The Sun Sister

by Lucinda Riley

  ‘Or maybe I’ve just forgotten what it’s like to have a five-year-old,’ she sighed as she let herself into the apartment and saw the carnage wreaked by Rosa’s earlier tantrum visible all over the living room floor.

  After collecting the toys into a basket and stowing them away, she made her way downstairs to tackle the dishes. Lankenua had left Brooklyn a couple of years ago on her own fiftieth birthday. Her husband had done well for himself, starting out as a mechanic and eventually saving up enough to open his own shop in New Jersey. Cecily hoped that the reason she’d left was simply because she no longer needed to work and wanted to spend time at home taking care of her husband. She suspected, however, that Lankenua too had struggled with Rosa, and besides, the wages she had been able to pay her had been paltry. She knew Lankenua had stayed as long as she had out of love.

  ‘Oh Lord,’ Cecily sighed, wondering if she should leave the pots for the daily who would be in soon, but pride won over sense. Dirty pans were a sign that things were getting out of control. Having finished washing the dishes and opened the door to let the daily in – a euphemistic phrase given she could only afford her once a week – Cecily made herself a good strong pot of coffee and went into the garden to sit down for a few minutes before she began work. She looked out at the weeds that were springing up with abandon as usual in the warm June weather. She’d get to them later, she thought. Digging in the earth always calmed her, even though this patch was a pathetic postage stamp compared to the magnificent garden she had created back in Kenya.

  She heard the doorbell ring upstairs, but didn’t respond to it – it was almost certainly the mailman and the daily would open the door if it was a package. The sun was so warm, she was almost drifting off when she heard a voice from behind her.

  ‘Hello, Cecily.’

  It was a deep, familiar voice that she couldn’t quite place. She opened her eyes and noticed something was blocking out the sun.

  She looked up at what was causing it, and for a moment thought she was hallucinating because there was her husband Bill, the sun behind him forming some kind of angelic light around him.

  ‘Oh my!’ she said, because there really wasn’t anything else to say. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’

  ‘First and foremost, I believe that technically, you are still my wife. Secondly, over the years, you have issued a number of invitations for me to come and visit you here in New York,’ Bill said. ‘I finally decided it was time I took you up on your offer.’

  ‘Would you mind awfully stepping out of the sun? I can hardly see your face.’

  ‘My apologies,’ said Bill, and moved to pull out the chair on the other side of the wrought-iron table. It was only now that she could see that his hair was still thick, but almost completely white. His handsome face was covered in deep lines that told of too much sun and the stresses of a life lived through two world wars. He looked older, yes, Cecily thought, yet as her eyes swept down his still-muscled body, he was as physically strong as he’d always been.

  ‘You don’t by any chance have a cold beer, do you?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t, no. Just homemade lemonade.’

  ‘I’ll take some of that, thanks.’

  Cecily stood up and went inside to fetch the lemonade from the refrigerator. Even though she remained outwardly calm, her heart was pounding hard against her chest. Bill – her husband – was here in New York, sitting on her terrace. The thought was so surreal, she slapped her cheek to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.

  ‘There you go,’ she said as she put a glass in front of him. He picked it up and gulped it down in one.

  ‘That tastes good,’ he smiled at her. ‘I came straight here from the airport. Isn’t it amazing how times have moved on? It used to take weeks to travel to New York. Now, it’s a few stops on an aeroplane and Bob’s your uncle, here I am. The world becomes smaller every day.’

  ‘It sure does,’ Cecily agreed, feeling his gaze upon her. ‘What? Do I have a smudge on my cheek?’

  ‘No, I was just thinking how you’ve hardly changed a jot since I last saw you. Whereas I . . .’ he sighed, ‘am an old man these days.’

  ‘It has been twenty-three years.’

  ‘Has it really? How time flies. I’m almost seventy, Cecily.’

  ‘And I’m fifty-three years old, Bill.’

  ‘You most certainly don’t look it.’

  A long silence passed between them as they stared at the small patch of garden, neither of them sure what to say next.

  ‘Why are you here, Bill?’ Cecily said eventually. ‘You stroll in as cool as a cucumber, like we just said goodbye yesterday. At least you could have called to say you were coming, rather than giving me the shock of my life!’

