by Sara Alexi
‘Where are you from?’ She tries to ignite some neutral conversation.
‘Nigeria. We came to make me fortune and now are living to regret it.’ Nike chuckles again.
‘I am from Ireland, have you heard of it? Next to England.’ She can think of nothing else to say.
‘I am illegal but I am not uneducated. What I always wondered though is why, when England, she has just the one good-sized island next to her, why she does not give it a good name? Like here, they have Mikonos, Sifnos, Siros, Thasos, Paros. They do get a bit stuck on their ‘oses’ but at least they have names and not just call them Island like England does.’ He shakes with laughter. One of the men comes out from under the trees, smiling at the sound of him. Nike sits on the upturned pan, but whether standing or sitting, they are all gathered around a little too close for comfort.
Sarah smiles cautiously. ‘It’s not island as in island. It’s spelt differently, named after a princess.’
‘Ah, so what you are telling me is that you are from an island of princesses? We have a princess amongst us!’ He laughs again. The man on the stone is rolling himself a cigarette. Flat-head staggers from the barn. Sarah glares at him.
‘Perhaps I’d better go.’ This response is natural, automatic. She stands and takes a step toward the track.
‘No, lady, do not be put off by him. He showed you no respect and you put him right. My wife, she is the same, she has enough respect for herself to give herself a good life.’
‘Oh, is your wife here or back in Nigeria?’ Sarah stays, standing, and looks for the track around the end of the barn, judging the distance. It gives her confidence.
‘Oh no, his wife and children are back in Nigeria.’ Nike juts his chin toward Puma, who looks up sadly. ‘But I am not married to my wife yet. I have not even met my wife yet, but I know what she will be like.’ He thinks this is the funniest thing he has said yet. His laughter explodes in the clearing. It occurs to Sarah that in such a situation, miles from his home, illegal in his work, sharing his resting place with strangers, his sense of humour will be his only defence. It seems doubtful he will ever meet, let alone marry, someone. He has no job, no home, nothing. How little choice he has. She laughs although it seems inappropriate considering his possible future. She uses the jolliness of the moment to casually wave and heads towards the path she came in on. Nike continues to laugh and turns away from her to say something more to flat-head. She cannot hear these words now as she is on the other side off the barn, but she can hear more than one person laughing. Looking forward, she can see the end of the trees where the path joins the main track. If she keeps walking, increases her pace, she will be on the track within seconds.
A figure appears, turning into the trees ahead, but she keeps walking.
Chapter 23
The man walking toward her crosses Sarah’s path just before she leaves the trees. He could be Indian or Pakistani. He smiles as he walks by and says ‘hello’ in English. His jumper is torn on one cuff and he wears trainers with no socks.
Sarah fixes her sights ahead and keeps moving.
Back on the tarmac, it feels safe. Sarah had not been aware of how shallowly she had been breathing, but now she takes big lungfuls of air. She strides out and makes some distance between her and the camp. How little they have, and yet they are surviving, with humour, and, to a degree, with dignity. She cannot imagine the pain Puma must go through knowing his children are growing up without him back home, probably not knowing when he will next see them, if ever.
But all she could feel with them was fear, her own fear for her life.
She laughs at the irony, but it is a dry and bitter sound. Nevertheless, it makes her think. If she had truly wanted to end it all in Liz’s kitchen with a handful of pills and a glass of tap water, then would she really have cared at all what had happened back there in the illegals’ camp?
She tries to recall the deep feeling she had back in Liz’s kitchen, the desperation that pushed her to such an extreme. She shivers and the hairs on the back of her neck stand. It wasn’t death she was seeking. It was control. Control over her life, control to make her own choices.
Looking behind toward the track, she reassures herself with the distance she has created for her safety.
The men have such limited choice. Choice of where they live, how they work, if they are with their loved ones or not. Choice must be mankind’s ultimate freedom. She has never dared to grasp her choices. Again and again, she has given her power of choice to anyone who would take it. But now she is even prepared to try and kill herself to regain control. Stupid, just stupid. All she has to do is just take it. Make the choices and be prepared for the consequences.
