Bad Boys of London: The Complete GYPSY HEROES Collection (64 page)

Shane gets to his haunches in front of her. ‘Of course, he doesn’t want to kill you, sweetie. He’s your cousin.’

‘Yes, he does. Yes, he does,’ she insists, striking the sides of her little body violently. She points at Tommy dramatically. ‘He just wants me to die out here.’

Shane busies himself with gently feeling the top of her head. ‘Now, why on earth would Tommy want to kill you?’

She thinks for a minute. ‘So he can have all my toys,’ she says triumphantly.

Shane shakes his head. ‘He’s a boy. He doesn’t want your dolls and cookery set.’

She appears to lose interest in Tommy’s motive. ‘Is there an egg on my head?’ she asks anxiously, instead.

‘Maybe a very small one,’ Shane agrees.

‘I’m never sleeping with him again. Don’t make me, Uncle Shane,’ she pleads.

I have to turn my head to hide my smile. How Shane is keeping a straight face is beyond me.

‘Why did you bang her with your train while she was sleeping, Tommy?’ Shane asks the little boy, who has so far said nothing.

He scrunches his shoulders up to his ears. ‘It was an accident. I wanted to kiss her, but the train fell from my hand, and … and … banged her head.’

Shane turns to Liliana. ‘See? It was an accident. He just wanted to kiss you.’

‘I don’t believe him. He’s a’—she frowns to think of the right expression—‘juvenile delinquent.’

Shane’s lips twitch. ‘Do you know what? I kind of believe him. You’re very, very kissable.’ And he kisses her on her cheek, twice, loudly. ‘Don’t you sometimes look at your new baby sister and want to kiss her too?’

She looks at Tommy from the sides of her eyes. ‘Yes, Laura’s cute,’ she admits.

‘Can you forgive him?’ Shane asks.

She stares mutinously at Shane. ‘I’ll have to think about it.’

‘All right then. Think about it while you have lunch.’ He turns his gaze to his nephew. ‘Tommy, what do you say when you accidentally hurt someone?’

‘Sorry,’ he pipes up immediately.

‘Good boy. Now, why don’t we all go into the kitchen and have some lunch?’

Tommy, relieved that he is not going to be punished, nods eagerly.

‘Who’s that?’ Liliana asks, noticing me for the first time.

‘That’s Snow. Say hello.’

‘Hello, Snow,’ she says, wiping her tears, her rage forgotten.

‘Hi, what’s your name?’ I ask with a smile, simply because I want to hear her tell me her new name.

‘Margarite Hum Loo,’ she replies solemnly.

‘That’s a pretty name. What does it mean?’ I ask equally solemnly.

‘It doesn’t mean anything. I just like it because it reminds me of a seahorse, or a mermaid, I’m not sure which yet.’

I smile at the purity of her innocence. It’s been a long time since I was in the presence of children. It is like bathing my soul in clear, pure spring water. It makes this morning’s news even sweeter.

I turn to Tommy. ‘Hello, Tommy.’

‘Hello,’ Tommy says shyly.

‘He’s a cry-baby. He cries all the time,’ Liliana denounces scornfully.

‘Excuse me,’ Shane interrupts, ‘but you used to cry when you were his age too.’

‘I only cried for milk; he cries for everything.’

Both Shane and I crack up.

‘Are you Uncle Shane’s girlfriend?’ Liliana demands suddenly.

I look at Shane, but he just looks at me innocently.

I clear my throat. ‘I’m Uncle Shane’s friend,’ I say primly.

‘Don’t you want to be Uncle Shane’s girlfriend?’ she asks curiously.

I feel myself flush and Shane grins evilly. ‘Answer the child then.’

‘Well,’ I say.

‘I know what. You can marry him if you want and then you can kiss like mummies and daddies.’

Shane bursts out laughing, and even I have to smile.

The next hour is the best fun I’ve had in years. Shane and I prepare thick homemade fish fingers that Liliana’s mother has sent, shelled peas, and mashed potatoes. The kids are a barrel of laughs, but my first impression of Tommy as a helplessly little baby is quickly dispelled. He turns out to be the naughtiest little imp.

