My Sweet Girl

by Amanda Jayatissa

“No.” And I had never thought to ask. Our arrangement was convenient.

  “Copy of a driver’s license?”

  I shook my head.

  “Do you know if he was here by legal means?”

  Well, I suppose he arrived here by legal means. But unless you call overstaying your tourist visa legal, well, looks like Arun might be in some shit. Damn, it’s a good thing he’s dead, because if he wasn’t, I’ve really gone and messed things up for him.

  “Address of his workplace?”

  “He works over at the Curry Palace. It’s downtown, right across the street from the other Indian place, Taj Masala, and next door to Peet’s Coffee, I think. I could look up the address for you.” Finally, some information I could offer. But Officer Keller shook his head.

  “That’s fine. We can find that out. Do you know when his next shift is?”

  Damn it. I really hate being this clueless.

  “I didn’t really know him that well. He mostly kept to himself.”

  “Any friends? A girlfriend, maybe?”

  “I think he had a girlfriend, but I’ve never met her.” I’d hear them come in late at night when he thought I’d be asleep. He was super secretive about her, probably trying to hide the fact that he was dating a white girl or something.

  “So, when was the last time you actually saw him?” He rubbed his eyes and stifled a yawn. Come on, Officer Keller. Wake the hell up and do your job.

  “Maybe around three thirty.”

  “Three thirty in the afternoon?” The furrow in his brow deepened.

  “Yes, last afternoon.”

  “Did you have any disagreements at this time?”

  I swallowed. Fuck. What if they thought that I had something to do with him going missing?

  “N-not exactly.”

  “The neighbors said they heard a disturbance last night.”

  “We did have a minor disagreement. He was”—it’s a good thing I’m a fucking fantastic liar—“he was behind on his rent, you see.” It wasn’t like I could tell Officer Keller the truth. And besides, we weren’t that loud. That bitch of a neighbor was probably exaggerating again. What an asshole.

  “And you have no idea where he is now?”

  I mean, how fucking dumb could Officer Keller even be?

  I shook my head.

  “Had he moved out recently?”

  What?

  The muscles in my face were about to spasm from maintaining a neutral expression.

  “No, Officer.”

  Officer Keller raised his eyebrows.

  “Did you have anything to drink last night?”

  “I—yes. But I—”

  “And what is it that you do?”

  A change in direction. What was he trying to do here? Get my guard down?

  “Freelance graphic design work, mostly.” The millennial job description had the desired effect, because he didn’t dwell on it. I don’t think Officer Keller would approve much of where the bulk of my cash really comes from, now that I don’t have access to my parents’ accounts.

  But I still gave him a little smile. Who knows? He didn’t seem like he could be one of my regulars, but then again, I didn’t have a clue what my regulars even looked like.

  There was a truckload of questions left to go.

  How many drinks did I have last night? Any recreational drugs? Was I on any medication? Who was my doctor? Could I repeat what happened over, and over, and over again until I thought I would scream?

  Explanations peppered lightly with half-truths, then suddenly—“Okay, thank you for your time, Ms. Evans. We’ll keep you posted on what we find.”

  What?

  That’s it?

  “But what about Arun?”

  “Well, we have to wait the allocated forty-eight hours to officially declare him missing, since we don’t have any evidence that suggests an attack.”

  What the actual fuck? Did they not listen to a damn thing I said?

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, there’s no evidence of a struggle. We didn’t see anything on your building’s CCTV footage to suggest suspicious activity. We don’t even have anything to prove he exists, at this point. We can’t find any evidence of him in the system, and if he’s in the country illegally, then there’s little we could do to track him down right now anyway.”

  I know . . . Arun had grinned. He’d held the letter out of my reach as I lunged for it. And now he was dead and no one fucking believed me.

  “Look, I know this must be confusing for you. Why don’t you get some rest? We’ll keep you posted if there’s anything we find. You have a place you can stay for a day or two? Your parents, perhaps?”

