Being Emily (4 page)

IT’S THE FRAMING
that makes it
.

Jas taught me about framing. Hours spent in the park taking photies for Art till I knew every leaf, every bud, every change fae moment tae moment.

It started one November Tuesday – my phone went at seven thirty when I was still hauf-dozing under the covers.

Fiona, look out the windae
. I drew the curtain and there was a white wilderness where the back court had been.

It’ll no last
, he said.
Meet me at the front gate of the Botanics
in hauf an hour. Bring your camera
.

I gulped doon some orange juice, splashed cauld watter on my face and was at the gate five minutes early, cocooned in a fleece and wellies wi a pair of Da’s auld socks stuffed in
them. Jas was waiting at the locked gate, stamping his feet and blowing on his haunds.

Nae gloves?

Couldnae find them – anyhow, nae use wi the camera
.

A guy in a green council jacket undid the big padlock and as the gate creaked open Jas grabbed ma haund and the two of us sped intae the park.

At first we ran, giggling and shouting at the sight of the whiteness, desperate tae leave footprints on the frozen grass. We ran round in circles, hopped on wan leg, high on being the first folk, the only folk in the park. Jas even tried tae dae a cartwheel but leapt up screamin when he put his haunds on the ice.

We walked by the glasshouses towards the path to the river, starting tae notice the detail; an icing sugar bush wi wan red berry left on it, a swept-up pile of November leaves, salt-crusted wi frost. At first I snapped everything – I’d nae idea how they’d turn out so I took the same ice-veined leaf, over and over fae slightly different distances and angles. Then I slowed doon, started to take my time as Jas done, really look; working out the best angle, the best composition. Sometimes I manipulated the image, moved a brightly coloured leaf intae the centre of a collage of white mulch. Even the dirt looked beautiful, solid brown traced wi ice crystals.

Jas was right but, it wouldnae last. Even afore the trail of students shuffled its way tae nine o’clock lectures, there was a subtle shift; droplets of water appeared, as if the bushes grat for their lost beauty. In an hour it would be gone. I stood in front of an ivy growing fae a sheltered wall; the plant was still green except for wan leaf, which was perfect white. As I looked through the viewfinder, a droplet of water appeared
in the centre of the white leaf, like a teardrop.

A great pain welled up inside me, though nae tears broke ma frost.

Everyone kept saying how bad it was for the twins. At their age. In first year at secondary, the age of transition, girls needed their mammy tae help them through all they mysterious womanly secrets. Somehow there was less sympathy for me and Patrick. Folk’d come in the living room efter the rosary, look at Mona and Rona on the settee, hair tied back in matching pink scrunchies, and say,
Just when they need their
mammy the maist
.

Barely turning tae take the cuppa tea out ma haund, they’d lift two custard creams fae the plate, shake their heids and sigh.

Ach, lossing yer mammy is a terrible thing
.

Lossing yer mammy. That’s what everybody said.
I’m so sorry
for your loss
.

As if you just went out tae the shops and dropped her somewhere.

I’ve went back tae every shop but I just cannae think where I left her. Was it in Debenhams or H&M? Still, mibbe someone will find her and return her to me. She has this special identification mark, just at the side of her neck. And when you look in her eyes it’s hard tae see if they’re blue or green, wee flecks through them.

Naw, she wasnae lost, my mammy, she died. It’s us that are lost.

Mammy wasnae a great one for reading stories, usually she left that to my da, but she loved Peter Pan. And in Peter Pan there are the lost boys, the ones that have nae mothers. Peter went back tae his house and looked through the windae and
his mother had forgotten about him, put another boy in his bed. When she got to that bit Mammy always said,
Of course
that’s no true. No real mammy would ever stop looking for her child
if they were lost
.

I imagine her, looking doon on us fae her windae in heaven.

All of us, lost.

Da the maist obvious, fallen apart. Dry cracks seemed tae appear in his face, craggy and dark like a rock cliff. Sat there on the couch, had tae be forced tae even have a cuppa tea, couldnae eat for greetin. But then this was the man who sat through
This is Your Life
wi tears streaming doon his face as some second-rate magician was reunited with his ninety-five-year-auld primary teacher. This was the man who wept buckets at Uncle Pete’s version of ‘And I Love You So’ on the karaoke.