The men are not even seeking choice; they act from the need for food, the need to provide for their families.
They are worlds apart.
Puma was probably the same age as Joss; Nike seemed younger even than Finn. The thought of her boys going away and not knowing when they would return is unthinkable. Besides, they are always only a Skype call away. But somewhere, Mummy Nike and Mummy Puma sit not knowing what has happened to their boys, whether they are alive or dead, all because they do not have papers and passports.
What freedom her passport gives her. The freedom to come and go anywhere she likes.
This thought gives her a little thrill of excitement. She may be under the dictatorship of Laurence, but the reality is, if she has the guts, she can leave. She can go anywhere she chooses.
For the first time ever, there is the glimpse of the possibility of breaking free, not just to move to Douglas on the Isle of Man or back home to Ireland but further afield, even to go somewhere exotic—alone. She shivers in the heat at the thought.
Some of the things Nicolaos said about choosing the meaning in her life are beginning to have power, although she cannot really say she completely grasps all he meant. Nike has shown her how privileged she is. Everything feels like it is shifting, creating butterflies in her chest rather than her stomach. Everything is coming into focus.
For so long, she has focused on what she could not do, the rules Laurence covertly introduced into her life that took away her choices. But now the question is changing. She is no longer interested in what Laurence is trying to stop her doing. Now her inquiry is what she can do! Nicolaos was right on that point, too! She has been one of those people who focusses on the bad and consequently blinds herself to the possibilities available to her.
Her eyebrows lift in surprise. She has always considered herself to be a positive person. The truth is, looking at her life positively, she can do anything, anything at all.
From the darkest place inside her, the weight shifts and, bubbling into her thoughts with it, quite unexpectedly, comes an explanation to her extraordinary reaction to Finn’s wedding, why at some level she had not wanted it to go ahead, why it brought tears to her eyes and why the wedding would also release her from her sadness. Yes, that was it! Once her youngest son is married, both boys are safe. Safe in their life courses, leaving her all alone. Alone with Laurence. The thought pulls her mouth down at the corners, her nose wrinkling. But it seems the decision has already been made, the decision that terrified her, why Finn’s marriage terrified her. The marriage is to be the turning point. It will be time to leave Laurence.
‘Leave Laurence.’ She says the words out loud to make them real. Such a terrifying idea, she has pushed it back and covered it over until it sat like a weight in the pit of her stomach, turning, churning over every time it tried to surface, pulling her down.
But now, the thought of Finn being married and the last apron strings undone, the weight in her stomach, the dark shapes, shifts. ‘Leave Laurence.’ She says the words again and the weight begins to lighten.
‘Leave Laurence.’ She whispers it, turning her face to the sky so the words are taken away on the breeze. She feels lighter and lighter. The dark weight bubbles into excitement. ‘Leave Laurence.’ She states the words which are clearly filling
her with joy. She will leave Laurence, but instead of that being a fear for her, it now feels like freedom, the choice to do anything, make anything important. A new meaning for her life. Now she understands what Nicolaos meant. Whatever had she been so afraid of?
Her steps gain a bounce, her arms a swing. She hums to herself.
Compared to Nike and Puma and their friends, she has all the choices in the world. She could go to Africa, to India, Japan, Australia, anywhere she wants. Not only could she go, but she could call it home if she likes. There are always jobs if you are prepared to do what no one else will do. Nike and his friends prove it with their watches and bracelets. Back home, the newspapers always advertise a job or two, a gardener wanted or someone to make beds at the hotels on the seafront. What luxury such a job would appear to the illegals, but they don’t have this choice. She does.
Other thoughts jumble for attention. The slap in the face that Laurence doesn’t love her. So what, she will survive. Maybe free of Laurence, she can find love. Not another Torin; there’ll never be another Torin. But then again, she isn’t a teenager anymore and a boy in a Megadeth t-shirt would not interest her now.
