by Lesley Lokko
Something inside Diana shifted at the sound of Niela’s words. She put a hand to her mouth. ‘You poor girl,’ she said, her voice cracking. ‘You poor, poor girl.’ She slid her hand across the table and touched Niela’s forearm. ‘There’s something I need to tell you, Niela. I know this is going to sound strange – after all, why should I tell you? I’ve never told anyone else. But I have to. It’s time I told the truth. I can’t go on like this any longer, either.’
Diana spoke for almost two hours straight. Niela didn’t interrupt her, not once. She didn’t dare. At first Diana’s voice was hesitant; she seemed to be groping for words. Niela watched her in astonishment. Diana? Lost for words? It didn’t seem possible. But as she spoke, slowly unburdening herself of the weight she’d been carrying around for most of her life, her voice grew stronger. Harvey poked his head round the door, saw that they were deep in conversation and left with Rafe and Darcy in tow. Diana seemed not to have noticed. It was nearly seven by the time she stopped. ‘H … how much of this does Josh know?’ she asked quietly.
Niela was still too stunned by what she’d heard to speak. She shook her head slowly. ‘Not much, I don’t think. Hardly any of it. I … he knows about Rufus.’
‘Rufus?’ Diana’s eyes closed with pain. ‘How?’
‘He saw you once. With him. He was around nine or ten,’ Niela said slowly. ‘He was hiding in the attic and he saw you. I don’t know if he thinks it was just that once … he wouldn’t say.’
Diana swallowed painfully. She took a large gulp of wine. ‘He saw us. Christ. What a mess. What a fucking mess.’
Niela winced. It was so unlike Diana to swear. She looked at her sitting opposite, her feet tucked underneath her, her hands wrapped tightly around her glass as if she were holding on to it for dear life. Diana had lost weight, she realised suddenly. Her face, normally so perfectly made-up and practically wrinkle-free, suddenly looked aged and drawn. ‘This … this thing with Rufus. Do … do you know why it happened? Why you can’t break free?’ Niela asked after a moment, wondering if it was a question too far.
‘Why?’ Diana gave a small start. She shook her head and took in a deep breath. ‘I couldn’t tell you. It was always that way,’ she said slowly. ‘Always. I can’t even tell you when it began. I just know that I’ve always loved him and in some way that I can’t even begin to explain, I always will. Don’t misunderstand me … I do love Harvey. I married him because I loved him, not because I couldn’t have Rufus. I didn’t want Rufus. He’s … there’s something damaged about Rufus and I don’t know why. He and Harvey come from exactly the same place. They’ve had the same upbringing, the same love and care, and let me tell you, there was no one as caring as their mother. If it hadn’t been for Dot, I don’t know what would have happened to me.’ She stopped and took another sip. She looked at Niela and her face softened suddenly. ‘Isn’t it strange? I’ve spent my whole life trying to be perfect at everything, and in the end, I’ve failed with the one thing I’m most proud of … my sons. I’ve failed at being a wife and a mother. Taking care of my family. And you … by the sound of it, a family’s exactly what you’ve lost. And yet I’ll bet you anything it’s the thing you’ll do well. Brilliantly, in fact. I know you will.’
Niela shook her head slowly. She could feel the tears beginning to slide down her cheeks. ‘It’s not up to me. It’s Josh’s decision too, and he’s already made one.’
‘Can you forgive him?’
Niela shook her head again. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know anything any more,’ she said slowly. ‘I don’t even know what to think.’
‘Give it time,’ Diana said, draining the rest of her glass. ‘Don’t make a decision now. Let him come back, settle in … and then the two of you should talk. I need to talk to Josh. I need to speak to each of my sons before it’s too late.’ She stood up abruptly. ‘I’ll get you some sheets and a duvet,’ she said, the briskness that Niela was used to back in her voice and manner. ‘You can sleep in Josh’s room. It’s far too late for you to be traipsing across London. Can you call in late to work tomorrow?’
