If I Never Went Home
Page 9
‘Let we cut it in layers,’ Judy said. ‘Man, that go look real good. Mira, the child have good hair.’
‘Nah. Nah. Nah. We not doing nothing so,’ her mother had retorted. ‘Leave the hair. You can’t see how she hot with sheself already? If you give she some fancy style I go can’t control this force-ripe madam.’
Her mother had swung her chair so she faced the rest of the salon. ‘I look like I ready to be anybody grandmother?’
The half-dozen ladies in the cramped salon all burst out laughing.
‘Put the pill in she Milo-tea,’ urged Judy, grinning. ‘It never too early these days. You ain’t see in the papers how that high school girl, must be same age as Bea, making baby for a schoolboy still in short pants?’
The women nodded in collective agreement.
‘Mira, girl, you have your hands full,’ Judy continued. ‘I thank the Lord I don’t have no girl children to worry about so. My two sons don’t give me no trouble.’
‘Judy, you don’t know how hard it does be. Sometimes I wish I had a son, yes.’ Her mother had sighed. ‘Bea looking innocent because she so small. But let me tell you something. She ain’t easy, you hear? Just the other day we was on the beach and she laughing and running up and down playing cricket. Next thing you know a fellow come and want to take out she picture. Well, I make she sit down by me straightaway. The child need to learn some decency.’
Bea had sat next to her in silent humiliation. The salon ladies picked her over with their gazes like vultures pecking on a rotting carcass.
‘I don’t know what to do,’ said Mira. ‘Is me alone. I have to be mother, father, everything.’
‘She father don’t help out?’ asked a woman from under her hair dryer.
‘Help out?’ echoed Mira. ‘He feel if he give me a little change for the child that he done he work as a father. But ask him to keep she to ease me up little bit and he can’t do that. He always have somewhere to go running behind all them Jezebel.’
‘Man, forget about he,’ said Judy. ‘You still young. Take a next man.’
‘You see any nice man between Port of Spain and San Fernando? If you see any that ain’t going to thief your money or horn you with your best friend then let me know.’
The salon ladies laughed in agreement.
‘Oh Lord, you talking truth, yes,’ Judy laughed. ‘Them man them real worthless. And mind you, all of them the same. Coolie, black, white, mix-up. Them all make the same damn way.’
‘I don’t know if they all the same. My mother cry when I tell she I was marrying Bea father. Man, that woman cry for days. She say how if my father was alive it would have been licks for so. He wasn’t having no black man for a son-in-law. And she say Bea father look like he go run down plenty woman. Well, so said, so done. If you go against your parents it does come back to bite you in your, excuse my French, bite you in your backside.’
Judy nodded. She was spraying Mira’s hair. ‘Right, I done,’ she said. ‘Take a look.’
‘Judy, you real know how to do my hair,’ replied Mira, inspecting the back of her head in a mirror. ‘Thanks. Let me settle up with you.’
Judy waved away Mira’s purse. ‘Man, put that away. You think I forget is your birthday?’
‘Oh, Lord, girl, is how you know I turn twenty-one again today? You is a real good friend. Thanks, Judy.’ Mira turned to the rest of the salon and waved. ‘Ladies, I gone. Bea, hurry up and come.’
Bea had gone home encrusted in a loneliness and isolation she could not understand. If only her father would take her away. He used to love her. She was sure of it. As a little girl she went everywhere with him – every cricket match he played, every visit to friends and relatives. She was his little Beezy, his princess, and he would boast to his friends about how bright and pretty she was. But after he left them, the time between visits gradually stretched from days to weeks, and then months would go by without even a phone call. She thought about the distance between their homes. Less than five miles separated them, but he might as well have been living in a different country.
Bea hid in her room reading until Mira shouted it was time to change for the small birthday celebrations they were hosting at home. She had slipped into a long blue dress when she heard a soft knock on the bedroom door.
‘Who is it?’ she asked.
‘Uncle Fred,’ said a low voice.
‘I’m changing. Be down in a minute.’