  I tried not to snort. They were the last people who could help me. But at least I could crash at their place. It’d been sitting empty since they embarked on their “world tour” two months ago. Who even calls it that? A couple of luxury resorts in Asia, ending up in Sri Lanka, where they were being honored as usual for their charity work, gag me now, and suddenly it’s a fucking world tour.

  “Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

  “One last thing. There was this note. On the fridge.” He pulled out a piece of paper from his manila envelope.

  Buy milk, I had scribbled.

  The future’s not ours to see, Arun had written underneath. At least, I think it was him. It’s not like I had ever seen his handwriting. We didn’t have a communal shopping list. We certainly never left each other notes on the fridge.

  “That’s my shopping list.”

  “And this bit—the future’s not ours to see. Does it mean anything to you?”

  Something inside me stirred. It was subtle. A shifting. Or an unsteadiness. I couldn’t really put my finger on it.

  “Must’ve been Arun, but I have no clue what it means.” I pushed my hands under my thighs as they started to shake again. “Like I said, I barely knew him.”

  But somebody seemed to know me a lot better than I’d like.

  6

  RATMALANA, SRI LANKA

  “PALOMA, FOR GOODNESS’ SAKE, straighten your skirt. I can’t be telling you a hundred and one times, no? Haiyyo, Lihini, your hair, please. Very good ah, very good. Shanika, at the back, please. Now. And for heaven’s sake, put away that dirty doll aney. You there, stand straight. Haiyyo, these people will think we are raising a bunch of scarecrows here.”

  Lihini was trying not to laugh. I crossed my eyes and stuck my arms out like a scarecrow. She covered her mouth with her hands, but a small giggle still got out.

  “You think it’s funny, ah?” But Miss Chandra was smiling herself. She was too excited to get angry with us on a day like today.

  “Hari, hari. Enough now. Band, are you ready?”

  The band was made up of three girls holding a melodica, cymbals, and a little drum that was given to us last year by a rich family in Colombo. We all fought to play them, but Miss Nayana never even gave me a chance. She said I was completely tone-deaf, which I think is really, really unfair. I mean, the melodica sounds like a dying cat when Dumila plays it, and I’m the one who’s tone-deaf?

  But I shook my head. Lihini says that I’m always too negative. She says that being negative puts negative energy out into the world, and when this happens, nothing good can ever happen to you. I don’t know if I believe her, but I don’t really feel like risking it. Miss Chandra calls this being a “glass half-full kind of person,” which I think is a bit silly. What does water have to do with any of this?

  A long strand of Lihini’s hair stuck out from one of her plaits. I tugged on it to get her attention and then tucked it into her hair band.

  “Rest of you, get in line.” Miss Chandra wouldn’t stop until they got here. “Now. Look happy, aney for goodness’ sake. They’ll be here any minute. No one wants to see any long faces, okay?”r />
  “No long faces here, Miss Chandra.” His voice boomed out over our chatter, immediately hushing us. “Looking lovely, girls. Everyone remembers their places? Good. I know you will make me proud.”

  “Yes, Perera sir,” we chorused, only half faking the smiles that we plastered on. The excitement buzzed around us so heavily we could almost reach out and touch it.

  A blue car so shiny that you could see all our excited faces reflect off the side pulled up to the entrance gate, where we stood. You could hear the soft gasps, the straightening up, the smiles getting just a little wider. My hands felt sweaty, even though they were clasped behind my back just like Miss Chandra had asked us to. I snuck a glance over to Lihini again, but she wasn’t looking at me this time.

  She was staring at the car, of course, and I looked over, too, when the door swung open. I have seen foreigners before. I’ve seen Americans, and Germans, and Britishers, and even a couple from Japan. We have donors from charities from all over the world visit us. Not all the time, but it happens. Miss Chandra always tells us how lucky we are that Perera sir is so good at telling everyone about our home. I suppose she’s right. Our home isn’t much like the orphanages we read about that starved children, or beat them. We’ve always had a string of well-wishers. They’ve brought us all the Enid Blyton books, and all the Penguin Classics. They’ve given us art equipment, and last year, we got a brand-new swing set. The donors from Colombo even invite us to their homes for their children’s birthday parties and concerts.