Niela nodded, relieved. Her head was spinning, and not just because of what she’d heard. There were so many emotions running through her – relief, anger, fear, sadness. Some distant memory of a longing came back to her, and it took her a while to place it. It was Ayanna, and the closeness between her cousin and her aunt. She’d never experienced that kind of closeness between a mother and a daughter before. The gulf between her own mother and the way her life had turned out was too wide and vast to be easily traversed … and now it was too late. When she thought of Saira, it was anger she felt, not love or longing. Saira had abandoned her to the sort of fate she’d been brought up to believe she would avoid. Diana was hardly the sort of mother she’d have chosen, either to have, or to aspire to be, but she’d been touched beyond belief by Diana’s confession. She followed her out of the room and up the stairs to what had once been Josh’s childhood room. Diana quickly and expertly made up the bed. Then she turned to Niela and paused, a small, wistful smile flickering across her face. ‘Good night, Niela. Try to sleep. I know this must be hard for you … it’s hard for all of us. But things will work out, you’ll see. You have to have … faith. Yes, that’s it. Faith. I think we could all do with a little faith.’ And before Niela could say another word, she left the room, closing the door behind her. Niela heard her footsteps fall away. She lay in the dark, listening to the faint creaking and settling of the house as it slipped into the small hours of the morning.
Harvey was fast asleep; she crept into the bedroom, taking off her clothes and jewellery with great care. She needn’t have bothered. Nothing would wake him. He slept the sleep of the innocent, she thought to herself wistfully; always had. In those first few dreadful months after it had happened, she’d been unable to sleep. She’d lain beside him, night after night, unable to give even the tiniest vent to the double-headed dragon of grief and fear that coursed through her veins in the same way that dread now choked up her throat. It wasn’t just the thought of what was happening silently inside her that clogged her mind and made her thoughts heavy with what couldn’t be said – it was everything else. The mess she’d made of everything. She who had once had everything so tightly in place now felt things slipping away from her uncontrollably. Even her own body had rebelled against her. She lay stiffly beside him, already feeling lighter, the thoughts and half-fancies coming dangerously close. In her half-dream state, she thought she could hear the beating of mechanical wings, coming to carry her off. She turned over on to her side, pressing her face into the pillow, ashamed of the temporary feeling of sweet relief as she imagined giving herself up to some other agency and slipping away unseen. Don’t be ridiculous, she admonished herself, sliding out a foot to touch Harvey. That was all she needed – a touch. The solid reassurance of his flesh against hers. In the dark, her eyes adjusted to the familiar shapes of things around her. The antique dressing table that stood by the open window; the heavy damask drapes and the lighter, floating fabric that billowed gently to and fro. Harvey liked to sleep with the windows open. She did too, although lately she’d felt a kind of fear emanating from the darkness beyond. Silly. Ridiculous. She was being fanciful; the sort of thing her mother, when she had a mind to, warned her against.
Her mind drifted off on its own independent course. She was too tired to stop it. For the first time in years, she gave in, allowed it to roam. Mohammed. Khadija … What had happened to them? She could no longer remember the name of the village where Rufus said they were from. Djemmah? Djemba? No, Djemmorah. Yes, that was it. A tiny village high up in the slopes of the Atlas Mountains. She still remembered the tremor of fear that had run through her when Josh told her he’d been assigned to work on a camp in Algeria. She’d stared at him, her heartbeat suddenly accelerating. ‘Algeria?’ she’d murmured, turning away so that he wouldn’t see the heat rising fast in her cheeks. ‘Good God, darling … what makes you want to go there?’ Please d
on’t say it. She’d waited, every nerve ending in her body alive to the sound of the name Djemmorah. But of course he didn’t and of course he hadn’t … he’d never been near the place, as far as she could tell. Smara, close to the border on the opposite side of the country, would be as close as he’d ever get. She didn’t know how much Rufus had shelled out for everyone’s silence – he wouldn’t say. Substantial enough, no doubt. She’d never asked where he got the money from. The Keelers were wealthy, but not that wealthy. How much did a child cost? She felt the knife-edge of guilt twist a little deeper in her gut. She thought of Josh and of Julia. And of the child about to come. She saw in Josh’s dark, glowering face the bewildered child, casting about in his unhappiness, looking for some mischief or naughtiness for which he would make someone pay. He’d been making her pay for thirty years with his choices and his absences and the tug-of-war love between them that refused to rest. Now it was someone else’s turn – Julia? Aaron? Niela? Who would pay the ultimate price for what she’d done? She stifled a sob. What a mess. What an unholy, godforsaken, mangled, tangled-up mess.
