‘Just maybe, Annie, maybe this is it. I do love him and I think he loves me. I’m so glad you’ve decided to stay here with Georgie. We can all be together now.’
Annie rubbed her hands together then down her trousers. She couldn’t get them clean, couldn’t breathe; everyone was too close. She urged her pony forward, taking in gulps of air.
‘Though how long any of us will be here is a moot point,’ Prue continued, keeping up with her. ‘Georgie was telling Daddy that in a couple of years he’ll take you back to start the business because he doesn’t give the English any longer than that anyway.’
Annie nodded.
‘Is that what you want? We must settle close to one another Annie, when we do all go back.’
They were moving along the edge of a gully now and the earth scudded down into it. Annie nodded again. It would be nice to have Prue close and yes, she wanted to go back but two years had a great many long days inside it.
‘We should all have left before the troubles became so bad. All such an undignified scramble, darling. So much tension everywhere, you can feel it even before the shouts and riots break out. Suddenly India isn’t home any more.’
Annie dragged herself back.
‘You must be the only insider who thinks so.’ She wound the reins round her hand. It had healed quite well.
Prue shrugged as her pony pawed the ground and they began to move again. ‘They must know, deep down, but if they admit it to themselves, let alone anyone else, it is too real. But there’ll be a few more years anyway though it won’t be the same as it was. I so longed for it in that dump as well. Shall we ride back now, nearly time for tiffin remember?’
Annie pushed the thought of home aside, the thought of cool sea-breezes and followed Prue back down the wadi. The palace seemed very empty and vast. What will happen to you, she wondered, when we’ve gone and the country is free?
The party sitting around the table was languid in the mahogany-darkened room. Conversation was desultory, teacups rattled softly and always there was the hum of the fans. The brightness seen through draped windows and shaded verandahs seemed distant.
Annie shook her head at the cake. There was dark panelling on each wall and oil paintings with heavy gilt frames.
‘Surely not slimming, my dear?’ Tea was laid on a walnut table.
‘No, it’s still rather too rich for me, thank you.’
‘Not for me either, thank you, Mrs Bearing.’ Prue waved the plate away.
‘Slimming too?’
Annie glanced at Prue.
‘We’re not slimming, Mrs Bearing.’ Prue raised her voice and spoke slowly, each word clearer than the last. ‘We can’t digest rich food yet. We’ve only been back in India about two months.’
The woman shifted her gaze to the spot between the two. She had white hair and spectacles and wore a blouse that was ruffled at the neck. Her lips were thin.
‘Quite so, my dear. Did you have a pleasant ride?’
‘Lt. Sanders was asking after you, Prue dear. He has just come in from up-country. He’s a good boy and has rather a soft spot for you, I think.’ An elderly woman was speaking, her skin was sallow and lined, her grey hair short and crinkle-permed. She had a nice face, Annie decided. The bearer stood in the corner, ready to renew the teapot. ‘And it’s so nice to see you looking so well,’ the woman continued.
‘Yes, yes, indeed,’ Mrs Bearing called across the table. ‘One heard such frightful stories. Such bad form, don’t you know, women in coolie hats and rags. I mean, how can one be expected to keep the Empire intact with that sort of thing being allowed to happen? Can’t have been our sort. Others brought in for the duration most likely.’
The elderly woman laid her hand on Annie’s arm. A sapphire stone was set in plain gold and her skin hung loose beneath her arm.
‘More tea, my dear.’
Annie shook her head. She must strip the dining-room wallpaper; she must pull large sodden strips and drop them into piles until her feet were covered. Then it would be green stripes, pale green and cream stripes. It would be so cool.
‘I think, Prue, I shall have to make the curtains, they don’t seem to match material to wallpaper, do they?’ She rubbed her hands on her napkin, again and again.
Prue sat quite still in the silence that drifted outwards across the table; faces looked blank, then embarrassed. Mrs Bearing fingered her pearls.
‘Do have some more tea, Mrs Cantor,’ she offered the elderly woman who kept her hand on Annie’s arm. She smoothed her collar as she asked the other women too.