To her shock he pushed the bedroom door open.
Bea quickly pulled the dress down and smoothed it out. ‘I’m changing.’
‘Yes, well, I come to see you. You looking real nice.’
‘Uncle Fred, let me finish changing. I’ll come down just now.’
Instead he moved further into the room and sat on the edge of her bed. ‘We could talk right here. You look like you nearly ready.’
Bea anxiously took a brush and attacked her hair. Uncle Fred, a long-standing family friend, was not someone she had private conversations with.
‘I never tell you before but I always love your long hair. Don’t cut it. When you bathe I bet it does look nice wet, hanging down your back.’
In one swift move he reached out and pulled her backwards so that she was pinned between his legs, his hard crotch pushed into her backside.
She froze. She wanted to say something but couldn’t. His hands groped her hips, stomach, thighs and breasts. He whispered in a deep low voice she had never heard him use before.
‘Oh God, you growing up sweet, girl. Them boobies like two ripe mango.’ He moved his grip from her hips and massaged her breasts. ‘You like me, Bea?’ he whispered. ‘Ain’t I is always nice to you? I bring a big Fruit and Nut chocolate for you. It downstairs in the kitchen.’
His fingers clamped her nipples hard. She felt tears spring up in her eyes. ‘Please stop, Uncle Fred.’
‘No, man. You feeling hot. I know you want me.’
The tears dripped down her face. ‘Please, stop.’
‘I know you don’t want me to stop nothing. You do it yet, Bea?’
She shook her head. ‘Please, stop.’
‘You worried about your mother? Don’t worry. She busy downstairs.’
His huge rough hands reached between her legs and rubbed back and forth. ‘You ever let anybody fuck this pussy, Bea?’
‘Please. Please stop.’
‘It must be a real tight pussy. I go break you in good. You go love it. I know you going to be a real good fuck.’
‘Please stop.’
‘I fuck your mother already. You know that? Remember when I come to fix the microwave last week? I fuck she in the spare room right there when you was watching TV. Your mother know how to suck a cock dry. She beg me. You should hear she. Fred, I don’t want nothing from you. Fred, come and fuck me. Please, baby, I ain’t get it long time. Fred, nobody have to know we business. But is really you I did want. I just give she a little something to keep she sweet.’
He slid one of his hands down the front of his pants and shoved the other hand between her legs.
Bea closed her eyes tight. ‘You’re hurting me,’ she whispered. ‘Please stop.’
But Uncle Fred was not listening. ‘When she not home you must call me up and I go come and do you. You get it from behind and I sure you go be bawling for more. Just now you go be bawling for me to come fuck you day and night.’
He got up and pulled her round to face him. ‘Baby, kiss me.’ He clamped his moustached face down hard on her small mouth. His big wet tongue pushed to the back of her throat. Although the urge to gag was overwhelming, Bea tried to stay perfectly still.
‘Bea!’ Her mother’s voice rang from downstairs.
He let her go instantly.
‘Hurry up! I need help in the kitchen!’
Bea ran out the room and down the stairs.
Mira sneered as she passed by, oblivious of Bea’s tear-stained face. ‘You wearing that good dress? Anybody would think is your birthday.’
Bea loo
ked at her feet. ‘I don’t want to change. Please.’
‘It don’t have time for that. Come put out the plates and cutlery.’
In a haze she took down the good china plates, reserved for guests, and set the table for dinner with trembling hands. As she laid the knives and forks neatly, it occurred to her that of all the many ways she had imagined, this was never how she dreamed her first grown-up kiss would be.
*
She had walked almost the whole way to Harvard Square. Her feet were damp and cold. A bus was approaching on the other side of the road. She dodged the traffic and ran to catch it, getting off at the end of the street where she had seen the salon, Universal Cuts. She didn’t notice anything until she was inside the door.
‘Can I help?’ asked the young Asian woman she had seen earlier.
‘I’d like a haircut now, please.’
‘Let me see. One second,’ she said as she pored over a huge notebook. ‘Oscar can do it. Just have a seat and I’ll go get him.’