95
JOSH
Dar-es-Salaam, October 2000
Rain leaned in from the horizon, falling in silent vertical sheets, moving stealthily over the heaving sea. Out there, barely a few hundred yards away from the hotel, waves rose and fell soundlessly. Josh moved about the room gathering his things, stowing them into the khaki duffel bag that he’d come with, picking up the last remnants of his presence. In an hour or so the driver would come for him and take him to the airport. In a few hours, he’d be gone, back to where he’d come from. He’d come to Tanzania to sort out someone else’s mistakes – a small project in Buguruni, one of the capital city’s many slums – and now he was about to fly back and try to sort out his own. He had no idea what to do. In the three months since he’d been gone, he’d spoken to Niela only a handful of times, short, tense conversations in which nothing of any importance was said. Now it was time to go home and face the music. He was dreading it. He continued to stuff his belongings into his bag with a violence that betrayed him. It was his own emotions he was longing to cut off, to choke before they choked him.
A short, sharp horn-blast announced the driver’s arrival. He took one last look around, picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder. He closed the door behind him and stepped into the heat. Within minutes they were away. He watched the city slip past, a cornucopia of corrugated tin roofs, skyscrapers and mouldy cement, interspersed with flashes of brilliant, riotous bougainvillea, spilling out over crumbling walls and fences along the route. It took them less than thirty minutes to reach the airport. He checked in, watched his bag disappear on the thick black tongue of the luggage belt and then made his way upstairs. He had a whisky in the bar, felt it slide hot and silky down his throat, momentarily calming him, and then made his way on to the plane. It was a ten-hour flight back to London. Somewhere along the journey, he hoped, an answer of sorts would come to him. Or perhaps not.
96
DIANA
London, October 2000
Harvey’s car was in the driveway when she pulled up that evening. She parked her little sports car neatly next to his, unsure whether to be relieved or not. It had been a long day in chambers, her mind barely there, listening with a fraction of her usual concentration to the voices of those around her. Whilst everyone else went on talking, she withdrew into herself, her mind focused only on how she was going to tell Harvey – what words she would use, and, perhaps more importantly, where and when she would stop. What did he need to know? What did she need to tell him and what could she leave out? There was only one person who needed to know absolutely everything, and that was Josh. What happened afterwards was up to him, not her. But Harvey? What were the limits of his understanding? Lately she’d been unable to control her thoughts or stop them dead in their dangerous tracks – one wrong move or a tender word and things might start tumbling out that she couldn’t afford.
She picked up her bag from the passenger seat and opened the door. She noticed, not for the first time, that little things like getting out of the car or picking up her bag single-handedly were becoming more difficult. All of a sudden, it seemed, she was no longer in proper control of her body – it deserted her at the oddest, weakest moments. She couldn’t trust it to obey her commands. She stood for a moment, leaning against the car, breathing heavily. She hadn’t expected this – the sudden and frightening decline of her strength. Nor was it constant or continuous. She would have a moment’s weakness, a slight shortness of breath, and then things would swing themselves back to normal and all was exactly as before. It made the moments when the weakness took hold of her that much harder to accept. She took another deep breath, steadied herself and then walked up the path to the house. She slid the key into the lock and pushed open the door. It took her a moment to realise that Harvey was standing there in the hallway, a look of agitation on his normally placid, calm face. A tremor of fear ran through her. ‘Darling,’ she began, putting her bag down and turning to him. ‘You’re home early.’
‘I’ve been here since one. I cancelled my list. Diana … why didn’t you tell me?’
She turned to him slowly, feeling the blood slowly draining away from her limbs and face. How did he know? ‘I … I … wanted to …’ she began, putting out a hand to support herself against the sideboard. Her knees felt weak. ‘I … I should have, I know, I should have told you. H … how did you hear?’
‘I bumped into Geoffrey at the Wellington this afternoon. No, he didn’t give me the details … What is it, Diana? What’s wrong? Tell me.’
