If I Never Went Home (20 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Bea was left stranded at Granny Gwen’s, so she called Mira. There was no need to explain what had transpired, only that she had stayed at her grandmother’s and would be grateful for a ride home. From the way Uncle Kevin’s hand had been thrust up her blouse, Mira would know the details of Granny Gwen’s confession soon enough.

‘And can I bother you for one more thing?’ asked Bea.

‘Yes?’

‘Granny Gwen said you have some cufflinks for me?’

‘I’m busy now, but remind me later,’ said Mira.

Bea ripped herself away from a tearful Granny Gwen. The old woman repeatedly reminded her that she was all that remained of Alan, and with this came a duty to spend time together. The last thing she told Bea was that Alan’s old home also belonged to her and as a granddaughter she was always welcome, at any time and for as long as she wanted. The house with the living room sealed off for special occasions, the chenette tree that never seemed to stop bearing fruit – these would be waiting for her.

There was only one more goodbye to say. When they got home Mira did not even change out of her work clothes but went straight to the kitchen to cook Bea’s favourite foods for their last supper. Bea interrupted the preparations to ask for the cufflinks again. They were her bond to Alan and she wanted them now.

‘Oh, Jesus, you bothering me about the cufflinks when I cooking?’ asked Mira. ‘You can’t see my hands in flour? Let me finish making the roti.’

Bea tried to control her anxiety. ‘If you tell me where they are I can get them myself.’

‘They’re somewhere in my bedroom. Probably in the safe,’ said Mira. ‘I’m not sure. You go have to wait till I done in here.’

‘I could open the safe,’ said Bea. ‘Could you give me the combination?’

Mira continued kneading the dough with her fists.

‘That safe have all kind of things in there,’ she replied, wiping the sweat off her brow with her forearm. ‘Let me open it when I done.’

As Bea turned to go Mira added, ‘I don’t know why you so hurry. Is not like you could wear them.’

Dinner was a feast. Michael, Bea and Mira ate the softest dhalpouri roti. It melted with the curried channa and pumpkin, and with the tender curried goat seasoned with herbs like the pungent chadon beni, a spicier version of coriander, fresh from the garden. Bea tried to show her gratitude by being cheerful even though the day’s events had left her depleted, longing to retreat to some small space where she would be safe. But where was that safe place that would ease the anxiety rising in her belly?

Michael, who might have comforted her, seemed to have shifted his focus entirely to work and was preoccupied, talking excitedly about being part of the team bidding for the Trinidad project. He found it thrilling to know the country again as an adult. Bea’s isolation seemed to be in direct proportion to his exuberance. Nothing could be more terrifying than sinking further into Trinidad. To be caught in the incestuous world of Mira and Uncle Kevin, Granny Gwen and the endlessly circling caravan of relatives, would unmask her. On a small island, where everyone lived in each other’s pockets, it would be impossible to hide the times when she fell into the deep dark pit and feared the world. The cycle of falling into that pit and trying to crawl back up would be exposed. Soon, everyone would know she was an imposter, fresh from a psychiatric facility.

Michael insisted on washing up the dishes after dinner. Bea made her excuses and went to finish packing. While she was filling her hand luggage with her favourite Indian sweet – the fingers of fried dough rolled in sugar called kurma – she heard the doorbell and, soon after, Uncle Kevin’s voice. He was talking to Mira and Michael. Bea could hear him settling down to a plate of warmed-up leftovers.

Bea brooded over the cufflinks. If she didn’t get them she would have nothing of her father. It might be a trivial piece of jewellery to Mira, but it was everything to her. She found Michael and Mira laughing in the kitchen as they fought over the washing and drying of dishes. Uncle Kevin was mopping up goat curry with a piece of roti.

‘Bea,’ said Uncle Kevin. ‘Sorry if I left you stranded today.’

‘Not at all,’ she replied.

Turning to Mira she asked about the safe.

Mira sighed. ‘I will deal with that later. You can’t see we have guests?’

When Michael and Mira were briefly in the living room Uncle Kevin turned to Bea. ‘So you eh get your cufflinks yet?’

‘No,’ said Bea.

