by Sandy Taylor
One evening I was walking home from work along the seafront. There was a cold breeze coming in from the sea. I saw Rose just ahead of me. It was difficult to miss her, with that shock of orange hair and her mismatched clothes. She was walking slowly, because she had Colin on the sparkly pink lead. I caught up with her and we walked home together.
‘Come and have tea with me,’ she said. ‘Tristan and Stephen are at the hospital.’
‘There isn’t a problem is there?’
‘No, just a check-up, dear. I think Stephen is doing well.’
Once we were inside the flat, Rose released Colin from his lead and the little cat jumped up onto the pink chaise longue and snuggled down, purring loudly.
I stood at the window. Daylight was fading. Soon the tall lamps along the seafront would light up the darkness, and the pier would come alive. I’d asked Tom about the time difference between here and southern Australia, so I knew that as I stood here in Rose’s front room, Ralph would be sleeping and that Fiona would be by his side.
I hadn’t noticed Rose coming back into the room. Sit down, dear,’ she said, putting a tray of tea on the coffee table.
I turned away from the window, took off my coat and sat down in the green velvet chair. Rose sat opposite me. The autumn days had turned chilly and Rose had lit a fire in the beautiful marble fireplace. ‘I do like a fire, dear. I find it very cheery.’
Rose poured the tea and pushed the cup towards me. ‘I can feel your sadness, dear,’ she said.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be sorry, dear. No one can see your broken heart. The sadness is in your eyes.’
‘I miss him, Rose. I miss them both.’
‘Of course you do, but the only way to avoid heartache is never to love, and that would be even sadder wouldn’t it, dear?’
‘I just want the pain to go away. It hurts. It really hurts.’ I touched the place just below my ribs. ‘Here,’ I said. ‘It hurts here.’
‘Only time can do that, but it will get better. The body can’t sustain that kind of sadness forever. It may surprise you to find that when it does go you will miss it.’
‘I can’t imagine it ever going.’
‘But it will, dear, and once the pain has gone so is the hope. Pain is something that you can hang on to. It becomes who you are. Without the pain you don’t know who you are any more, but it’s only then that the healing can begin.’
‘You know what that pain is like, don't you, Rose? I can tell.’
‘I am like you, dear. When I love, I love with every part of me, so yes, I have been hurt too.’
‘I wasn’t prying, you don’t have to tell me.’
Rose picked up the poker and rattled the coals, and a blast of warm air curled around my legs. It was comforting and homely. Rose settled back into her chair and smiled at me.
‘I noticed that when we were walking home together you were looking down a lot,’ she said.
‘Was I?’
‘Yes, you were, dear, so I would like to share something with you. Some wise words that were given to me by a very wise man, a long time ago.’
The room was warm and cosy, and the heat from the glowing coals seeped into my body, comforting me. I rested my head against the back of the chair, closed my eyes and listened as Rose told her story.
‘We had a child once, dear, a little girl. We called her Selina. She was the most beautiful thing that we had ever seen. We counted her fingers and toes, we marvelled at her soft dark hair, we kissed her little cheek. To us, she was perfect, but they told us that she wasn’t, dear. They said that those beautiful eyes were the wrong shape, that her sweet little hands weren’t those of a normal baby. They said that our perfect baby wasn’t perfect at all. They told us to put her away, forget about her, try again. But we brought our baby home, and we loved and cherished her until she was taken from us. If love could have mended her broken heart, she would be with us today.’
I didn’t speak, but I could feel my eyes filling with tears. I listened as she continued.
‘When my baby’s heart stopped so did mine. I didn’t know how to live. I didn’t know how to breathe. I didn’t know how to be. I wore my sorrow like a crown of thorns, like Miss Havisham in her wedding dress. I was a woman in mourning, and I didn’t know how to be anything else.’
I opened my eyes and looked at her. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘It was a sad time, dear.’
She gazed into the fire. Maybe she was remembering her little girl’s face. I waited. She started to speak again.
‘My oriental gentleman did all he could for me. He filled the bath every day and added the oils of his homeland. The house would fill with the fragrant aromas of white lotus and jasmine, and he helped me to dress as though I were a baby. I didn’t want to leave the house. My sadness was too heavy a burden to take with me, but he persuaded me to accompany him on his daily walk along the seafront. I clung on to him as if I was disabled, and I suppose I was in a way. One day as we walked he said, “I want you to look up, Rose. There is a sky above you that is clear and blue. Lift your eyes and look up. Start counting chimneys, my Rose,” and so I say to you, Dottie, what that dear man said to me. Look up and start counting chimneys.’
43
There was no way that I could go to London, and I felt bad about letting Carol down, but Clark and Emma were able to go with her instead. Emma fell in love with Little Venice, just like I knew she would. Clark began looking into jobs in London with a view to them living there, and Greg was going to let them know as soon a boat became vacant. The fashion house liked Carol a lot and wanted to use her. It was run by a young new designer called Florence. The House of Florence. I thought it sounded lovely. It looked like the time had come for Carol to fly the nest and for my little brother and his sweet Emma to move away. The times they were a-changing.
