‘Yes, yes. Let’s see.’ He picked up the carving knife and stabbed the roast with a fork and began to saw. ‘Wow – it’s tougher than it looks.’
‘I must drink something,’ Agnieszka said. ‘I am too hot.’
‘Gerry to the rescue,’ Gerry said, and he was in the kitchen before anyone could react. He carried a six-pack to the table and the bottle of whisky and a half-empty bottle of red wine.
Lorna pursed her lips, but did not say anything. Her husband continued to hack at the lamb. ‘I hope you like it well done,’ he said as he dished out pieces of meat. They fell to the plates with a crisp chink. ‘Help yourselves to potatoes and vegetables. And there’s gravy.’
Lorna shook her head.
‘No gravy?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘It … No gravy.’
‘Oh.’
The girl passed the dish to Gerry, scrutinizing the lumps on the plate. When her own plate arrived, she prodded the meat with her fork and glanced at Lorna before pouring herself another beer.
‘There should be some sauce,’ Sonny said. He looked up at his wife, but she only stared at the table. He went into the kitchen to search.
‘In Jo’burg I had bush meat,’ Gerry was saying. ‘Lovely stuff. You can get it over here, I’m told, but it’s not the same, I suppose.’
‘That’s another place you’ve been to,’ Irene said. ‘Your photo albums must be bursting.’
‘No, no. No photos. Didn’t take a single one. Why waste the time and the money? It’s all up here, you see.’ Gerry touched the matted grey rag on his skull. ‘All the memory I need.’
‘Oh … that’s a shame,’ the mother said. ‘You don’t think so, Lorna? Lorna? You’re a bit quiet, dear.’
‘Think I’ve had too much wine.’ She looked down at her plate, at the crisped lamb, the potatoes, the now mushy peas. She did not know how she was going to eat it.
‘I found something,’ the husband said. He placed the chutney and tomato sauce in the centre of the table and sat down, not looking anyone in the eye.
‘Oh, Sonny! What were you thinking!’ the mother screeched. She turned to her daughter. ‘Honestly. Mango chutney? Where’s his common sense?’
Agnieszka bit into a potato, realised it was not cooked and began to nibble around the edge. ‘Is very delicious,’ she mouthed, steam pluming from her lips.
‘God’s grub,’ Gerry muttered through a mouthful of food. He wiped his forehead again with a sleeve, then patted his skin to confirm the moisture had vanished. ‘It’s like I haven’t eaten for days, I’m so hungry.’ He reached for the ketchup and smacked the end of the bottle, not minding that the sauce splashed across his food. He helped himself to the carrots, which seemed to dissolve in the mouth, and cleverly chose the smallest potatoes. ‘So, you and Sonny,’ he said. ‘When did you get together? He never mentioned you at I.A.’
Lorna looked up as if surprised that people were still in the room. ‘No, Sonny was there when we met. I don’t think you were, though. Probably after you left.’
‘Could have been an overlap,’ Gerry said, still chewing the lamb.
She could see her culinary efforts between his teeth, particles shooting out of his mouth onto the table, into the carrots and peas. He drank a mouthful of whisky, gargled and swallowed. She wondered why her husband had invited him, what the two had ever had in common. There was a silence and the radiators began to clank again. She inhaled, audibly, then checked herself.
‘I’ll get some juice. You should drink some juice, dear,’ her mother said. ‘It’ll pick you up.’ She carried her dinner to the kitchen and when she returned with a bottle of lemonade, the plate had disappeared. ‘Here,’ she said to her daughter. ‘Drink some of this. You’ll feel better.’
‘It was after Gerry left that we got married,’ Sonny was saying to the girl. ‘But Lorna and I were an item when he was still at I.A. He’s probably forgotten.’ He tried not to ogle the outline of the girl’s nipples as they strained against the T-shirt. Each time he spoke to her, his gaze lowered and he began to flush.
‘Gerry remember everything,’ the girl said. ‘He cannot forget.’
‘It’s all up here,’ Gerry said again, tapping the side of his head. He pushed away from the table, looked down at the floor and blinked. ‘God’s grub,’ he said. ‘Lovely. Very lovely, Lorna.’ He had sliced and tasted most of the food, but his plate seemed strangely full. ‘Which way is the gents?’