‘Well, make sure Mira give you them.’

‘She’ll give me once she has a minute.’

‘I know she has them.’

‘I’ll get them later tonight.’

Mira and Michael came back into the kitchen, and Bea excused herself to finish packing. She didn’t leave her bedroom until she heard Uncle Kevin leave and his car horn toot-toot as he drove off. She listened to the night sounds of the house being locked up and curtains drawn tight. She waited until Mira was in her bedroom before she went in. Mira was sitting at her dressing table combing her hair.

‘You know I was looking in the safe and the cufflinks not there,’ Mira said.

She grabbed her handbag off the floor and began digging around in it. ‘I wonder if I leave them in the office?’ she mumbled to herself, pulling papers and cosmetics out of the bag. ‘When Granny Gwen gave them to me I was on my way to work. I thought I brought them home but they must still be in my desk drawer.’

Bea bit her already short nails. ‘Can we go get them?’

‘You mad or what?’ Mira laughed. ‘The office lock up long time and the guard don’t come till around seven in the morning. By that time your plane should be taking off.’

Bea sighed. ‘I really need to have them.’

‘Sorry, but I don’t think they here.’

‘I guess Michael could bring them for me.’ Tears welled up in Bea’s eyes.

‘No problem,’ said Mira.

Leaving without this gold remnant of Alan was agonising. She was Alan’s only child and had not made a fuss that he left her out of his will. But it was her right to at least have this token. It was a talisman, infused with Alan’s DNA. Surely Mira understood this. She should have handed them over when Bea first prodded her. Now Bea would be leaving Trinidad without even this shard of her father. Until she had those cufflinks, he was utterly lost to her, buried in a grave with his first family, who now claimed him for eternity.

Bea went to her room and sat with her arms folded tightly around her stomach. She had to get to bed. To catch the early flight meant leaving the house before dawn. Her jumbled thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. She jumped up, expecting Mira had found the cufflinks after all. But it was Michael.

‘You okay to travel back on your own?’

She didn’t reply.

‘Here, let me help you lift the suitcase out of the way.’

‘Why wouldn’t I be okay?’ she snapped. ‘I’ve always looked after myself.’

‘Of course you can take care of yourself,’ he said. ‘I’m only sorry not to be going back with you.’

‘Well, I’ll be fine,’ she huffed, hugging herself.

‘I’ll see you off in the morning,’ he said.

‘No need. It’ll be too early.’

He sat on the bed. ‘Come here,’ he said, his arms wide open.

She hesitated, then allowed herself to be hugged. He kissed her closed lips.

‘Wake me before you leave.’ He got up and closed the door softly behind him.

It rained heavily during the night. As the water drummed on the roof, Bea tossed, sobbed and rocked.

A statue with no head.

Alan crying to the music of Bach.

Strapped down in an ambulance on a dreadful winter day.

Long shiny hair tumbling down to her waist.

Dumped at Pizza Hut.

He said he came for the waters. But it’s the desert, came the reply. I was misinformed, he said.

A continuous horror film played behind her eyes. Only sleep might have released her from the madness. The cufflinks. She had to have the cufflinks. Daddy’s precious cufflinks, or else he was lost yet again.

When the alarm sounded she got up exhausted from the losing battle with sleep. The bedroom window framed a still night sky. Raindrops spattered on the glass. She showered and changed quickly, stuffing the last dirty clothes into the suitcase, then gazed around the room in case she had forgotten anything. She did not want to leave a single item behind, however insignificant.

Mira brought her a cup of tea, but she had only taken a few sips when they heard the taxi beeping its horn outside. Bea got up quickly and went to Michael’s room while Mira hurried outside to stop the taxi driver from waking the neighbours. Michael was in a deep sleep when she bent over and softly kissed him. He didn’t stir. She looked at his calm face and thought she saw the happiness he seemed to have found on this trip, reconnecting with everything he had missed about the island. Bea couldn’t wait to flee.