  ‘I do apologise, my dear. As you might remember, telephones and I have never sat easily together, but you are perfectly right. I should have forewarned you of my arrival first. It’s very peaceful here, isn’t it?’ he commented. ‘I’ve always had this vision of New York as a rather frenetic type of a place.’

  ‘Walk a few blocks uptown and you’ll find that it is.’

  ‘I notice you’ve brought a little of Africa to Brooklyn.’ Bill pointed to the hibiscus, growing with abandon up the trellis.

  ‘Yes, Katherine shipped me some seedlings and, miracle of miracles, a few of them managed to survive the journey and flourish. How is she?’

  ‘Back on the farm now and the same as ever,’ Bill shrugged. ‘You’ll obviously have read about the Mau Mau rebellion?’

  ‘Yes, she wrote to tell me what was happening. She and Bobby left with the kids for safety in Scotland while it was all going on.’

  ‘As did thousands of white settlers; everyone feared the worst, although I did hear that reports of the slaughter of the whites by their former employees were greatly exaggerated in the newspapers. In total, only thirty-five of us lot died during the whole bloody awful show. The odd farm was torched, but most of the bloodshed took place between the Kikuyu themselves. Lord knows how many died as cousin turned on cousin in the struggle for power. And our government didn’t help either – they were brutal in how they dealt with suspected Mau Mau perpetrators; many innocent men were hanged. However, as I’m sure you know, Kenya finally won its independence in 1963. Colonial rule is no more.’

  ‘So you stayed on throughout? I often thought of you and wondered if you would. I wrote you a couple of times care of Muthaiga Club, but I never got a reply. To be honest, I had no idea if you were alive or dead.’

  ‘Forgive me, Cecily. Even if I did not receive your missives – you can imagine how chaotic everything was back then – in retrospect, I should have contacted you to at least tell you I – and Wolfie at the time, as well as Kwinet – still breathed and were perfectly safe.’

  ‘When did . . . I mean, how did Wolfie die?’ The thought of her loyal companion and how she had abandoned him brought a guilty surge of emotion with it.

  ‘Of old age, in his sleep. After you left, he attached himself to Kwinet and pottered around after him perfectly happily.’

  ‘And Paradise Farm?’

  ‘Remains unscathed, although some of your antique furniture could do with a damned good dust. Never was much of a housewife, as you know.’ Bill offered Cecily a weak smile.

  ‘So how are things out there now?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, after the doldrums of the late fifties and early sixties, Kenya is experiencing rather a boom. President Kenyatta made an impressive speech shortly after independence, urging the white farmers to stay on and help rebuild the economy – and many of us did. Some, of course, decided to sell up to the newly created Land Bank, but investment is flowing in at present, and aeroplanes land every day bringing tourists on safari.’

  ‘Then at least, with some finances available, the new regime must be providing better healthcare and education for its own people?’

  ‘I wouldn’t go that far.’ Bill rolled his eyes. ‘The simple fact is, nothing much has changed for anyone
. Seems to me the poor are still as poor as they always have been, the bloody roads are still as impassable as ever, and as for education . . . well now, it’s early days yet and we must all live in hope that things will improve for the next generation, whose parents were prepared to lay down their lives for the cause.’

  ‘Sounds to me like we’ve both faced revolutions in our different countries,’ agreed Cecily wryly. ‘And yes, we must live in hope that the future will be brighter. Otherwise, what is the point to all the suffering?’

  ‘Quite. So, tell me what you’ve been doing in the past twenty years? How’s Stella?’

  ‘Oh, she is simply amazing,’ she smiled. ‘She’s a civil rights lawyer. She works for the NAACP – the National Association for the Advancement of Coloured People – in their legal department, and spends most of her time flying all over the country to advise lawyers how to fight cases where there is obvious racial prejudice. I’m so very proud of her, and I’m sure you would be too.’

  ‘Good Lord, I take my hat off to you, Cecily. Who would have thought that the little Maasai baby abandoned by her mother would turn into a freedom fighter for the oppressed masses?’

