Bone China (32 page)

That winter Meeka began to write a new piece of music. Every evening after work she would sit at the piano and work on it. Occasionally Savitha would stop what she was doing and listen. Her daughter’s music was strangely beautiful. It always reminded her of home, fleeting images and snatches of conversations, memories from that distant life, all just out of Savitha’s grasp. When she tried to talk about this to Thornton he would shake his head and refuse to be drawn. His daughter was eighteen; he had given up.

A new pattern began to emerge. Most evenings, after Meeka had spent some time at the piano, the three of them would eat their meal of rice and curry. They no longer laughed or argued as they used to. Then when the plates were cleared and if it wasn’t too late, Meeka would go round the corner to Gillian’s house. No one stopped this new-found freedom. No one dared.

‘Don’t be too long,’ her mother would say.

Her father would look at his watch, pointedly. ‘Shall I come and meet you?’ he would ask tentatively each time.

And each time, Meeka would tell him, easily, ‘There’s no need, Dad. Gillian always walks me back.’

She was never very late and they knew Gillian, so they said no more.

One night after dinner Jacob phoned unexpectedly and Thornton went to meet him at the White Hart. It was the first time in months that Thornton had seen him.

‘Don’t drink too much,’ Savitha warned, but she spoke mildly.

‘No, no,’ Thornton said. And he went out.

It was with a sense of relief that he began to recount the changes in his daughter to Jacob.

‘She’s always out,’ he said, ‘visiting that friend of hers, Gillian. She’s completely dropped her studies. Even Savitha can’t understand it. Can you believe it, a de Silva working as a hairdresser? After all we’ve been through to get her to this country.’

‘Forget it, Thornton,’ Jacob said, shaking his head. ‘Haven’t you noticed? Everything’s changed. All the old values are slowly being lost. The young people from our country just want to integrate with these white fellows.’

He looked at his brother not unsympathically, for he knew how ambitious he had been for Anna-Meeka. Coming here had been a gamble, they had always known that. Jacob himself was not without troubles of his own.

‘It isn’t any easier for me,’ he said. ‘The twins are fighting with next-door’s children. Aiyo, they’re all ready to start a war! Geraldine just laughs and says boys will be boys, but I’m worried about where it will lead.’ Really, Jacob was appalled. ‘I’ve got the Irish situation right on my doorstep, you know, men.’

Lately, now that he saw less of Thornton, Jacob had come
to feel a lingering affection for his brother. Looking at Thornton’s whitening hair, he felt as though he was watching the tide go out. Helplessly, unable to stop it. He himself was completely bald.

‘Meeka has grown up here, Thornton,’ he said consolingly. ‘You can’t expect her to obey you as though we were back in Sri Lanka. She is part of this system. I told you long ago, women here are different. They do what they want. Look at Savitha. Does she listen to you? Remember when she got that job in the factory?’

Thornton could not deny it. His brief sense of relief had passed. He moved restlessly, wanting to get back and check that Meeka had returned home safely. They finished their drinks and parted. Walking back, crossing Vassall Road in the moonlight, Thornton passed a young couple caught in an embrace. Dimly as he passed, he registered the girl’s slender form and her long dark hair. Thornton sighed deeply and continued quickly down Southey Road, towards home.

At the end of January the weather got colder and snow threatened. Ranjith Pieris came to say goodbye. He was returning home. Savitha gave him some parcels to take back for Frieda and Aloysius. Meeka was nowhere to be seen. Later that evening, not long after he had left, Anna-Meeka came home from the hairdressing salon to find her mother cooking a chicken curry. Her father was reading the
New Statesman
and did not immediately look up. Meeka did not mind. She went over to the newly installed radiator and began warming her hands.

‘I’m cold,’ she said.

‘Well, why don’t you wear something warmer?’ Savitha told her, bringing a bowl of rice to the table.

Meeka gave her mother an odd look. Savitha brought a dish
of ladies’ fingers to the table. Seeing it, Thornton gave a sigh of pleasure.

‘Ah,
bandaka
,’ he said. ‘Good!’

Meeka grinned. The grin did not quite reach her eyes.

‘I’ve got some news,’ she said.

‘Don’t tell me you’re leaving that bloody hairdresser’s at last?’ Thornton said, mildly.

Savitha looked sharply at her daughter. Some strange premonition made her heart miss a beat. Meeka was shivering with suppressed excitement.

