‘Get Tenuk to drive you.’
‘Well, he’s not really on duty now.’
‘Still.’
Jack went under the covered walkway to the servants’ day quarters, but came back frowning.
‘Nobody there.’
She raised her brows. ‘Odd, but never mind, I’ll come. I’d really like to.’
‘We’ll take the van,’ he said. ‘The car’s low on petrol.’
She dressed, thrilled to soon be seeing the boy again, in a way Jack didn’t understand. How could he know the unbearable bittersweet hold a child has on your heart. How you’d lay down your life in a heartbeat. How, when they die, it’s as much as you can do to take another breath.
Outside, she heard the usual chorus of frogs, and looked up as lumpy clouds, edged with light, rolled down from the top of the hills. She waited while Jack brought round the small van. The side windows were armoured with big sheets of steel, and there were only narrow slits to look through. It was safer than the car, though Jack rarely went out without his driver, Tenuk, or one or two Special Constables. If the SCs weren’t available he took the Malay mata-mata, especially when they used the heavy truck to convey workers. Jack said he didn’t know whom he trusted the least, the Malay police or the Chinese rebels. But this time they were only going as far as the village.
Lydia had missed the times when she had breakfasted on the veranda with Maz, missed watching the shadowy trees, and listening to the day birds, before the baking sun sent them indoors. She hugged herself. It was all going to be okay now. She felt a sense of elation. Someone had found Maz. They just had to collect him and he’d be safe again, she and Jack would be married, and they’d have a baby. All of them live together. It crossed her mind she didn’t know if Jack wanted children.
She started to climb in the front of the van.
‘No, Lyd. Hop in the back. Safer to stick to the rules.’
She groaned, but full of hope, complied.
‘I wonder why Channa’s not there,’ she said, leaning forward and speaking into the gap in a loud voice. ‘She’d usually be resting before making supper.’
‘She might be visiting relatives. She sometimes goes on her bicycle after lunch. But what great news,’ Jack shouted back. Steel, partially dividing the front from the back, made it hard to hear.
Feeling a rush of excitement, and longing to see Maz, she hugged herself. ‘I’m so happy. Did Bert say any more?’
‘No. There was something going on.’
It was neither the time nor the place, but she couldn’t stop herself. He didn’t hear at first, so she shouted the second time.
‘What do you think about having a baby?’
The van jerked and Lydia held her breath. What if it wasn’t what he wanted? He wanted a boat, cricket, rugby. He might not want to be a father. Men had adventures. Women had children. That was just the way of things.
‘Bloody Ada, Lydia. That’s enough to give a man a heart attack.’ He paused. ‘Let’s get Maz back first, then see what the future brings.’
‘Maybe we could adopt him.’
He drove on for a while in silence and Lydia, smiling at the thought of seeing Maz, felt full of energy. She’d make him a little pageboy suit. She wouldn’t wear white, but they’d get married the moment this first tour ended, not long now, and straightaway try for a baby. For the first time the future looked really bright, and the world, wide open, waited for them. They could make a new life in Perth, or anywhere they chose. Her mind travelled off in a stream of imagining. Their life together. Maz, and the child they’d have together. A little brother or sister for him. Their garden with a big lawn, apple trees and a swing for them both.
She was shaken from her thoughts by a terrific din. The van swerved to the right and ended up wedged nose down in a storm ditch.
‘Get right down, Lydia,’ Jack hissed and pushed his head through the gap in the metal that separated them.
‘What’s happened?’
‘Don’t know.’ He blew a kiss, and passed through his spare revolver.
She took it with trembling hands.
‘Point this through the slits and don’t hesitate to use it. And whatever happens don’t get out.’
Her heart thumped. ‘What about you?’
‘I’ve got to look.’
‘No, Jack!’
She heard him struggle with the door as he got out, then the sound of shrill Chinese voices. She peered through the slit in the steel at the side of the van, but round at the front, Jack was out of her sight. In the split second before the shot was fired, she was certain she saw Lili standing back from the road, half hidden behind a rubber tree. She saw the girl gasp and cover her open mouth with her hand, her eyes wide with shock.