Prue leaned forward, making room for her cup and taking Annie’s from her. ‘I think it is time we left.’ She spoke carefully and equally carefully, she said, ‘Thank you so much for an enlightening afternoon, Mrs Bearing, but now we have letters to write, to our coolie friends.’
She rose, touching Annie’s arm. ‘Yes, I rather think you will have to match them up yourself or perhaps it would be easier just to paint.’ She led Annie from the table.
Mrs Cantor also rose, taking Annie’s other arm. Annie liked the older woman’s eyes, they were deep and they smiled.
‘Come on, Annie, let’s go home,’ Prue said gently.
‘Yes, I’d like that,’ and the brightness of the window seemed further away than ever and the darkness of the heavy mess furniture with its cold silver loomed larger than ever.
‘Make her rest, Pruscilla, and do not overdo it yourself.’ Mrs Cantor spoke softly and watched as they walked out into the heat. It was pre-monsoon and their lungs expanded with effort.
‘When is Georgie coming home?’
Annie wondered why Prue was so careful, her voice so tightly pitched.
‘Perhaps not until tomorrow but probably tonight.’ She stopped. A thought had flickered past her eyes and gone but here it was again.
‘Why does he do this, Prue? Does he want to die? Every time be probes for the fuse he must think, this time may be the time. It’s a bit like suicide, another suicide. Such a lot of suicides.’ She walked on. The bungalow was not far now. It would be cool there. She could wash her hands, tear off these clothes, lie on the bed. She ran her fingers round her collar, rolled up her sleeves. They stood on the verandah.
Prue said, ‘Father says the best at the job are those who want to live most. Georgie’s the best.’
‘But he shouldn’t be doing it, not now the war is over.’ The verandah rail was smooth and painted white but she could see a knot slightly raised. ‘There is no need for anyone else to die.’
‘He won’t die, Annie.’ Prue frowned. ‘You’re very tired, I’ll come and see you later.’
‘It’s the bedside lamp that is the problem. Shall I match it to the light or to the paper?’ Annie shook her head. Everything flashed through too quickly for her to hold all her thoughts. She watched Prue leave but she turned at the bottom of the step.
‘I’ll hang on for a bit I think, Annie.’
But Annie shook her head. ‘Don’t be silly Prue, I’m fine. Just want a bit of peace, that’s all, just a bit of peace.’ She waved. The square shimmered and the lines of quarters broke down into heat-fragmented images. It seemed the same, day after day, week after week. She fanned herself and held the rail. Oh for a cold sea-breeze. She smiled at Kassim as she entered the bungalow.
‘I’m lying down for a while. Please don’t disturb me unless it’s an emergency.’
Beneath the mosquito net, she heard the monsoon begin and saw it suck the light from the day. She lay in a cotton nightdress but still the sweat ran from her body in the stifling heat. The rains plunged, water ran off ground too hard-baked to absorb its ferocity. It seemed hotter still and the noise drummed, punctuated by a shutter that banged, and Annie watched the black box. Even with her eyes wide open, she saw it. It was bulging and, unless the lid was opened, it was going to explode in little pieces all over the room, all over her brain and then she would never gather all the pieces together and back into the box and they would creep and sli
ther around her forever and so she lifted the catch and let the secrets out. The moans came first and then Lorna and Albert’s hand which grabbed for her and the vicar who could not say God. They were crawling across the floor and she could not catch them all. They were nearer now, the boots which kicked at her hands were stamping up dust and varicose legs were dancing round and the moans were mixed with music from the fair and then Da came out and across the room towards her and Georgie wasn’t here to help. He was out there trying to die like her da and she had always known that the man she loved would leave her if she let him close to her. He would die like her mother, like Sarah, like her da.