‘Mum, Dad,’ she announced, hardly managing to contain herself, ‘guess what? I’m getting married in the summer!’ She held up her hand, anticipating their questions. ‘He’s from Calcutta,’ she said. ‘And his name is Naringer Gupta. He’s a
doctor
and he’s dying to meet you!’

Alicia opened her letters over breakfast. Robert poured her some fresh orange juice and signalled the waiter for more coffee while watching her surreptitiously. She looked relaxed. It was the first holiday they had had together. The last few years had been very difficult for him. He was absent as often as he dared but sometimes he suspected Sylvie knew what was going on. He had wanted to confess and leave but Alicia would have none of it. She did not want Robert to hurt Sylvie more than they already did. Every time Robert brought up the subject of his wife, Alicia appeared on the verge of flight. So this was how they had lived for nearly four years. He did not like it but he did not want to lose Alicia either.

A week ago they had arrived by water taxi from the airport. Alicia had never been to Venice. Robert wanted to show her his favourite city. Sipping his coffee he reflected on the previous day. They had had an astonishing night. He had booked tickets
for
La Clemenza di Tito
at La Fenice. It had been a wonderful performance. On their return to the hotel, whether as a result of the music or not, Alicia had gone to the grand piano in the reception area and without any warning played Mozart. Robert had been speechless. Alicia had stumbled a little but the receptionist and a few Americans who were present had burst into spontaneous applause. Afterwards, without a word, she had taken Robert’s hand and led him upstairs to their room. They had made passionate love to the soft sounds of the water lapping outside. This morning the Grand Canal sparkled and shone as though studded with diamonds. Robert felt a lightness in his heart. A change had occurred. It made him afraid to breathe. The day stretched before him. He felt full of optimism and youth.

Alicia was frowning as she read Frieda’s letter.

‘Now what?’ said Robert.

The de Silvas had such colourful lives compared with his own.

‘Frieda is thinking of adopting a Tamil orphan.’ Alicia said. She began reading aloud from her letter.

‘
I’ve decided to try to help a Tamil child. They are in a desperate state. If they go back to the North they will simply get sucked back into the insurgent movement, which will mean certain death. I’ve been visiting the convent for some time. The nuns are very grateful for any help they can get. Of course I haven’t said anything to Daddy as yet. He’s very frail and I don’t want to upset him unnecessarily. I wanted to ask you what you thought about the idea. This house is too large for the two of us. Mummy would have approved, don’t you think? Remember how she used to help the nuns?’

‘Well,’ said Robert. ‘Why not? She is a remarkable woman. Why not?’

‘Mmm,’ Alicia said uncertainly, ‘I suppose so. She was wonderful with Anna-Meeka when they lived there. She was wonderful with me too,’ she added softly.

Robert nodded. He wondered how much Alicia had told Frieda about him. For all their differences, he knew the sisters were closer than was at first apparent. There was only so much Alicia divulged to him and there were some places where he felt unable to intrude, but he was certain Frieda knew. Alicia was opening her other letter.

‘It’s from Thornton,’ she said, surprised.

The waiter brought them more coffee. Outside, coins of sunlight danced a ballet on the water. A
traghetto
packed with businessmen was crossing the canal. Robert felt impatient to show off the city to Alicia.

‘Does he know you are with me?’ he ventured.

Alicia shook her head, briefly. Then she began to read her letter.

‘Oh no,’ she said suddenly. ‘Oh my God,
no
!’ She looked at Robert horrified, her mouth moving soundlessly. Then she threw her head back and began to laugh.

‘Now what?’ Robert asked again.

‘Oh, Robert,’ said Alicia. ‘Oh my goodness, Robert, you’re not going to believe this!’

Robert smiled. It was good to hear Alicia laugh.

‘Honestly, that
girl
!’ Alicia continued, barely able to speak for laughing. ‘Would you believe, Anna-Meeka has just announced she is getting
married
. To an Indian! Thornton is beside himself!’

So that was that. She was getting married and the de Silvas were in uproar. The telephone lines were almost on fire.

‘Well,’ said Jacob when he heard, ‘why are you so surprised?
At least she told you before she did it!’ Try as he might, he could not resist the dig.

‘Has Princess Meeka blotted her copybook then?’ asked Geraldine, picking up one of the twins and kissing him.