Lydia’s mind spun with a thousand images. Jack safe, Jack with her. Married. Happy. A baby. Their baby. She barely registered the second shot. Everything went unnaturally quiet. With her fingers on the trigger of Jack’s gun, her body froze, though her heart raced in terror as the silence grew. She felt sick, violently sick, as if her entire body wanted to drive out the truth behind that shot.
This could not be happening. Not Jack. Not after losing the girls. She closed her eyes and all she could see was the look on Lili’s face.
In the back of the van she doubled over and began to shiver. She clenched her fists and shoved them into her eye sockets, refusing to believe it, pleading with God, for the warmth of his body and the light in his bright blue eyes to still be there. His slow wicked smile when he wanted sex, his big hands. His throaty laugh. She heard the sound of whining mosquitoes, saw the jungle snakes and scorpions in her mind’s eye. Her body was rigid with shock, but she had to move. Get out. See Jack. Be with him.
She reached across and tried the back door. Locked.
Of course, it only opened from the outside. She stood up and crawled head first through the narrow gap into the front of the van. When she straightened up, she caught sight of his blood, so much blood pooling on the tarmac, the air thick with the sweet salty odour of it. With one hand covering her mouth, she pushed open the door, now hanging at an angle, squeezed down into, and then climbed out of, the storm ditch. She ran, falling to her knees where Jack lay face down on the road. It began to rain, the water washing his life away in a stream along the road.
She gently rolled his body over to look at his face. His lips were white, his eyes vacant. Dead eyes. Not even a hint of accusation there. So quickly. It had happened so quickly. She remembered the warmth of his lips against hers, his smile, the way he tickled her. Tears sprang and slid down her cheeks.
Oh, Jack.
The rain stopped, leaving the sound of drips, and steam rising into the air. In the lengthening shadows, she got up to pee, squatted in tangled undergrowth, not taking her eyes from him for a second. Didn’t care if they shot her too. She deserved it. She blamed herself. If she hadn’t pestered him about Maz, and if he’d been able to concentrate on his job, this would never have happened. She didn’t notice the night descend. But when it came fully, she welcomed the curtain of darkness that separated them from the rest of the world. She lay on the road beside him, wrapped herself round him one last time, held him, kept him safe, her clothes soaking up his blood.
It was a glittering dawn when they found her. Four of them. Two police constables in khaki, Bert and another SC in an armoured lorry. She looked up and glimpsed silver birds swooping in the dawn sky, behind Bert’s head. His fingertips reached out and touched her hands. He lifted her off the ground. Bert with the strong Northern accent and purposeful walk. How incongruous the British are in a Malay jungle, she thought.
He rubbed her hands to warm them. ‘Come on now, Lyd,’ he said. ‘There’s nowt we can do for Jack.’
She felt Jack’s loss physically, as if a kick in the guts had knocked the stuffing from her. She flinched at Bert’s touch and folded over, her throat burning with grief. One arm tight across her midriff, she held herself together. When he led her to his car, s
he turned towards him, but for a moment couldn’t look him in the face.
‘We were on our way to see you,’ she mumbled.
Bert looked puzzled.
She straightened up and stood in front of him with angry eyes. ‘You called Jack. Told him someone had found Maz. You must remember. You called him. Said to go to the village.’
‘No.’
She clutched his shirt and shouted. ‘You must remember.’
He gently removed her hands, then held her by the shoulders.
‘Lydia, I never called Jack.’
The sound of the shot echoed in her head. He was wrong. He must be wrong.
‘There’s nothing we can do,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid Jack’s been a victim of some kind of trap. I’m so sorry.’
Her legs were trembling so much she felt they might buckle, but Bert’s words clinched it. She slowly shook her head. He was wrong; there was something she could do. She’d find out who had betrayed Jack, work out who’d really phoned him. Find out who knew he’d be on the road without police protection, whatever it took. And she’d start by finding Lili.