  I’ve seen quite a few foreigners in my time, but none of them prepared me for her. No foreigner ever looked as beautiful as Mrs. Evans when she got out of the car that day. She was like an angel, with her soft blond hair falling on the whitest shoulders I’ve ever seen. She wore a simple pink shift dress—pink! my favourite colour—that ended quite a few inches above her knee. Miss Chandra would raise her eyebrows if any of us tried to wear something so short outside the orphanage, but of course, even she was bowled over by Mrs. Evans’s beauty.

  Mr. Evans got out from the other side and circled the car to join his wife. He smiled over to us. Of course, we had all forgotten everything Miss Chandra said about staring at people, and everyone was gawking at Mr. and Mrs. Evans like they were the first white people we had ever seen.

  “Adorable little things, aren’t they?” he said. His words were lazy and spilled over themselves. Miss Sarah would have our teeth if we spoke that way without pronouncing our t’s properly, but she just gave her widest smile to this tall man whose stubbly face reminded me of an actor in those Hollywood movies we were not allowed to watch.

  “Thank you for visiting us, Mr. and Mrs. Evans.” Perera sir strode up to them, his English sounding odd and stuffy next to theirs.

  Seeing him pushed us back to reality. This was our cue.

  “Welcome to the Little Miracles Girls’ Home, Mr. and Mrs. Evans,” we chanted melodically, drawing out our words so they sounded longer.

  Mr. and Mrs. Evans looked how I felt on Christmas morning.

  “Thank you. We’re so happy to be here as well.” Her voice was deeper than I would have expected from someone straight out of heaven. Much deeper than Miss Nayana’s or Miss Chandra’s for sure. It sounded breathtaking coming from her.

  “Thank you.” I tried to imitate her under my breath, wondering how my voice would sound if it were that deep. I got a sharp nudge from Lihini.

  “Be quiet,” she mouthed.

  “The girls have prepared a welcome song,” Miss Chandra said. Her cheeks were flushed maroon. She only ever gets shy when we have visitors to the orphanage. Other times she’s as bossy as ever.

  One of the younger girls stepped forward with a small bouquet of flowers. I know I shouldn’t be jealous of a four-year-old, but when I saw Mrs. Evans step forward and plant a kiss on her chubby little cheek, I felt just a small stab of something in my chest. I ran my tongue along the chip on my front tooth hard enough for it to sting. I mustn’t think bad thoughts.

  It’s not like it’s bad for me here, at the orphanage. It’s the only home I’ve ever known, really. My mother had me here, and then she left back to her village. I had asked Miss Chandra why, but she had only smiled and stroked my hair and said that she would tell me when I was older. I don’t really know why adults say that. It’s not like I would miss her less, or understand her more, just because I was older.

  She had left me a picture of her, but no letter, no information, nothing. Miss Chandra told me that she was a maid in the Middle East, which actually sounds really exciting. She didn’t look anything like me, and she certainly didn’t look a thing like Mrs. Evans.

  Good morning to you!

  Hello! How do you do?

  We are so very happy

  To welcome you!

  We sang loudly, gasping for air in between each line, trying to impress them by making them lose their hearing. The foreigners smiled down at us and clapped enthusiastically at the end, as did Perera sir and the rest of the teachers. Good. No one was in trouble today.

  “Very good, children. Why don’t you’ll go and play now so that I can show Mr. and Mrs. Evans around our home?”

  We hurried to our spots, and I couldn’t help but crane my neck a little to get just one last look at her. Lihini was staring over, too, a little more obviously than I was. I grabbed her arm.

  “Come on, men. You’re going to get both of us scolded otherwise.”

  She nodded and followed me inside.