As she turned to leave, the light from the corridor fell on two small, shiny objects on Michael’s bedside table. She stopped, picked up two gleaming squares and rolled them around in her palm. Her heart pounded. Cold sweat coated her skin. Each with a tiny diamond in one corner, they were undeniably hers, her sole inheritance. Christmas morning mass with the Clark family, and Alan would hold her hand tight to keep her from getting lost among the packed congregation. She could still see his hand in hers, the gold cufflinks with the little diamond pulled through the double cuffs of his best white shirt.

She clutched the cufflinks in her hand. This did not make sense. Why would they be in Michael’s room? She hesitated, then pushed them deep into the front pocket of her jeans.

‘Come on,’ Mira called. ‘Is nearly quarter past and the taxi waiting.’

Bea opened her mouth, inhaled deeply, then bit down on her lips.

‘You have everything?’ asked Mira. ‘You have your passport? And what about your purse? I pay for the taxi already so don’t give him nothing.’

Bea continued to bite her lips, unable to look at Mira. ‘Thanks,’ she said, looking at the rain, pelting down on the roof of the taxi.

Mira gave her a hug. ‘The suitcase in the car trunk already. Safe flight.’

Bea walked out from under the covered porch and opened the back door of the taxi. She paused, then turned around, opened her mouth and closed it again.

‘You forget something?’ asked Mira.

Bea sighed. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Nothing. Thanks again for everything.’

‘Call when you reach to let me know everything all right,’ said Mira.

Bea stood next to the open car door. 

‘Go in the car. You getting wet,’ urged Mira.

When she didn’t move, Mira asked again if she had forgotten something. Bea was afraid to answer. The pain welling up inside her chest might overflow, and she had no idea if it would escape as a cry or a scream.

‘Look, if you forget anything I will send it with Michael,’ said Mira. ‘The rain coming down hard. Get in the car.’

Bea took a deep breath. ‘The cufflinks,’ she said softly.

‘What?’ shouted Mira. ‘I can’t hear you.’

‘The cufflinks,’ she repeated in a hoarse voice. ‘Where are they?’

‘What you worrying about that stupidness for?’ asked Mira. ‘Get out the rain. Your top already soaking wet.’

Bea did not know how to say that they were safe inside her pocket. Angry and confused, she got into the car and they drove slowly down the steep, slippery drive. Before they reached the end of the road she burst into tears. In spite of all her promises to Granny Gwen and to Mira, there was something final about this journey. She touched her front pocket to feel for the cufflinks. In a few hours Michael would wake and find them missing. It didn’t matter. Alan was snug next to her skin, and this time he would not be leaving. Pity she had been forced to steal him away like this. Can you steal what is rightfully yours?

CHAPTER THIRTY

Bea’s inbox was full of text messages and emails from Michael, all unanswered. In the days since returning to Boston, she had managed to return to work, but little else. It was still a shock that her father was gone for good. He had been so absent, and now death had severed any hope of making amends. There would never be another conversation, another Sunday lunch together, another beach outing. Sometimes she thought she had imagined the whole funeral, the haunting picture in the newspaper. It was incredible. Alan was dead, gone before his time. 

The issue of the cufflinks, on top of these feelings, made her extremely fragile. Her thoughts swung between fear of what Michael might say when confronted, and anger that the situation had arisen at all. The cufflinks, always with her, were a constant reminder that one day – today, tomorrow, a year from now – she would know the truth of how they ended up on her boyfriend’s bedside table. Part of her wished she could slink away without ever speaking to him or Mira again.         

But the cufflinks were unrelenting, burning her temples so that when she was having a cup of coffee, or reading an article, their image was always a headache superimposed on her mind. Sleep brought no peace. The cufflinks were a scorching reminder that she must confront what she already knew.

One evening after work, when she had been back in Boston about a week, she realised time had run out. She had to deal with this now or risk another major relapse into depression. She tried further delaying tactics. She took a long soak in the bath, sipping a neat double Scotch that she didn’t like. Although she hated smoking, she inhaled two cigarettes, one after the other. But absolutely nothing stopped the rising sense of heartbreak. Something warned this would be pain she would carry forever.