‘Down the end of the hall, on the right,’ Sonny indicated. ‘Just before you get to the bedroom.’
Gerry lurched up, staggered to the doorway and rested there for a moment. ‘Crikey! Hot as hell in here,’ he said, wiping his face with his other sleeve, moving off again.
Sonny walked to the bay window and raised it an inch. Condensation had pooled on the window sills.
‘What are you doing?’ the mother cried. ‘It’s freezing out there. You want to catch cold? This poor girl in her shirt – she’ll get sick!’
Agnieszka smiled.
‘Only for a minute, Irene,’ Sonny said. ‘A bit of fresh air.’
‘You see that?’ the mother turned to her daughter, nodding, as if she had proved something.
Sonny stood by the window for a moment, and opened it another inch. Irene glared at her daughter, then at the girl, but said nothing. Sonny smiled at Agnieszka and sat down and continued to eat.
‘Is very nice,’ the girl said to Lorna, carefully arranging her cutlery in the middle of her food. She pushed away the plate of bald potatoes and uneaten vegetables and dry meat. ‘I cannot eat again.’ She patted her stomach. ‘Is very nice.’
‘You’re very welcome,’ the wife replied. She had not touched a thing on her own plate. ‘I wonder if Gerry is all right?’ She looked at her husband. ‘He’s been gone a while.’
Agnieszka swivelled on her chair. ‘I will find Gerry. Is okay.’ She tottered out of the room, her thighs swishing in the stretched denim.
‘Very nice,’ Lorna said, folding a hand on top of the other. ‘Your friends.’
‘Your friends,’ her mother echoed.
‘I told you, Gerry’s had a difficult time,’ the husband said. ‘I don’t know the half of it, but look at him; he’s a mess. Give him a break, okay? If only for tonight. Please?’
‘I don’t know why you put up with it, Lorna,’ her mother said, shaking her head, not looking at either of them. ‘I really don’t know.’ She glanced at the husband who continued to pick at his plate, then stared ahead at the living room wall, at a poster of a lake and a snow-capped mountain behind it.
Agnieszka pushed open the unlocked bathroom door and saw Gerry sitting on the toilet, smoking a cigarette, trousers round his ankles on the floor. The window was thrown open, off the latch. The air was crisp. She shut the door quietly and grinned and skipped towards him.
‘Give me cigarette!’ She reached out to his lips and took it from him. While she smoked, his hands travelled beneath the T-shirt, resting on her breasts.
‘Good God,’ he sighed. ‘You’re alive. You are alive.’
She took a long drag on the cigarette and placed it on the edge of the bath and lifted the T-shirt above her breasts. She unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans, wriggling to release the material, kicking them off one leg. A white ankle boot struck the base of the sink. She lowered herself on to him and he sighed aloud, ‘My Agi.’
He watched her lift and descend in front of him, then his face fell between her breasts. A schooner of cold sailed into them. The latch fell from the sill, the window flew back and forth, but they did not stop.
‘You’re not cold, muffin?’ he asked.
She shook her head and drove on and in a moment he grunted and sighed. The girl’s forehead was as damp as the living room windows. The couple sat breathing heavily, Agnieszka resting her head against Gerry’s shoulder.
‘You won’t ever leave me, will you?’ Gerry whispered when he was able to breathe evenly again.
She raised her he
ad and stared at him. ‘You are ridiculous man,’ she said.
‘She wants to leave him,’ Gerry said. ‘Lorna does.’
‘True?’ She narrowed her eyes to see if he was making fun of her. ‘Why is it?’
‘I don’t know,’ Gerry replied. ‘He didn’t say. Just said she wanted to go. Thought it might be the other way round, myself, judging from the cooking.’
The two returned to the living room. Lorna glanced at her husband, then at the table top. She picked up her fork and began to mash the carrots on her plate until they resembled purée.
‘Everything all right?’ the husband asked as the guests sat down.
Gerry’s shirt was untucked. The girl held her boots between the fingers of one hand. The button on her jeans was still undone.
‘Fine and dandy,’ Gerry said. ‘They’ll be the death of me, these fuckers. Took the liberty – hope you don’t mind.’ He placed the cigarette packet on the table.
‘No, no,’ the husband said. He glanced at his wife as she played with her food.
The mother stared at Agnieszka, her face twisted with scorn.