There were still moments when a song could send me back to that dark place, but I was finding it easier to climb out again. I was able to laugh at Tristan’s jokes and Stephen’s gentle teasing. Rose tempted me with her delicious Chinese dough balls and Manju cake filled with sweet red bean. If I ate everything she put in front me I would go back to being the fat girl again. I loved my home and my family, and I knew that I would be made welcome there, but they worried about me, and I didn’t want to burden them with my sadness. Somehow it was easier at Oriental Place. No one asked questions; they just let me be. It had become my sanctuary.
I started going down to Rose’s flat almost every evening. Stephen and his knee were still the centre of attention, and he continued to hold court on the pink chaise longue. Sometimes Rose played for us, melodies she remembered from her glory days in the theatre. Stephen had a beautiful voice. He sang numbers like ‘Stormy Weather’, ‘These Foolish Things’ and ‘Tea for Two’. Tristan would join in with harmonies, their voices blending together perfectly. I loved those evenings. They helped me forget, if only for a while.
‘We like the Beatles as well,’ said Tristan. ‘But we have yet to convince darling Rose that “Hey Jude” is just as worthy as “Little Brown Jug”.’
‘I prefer the old songs,’ said Rose. ‘I find them easier on the ear.’
‘We’ll convince her yet,’ said Stephen, smiling at her.
I had never asked Stephen and Tristan their ages, or Rose for that matter, but I guessed that Rose was about sixty and the boys were in their early forties. I wasn’t even sure what they lived on, because neither of them seemed to have jobs. When Rose had first shown me the flat, she had mentioned that they were in the theatre, but there didn’t seem to be any evidence of that.
The hospital said that when Stephen was able to climb twenty stairs without pain, then he could move back to his flat. Every evening after work I helped. Rose and I walked behind him, and Tristan went in front. It was so comical that we nearly always ended up in hysterics, mostly because Rose would get an attack of the rheumatics, then all four of us would be stuck on the stairs in complete darkness, crying wit
h laughter.
Work was my saviour, and I threw myself into it. Millie knew there was something wrong, but she hadn’t asked what. I told her over lunch in a little café in Kemp Town.
‘So you’re not living in sin any more then?’
‘No, I’ve decided that sin isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.’
‘So you live on your own now?’
‘I do.’
‘Don’t you mind? I’d be scared to death.’
‘I suppose I might if I didn’t like my flat, but I love it there, so I’m quite happy on my own. In fact I don’t feel as if I am on my own.’
I told her about my friends in Oriental Place. ‘Why don’t you come round one evening? Come home with me after work and stay the night.’
‘I’d love that.’
‘Have you managed to get through your life without having your heart broken, Millie?’
‘I don’t think I’ve ever been in love,’ she said. ‘I mean, I really thought I was once. I had all the symptoms you know – heart palpations, weight loss, sleepless nights. Turned out I had diabetes.’
‘You’ve got diabetes?’
‘Yep, it’s a right pain, because I love sweet things. Now and again I give into temptation and have some chocolate, but mostly I’m pretty good.’
‘I’m really sorry.’
‘The thing with a broken heart is that it eventually heals, but bloody diabetes is for life. I’d go for the broken heart any time.’
Our discussion turned to Matthew Smith, who we’d left in Tom’s office before heading out to lunch. Millie had been right about him – he was indeed beautiful. She had raved about his eyes, but his lips were something else again. I noticed that Millie had gone to town on her make-up, and wasn’t her skirt just a little shorter than usual?
‘Was I right about Matthew or was I right?’ she asked, biting into a bacon roll.
‘You were more than right.’
‘Do you think he’s got a girlfriend?’
‘How would I know?’
‘Perhaps you could say something like “your girlfriend must be delighted about your book”.’
‘Why can’t you say it?’
‘If I say it he’ll think I fancy him.’
‘And if I say it he’ll think I fancy him.’
I grinned.
‘What?’ Millie asked.
I could remember an almost exact conversation I’d had one day with Mary about Elton.
‘Just remembering something.’
We wandered back to the office.
‘Is my skirt too short?’ Millie asked, staring at herself in the shop windows.
‘Let’s put it like this – if it was much shorter it would be a blouse.’
‘Trying too hard?’
‘Not cool.’
We went up the rickety steps one at a time. We couldn’t trust going up them together.
Matthew was sitting at my desk. Well not exactly sitting. His body was long, and the chair seemed too small for him; he was more draped than sat.
I had seen him briefly earlier on, but we hadn’t yet spoken. He got up and held out his hand.
‘Dottie,’ he said. ‘Please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Matthew, and I am in your debt. You discovered my little book, yes?’
I sat there with my mouth open – it was like I’d been struck dumb. Not only was he beautiful to look at, his voice was like warm syrup. Everything about him was mesmerising.
Millie came to my rescue. She gave him her best smile and said, ‘Yes, you have Dottie to thank for that. You should have heard her raving about it. She had you up there with Shakespeare.’
Matthew turned his attention back to me. ‘You compare me to Mr Shakespeare? I am humbled, Dottie.’
I found my voice. ‘Someone else would have seen what I saw. You are a wonderful writer.’