Falling apart has advantages. Everybody tiptoes round, looks efter you.

Patrick came back and stayed while the funeral was on, done all the practical things, the organising, him and Janice between them. So the twins were petted and ma da was nursed and Patrick was respected. And somehow I fell through a crack and became invisible. Made cupsa tea, done the hoovering, the washing, made sure the twins had clean claes and there was enough tea and coffee and biscuits in the hoose for the endless relatives and neighbours traipsing through. Every noo and again Patrick or Janice would gie me a wee hug or a smile that showed they appreciated it, that we were in it thegether, the ones that were coping. Sometimes it even seemed as if we felt the maist grief; the twins were too young, Da’s misery was self-indulgent somehow. But that kind of thought was short-lived, a bitter twisting of the heart while
I washed up for the fifteenth time in a day, a rainbow sparkle of poison that lit up the gloom surrounding me.

Efter the funeral, efter Patrick and Janice went back tae their ain houses, the days shrunk intae deep winter and in the mornings when I walked the twins tae school it was dark. Nights I’d come hame tae unmade beds and a dinner tae cook but that bit was easy. It was the weight that was hard. It’s weird how someone can have mair weight in a house they’ve left than when they were there. There was something light about Mammy, deft and quick, she done everything as if by sleight of hand. How come in her absence there was heavy, suffocating, overwhelming weight? A cloud that needs tae burst and pour its monsoon over the world.

After that day in the park, me and Jas talked about it for the first time. He understood. Mibbe that was one of the things that drew us thegether in the first place, seeing something in each other we could recognise; we were baith orphans.

We sat in the café, side by side at the windae, warming our haunds on mugs of foamy hot chocolate and I told him the story.

One night, about a year and a hauf ago, she and I were in the house wursels. Hardly ever happened cause Da never goes out, but his brother had tickets for something and the twins were in bed. She made us a cuppa tea, and the two of us sat in the living room. She’d seemed a bit different the last few days, mair sparkly and bubbly, but I thought it was just the spring coming – she was always sensitive tae changes in the seasons.

This is nice, Fiona
, she said, patting my haund.
A girls’ night
in
.

Aye
.

There’s something I want tae tell you
.

I can still see her face, the shininess of her eyes, the blue changing fae green tae blue and back again.

I’m having a baby
.

I was surprised, nae doubt about it. The twins were twelve noo and Mammy was forty-three, ah never thought she’d have another.

That’s brilliant, Mammy – when’s it due?

December 19th. A winter baby
.

Sagittarius
.

Ach, don’t believe all that astrology rubbish, you’re as bad as
Janice
.

Jas never asked any questions, just sat listening as the story unfolded, how she was fine during the pregnancy, just a wee bit high blood pressure.

And that’s just to be expected at my age
, she said.
I’ll be fine
.

How she seemed tae glow with happiness and I’d catch her in the kitchen daeing dishes, watching bubbles rise fae the washing up bowl.

How she looked when the baby got bigger, carrying it high and proud in front.

How the pains came the day afore her due date and how calm she was as she set aff to the hospital wi ma da, her last words as she went out the door,
Now make sure the twins dae
their hamework tonight and mind – put their gym kit in their bags
for the morra
.

How she never came back.

Doesnae happen nooadays. Doesnae happen tae a healthy woman who’s already had four weans. Doesnae happen in a clean bright modern hospital with highly trained professional staff and all the technology you can imagine. In a Victorian novel, aye, but no on the eve of the twenty-first century.
Mammy died in childbirth. And her baby, a perfect wee lassie, died with her.

Jas took ma haund; the skin felt dry, too auld for someone his age, spoke of years of work carting boxes around and being out in the thin early morning air. I looked intae his face, asked the question without speaking while he kept staring at our haunds, interlinked between the high stools.

My da was struck by lightning
. He paused, took a deep breath.
He was sheltering under a tree. A fucking tree. How stupid can you
get?

It was the first time I’d ever heard Jas swear.

Where did it happen?

He was away on a business trip and the guy had taken him out
to play golf. He’d never played golf in his life. A golf course in the
middle of nowhere and a storm starts and he goes under a tree and
gets struck by lightning
.