  ‘It was the path she chose and was passionate about, Bill. She always was very bright.’

  ‘Yes, she was. And what opportunities you have obviously given her.’

  ‘You know how I loved her.’

  ‘I do, yes.’

  They both lapsed into silence again.

  ‘I’ve often pondered . . .’ said Bill eventually.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Whether you left me, or came for her? If you see what I mean.’

  ‘I never intended to leave you, Bill, but yes, what New York could offer to Stella was sure a big incentive to stay. Especially as you really didn’t seem to care one bit whether I came back or not.’

  ‘Goodness, Cecily,’ said Bill hastily. ‘I did not for one second mean for that to sound as if I was criticising you. Please, don’t blame yourself. I freely admit I was hardly an attentive husband. After the war ended, I was far too lost in my own selfish woes to be any good to anybody.’

  ‘That wasn’t your fault, although I admit that I’d spent five years hoping against hope that once war was over, we could finally settle down and be a happy family.’

  ‘If things . . . if I had been different, would you have stayed? Even if it had meant that Stella didn’t receive the kind of education you wanted for her?’

  ‘Oh Bill,’ Cecily sighed, ‘I can’t answer that.’

  ‘No, of course you can’t. I’ve often looked back on the two of us, and thought that every time we had a shot at happiness, something happened to destroy it. I suppose that’s just bad luck and timing, isn’t it?’

  ‘I guess it is, yes.’

  ‘Cecily, one of the reasons I decided to come and see you is because I thought it was time to bury any hatchets that might be hanging about. I want you to know that I bear you no ill will whatsoever and I never have. And as for deserting me, good God! I spent most of our marriage driving away from Paradise Farm leaving a trail of dust behind me.’

  ‘It was who you were, Bill, and I knew that before I married you.’

  ‘Can you believe that we’re still married?’ Bill chuckled. ‘Which I rather presume means that you have never had the urge to try again with anyone else, unless of course you’re a bigamist?’

  ‘No, and no,’ she smiled.

  ‘Although surely, there must have been gentlemen companions over the years?’

  ‘Goodness, no, I’ve been far too busy with Stella and my teaching and bookkeeping to even think about anything like that.’

  ‘Now that surprises me.’ He looked at her quizzically. ‘I was half expecting to be greeted by a great beast of an American male who pronounced himself your boyfriend. Surely now that Stella is all grown up, you must have found time to enjoy yourself?’

  ‘Hardly.’ Cecily rolled her eyes. ‘Stella has a child of her own. She lives here with us. Her name is Rosa.’

  ‘Well, well,’ Bill mused, ‘that makes me feel even older. I suppose I could say that Rosa is the nearest thing to a grandchild either of us will ever have.’

  ‘Yes, that’s how I see her anyway. She calls me “Granny”, as a matter of fact.’

  ‘How old is she?’

  ‘Five. And she’s cute and bright like her momma, but a real handful. I was only thinking this morning that I’m getting too old to care for her.’

  ‘Dare I enquire where the daddy is?’

  ‘Neither Stella nor I have any idea. She elected not to tell him – she met him through the protests a few years back. He lived down South and once everything quieted down, they had no cause to meet.’

  ‘Right. So, you’re back at home holding the baby, so to speak?’

  ‘I am, yes.’

  ‘Surely you can get help with that?’

  ‘No, Bill, I’m afraid I can’t. I believe I never did tell you the real reason I had to move out of my parents’ house on Fifth?’

  ‘No, you just wrote to me with a change of address, if I remember rightly. What happened?’

  ‘My mother came into the bedroom one morning and found me asleep in bed, with Stella huddled up next to me. There had been a big storm and she was frightened. Mama was outraged and disgusted that I could be there in my bed asleep with a Negro child. The words that fell out of her mouth that day, Bill, I don’t think I’ll ever forget them. She insisted that Lankenua and Stella leave, calling my behaviour “obscene”, so I had no choice but to leave with them. The three of us went to stay with a friend who lives right here in the next street. My mother stopped the allowance I’d received from my trust fund from that day, but thankfully, Kiki, my godmother – do you remember her?’