Oscar turned out to be an amiable young Australian. ‘So what are we doing today? Don’t tell me you want to cut this beautiful hair off.’
‘I want it short. Very short. Maybe a number three razor all over.’
His fingers weaved through her hair, pulling it in all directions. ‘Honey, I don’t do razor cuts. You have fabulous hair. Let me shape it a bit. Take some of the weight out of it for you.’
Bea closed her eyes and saw Uncle Fred’s moustached mouth. She could almost hear him telling her never to cut her long hair. She cringed and opened her eyes. ‘I don’t care what style you choose as long as it’s short. If you don’t want to, then I’ll find someone who will.’
He shook his head, his lips in a tight thin line, and led her to the shampoo basin.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
St. Anthony’s had been Bea’s home for over three months now, and she had to admit she had begun to appreciate being there. She lived without the daily responsibility of details like grocery shopping or work. And it was clear to all that she was more robust – no longer constantly exhausted or obsessed with secret thoughts of how best to end her life. Having fought admission, she now dreaded being discharged back to her apartment in Mrs. Harris’s brownstone conversion.
And then it happened.
She was in her room debating with Nurse Sharon the calibre of Trinidad Carnival versus Toronto’s Caribana. Sharon had a sister living in Scarborough, and for the past ten years the sisters had bought costumes and jumped up on the streets of Toronto. Yes, Trinidad Carnival might be bigger, but she was sure she would not have a better time there. Bea defended Trinidad based on her observation and research. She had never actually taken part in the two-day beads-and-bikini parade. Then another nursing assistant interrupted the banter: Bea had a visitor.
‘There must be a mistake. I don’t have visitors.’
‘No,’ said the woman. ‘There’s someone here to see you. He’s waiting in the lounge.’
Bea felt as if her insides had been placed in a freezer and began shivering at the cold only she could feel in this well-heated building. So far, she had managed to bar everyone who showed an interest in her well-being at St. Anthony’s. Who would be so bold as to turn up unannounced, against her explicit requests? Nurse Sharon squeezed her hand.
‘Don’t mind, darling. I sure it go be somebody you did want to see.’
Bea continued shaking as she sat on her bed.
‘Come,’ said Nurse Sharon gently. ‘Get up and I will walk with you. Don’t be frighten.’
Bea took a deep breath and trailed slowly behind Sharon as they walked the few steps to the lounge. She tried to catch a glimpse of who it might be before going in, but all she could make out were some dark brown boots and blue jeans belonging to a man’s crossed legs. Nurse Sharon stepped aside and nodded at Bea to go through the doorway. The legs quickly uncrossed and a vaguely familiar, olive-skinned man stood up.
‘Beezy?’ he asked smiling.
‘Yes?’
‘You don’t recognise me? Michael? Michael Singh? From Trinidad? You remember?’
‘No way,’ said Bea looking him up and down. ‘What are you doing here? How did you find me?’
The stranger reached forward and bent to give her a hug.
‘How did you find me? Who told you I was here?’
‘It wasn’t easy.’
He beamed at her and held her hand. ‘You look exactly as I thought you would. Except for the short hair. I remember you with long hair.’
‘I only cut it a few days ago. It was always long.’
Bea became aware that others were captivated by this abrupt reunion. ‘Come with me to the canteen for a coffee or something.’
He followed happily, grinning at her as they walked.
‘It’s so good to see you again,’ he said.
They planted themselves in a far corner and began to talk in earnest. He had moved to Boston from London in the last year and kept meaning to get in touch, but finding an apartment and getting to grips with a new job had gobbled up his time. Their mothers periodically exchanged emails and he had been given Bea’s contact details. Both work and home numbers went automatically to voicemail. But earlier that day he had been near the university and decided to find her. There was a note on her office door explaining that Professor Clark was on leave, giving details of her administrative assistant. Michael had tracked down the assistant and, claiming to be a family member, was directed to St. Anthony’s. He had taken a taxi and come straight here from the university.