‘Harvey …’ She stopped. She couldn’t bring herself to say it. Now that the moment had come, she couldn’t speak.
He grasped her wrist, pulling her towards him. ‘Come here. I don’t know why I didn’t notice … so stupid of me … I could see something wasn’t right. Diana … what is it? Just tell me. For God’s sake, tell me.’
She had only seen him cry once before, twenty years earlier, in the small hours of the morning. It was the first time a patient had died on the operating table, he told her eventually, his voice hoarse with tears. A young girl; a brain tumour. She’d bled uncontrollably to death in front of them and there wasn’t a damn thing any of them could do. She’d held him close to her for the remainder of the night, feeling the tension slowly slip out of his large, supremely capable body. But by morning, he was back to normal. That had been the only time. Until now. He cried silently, his powerful shoulders jerking a little as he struggled to catch his breath. She was the dry-eyed, strong and compassionate one. She patted his hand as she’d done to her children, once. There were no tears lurking inside her, not yet at any rate.
He got up from the kitchen table, wiping the tears from his face with the back of his hand. It wasn’t a gesture she’d ever seen him make. She’d always known Harvey loved her, without question or reservation; it had been the touchstone of their life together. For him there’d been no one else; there never would be. She could no more understand it than she dared to bring herself to question it. This is it, then, she thought to herself as she finished speaking, her throat suddenly painfully constricted. This is it. There, I’ve told him. A single sentence breaking itself out of the confusion: Harvey knows. There was no turning back, now. Harvey knows. She lifted her gaze to meet his. Curiously, now that it was out, she was no longer afraid.
97
RAFE/MADDY
London October 2000
Rafe stood back to let his registrar close up the wound, keeping a watchful eye on him. The registrar was young and gifted but still unsure of himself, much as Rafe himself had been at the beginning. Through his green mask he could hear the young man’s breathing, nice and steady, as he positioned the sucker, draining away the excess fluid and blood. He looked up once – everything OK? Rafe nodded, giving him permission to make the final stitches, then he stepped away and left the team to it, his clogs squeaking on the polished floor. The t
heatre doors swung shut behind him. He glanced at his watch. It was almost noon. One more case and then he was done for the weekend. He pushed open the doors to the second theatre impatiently. The patient was a young girl with a short history of gradually diminishing sight. The test results were in – a tumour behind the rear ventricle, pressing down on the ocular muscle. It was a delicate operation of the sort he rather enjoyed. He slipped on his mask and gloves and joined the team at the table. Everything was ready and waiting for him. The back of the patient’s head had been expertly opened up and he was able to look inside without obstruction. The brain lay exposed before him with all the fragile, lovely beauty of a flower. In that moment, instead of concentrating on his incision and planning his next moves, he thought of Maddy and the soft, sensual entrance into her body. Fortunately, he came to his senses immediately, his whole being flooded with a mixture of desire and embarrassment. He spent the next thirty minutes carefully incising the tumour, taking care not to disturb any of the surrounding tissue. Finally, it was done. He left the assisting surgeon to finish the job and made his way back towards the doors again. He shrugged off his robe and mask and dropped them in the incinerator chute. He made his way to the basement garage, but his mind kept drifting back to Maddy. The image that had come to him disturbed him; it had been so long since he and Maddy had made love. Months, as a matter of fact. Something was going on but he couldn’t work out what. She’d changed. She’d lost weight, he realised. That morning, as he left for work and she got ready for her final rehearsal, he’d noticed her crossing the floor to pick up her dressing gown. He’d looked up, about to tell her something – he could no longer recall what – but the sight of her ribs had stopped him. They were showing in a way he’d never noticed before, all the way round her back. He’d looked at her closely but hadn’t said anything. Perhaps she was on a diet? He tried to recall what they’d both eaten at dinner … pasta with chicken, something like that. But she’d had a second helping, he remembered. And he’d been the one to decline the cheese, not her. A glass of wine or two … that was no diet that he’d ever heard of. It had been a while since she’d complained about being fat, too. A cold feeling of unease began to settle all over him. It was as if he knew what was coming, but couldn’t see it.