She turned her back when the other two constables walked over to Jack, couldn’t bear to see their struggle as they lifted his stiff body, or see them shake their heads at yet another waste of life.
The funeral took place the next day. The cloudburst had blown over, and it was a hot blue day. There were few formalities, as you couldn’t delay in the sweltering Malayan heat. A small group, eyes turned from the hole in the ground, gave each other uncertain smiles. Holding a wilting bunch of yellow canna lilies, she nodded at Bert and another officer, at one or two mates of Jack’s she didn’t know, Jack’s boss, Jim, and a beautiful Chinese woman, who scattered rose petals on the ground. The woman didn’t speak to anyone, but muttered to herself, her eyes expressionless.
They held a short service outside. The grass, damp from the recent rain, shone in the sunlight, and wind lifted particles of earth from around the grave. How cruelly life goes on, she thought, and stared at the ground as Jim read out a poem.
Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there – I do not sleep.
I am in the morning hush.
I am in the graceful rush
Of beautiful birds in circling flight.
I am in the star shine of the night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry –
I did not die.
It was fitting. Jack believed in the natural world, not God, nor an afterlife in heaven or hell. ‘Hell’s this bloody place,’ he’d say with a groan.
The coffin was lowered into the ground. She’d chosen a decorated one, and paid for it with a little of the money Jack had hidden under the floorboards, though he’d have called it a waste. The rest of the money she’d use to live on until it ran out. She thought of his words when he’d shown it to her. In case you need it, he’d said. There was a snapping, crashing sound from the depths of the trees, then, just for a moment, as if suddenly suspended, the world stilled. She felt a dull ache behind her eyes as she crumpled some dry earth from the plantation garden on top of the coffin and tossed the lilies on top. Right beside her feet, displaced by the grave, a nest of ants was swarming. Motionless, she smelt the earth and the lilies, shocked by the sight of the coffin, and frozen into silence by thoughts of the place where his living heart used to be. Then she took a deep breath and listened as the noises of the jungle came back: the rattles and thumps, the hum, the buzz.
Bert gently led her to where someone had brought chilli chicken drumsticks and honeyed dates, which they ate with their fingers, sitting cross-legged on the ground. After the priest left, they drank gin from the bottle and each in turn remembered Jack. The gravediggers came to fill in the grave, so they retreated further into the shade of the trees to watch. In the distance a lone dog barked. A sad, forlorn sound. When the light started to dim, someone produced a small lantern and Lydia gazed at orange moths hovering in its light, a gentle breeze cooling the air.
After a while Bert turned to her. ‘Better be off. Is Jim taking you back with him?’
‘He’s taking me to Jack’s to pick up my things, then tomorrow I’m heading south.’
‘You okay for cash?’
She nodded, and over his shoulders, in between the trees, saw a figure move. For a moment her heart filled with a raw, angry feeling. ‘Wasn’t that Lili?’ she said.
‘Sorry, didn’t see. By the way, do you know where Jack’s other gun is? We couldn’t account for it.’
‘I gave it to Jim,’ she said.
Just as he was getting into his car, she remembered the Chinese woman who hadn’t joined them for the graveside booze-up. Flushed from the gin, she asked Bert about her.
He turned his palms up and shrugged. ‘Old flame of Jack’s, I should think. Does it matter now?’
She shook her head. Nothing mattered now.
Fragments of sound came on the breeze, the drone of insects, a car engine revving, the moans of the jungle. For a moment the world glistened in the long low light. She thought of Jack’s large shadow and their once secret laughter. So long ago and before all this. She thought of his back, his strong shoulders, and how she’d curled herself to him, so deeply loved it was as if they were breathing one another. Her heart raced, almost tripping itself up, as she turned round to look at the mound of earth that covered him. ‘Goodbye, my love,’ she whispered, no longer holding back her tears. ‘Forgive me.’
Worn out words, but all she could manage.