She takes a breath. Her thoughts seem like blasphemy.
It will take time. She has been living her life based on a network of lies and beliefs. Lies and beliefs that are now shredded full of gaping holes, the structure of her world fragmenting with every thought, reducing the life she has been living from being painful to becoming ridiculous. She has been a fool, a fool for years, right from the agreement with Liz to go for a free lunch at the golf club. It will take time. Time to reassess. Time to forgive herself.
A dotting of houses announces the village. Returning to Laurence at this point is not a possibility. She can’t. She needs to think more, work out what she is going to do. She stops, makes a decision, and takes the road that goes to Helena. She will go to the gully with the insects, the bees humming, a peaceful place where she can sit and think.
The gully is alive with nectar-seeking buzzing, the overhanging bushes providing some shade. Her stomach grumbles. The afternoon must be getting on; she still has had no lunch. The heat is relentless. If she is not careful, she will become dehydrated. There are no good-sized stones to sit on, so she sweeps a bit of dusty ground with her shoe, clearing away smaller pebbles to make the ground smooth. She will sit for a while and then she must go and at least find a drink. Not at home, nor at Liz’s. She couldn’t face that. How is she going to explain the empty bottles and pills all over the floor? There is hope that Nicolaos will clear them away.
She groans. She would rather he hadn’t caught her. But then again, if he hadn’t, maybe she would be lying on the kitchen floor by now with no choices left at all. Stupid, really stupid. If she had listened more carefully to the things Nicolaos had said, she could have got to this point without such extremes perhaps.
‘No,’ she says aloud. ‘I will not do guilt anymore, either.’ She looks up to the top of one of the bushes, where two white butterflies dance around each other. ‘Nicolaos knows what he knows, and it is up to him how he deals with it.’ The cicadas nearly drown her words. ‘The question is,’ she continues aloud, taking comfort from her own voice, ‘what do I want to do and where do I want to do it?’ She waits for an answer, but nothing comes to mind.
It was cooler when she was moving; the gully is a heat trap. Perhaps up in the field will be cooler, but she needs to apply some stealth in case Nicolaos is there. She is not ready to see him, either.
From behind the last bush, Sarah can see that the field is empty of both goats and shepherd. She steps into the open. Under the tree, halfway up, will be coolest place to sit.
‘Well hello.’
Her head turns so fast, she feels slightly dizzy.
‘Oh Frona. I didn’t see you there.’ Frona is holding a wooden frame and a dustbin bag with slats of wood poking from it as she stands in front of one of the old beehive boxes.
‘What are you doing?’ Sarah clumsily tries to forget her thoughts and make conversation.
‘Just being here takes me back to happy days.’ Frona looks at the broken frame in her hand before stuffing it into the bin bag with a sigh. ‘Before we left, before the new house, when the old one stood there and it was just me and Nikiforos.’ The old woman looks up the hill at what can be seen of the new house over the high fence.
‘Was that your husband?’ Sarah asks. Frona nods.
‘Most of our income came from these bees and those.’ She turns and points up the hill to hives beyond sight. ‘He would come out here just to watch them, and when he returned, he would always ask how they knew.’
‘Knew what?’
‘The way home, which hive was theirs, which other bees were from their hive.’ Frona picks up another broken frame and, between bent hands, breaks it into smaller pieces so they will fit in her bin bag.
‘This hive and that one still have bees,’ Sarah observes. This is the sort of place and the sort of conversation she would never find with Laurence. Talking about nature, the small things in life that bring the world so alive.
‘Yes, such a shame,’ Frona says wistfully. ‘I have told him, you know, but he won’t listen.’
‘Who? What?’ Sarah asks.
‘Jim, my son, Helena’s baba.’ Frona looks up at her as if Sarah has not been listening. A look that holds Sarah back from asking what she told him.
‘But he says, "you are too old to look after bees, too old to be here alone." But I say I won’t be alone and then he always cuts me off.’
‘You want to live here then?’ Sarah picks up a broken frame, the corner still filled with wax comb. ‘It doesn’t look real, does it?’ She pokes at the comb.