‘
An Indian!
But why an Indian?’ asked Savitha flabbergasted.

Her daughter’s foolishness amazed her. Meeka glared at her mother and self-righteous rage kicked in.

‘Mum,’ she shouted, belligerently. ‘He’s a doctor! What’s the matter with you? He’s
not
English. What’s your problem? I thought you’d be pleased.’

Savitha was speechless in the face of this new development. She stared at Anna-Meeka helplessly.

‘You better get used to it, Mum,’ Meeka was saying. ‘We’re getting married
anyway
.’

What was wrong with her parents? she asked Gillian in despair. ‘They’ve spent my whole life telling me how they hated
all
my white friends. Now I’m marrying someone like them but they’re still not happy. And he’s a doctor, for God’s sake! You’d think my dad would be happy, wouldn’t you? What the hell
do
they want?’

Gillian had no idea. Meeka’s family had always been a mystery. ‘What will you do?’ she asked.

‘Get married, of course,’ Meeka said, shortly. She wished for the umpteenth time she had parents like Gillian’s. Nice, quiet English people. The sort of parents she deserved. ‘I’m worried Naringer will think they’re freaks. He hasn’t even met them yet. God knows what sort of a wedding we’ll have at this rate.’

‘We’ll help,’ Gillian said, consolingly. ‘Mum and I’ll help.’

Meeka nodded her thanks absent-mindedly, remembering her birthday party.

‘Did they really know nothing about Naringer?’ Gillian asked
admiringly, unable to let the subject alone. Her friend always lived so
dangerously
.

Anna-Meeka shook her head again. ‘D’you like him?’ she asked, suddenly.

Gillian nodded, cautiously. Her own boyfriend seemed dull by comparison. ‘Yeah. A bit quiet, but, yeah.’

They were both silent.

‘What’s happened to Geoff?’ Gillian asked, offhandedly.

Meeka swallowed. Tears of self-pity pricked her eyes. Geoff was English. He was training to be a plumber.
He
was not a doctor. Couldn’t her parents
see
she had made the best possible choice?

‘All I ever do is try to please them and this is the thanks I get.’ She looked at her watch. ‘I gotta go,’ she said. ‘I’m meeting Naringer at the tube station.’

Naringer was sheltering from the rain. He was tall, and from a distance he looked handsome. Only on closer inspection, however, was it was possible to see the scars left by a heavy crop of chickenpox scabs. He had been born on a barge that glided along one of the many canals towards the Hooghly River. His family had been better off than most. Their barge was top-heavy with bamboo. They had poled it inch by inch through a mass of purple water hyacinths. The humidity, the factory smoke and most of all the rains were part of Naringer’s memories. His mother had nine of them to feed and never enough money. His father existed on rice with chilli and onion for flavour, followed by strong tea. But somehow Naringer had attended school. His mother, unlike others, had not sent for him halfway through his school day. Most of the boys left early to help with the business of making a living. Naringer had his mother to thank for a different fate.

When he was seventeen he moved into the centre of the city where he worked running a rickshaw from the arcades of Chowringhee along the length of the Lower Circular Road. At night they choked on the acrid fumes from the street campers that flickered among the filthy bodies. Somehow, call it karma or luck, Naringer managed to escape. By the time he had got a scholarship for the university he was much older than the other students. Introverted and hard-working, intensely proud of all he had achieved, Naringer shed his relatives. All except his mother. He would not forget his mother. He had never told Meeka this but one day he intended to take her back to Calcutta to look after his mother and to live among the purple hyacinths.

Anna-Meeka approached him with a frown.

‘What, no is-smile?’ he asked mildly. ‘I have been waiting at this is-station for ten minutes and you can’t is-smile?’

‘Shh!’ Meeka said. ‘Don’t talk so loudly, and don’t say is-station. It’s
station
.’

‘Ah! Fine mood, fine mood,’ Naringer said humourlessly, waggling his head, drawing her towards him in a tight embrace.

The rain increased, forcing them further back into the station.

‘You are very beautiful woman,’ Naringer told her seriously, pinching her cheeks together with his hands.
Grammar
, thought Meeka, but she said nothing. She wondered if Naringer was too tall for her. He began to kiss her neck, pushing her hair back. Meeka shivered. Naringer’s hands were everywhere, like an octopus. Standing in the shadows of the tube, she wriggled uneasily. Supposing someone she knew saw them?