  ‘Why, of course I do! How could one forget Kiki?!’ chuckled Bill.

  ‘Well, she left me a generous legacy, which meant I’ve just about been able to make ends meet over the years and buy this place. I supplement what income I get from Kiki’s shares with Stella’s contribution from her wages and what I earn from teaching and taking in some bookkeeping.’

  Bill stared at her open-mouthed. ‘Good Lord, you silly woman! Why on earth didn’t you tell me what had happened? Surely you must have known that I would help?’

  ‘That’s very honourable of you to say so, Bill, but if you remember at the time, you were running a big overdraft whilst you built up your cattle farm again.’

  ‘True, but shortly after that things turned around. I began to grow some crops and I’ve been quite financially comfortable ever since. You know I would have helped, Cecily, if only you’d asked.’

  ‘Bill, to all intents and purposes, I left you,’ she said gently. ‘I wasn’t going to expect any financial help from you after that, was I?’

  ‘Well, well. I stand – or, in fact, sit – here amazed. There was me in Kenya for all these years, believing that you were living a life of luxury and ease here in New York. I was – am – your husband, Cecily, whatever had passed between us. You should have come to me.’

  ‘I didn’t and that’s that. Besides, somehow we survived.’

  ‘So, the rift between you and your parents has never been resolved?’

  ‘No, never. I heard from my sister Mamie – who left her husband some years back and is the one member of my family who still speaks to me – that Mama tells all her friends I caught a fever in Africa which left me deranged.’

  ‘And what about your father? You always described him as being rather a good sort.’

  ‘He wasn’t . . . isn’t a bad man, no, just a weak one. But that morning, he saw what was happening – he watched the three of us as we left and didn’t say a word to Mama in our defence, even though I know he was fond of Stella, and of me too. He wrote me a while after, saying that I was to come to him if I ever needed help. I’m afraid my pride wouldn’t allow it, even at the toughest of financial moments.’

  ‘You never thought of coming home to Africa?’

>   ‘Time passed, Bill, and I built a life with Stella here.’

  ‘Do you ever miss it?’ he asked abruptly.

  ‘Kenya, you mean?’

  ‘Yes. I presume that you didn’t and still don’t. After all, there was no reason why you couldn’t have visited during Stella’s school holidays.’

  ‘Bill, you talk as if we are old friends, as if there was never any feeling between us,’ Cecily said. ‘I . . . just needed to move on. To try and forget Africa, and you . . . I realised that you’d never really loved me, because if you had, surely you would have come to New York to persuade me to return home. I wrote and asked you to visit often enough. You never did, so for the sake of my sanity, I had to get on with my life.’

  ‘Not for a minute did I even suspect that you wanted me to do such a thing. If only I’d known . . .’

  ‘Then what, Bill?’ said Cecily, despairingly. ‘Wasn’t it obvious that I loved you? Those kinds of feelings don’t just switch off because you get on a boat or a plane and arrive in another country. After Kiki died, I remember being desperate to speak to you – it was Christmas Day, and I phoned Muthaiga Club, only to be told you’d gone on safari. You had my parents’ telephone number in New York, why didn’t you call?’

  ‘Who knows?’ Bill sighed. ‘At the time, I did feel rather as if you’d deserted me. Pride perhaps?’

  ‘Or, more likely, you simply forgot. It’s okay to just get real, you know. We are twenty-three years down the track after all. You can no longer hurt me.’

  ‘Oh God, Cecily, what a mess,’ Bill groaned and ran a hand through his thick hair. It was such a familiar gesture that Cecily only just restrained herself from reaching out a hand and placing it on his.

  ‘Seriously, Bill, why have you come?’

  ‘Because . . . I felt it was time that I – we – formalised our . . . well, mutual arrangements. I’m not getting any younger, as you can see, and the doctor says there’s something up with my ticker. Even though it’s not life-threatening, I have been told to take life a little more slowly. So I’m thinking of selling Paradise Farm and buying myself something a bit more manageable. As we are still married, I felt I should at least ask your permission to do so. After all, Cecily, you made not only the house but the garden your own, and almost everything in the house is yours. Do you want it back?’