After lunch, Shane puts on the Whip/Nae Nae record and Liliana, who knows all the moves, starts dancing. Disgusted with the noise and activity, the cat retreats into the kitchen.

‘Again,’ Liliana cries when the track ends.

God knows how, but on the third run the bossy boots manages to make both Shane and I join in. I have been out of circulation for so long, I don’t know any of the steps, but Shane, like Liliana, knows them all. He looks real good doing it too.

We all stop when the phone rings.

‘Can I answer it, Uncle Shane?’ Liliana asks.

‘Go on. It’s probably your daddy anyway.’

She rushes to the phone, picks it up, and says, ‘Hello, Margarite Hum Loo speaking.’

‘Daddeeeeee,’ she squeals. She listens for a while, then asks, ‘What time are you coming? OK. Hi, Mummy. Yes, I was very, very good. Tommy wasn’t, though. He banged my head really hard. On purpose. I was very brave. There was a very big egg on my head, but it’s gone down now.’

I turn toward Shane with widened eyes at the lies she was telling.

‘Don’t worry, everybody knows what a terrible shit-stirrer she is,’ he whispers with a wink.

Her mother must have asked about lunch because she says, ‘Yes. Fish fingers, mashed potatoes, and peas.’ She swivels her eyes toward me. ‘No, but Uncle Shane’s girlfriend is here. Yeah. Yeah. I don’t know.’ She takes a big breath. ‘Mummy, did you buy anything nice for me? Yay! OK, see you soon. I love you, Mummy. Bye, bye.’ She puts the phone down and skips over to us.

‘Mummy and Daddy are coming.’

‘I guess I’d better go,’ I say.

‘You don’t have to,’ Shane says immediately.

‘No, I should go. It’s getting late.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yeah, I’m sure,’ I say with a smile.

‘I’ll call you a cab.’

‘Thanks, Shane.’

In less than five minutes, the cab calls up that he is waiting downstairs.

‘I really enjoyed my time here,’ I say.

‘Hold on. We’ll all come down with you.’

So, all of us pile into the lift and go down. As Shane shuts the door of the taxi, I see a silver Bentley drive into the forecourt. I turn back to watch it, and I see a tall man with very similar coloring to Shane, and a beautiful woman with a slightly Oriental feel to her features get out of the car. The woman is holding a baby in her arms and Liliana is jumping up and down with excitement. As soon as Shane lets go of her little hand, she races to her father and throws herself at him. He catches her, lifts her high into the air, and whirls around while she squeals with delight.

Then the taxi turns into the road and I can no longer see them.

Nine

SNOW

I
t is nearly 7.00 p.m. and the light that fills my apartment is livid and deep, half storm-purple and half the fiery orange eyes of a hawk. I’ve been wandering aimlessly within these walls ever since I returned from Shane’s house. Hearing myself breathe. Jumping at the sound of the water in the pipes.

Feeling something. Dread and excitement.

A hot, damp wind pushes in through the window and I stop and gaze at my surroundings as if seeing it all for the first time. Everything is still and silent and bland. There are no cherished paintings, family photographs, or lovingly collected little objects of beauty. The walls are magnolia, the furniture is plain and brown, and it is all as clinically clean as an ICU unit in a hospital.

Which is strange considering that this place has been my salvation, my solace, and my sanctuary. My hiding place from the world outside. The world that is always waiting to hurt me. I listen to the silence, and it feels heavy and oppressive.

I turn my thoughts to little Liliana, the shit-stirrer.

‘Margarite Hum Loo,’ I whisper, and just saying her made-up name aloud in the stillness makes me chuckle.

I try to imagine her in her own home with her parents. It is clear that they adore her. The image that comes to my mind seems warm, bright, full of laughter, and infused with the smell of Liliana and her mother baking a new batch of cookies.

I think of Shane. Of course, he will not be at home now. He will probably be in Eden. I try to picture him walking around, talking, laughing, and I feel sad that I am not part of his life. I realize I miss his mischievous sense of humor, his handsome face, his wolfish grin, and his warm, sparkling eyes.