  We quickly fell into our positions—Lihini and I were meant to sit near the windows and read one of the books from our small bookshelf, Maya and Dumila were supposed to practice with the rest of the band girls, others were supposed to color, to play with their dolls, sing. Even Snooby, the lazy orphanage dog, was supposed to lie in a corner.

  Everything was carefully arranged so that the Evanses would like us a lot, so that they would want to make donations to the home, maybe even tell their friends about us. And if we were really, really lucky, they might even adopt one of us as their new daughter. Every time someone was adopted, we would get some more money from the main American charity. At least, that’s what Perera sir explained to us. And it’s because of this money that we could have such nice things, like a bookshelf full of books, or after-school English classes with Miss Sarah, and a Christmas play every year, he had said.

  Lihini was just reaching for her copy of Wuthering Heights when I beat her to it.

  “Too slow,” I giggled, snatching it up and hugging it to my chest. Actually, the books on the shelf were supposed to belong to all of us, but Lihini loved Wuthering Heights so much that Miss Sarah gave her the copy for her Christmas present. I got Little Women, which was one of my favourites. But I was starting to like Heathcliff, even though all his anger got on my nerves sometimes. Yesterday, I was reading the scene where Heathcliff returned, transformed into a new person so he could get his revenge. I hadn’t finished the chapter yet and I didn’t want to start on another book until I did.

  “It’s my turn!” she giggled back.

  “Haiyyo, I’ll just read it for today. You can have it tomorrow.” I hugged the book tighter. She’s read it a million times. She wouldn’t die if she didn’t have it for one day.

  She gave a big, drama-queen sigh and took Oliver Twist for herself instead.

  “Guess what Miss Nayana gave me?” Lihini whispered. Must be something good if she couldn’t wait. She edged closer to me and pulled open the pocket on her dress. A Chinese roll—Lihini’s favorite. We only got the crumb fried pastries on very, very special occasions, so I was surprised that Lihini had managed to get one.

  “No way!”

  “She said it was because I’ve been helping in the kitchen.”

  “Can I get a bite?” It was a silly question. Of course Lihini would share with me. We shared everything.

  “As soon as they leave, okay?”


  “Shh!” one of the girls called from across the room, and I was about to tell her to shush herself when Lihini gave me a sharp look and went back to reading.

  “And here is the playroom, where we also keep our little library,” Perera sir was explaining as he pulled the door open.

  My chest felt heavy. Their perfume, like jasmine mixed with musk, filled the room before they even stepped inside.

  “Relax,” Lihini mouthed.

  The words made no sense on the page as I forced myself not to turn and stare at them. At her. At least, not too obviously. He was walking around the room, looking at our new desks, reading what we had written on the blackboard, checking out our small market stall with the plastic vegetables. But I felt her even before I knew she was coming towards me.

  “Hi there.” She crouched down so we were at eye level. No other adult had done that to talk to me.

  “Hi,” I said, but I couldn’t hear myself, so I’m not sure she heard me also.

  “What’s your name?”

  “P-Paloma.” Why was I stuttering? I’d never stuttered before.

  “And you?”

  “I’m Lihini.” Her voice came out crystal clear.

  Mrs. Evans turned back to me. “You have a beautiful smile.”

  I thought my heart would explode. I had a chip in my front tooth from when I fell jumping batta, and I had always hated it.

  “But my tooth,” I whispered, feeling very, very shy.

  “Well, I think it’s absolutely adorable. You’re such a sweet girl. And you both are so fair.” We both beamed at this. It was true—both Lihini and I were fairer than the other girls. Not by a lot, but enough to be called sudhu by everyone. Miss Nayana used to make fun of us, saying we could both be in a Fair & Lovely advertisement.

  “I like your dress,” Lihini tried. Her cheeks were pink to match what Mrs. Evans was wearing.

  Mrs. Evans looked down at herself like she had forgotten what she had on.

  “This? Oh, thank you. Thank you so much.” She peered over at me again.

  “What are you reading there?”