28
I avoided the homework monitor and stared at the file. It was thick and I hardly dared peek inside the sepia cover. Nosy people find out things they’d rather not know. That’s what Gran always said. In any case, it was probably the local authority paying, so that wouldn’t be a surprise, but a thought flashed in my mind. Was there a chance it might be Veronica? The door swung open.
Susan sprang across the room with a wide grin. ‘How did you get away?’
‘I jumped.’
‘Crikey!’ She gave me a dig in the ribs. ‘You haven’t opened it yet, have you?’
I shook my head.
She grinned. ‘Give it here.’
I passed it over and looked on as she flipped open the front cover, scanned the first page, flicked on a bit, then stopped, her smile fading. She covered her mouth with her hand.
‘What?’
Without a word she closed the file and passed it back to me.
The front pages gave name, address, age, parents’ details. The next page stopped me. I glanced up at Susan, then flicked through, as page followed page. Notes from teachers. Copies of letters sent to my father describing my academic progress, and complaining of only a few minor incidents of disobedience. They said that while there was still some room for improvement in attitude, I was generally doing well, and that it was time I went home, because they’d done all they could. They recommended I’d do better now in my home environment.
‘But he told me they said I wasn’t ready,’ I blurted out.
Susan’s nostrils flared. ‘That’s mean.’
I turned another page, and there a letter from my father explained that my mother was missing. But not to say anything to me. He’d decide when the time was right. Better I stayed at boarding school, for stability.
I gulped. ‘If I hadn’t overheard, was he ever going to tell me?’
Susan patted my back.
‘Dad wants to make space for Veronica. That’s why he wants me to stay here.’
I hated the thought of that and stood up, pressing my cheek against the dormitory wall to feel the coolness. ‘And he wants Gran to go into an old people’s home.’
The idea of Gran away from the house she had lived in for so long was too sad. And she wasn’t that bad. I saw Veronica’s glowing white face. Perhaps she really was behind it, giving Dad the money for my school, quietly urging him to get rid of Gran.
‘Dad wants to make space,’ I said again.
‘Wh
at?’
My mouth twisted. I’d spoken quietly, almost to myself, forgetting Susan. ‘He only wants Veronica and Fleur. He’s getting rid of everybody else.’
‘Do you really think so?’ Susan said.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Can you see any bills?’
‘Not yet.’
I was puzzled. If Gran was right, my father couldn’t afford the fees. But if the local authority was paying, wouldn’t they cough up only for as long as was necessary.
Susan looked curious. ‘Come on, Em. Let’s see what else there is.’ She took the folder and flipped over a few more pages, then stared at the ones at the back.
‘What?’
She put the folder into my hands. Her voice faltered. ‘Em, they’re all from some solicitor.’
I flicked through a series of letters stapled to the bills. Term by term, all said the same thing. Please find the enclosed cheque, covering the payment of fees for Miss Emma Cartwright, on behalf of our client. All of them sent by a Mr N. Johnson, of Johnson, Price & Co. of Kidderminster.
‘I don’t understand. Who’s the client?’
‘It doesn’t say.’
‘What if I write to the solicitor?’
‘They won’t say. If the name’s not there, it’ll be confidential.’
We sat on the bed in the few remaining moments of silence, until the dorm doors flew open at the other end of the room, and girls began to file in. As soon as they did, Susan put herself in front of me, legs planted wide apart.
‘Hey what happened to you two?’ one of them said. Some of the others made jokey comments, but then with a snort of annoyance, Rebecca said, ‘You sneaky devils. How did you get up here early? You’re up to something, aren’t you?’
I felt myself turn red, glad I’d slipped the file beneath the covers of my bed, and hoping no one had seen.
29
The station air smelt strongly of metal and sweat, the noise of people, trains and traders overpowering. Despite that, Lydia felt her resolve stiffen, and with some difficulty tracked down a call box. She dialled Cicely’s number, took a sharp breath when her friend answered, and kept her voice level. For a moment Cicely’s cool, offhand voice almost derailed her, but she pressed the receiver against her cheek, took another breath and came out with it.
Separation, The Page 18