Bea got into bed with the duvet up to her chest, lit a third cigarette and dialled. Neither Michael nor Mira answered their mobile phones. She kept trying every few minutes until finally Mira picked up on the house phone. She sounded happy to hear from Bea and anxious to know how she had settled back into Boston. Bea had no space for such pleasantries and interrupted her mid-sentence.

‘I know what you did with my father’s cufflinks,’ she said flatly.

‘What are you talking about?’ asked Mira excitedly.

‘The cufflinks,’ said Bea deliberately. ‘What did you do with the cufflinks?’

‘I didn’t do nothing with them.’

Bea dragged on her cigarette. ‘Liar,’ she said, exhaling a puff of smoke.

‘What did you just call me?’

There was no going back. ‘You lied to me,’ said Bea. ‘You’re lying to me now.’

‘I never thought I would see the day when my own child would disrespect me so.’

‘You should have thought of that when you were giving away my father’s cufflinks.’

‘I don’t know what make you feel you could talk to me like this.’

‘Uncle Kevin not enough for you?’

‘Bea, shut your dirty mouth. I can’t believe what I hearing.’

‘You took my father’s cufflinks and you gave them to Michael. You gave them to my boyfriend – at least I thought he was my boyfriend.’

Bea heard Mira sucking spit through her teeth. ‘Michael was only keeping them safe for you.’

‘Every word you say is a lie.’

‘Stop saying I lie to you. I don’t know what happen to you. You gone mad or something?’

‘I found the cufflinks in Michael’s room before I left. You pretended to look for them when all along you knew you had given them away.’

‘I didn’t know you would carry on so for a stupid little thing like that.’

‘Why did you lie to me?’

‘He’s a man. He could use them. What you want with cufflinks?’

‘They belonged to my father.’

‘Oh, yes. Your loving father who always had more time for he woman them than you. And if Granny Gwen didn’t take pity on you, you wouldn’t even get that from him.’

‘Don’t talk about my father like that.’

‘Yes, well, you didn’t have to put up with the horrors I went through.’

‘Can’t you stop now? He’s dead, okay?’

‘Thank God.’

‘I never want to see you again,’ said Bea flatly.

‘Well, Bea, I do everything for you and I fed up. I put up with enough shit from you all these years. Fuck you.’

Bea slammed the phone down, stunned. She had told her mother that she did not want to see her again. And what was worse, Mira had not resisted.

Fuck you.

The last bridge had been burnt.

When her phone rang later she saw it was Michael’s number. Things couldn’t get worse. She might as well get it all over and done with in one night. She gulped down the last dregs of her refilled whiskey glass and answered the phone. Michael wanted to know what had happened. Mira was hysterical. What had Bea done to hurt her mother? She explained that Mira had given him the cufflinks that were rightfully hers.

‘Mira said you wanted me to have them.’

‘That’s not true.’

‘So you’re upset that I have them?’

‘It’s not that.’

There was a pause. Bea pulled a blanket around her shoulders.

‘Mira said you were really nasty to her.’

‘She cursed me.’

‘Bea, grow up.’

‘So you’re taking her side?’

‘You should see how upset Mira is.’

Bea took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

‘Well, I’m upset too.’

‘You can’t speak to your mother like that.’

‘Some mother.’

‘She’s a wonderful person, Bea. She’s kind and bright and generous.’

‘Hold on a minute,’ said Bea.

She poured herself another whiskey and took a gulp.

‘Bea?’

‘I’m here.’

‘Well?’

‘Fine. She’s wonderful and I’m the bitch for wanting my father’s cufflinks.’

‘I haven’t even seen the cufflinks for a while.’

‘That’s because I took them before I left.’

‘So you have them anyway,’ he said. ‘What’s your problem?’

‘Stop taking her side.’

‘I think you should apologise to your mother.’

‘I think you should go fuck yourself.’

Bea could hear him sigh. ‘I’ll speak to you again when you’ve calmed down,’ he said. ‘Goodbye, Bea.’

She did calm down, but they never spoke again. It seemed fitting that in a world where the real and virtual were constantly merging, a relationship with a computer engineer should end when later that night she deleted him from her list of phone contacts. A petty, cowardly act, it smothered the last breath of hope.