But I stop myself short. I cannot be part of his life. No matter what it looked like this afternoon, he is a playboy through and through. I saw that a mile off. No one that good-looking can be trusted. This is just a flirtation for him. Soon he will be gone. Looking for greener pastures.

My thoughts inevitably return to my mother. She would be so disapproving if she ever met Shane. Not that she ever will, of course. She always wanted her children to marry into money.

‘What can you do with good looks?’ she used to say. ‘You can’t eat them. They won’t pay the bills. All they are is endless trouble. Finding phone numbers in their pockets, going through their credit card bills, and worrying every time they’re a little late home.’

So my sister, Catherine, married into money.

When she was twenty-three she met Kishore, a nondescript guy with curly hair. He was thirty and from a ‘good’ and powerful Indian family. They fell in love over a plate of marsala tosai, she signed a six-page harshly worded pre-nup contract, and they got married in one of the biggest society weddings in Calcutta. Political figures and Bollywood celebrities attended the glittering occasion.

Now she has given him three kids, he cheats on her all the time, sometimes even openly, but she won’t leave. She won’t give up the mansion, the servants, the swimming pool, the invitations to all the best parties, and the overseas shopping trips.

My brother, on the other hand, has told my mother in no uncertain terms that he will marry only for love. It is the only time that we agree on an important issue.

My brother and I don’t get on. From the time we were children, he didn’t want me around. I never understood why he resented me so much. He had everything. He was the favorite of both my parents and got absolutely everything he ever wanted.

Even when Papa lost all his money and all that was left was the house, which fortunately he had transferred into my mother’s name, and the money he had stashed away in her account, I was immediately pulled out of Calcutta International school. It was decided however, that there was enough money to pay Josh’s school fees and eventually to send him to America to finish the last part of his education.

Our very large house was sold. Some of the proceeds went toward Josh’s education fund, and some was put toward buying a smaller house. When Josh flew away, I was left in the house with my parents, the cook, the gardener, and a cleaning lady who came in daily. All my fine school friends had dropped away one by one. They were either too busy, or had left the country to finish their education. Papa locked himself into a room and let the TV blare. Without my brother and with the loss of her grand lifestyle, my mother became a very unhappy woman.

For a long time after our slide into disgrace, staff from my father’s offices and factory used to come to the front gate pleading for their unpaid wages. Once, I asked my mother why we didn’t just pay them at least something.

‘Elizabeth,’ she said tight-lipped. ‘If you had your way, you’d have us all begging in the streets with them, wouldn’t you?’

As time passed, Papa’s unpaid staff grew more and more desperate. They started shaking the gates and shouting insults. My mother used to stand at the window behind the curtain, and look down at them as the gardener chased them away by hitting their fingers with a broomstick and scolding them.

In fear of their anger, my mother arbitrarily decided she did not want me to finish my education, even at the local school. I was very upset, but I didn’t want to go against her, since things were already so fraught at home. So I sat in my swing and read. Tons of books. I read the classics. I read translated works. I read Indian poets. But my life seemed meaningless. I felt like a prisoner. Trapped and without a future. I wanted to live.

I don’t know what made me decide one day to run away. Perhaps because I could not see my mother ever allowing me to pursue my dream of being a pre-school teacher. I opened Papa’s safe—I had known the combination since I was fifteen—and stole the money I needed. My passport was ready from the time I was first sent to international school. I took a taxi to the airport and got on a plane.

I was nineteen when I arrived in London. It was autumn and the air was chilly, but I remember I was so excited and so filled with adrenalin I did not feel the cold. In my T-shirt, I traveled to Victoria Station. From there it was easy. I got into the Tube station, bought a ticket, and took the Victoria Line, then got off two stops up at Oxford Circus.

Central London’s Oxford Circus was a shock. The bustle, the energy. I could not believe it. The world seemed a big, beautiful, bright place, and I was so happy. I walked to the YHA hostel. I had checked them out on the Internet and I knew they had beds for £18.00. It was a lot in rupees, but I expected to find a job as soon as possible.