There was pain in her head now. It was bursting as it beat in time with the noise of the rain, the fair, the shutters, the screams and she took pills for the pain. They were sour and the water was warm. Her hair rubbed her neck; the pillow was too full. She pushed it to the bed edge and over it fell and was forgotten. The rain still drummed and the music went round and Albert’s hands were nearly at her and the pipe which wriggled with gas was closer still. More pills but they were sour again and the pain was still with her. The fan was drumming now in time with the rain. And still there was the throbbing in her head and the blood from Lorna’s head began to lap closer even than the gas-filled hose and then there was her da coming closer with his mouth wide open. The pills were not sour the next time and the noise was fading at last and the pain was easing. The black box was empty and everybody was leaving now in a spiral through the top of her head.
Her body was quiet, there was just her mouth that breathed and even that was slipping. She smiled at the peace. There was no heat, no noise and now the deep darkness was near. The peace.
Prue shook her hair as she arrived. It was wet and the water dripped off her mackintosh. The house was quiet.
‘Thank you, Kassim. Is Memsahib awake?’
‘She still sleeping. No want to be disturbed.’ He took her coat and watched as she walked to the bedroom door. There was no answer to her knock. She turned the handle and entered. The shutters banged, they were unlatched and there was no light.
‘Annie, are you awake?’ she called but only the shutters crashed.
‘Come on, darling, Georgie’s with Father, then he’s coming straight over.’ She felt for the light, it was dim yellow and she saw the pillow half under the bed. Annie’s hand was hanging not far above it, her arm half-hidden by the mosquito net. Prue’s scalp tightened. She walked quietly across and pulled back the net.
She was too pale, too sound asleep.
‘Wake up, Annie, let’s clear this place up a bit.’
Her wrist was still warm but the pulse was faint. The brown bottle lay on the bed; it was only half full. Pruscilla pressed her lips together, her pulse was hurting in her throat. She heard steps on the verandah and the door opening.
‘Shut it quickly, George. Do not let Kassim in. No one must know.’ Her voice was low but steady and she did not look at him but at Annie.
He stood in the doorway. Pruscilla gestured sharply and he shut it behind him.
‘What’s wrong with Annie?’ His voice was loud.
‘Come over here and for God’s sake keep your voice down. Let’s get her up. She must walk, walk it off.’
He threw his hat to the corner of the room and caught Prue’s arm. His face was suddenly anxious.
‘Is she drunk?’
‘Don’t be so bloody ridiculous. She’s taken an overdose.’
His arms felt slow at first but he reached her at last, his Annie, his love. Her shoulders were so fragile, her head lolled back. He looked at Prue.
‘Will she live?’ It was a desperate question, a whisper.
‘If she doesn’t sleep.’
‘I’ll get her to the hospital.’ He was on his feet striding to the door.
‘No time for that my lad and do you want the whole station to know? Do you want her to face criminal charges if she lives?’
‘Can we do it, just the two of us?’ He had turned helplessly to face her.
‘I rather think we should, it will be much kinder.’ She moved to the other side, regretting already the sharpness of her tone. They heaved Annie upright, the net caught on her hair and Prue pulled it away.
‘Come on darling. Let’s get those legs moving. Come on now.’ Her voice was urgent. Nothing happened.
‘Drag her, come on, drag her,’ she hissed. The shutters still crashed against the frame, the rain was heavier.
‘It’s no good,’ Georgie groaned. ‘We’re not getting through.’
‘Hold her,’ Prue snapped. She slapped Annie’s face again and again, harder each time and still the shutter banged.
‘Sahib, do you need me?’ called Kassim.
‘Go to your quarters!’ roared Georgie, sweat rolling down his face, his hair wet with it.
‘Shout at her, Georgie, shout ichi, ni, san, yong,’ and he did.
‘Speedo, speedo,’ urged Prue roughly and again and again they shouted and dragged and her feet began to move and soon she started to retch and dawn made the lamp redundant. She was sitting in a chair with Georgie at her feet, his head buried in her lap, his shoulder shaking as he wept his pain.
‘I’m going now,’ Prue said, her voice soft and weary. ‘Tell him, Annie, you must tell him you want to go home. How can he help if he doesn’t know?’ She touched his shoulder and wondered if either had heard her.