‘But it was you that liked it, and I am very grateful.’
‘I more than liked it. It’s my diamond in the rough.’
Matthew looked puzzled.
‘It’s my job, you see, to find the little gem amongst all the dross. I was beginning to think that it would never happen. It’s me that’s grateful to you.’
He smiled his lazy smile. ‘Then we shall both be grateful. And now I must go – I have a lecture to attend.’
‘You’re at college?’
‘I am training to be a teacher.’ He held out his hand. ‘But we will see each other again, yes?’
‘Of course,’ I said.
As he left the office we both shouted, ‘Mind the steps.’
‘ “Of course”?’ said Millie, making a face. ‘You should have asked when!’
‘I’m not looking for a new man.’ I haven’t got over the old one yet, I thought.
‘Well I don’t wish to encourage you, because I’d quite like to make a move on him myself, but they do say that the best way to get over a broken heart is to find someone else.’
‘That’s just sticking a plaster over it.’
‘I shouldn’t think it matters what you stick over it as long as it helps.’
‘He is lovely though,’ I said, smiling. I guess I just appreciated Matthew’s beauty as much as I appreciated the beauty of his book.
44
Tom was still trying to find a publisher for Matthew’s book. A couple had been interested but not enough to make an offer. I couldn’t understand why it hadn’t been snapped up immediately.
‘It goes like that sometimes,’ said Tom. ‘The books you don’t think have a hope in hell take off and the brilliant literary masterpieces fall flat. It depends what’s popular at the time, but it will happen. The right publisher will come along, and they will love it as much as we do.’
Matthew had come into the office one morning and asked if he could take me out to lunch. Millie was frantically nodding her head in encouragement behind him. I glared at her but accepted Matthew’s invitation. There was a certain calmness about him that I liked. I had loved his book, and I wanted to know more about him. Millie was acting as if it was a date, but I knew that it was his way of saying thank you.
At noon he was waiting for me at the bottom of the steps. Millie stood at the top waving us off
‘I worry for your safety on these stairs,’ he said.
‘You get used to them,’ I said, smiling.
We chose a little café down on the seafront. It was a lovely warm day so we sat outside, eating sandwiches and drinking tea.
‘So where are you from?’ I asked.
‘I come from a small village in Tanzania.’
‘Are your parents still there?’
‘Sadly my parents died when I was twelve.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘I was left to look after my two younger sisters.’
‘And you were only twelve?’
‘Yes, just a boy. I didn’t know how I was going to take care of them. I was scared, and I was alone.’
‘It must have been terrible for you.’
‘It was, but I had my two sisters to look after. It was not a time to feel sorry for myself.’
‘I can’t imagine how hard that must have been.’
‘It was very hard.’
‘I don’t know anything about African names, but Matthew Smith isn’t what I would imagine.’
‘My African name is Oscu Kimbali.’
‘Now that sounds more like it, but why change it?’
‘I feared that I wouldn’t be taken seriously with such a name.’
‘I would have picked your book up whatever you were called.’
‘Not everyone is like you and Tom and Millie. This world of ours is full of ignorance. There are many who fear what they don’t understand. They see only the colour of your skin.’
I sipped the hot tea and wondered how anyone could fail to see what a lovely man he was, whatever the colour of his skin.
‘How did you end up in Brighton? It’s a long way from Africa.’
‘I could barely make enough
money to take care of my sisters.’
‘Didn’t anyone in the village help you?’
‘No, and I understood why. They could hardly look after their own families without taking us on. They weren’t unkind – they just couldn’t help. In my country you are a man at twelve, but I didn’t feel like a man, Dottie. I still felt like a child.’
I couldn’t imagine what Matthew had gone through at such a young age.
‘What did you do?’
‘I tried to make a living from the small piece of land that we had. It was hard work, but I just about managed to feed us. Before my parents died I had been able to go to school. My parents knew the value of education, and in that they were unusual. I walked ten miles every day to get there and ten miles home, and I was glad to do it. All that changed when they died.’
I felt ashamed as I listened to Matthew’s story. I had gone to the local school just around the corner and didn’t think that I was lucky to go there. I’d taken it for granted.
‘But how did you end up here?’
‘I guess life would have continued the way it was, but one day a man from the next village asked to buy my sister. Kami was only nine years old. The man was in his fifties.’
‘Oh Matthew.’
‘I was terrified. I was just a boy; I couldn’t protect them. I knew that from then on neither of my sisters were safe. I knew that I had to get them to a place of safety.’
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
‘I went to an elder of the village and begged for his help. He took pity on me and contacted a pastor in another town. The man took me and my sisters to live with him and his wife. He educated me and raised money to send me to England, and here I am.’
‘What about your sisters?’
‘Kami and Zina are well taken care of. They will stay with the pastor until I have finished my training as a teacher. I am in my final year. I will then return to Africa and take care of them myself.’
‘So you are the boy in the book?’
‘I think there is a part of me that is Simmi. I always wanted more than I had. I wanted to learn. Education is everything, Dottie. Without education you have nothing – you remain in ignorance.’