It’s … terrible
. I had no words.

Jas turned to me.
You know I’ve never said this to anyone
else and I probably never will say it to anyone else but I know
you’ll no take it the wrong way … it’s the embarrassment of
it, the pure riddy you get fae having a dad numpty enough to
get struck by lightning. It’s such a stupid embarrassing way tae
die
.

It grew darker outside. Spits of rain hit the windae.

I stroked Jas’s wrist.
I’ve always been terrified of lightning.
When I was wee I’d run and hide in the big press in the hall, squeezed
in behind all the auld boxes and suitcases and stuff. The only place
in the house you cannae hear it
.

I used tae love lightning storms. I’d stand at the windae and watch
them. But no any mair
.

Mammy came in the cupboard with me. She’d put her airm round
me and explain how lightning couldnae really get you in a ten
ement. It goes for height, she’d say. It cannae get you indoors. It’s
only if you’re out in the open
.

Yeah, on a fucking golf course
.

Jas’s face twisted up and I thought he was gonnae start tae greet but all of a sudden a smothered giggle came out.

Mibbe he thought his turban would save him … muffle the electricity
… He was shaking, couldnae haud it in any mair, and I started tae giggle too, then to laugh, the two of us on these stools, laughing and giggling as if it was the funniest thing in the world.

See
, said Jas, wiping tears away.
My da was the smartest guy
you could meet – always full of information about everything, statistics
– I can just see him with this business guy, sheltering
. He put on a mock serious voice.
You see, Mr Parmi, the statistical probability
of being struck by lightning while standing under a tree is
actually very low and the statistical probability of being killed while
wearing a turban is even lower … in fact
…

Then zap!

Suddenly it wasnae funny any mair.

IT MUST OF
been easier in Victorian days. You had mourning clothes and there were rules about how many months you’d tae wear black, then gradually cut back on it; everyone could tell how long it was since you were bereaved. And there was black jewellery you could wear to remember your loved ones. Nooadays you’re straight back at school or work and you don’t talk. You don’t even talk in the hoose, at least we never. Ma daddy couldnae cope wi talking and the twins, well they seemed tae bounce back. It was different in Jas’s house, rituals of grieving. A photie of his dad wi flowers and stuff all round it, in a position of honour, as if he was still watching them.

Jas took me hame after we’d known each other a few weeks. I was surprised – boys didnae usually introduce girls to their family unless they’d known them for ages. Hame was
a tenement flat, much like ours but bigger, with a couple of attic rooms up a stair fae the main part of the flat. Jas’s room was under the eaves – huge, with its ain bathroom. Pale blue bathroom suite. Jas had painted the walls midnight blue wi silver stars and a moon on the ceiling.

My God, it’s like having your ain flat up here. Dead posh
.

A guy my da knew done it up to let to students – put in a couple
of extra bathrooms and showers – there’s one in Ma’s room too. Then
haufway through he’d to sell up and my da bought it, finished the
bathrooms and decorated the place for us. We’ve been here since I
was seven. It’s dead handy for the shop
.

The shop was a pharmacy. Since his da’s death his uncle ran it; Jas’s ma helped out during the day and Jas efter school.

Jas and me sat side by side on his bed. The cover was blue too, with gold and silver stars and moons patterned over it.

Is your uncle a pharmacist too?

No but my cousin Harpreet, my uncle’s daughter, is. And when I
qualify, I’ll be able to take over. Harpreet’s getting married and she
wants to have her own business with her husband
.

So you’re gonnae be a pharmacist? Just like your da
.

That’s the idea. I already have a place at Aberdeen Uni for next
year
.

I smoothed a wrinkle in the cover. Somehow I’d assumed Jas would go tae Art School. Or study literature at uni. Or even be a politician, change the world. I couldnae see him in the shop for the rest of his life, giving out prescriptions and stacking boxes of cold remedies on plastic shelves.

What about your art?

He shrugged.
I’d love to … but it’s a hobby
.

I stood up, walked round the room. Everything tidy, books neatly arranged on shelves, desk clear except for his computer. On the wall above the chest of drawers hung a framed photie
of two boys, the older one with his airm round the wee brother. Identical pairs of brown eyes but I could recognise the line of Jas’s mouth in the wee one.