‘Everything all right,’ the girl repeated in a singsong. ‘We make sexy in toilet, Gerry and me. We make baby. We like to make baby.’
Irene said, ‘Gosh – look at that – it’s way past eleven. I should get going. What time do the buses leave again?’
‘No, no,’ Sonny said. ‘I’ll take you. It’s freezing out there.’
‘No!’ his wife shouted.
Agnieszka jumped. The mother scowled.
‘You’re not driving anyone anywhere,’ Lorna said. ‘We’ll call a cab, Mum. Don’t worry. We’ll call you a cab.’ She crossed her arms and rocked back and forth in her chair.
Gerry looked across at his friend, but Sonny only sipped his beer.
‘I think I’ll sit down for a while,’ Irene said. She rose unsteadily and returned to the settee and collapsed.
Lorna moved on to the potatoes, trying to crush them, realised they were uncooked. She began to attack the slushy peas.
Agnieszka glanced at Gerry, who grimaced, then looked again at the husband. She attempted a smile. The child in the upstairs flat ran into the living room above them, followed by the bellow of his father. They could hear the boy dancing from side to side while the television blasted and the father shouted ‘Get out of it!’ repeatedly.
‘Any requests?’ Sonny asked, rising to change the CD. He walked behind his wife and touched her on the shoulder.
‘Have you disco music?’ Agnieszka asked. ‘Have you Kool and Gang?’
‘Ah, no. Not that,’ the husband replied. ‘You’ll like this one, though. I’m sure.’
The chords began and then the voice melted into the room and Irene cried, ‘Nat! I thought you couldn’t find him! Liar! He lied to me, Lorna.’
‘Must have missed it,’ Sonny said. He sat down and his plate swam before him – a hard strip of lamb remained. He put his head in his hands, rubbing his thick fleecy hair, the hair he had cut and washed and greased and combed especially for this evening, for these people who had come with their turmoil and scatter, the mother who had lived for so long without love, the woman he lived for.
The girl looked again at Gerry, then at the wife, and in her desperation said, ‘You do not like to make baby?’ She folded her arms and rubbed herself as if she were cold.
Lorna smiled to herself, but said nothing. Her husband put down his cutlery.
Gerry looked round the table waiting for someone to speak. After a while he said, ‘Cheer up, old man. Some of this’ll do you good.’ He picked up the near-empty bottle of whisky and drank from it, and passed it to his friend. But it remained on the table between them, untouched.
‘Can’t have ’em.’ Lorna broke the silence.
‘You cannot?’ the girl said.
‘Can’t have ’em – kids.’ She shook her head. ‘Not now. Not ever.’
‘Lorna!’ her husband said.
‘It’s true.’ She sat forward in her chair and looked at the girl. ‘It’s true.’ Her eyes were pleading. Tears spilled down her cheeks into the mashed mess on the plate below.
‘But it’s not your fault, Lorna,’ her mother said from the settee. ‘It isn’t anybody’s.’
Agnieszka turned to face Irene.
Irene shrugged. ‘They had an accident,’ she said. ‘In the car. A child … It wasn’t their fault. It’s not your fault.’
‘Mum!’ Lorna cried.
Gerry turned and said, ‘Go on.’
‘It was nobody’s fault. That’s what I’m trying to tell you,’ the mother said. ‘The child’s for running into the road, maybe. But it couldn’t be helped. Don’t you see?’ She looked from Gerry to the girl as if seeking forgiveness.
‘She’d be alive if it wasn’t for us,’ the daughter said. ‘We were pickled – don’t you get it?’ She folded her legs in her skirt on the dining chair and wrapped her arms round her knees and peeped out at her husband. She was thinking of the girl by the side of the road, dying. Sonny driving. The father’s screams. Screams.
‘But … it was an accident, wasn’t it?’ Gerry said. He looked from the mother to the husband to the folded wife. ‘You’ve got to move on, haven’t you? Otherwise you’re just waiting … for nothing. Life’s too short.’
‘For nothing?’ Lorna said.
‘Lorna!’ her husband warned.
‘It wasn’t her fault, Mum. How could you even think such a thing?’
‘I didn’t mean …’
‘She didn’t ask for it to happen. She was just … She was so young, Mum.’ Lorna hid her face between her chest and knees. Her shoulders began to shake and the sounds were muffled.