It was later, much later that Georgie opened his eyes. Her hand was on his head. He stirred and his movement lifted Annie’s heavy lids. He rose and took her in his arms, carried her to the window.
‘The rains are lighter now, my love,’ he said softly and she nodded.
‘I want to go home, Georgie. I must go away from the heat, back to my house, back to walls that are solid, pictures I know. I want to breathe again. I want space to breathe, that’s all.’
‘Aren’t I enough for you, Annie?’
Her mouth was dry and she touched his hands which had pulled clover and held it to her lips, stroked his arms which she had bathed when they were stung. Touched his mouth which had smiled when she turned somersaults on the bar and she smelt again the leeks wilting in the heat on that summer day.
‘You are too much for me.’ And she did not know what she meant. ‘I’m in small pieces and I want to go home.’
His eyes were reddened and pain was drawn into every corner of his face and she knew that all she wanted now was to be away from anyone who had ever pulled at her. And as he had done before, so long ago in Albert’s kitchen, Georgie made it easy for her.
CHAPTER 29
The gangplank was gone, the sprawl of India was retreating; the smell was of the sea and for six weeks she sat or walked the deck, breathing easily now for the first time since she left the camp. Her hair was thick with salt and her skin was white-smudged with it too.
It was winter as they docked, and crisp. The bare-branched trees and darkened green fields first filled the train windows as she travelled towards the North and then fell away in the face of ploughed fields lying fallow.
The train embankments were blackened from sparks and stubble fires. Small fields and small horizons, Annie thought. The seats were the same; they still prickled. The pictures behind glass above the seats were faded as they had always been.
As she walked up the path to the Gosforn house, the privet leaf snapped as she bent it between thumb and forefinger, and then there was Val. She came down the path, her arms outstretched and Annie stood quite still as she laid her head on that familiar shoulder. She did not weep but stood silent as Val rocked her, then walked to the door and into the sitting-room. It was so very much the same and she put her case down and held on to Val’s arm.
‘I’m so glad I’m home.’ The fire was in the grate, red and crackling but Sarah was not there.
‘Let me take your coat, my dear,’ said Val and kissed her cheek as Annie handed over the Harrods mackintosh that Prue had given her to brave the English winter. Her hands were cold and her
cheeks too but it was a good feeling.
She woke the next morning and there was no sweat-drenched sheet, just a slow awakening. The black box had stayed shut when she had pushed the lid down. Was it over? Was the darkness over now that she was alone and at Gosforn? But she knew it wasn’t; it was just waiting.
She lay with her hands beneath her head and looked up at Val’s knock. The blue cup on the breakfast tray was the same as she remembered. She traced its scalloped lines with her thumb and sipped slowly. Val turned on the electric fire and drew back the curtains.
‘Misty again,’ she said and walked across to smooth the sheet down. ‘Why don’t you stay in bed today? You look so pale.’ She had her hair drawn back in a bun and it was very white now, but she was still rounded, still as soft.
‘Val, I love you. I’m as brown or yellow as a bunka wallah. No one could possibly call me pale.’
‘Well, I do and Sarah would too, if she could see you now.’ She folded her arms across her bosom. ‘You are pale.’
Annie shook her head and leant back on the pillows. ‘We’ve a great deal to do, Val. I want to start on the house, get the business going. You don’t mind, do you, if I change things here?’ She was restless and fingered the sheet. She wanted to be busy, not to have to think. ‘It’s not that I want to forget Sarah, I’ll never do that. It’s just something that I’d like to do.’
Val smiled and walked to the fire, flicking on the second bar.
‘Do what you think best, lass. It would look good with a bit of paint.’
‘Paper mostly.’ Annie said firmly.
Val was standing by the window, rubbing at the condensation.
‘Has it changed you very much; this dreadful business, I mean?’
Annie picked up her toast. ‘I don’t know, Val. I don’t know about anything very much, any more.’ The marmalade was tart, the toast crisp and the butter hard. That was enough to be getting on with and she would feed the hens soon.
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