‘My assistant gave you the name of the hospital just like that?’ asked Bea.
‘I may have made it seem like I forgot the address and was directly off the plane from Trinidad,’ he said. ‘Please don’t blame her. Once I heard you weren’t well I really had to see you.’
‘I’m actually okay. Probably going home soon.’
‘You don’t have to tell me anything,’ he said, looking her straight in the eye. ‘I live here and I would want to help any friend, but especially one who was my best buddy from childhood.’
When Beatrice Clark had been brought home from the Port of Spain General Hospital, a healthy six pounds four ounces, Michael was already next door, having arrived a couple of months earlier. Neither child had siblings, so they clung to each other right up to the moment when his family moved to the UK soon after his eighth birthday. Since then she recalled several Christmas and birthday cards, usually with long rhyming verses stressing the importance of both the occasion and the recipient. Sometimes these cards included photos where he took on a new persona – distant and exotic in thick overcoats and boots set against the even more mysterious landscape of the Scottish Highlands. But the gaps between letters had lengthened over time. It had taken nearly two decades for them to find each other again.
Bea was slightly ashamed and surprised that she noticed how handsome he was with his dark hair and smooth olive skin even in deep winter, the result of having an Indian father and an Irish mother. She could discern the outline of his slim, gym-honed body. But it was his eyes she reconnected with most – vivid green and unafraid.
‘I don’t mean to be rude, but I have not allowed visitors.’ She hesitated. ‘My family, well, they don’t know anything about me being ill. And I would appreciate it if you could keep this confidential.’ In spite of herself a tear escaped and rolled down her cheek. ‘Please don’t tell anyone,’ she mumbled. ‘I couldn’t bear it if anyone in Trinidad found out.’
‘I won’t,’ he said handing her a paper napkin. ‘I understand about wanting privacy.’
She looked up at him. ‘Your Mom might tell mine,’ she whispered.
Michael laughed. ‘No she won’t, because she will never find out. Okay?’
He squeezed her hand tight. Bea recalled that his parents had started married life in Trinidad, but work in the oil industry had soon taken them to the United Kingdom. Michael filled in the gaps. He had stayed there for university and then his first job o
ut of college. Now an experienced computer engineer, he had secured work with an international firm out of Boston with projects that would take him to Latin America and the Caribbean. They reminisced about two small children in their play house made of old bits of cloth strung from the branches of a spreading Julie mango tree. Days were spent digging holes, mango juice-stained faces grinning wildly as they ran amok.
‘Beezy, do you need anything?’ he asked. ‘I could go get whatever you need.’
‘No. Thanks. I’m fine,’ she said. ‘Seeing you after all this time is enough.’
‘I’m really glad.’
‘You probably want to know why I’m here.’
‘If you want to tell me. I don’t need to know.’
Bea paused. ‘How’re your parents?’
‘Doing well. They keep saying they want to retire in Trinidad, but I doubt they’ll move back after all these years.’
They chatted some more, recounting the births, marriages and deaths of people they knew in common. Less than an hour after he had swept into her life he stood up to go.
‘I don’t want to intrude, Beezy, but if you can stand to see me again I’d like to visit.’
Bea looked down so he would not see the flush she felt burning her cheeks.
‘I’d like you to visit,’ she said in a faint voice.
‘Can I come tomorrow?’
‘Sure.’
‘Are there special visiting hours?’
‘They prefer visitors from three to seven in the evening.’
‘I’ll come after work. It might be close to six if that’s okay?’
Bea merely nodded, afraid to let her face show that her heart was bursting with happiness at the prospect of seeing him again. They walked together to the main entrance and before he left he pressed each of her cheeks with a goodbye kiss. She floated back up to her room.
‘Somebody looking happy,’ said Nurse Sharon. ‘That the boyfriend?’
‘No. He’s an old friend from childhood. I haven’t seen him for years.’
‘And look how he find you,’ Sharon laughed. She bent close to Bea’s ear. ‘He coming back again?’
‘Yes.’