Me and Amrik. I was five, just about to start school, and he must’ve
been eleven. He was in Primary Seven and it was so cool having a
big brother in the playground
.

You had long hair then
, I said. Their hair was tied in a topknot under a navy blue cloth.

Like a real Sikh, you mean?

I just wondered if it was a big deal, when you cut it?

We’d never really talked about Jas’s religion. I’d always taken for granted his version of Sikhism, just as, I guess, he done the same with me being Catholic.

Jas stood beside me, looked at the photie.

Ever since I can remember I was taught that a Sikh doesnae cut
their hair because the body is a perfect creation of God. You have to
look after your hair, keep it clean and combed, tie it up – that’s how
it was when I was wee. Sometimes I’d get slagged about it but no
that much because Amrik was always ahead of me, kind of paved the
way. Then when he got to about fifteen he started tae wear his hair
out, tied it back in a pony tail instead of on top, under his turban.
My da was pissed about it but Ma kept the peace. Amrik looked dead
cool, like a pop star. And of course I wanted to be like him but didnae
dare
.

Then it was time for me to start secondary school. My primary
class went on a visit and I was the only Sikh boy with my hair up.
There were a few snidey comments. Amrik was in sixth year and about
to leave so he wouldnae be there to protect me
.

The first day of secondary came and I was scared. I left the house
looking normal then ducked intae a close on the way, pulled my hair
out and tied it back in a pony tail. It was down to my waist. I went
to school like that and no one said a word. There were lots of looks
and a few teachers thought I was a girl but I didnae care – somehow
wearing my hair out like Amrik made me feel strong
.

At the end of the day I was all set to put my hair up on the way
hame. I walked out the school gate and there was my da, come tae
meet me. All the time I was at primary and he never came to get me
out of school, was always working, and he had to choose this day.
Can you imagine what it was like? I nearly dropped to the ground
and his face, well, it was all contorted. I just stood there; all these
kids streaming out of school on either side and this guy in a suit
and a turban in the middle of them getting shoved every way. I was
working out what to say to him when he turned and walked off.
Never spoke a word
.

I was terrified to go hame, walked about for ages, but I knew Ma
would be worried and I figured she’d protect me. If she’d been there
nae doubt it would of been different but when I got back Ma had
been called away to her sister who was sick and it was just him. He
sat on the settee and made me stand in fronty him like we were in
a court or something
.

So Jaswinder, you are ashamed of your religion?

I’m no ashamed of my religion, I just want tae wear my hair in
a pony tail
.

First Amrik, now you? What have I done to deserve such children?

You’re making a big deal about nothing
.

So it’s nothing is it? One of the sacred principles of the Guru
.

But I havenae cut my hair – I’m just wearing it differently
.

In a way that does not reflect your religion or your traditions.
You might as well have cut it. Oh go away, get out of my sight
.

I left the room, eyes blurring with tears. I knew he’d seen me start
tae greet and that made me mad. I rushed up to the bedroom, stood
in fronty the mirror and pulled the pony tail out. My hair hung in
a mass over my shoulders and all down my back. It was like a cape
or something it was that long and thick. I opened the drawer, took
out the scissors, and almost without thinking, cut it off. It was a mess
of course, looked like a bad wig. And all this hair in big clumps
round the floor. I lay on the bed and howled
.

Ma found me there when she came hame. She put her airms round
me, held me for ages, wiped my tears – she was greeting as well. She
picked up the hair and put it in a bag – she’s still got it in a drawer
in her room. Then she blew her nose, said, ‘Come on put your coat
on,’ and took me out to the barbers to have it cut properly. I’ve kept
it short ever since
.

So what did your dad dae?

Nothing. It was never mentioned again
.

That must of been awful
.

I think that was the hardest part. Him looking at me, obviously
disapproving. Ma used to ruffle my hair, tickle my neck and went on
at me to wear a hat cause I must be cold but he just pretended
nothing had happened while all the time carrying this stone round
inside him
.

What about Amrik?