‘It’s not really. Way back, they started making the comb ready on the frame. It saves the bees some work so they make more honey.’ She doesn’t pause. ‘Yes, I want to move back here, it is my home. America is too ... ‘ She searches for the word. ‘American.’ Frona sniffs, a noise of pride and defiance.
‘Fascinating.’ Sarah is still looking at the wax cast comb. ‘I learnt a little about beekeeping at night school one year. They didn’t even mention ready-made combs, such a good idea.’ She looks at Frona. ‘So why don’t you just move back anyway?’
‘Well, I guess it is Jim’s house now the old one has gone. He built this new monstrosity and he is worried for me to be here without someone to watch over my moods. He tells me people do extreme things when they are depressed and alone.’ Sarah shifts her weight as she listens. ‘That, and he’s frightened me into thinking I will get confused with the alarm system, or the air conditioning control or something. I think the real reason he doesn’t want me to come is because he knows I will try and spend time with ...’ She hesitates, looks quickly at Sarah and away again. ‘There’s a split in my family. It is all very sad.’ Frona exhales heavily.
Sarah thinks of Pru and the situation with Finn and Helena. She can see how it could happen.
The old woman continues. ‘But I think I would be happy back here, not so lonely as Jersey. Maybe I would keep bees again, maybe not. I wouldn’t put the alarm system on.’ She chuckles and struggles to break up a thicker piece of wood. After a try, she hands it to Sarah, who snaps it under her foot. ‘Haven’t got the balance to do that,’ Frona says, watching her.
‘I am thinking of moving abroad.’ Sarah tries out the thought.
‘From here? You aren’t staying for the wedding?’
‘No, I mean from the Isle of Man and the UK.’ Just saying the names makes them seem so far away.
‘You are going to move here?’ Frona asks, her eyes lighting up.
‘Well, no, well, I don’t know. I hadn’t really thought where. I just thought I could move.’ She looks up the hill. ‘Are you going to restore any of the hives?’
‘Doesn’t seem much point if no one’s here? Why don’t you move here, run the hives, in fact, run the house. Solution!’ She almost shouts, as if saying eureka. ‘I’ll stay
and you can run the house and the bees and Jim can’t argue.’
‘What a lovely idea,’ Sarah laughs.
Frona gives her a hard look. ‘I am serious.’ Sarah recognises something in the old woman’s eyes, the need to escape, the need to have control over her own life. He heart reaches out for the old lady, who physically reaches out and takes Sarah’s hand and grips it with surprising strength.
She can’t just up and leave her old life like that. She has a house with Laurence back on the Isle of Man full of her things. Sarah mentally scans the rooms, what would she miss, what would she want with her? There’s things the boys drew and made when they were young. She couldn’t part with those, but then, probably, neither could Laurence. But she can’t stay for a clay dragon and a two-year-old’s self-portrait, and she would be glad to leave her clothes. What else? There must be something. But nothing comes to mind. Her mother’s wedding ring and her grandmother’s book of psalms.
‘You know, I could.’ The words come out slowly as the realisation dawns on her.
‘The old house was so much better, no stairs, not so many gadgets, simple. An open fire, no air conditioning, nothing that could go wrong that we couldn’t fix ourselves. But if I were to stay, why would I go upstairs? All I need is my room and the kitchen.’ Frona lets go her hand and looks back at the broken pieces of hive still on the grass.
‘I suppose the pool needs maintenance?’ Sarah offers.
‘Jim has a pool man who comes once a week.’
The whole idea is very charming. She could do up the hives, make honey. She would need her computer so she could Google things she didn’t know and Skype to call the boys. She is not sure if she is thinking seriously or having a little fantasy, not sure whether to encourage Frona about this idea or not.
It’s a big house and very modern, beautifully finished and maintained. Ah, there is the catch. Jim will want rent and it will be way beyond her budget. How much would a small place be over here anyway? Maybe something less grand could be a possibility.