Sonny rose and touched her gently and tried to lead her away, but she would not move. ‘There,’ he whispered. ‘Lorn, don’t cry. It’s okay.’ He moved his hands across her shoulders, along her arms and back again, over and over, until the shaking began to subside.
Agnieszka and Gerry sat looking from the table to Lorna, back to each other again. Nat was singing ‘Azure-Te’ from the speakers in the corners of the room.
Lorna brushed her face against her skirt and lifted her head and smiled. ‘I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s the matter with me. I should go and lie down.’ She sighed, but she did not move.
Sonny sat down and began to gnaw at the last of the lamb. When he had finished, he placed the knife and fork neatly in the centre of the bare plate and looked up at his wife. ‘That was so …’ He searched for the appropriate word. ‘So …’
‘You don’t have to say it,’ she said. She smiled again. She could not help herself.
‘Put me on the bus, dear,’ the mother said. ‘Don’t waste the money on the cab. I’ve got the travel card already.’
Husband and wife looked at each other and in a moment Sonny nodded. ‘Let’s go,’ he said. He turned to the couple. ‘I won’t be long. I promise.’
They walked to the end of the road in silence until they came to the traffic lights. At the corner, they turned and walked a little further and waited at the bus stop.
Irene said, ‘It’s cold, isn’t it?’ looking out at the office block across the street.
He kicked his feet, one against the other, peered down the road for an oncoming bus. ‘Should have called a cab,’ he said. ‘It’s too cold to be waiting out like this. We could go back, you know?’
Irene shrugged. ‘We’ll see. I’ll wait a little longer. You go back. Don’t worry. It won’t be long.’
Sonny said nothing. They stood squinting back and forth. A van approached and their heads spun and it sped by. He sighed.
‘She’s very confused, Sonny,’ Irene said. ‘She’s confused and angry and everything in-between. She doesn’t know what to do. I wish I did. You’ll find a way, won’t you? Won’t you, Sonny? It’s too much for me sometimes.’
Sonny smiled. ‘Don’t you worry, Irene. We’ll sort it out.’ But the smile was short-lived and they fell silent a
gain.
The bus arrived and Irene moved slowly to the back, on the lower deck, and sat by herself in the empty row, a small huddled child. As the vehicle began to move she looked back to her son-in-law and waved. He waved back and turned away from the stop and began the long walk home.
TWO SISTERS
THE DOWNTOWN TRAFFIC belched and barked, crept forward, panted a little. It was early Saturday and it looked like we’d be late. As it happened, the others waited for us, and the ferry did not leave on time – a blessing as my mother might have become hysterical.
‘I want all of you to have a good day, now. Enjoy yourselves,’ she said. She glanced out of the window, her ringed fingers rattling the door handle. I thought she might bolt at any moment, dragging us with her, sprinting between the cars.
Bunmi sighed at our lack of progress. Folake stared at the traffic ahead. On a hill in the distance I could make out a group of old men and women practising t’ai chi in the morning sun. I looked over the driver’s shoulder, trying to gauge his mood, but he wasn’t giving anything away. I thought he might be annoyed at having to work on a Saturday – and not an official engagement for that matter. I thought of my father at home, what he would be doing, whether he had woken up yet. Had he secretly wanted to come with us?
‘Go and ask your father,’ my mother had instructed the night before, although her heart was not in it. That might have affected the way I broke the news to him. I don’t know.
‘There’s a boat trip tomorrow,’ I started. ‘Mrs Tripathi’s coming.’ He hated her. ‘We’ll be swimming,’ I added. He disliked swimming even more. I could have pleaded with him, told him I’d be crushed if he did not come. I could have omitted Mrs Tripathi’s name. The Bravermans were coming, as were the Tonets who were from Angola. He got on well with them. But I was being my mother’s helper. I could sense she did not want him to come.
‘A boat trip?’ He turned away from his desk to look at me and smiled. ‘Thank you. No, I don’t think so.’
I shrugged and sighed and walked out of his study and immediately forgot about it.
We scrambled out of the car at the harbour while my mother told the driver what time to collect us. I missed that. I wanted to know when we would be returning. I have always had a low boredom threshold, but if I know how long I must endure something, then it becomes bearable.
A Life Elsewhere Page 8