Sol stepped forward and pulled her to him, holding her tight against his chest with her head under the crook of his chin. He kissed her scalp and breathed in her scent. She reached up and placed her fingers against the skin at the base of his throat, feeling the pulse of his heart.

  ‘I can’t believe you’re here, I keep thinking I might wake up and you’ll be gone. I’ve imagined holding you so many times.’ He smiled as he spoke.

  The two made their way over to the sofa and sat at either end, facing each other. She gripped his legs and he her arms, entwined on the cosy space, unable and unwilling to be separated.

  Sol continued. ‘And if this is all I ever have, these few minutes of seeing you, touching you, hearing you, then I will die happy. I’ve prayed for so long for one more touch, one more kiss.’

  Dot reached up and ran her fingers over his face, confirming he was real. She bent forward and kissed his mouth, a sweet kiss that sent a ripple of joy through her entire body. Sol lifted her until she lay flat against him, her dress open, allowing her skin to touch his along their legs, faces and chest where her swimming costume dipped away. He ran his hands over her form, kissing her hungrily and with a need that he had forgot­ten he possessed.

  ‘I love you.’ His words were a magic salve that confirmed what she thought she had known. She hadn’t imagined it: he loved her. He loved her!

  ‘I love you too, always.’ She looked into his face, just inches from her own. Then she placed her head on his chest and spoke into the air. Safe in his arms, words now flowed with ease.

  ‘I came to find you, y’know; I thought you must be poorly. I saw your mum, and she told me you had gone.’