Oh, he’d left home by then – I think my da had kind of given up
on Amrik anyway – no given up exactly, but we always knew Amrik
was different and there was nae use in expecting him to behave like
other folk. Whereas I had to be the good son. I think what pissed me
off maist of all was that I actually was a good son – done the right
things, worked at school, helped in the shop – but he couldnae cut
me any slack, couldnae understaund how a boy might of felt on his
first day at secondary school. If he had, I would never of cut my hair
at all
.

He put his airm round me.
And what would you have thought
about that, having a boyfriend with long hair?

I stroked the back of his heid, the place where the silky hair gave way to the jaggy spikes of the cut edge, the smoothness of the back of his neck.

Dunno
, I said.
Mibbe I might like it
.

Let’s go down – Ma will be wondering where we’ve got to
.

Jas’s ma had made tea, set it out on the round table in the kitchen. At first I didnae think she looked like Jas, saw mair resemblance between him and the photie of his da, but when she smiled her face crinkled up in exactly the same way as his, and a big dimple appeared in her right cheek.

Jaswinder tells me you have sisters, Fiona
.

Twins. They’re thirteen
.

Lovely. I’d have liked to have a daughter but it was not to be
. She shrugged.
But I am blessed with my two wonderful boys. Though of
course we don’t see so much of Amrik now he is in London
.

My brother Patrick lives in London too
.

I mind the night he tellt me he was gaun, just afore the Easter holidays when I was in third year.

D’you have tae go?

You can have my room when I’m away
.

I’d rather have you
.

Got tae get out, Fiona. This place is daeing my heid in
.

Some pal of his had a job in a restaurant doon there and Patrick started aff in the kitchens, making desserts. He’d come up every three month or so, and every time he looked a bit different; smoother, shinier, his hair blonder, his accent flattened out just a bit mair. There was always something new he was intae. First he’d taken a part-time class in design then got intae food styling for magazines.

That one got Da to take his eyes fae the box.

Food styling. Whit in the name of the wee man is food styling?

It’s for cookery books and magazines. Sometimes it takes ages to
take the photies and the food melts or congeals, so there’s things we
dae to make sure it looks right in the pictures
.

And they pay you for this?

Better money than making desserts in the restaurant
.

What kind of world dae we live in?

Gie the boy a break
, says Mammy.
You should be glad he’s daeing
so well
.

Aye, but could you no just have stayed here and done really well
being a baker, son?

Da, maisty the folk I worked with are redundant noo
.

It’s just, when my pals ask me how you’re daeing I really don’t
want tae say my boy’s a food stylist
.

Patrick had moved on fae that noo, something else in the magazines but higher up, daeing occasional wee bits for TV too. He never seemed tae stick at one job but always had something that was good pay.

I missed Patrick. At first I thought he’d get fed up wi London, but as the months passed there was nae sign of it and I suppose I just got used tae it. I mind one time when he was just off the phone, saying to my mammy,
D’you think
our Patrick will ever come hame?
And her looking at me straight and saying,
No hen, I don’t think he will
.

How no?

I just have a feeling Patrick needs the space. Glasgow’s too wee
for him
.

I couldnae understaund what she meant – Glasgow seemed huge to me. After all it was the biggest city in Scotland. I’d never been tae London except tae change flights on holiday when we couldnae go direct, but I knew it was dirty and busy and full of traffic and folk all jumping on and off the subway they called the tube.

I mind that was when I realised Patrick had changed, no just his clothes or his job, but hissel – when he used that word insteidy subway. Said something about the tube and my da
saying,
Who you calling a tube?
and Patrick hesitating for a minute afore he smiled.

Would you like milk in your tea, Fiona?

Thanks, Mrs Singh
.

Here you are
. She passed the cup tae me.
But it’s Kaur, dear.
Some Sikhs do use a family name too but in our tradition, boys are
always named Singh – it means a lion. Girls are Kaur, which means
princess. So you don’t have the same name as your husband
.

I think that’s brilliant. I’d never change my name if I got married
.

See, Fiona
, said Jas.
Sikhs were the first feminists
.

I don’t think I’d put it quite like that, though we do believe
everyone is equal
. Mrs Kaur smiled.
Have a chocolate biscuit, dear
.