Separation, The (20 page)

In the six months following Maz’s disappearance, Lydia swung between hope that he was with his mother, and fear that he was not. Not knowing for certain was hardest to cope with. But all her calls to the District Officer’s office, to the police, to anyone she could think of, had turned up no leads. Jack looked for him in Ipoh, and all the nearby villages, but Maz had simply vanished.

Lydia felt low. The suffocating iron-grey sky didn’t help. It was the afternoon and there was more terrorist trouble on the plantation. Jack, on the phone to his boss, was having a hard time persuading Jim to allow her to stay longer. His thick blond hair all over the place, he ran fingers through to flatten it, and sighed. Some of Jack’s Malay police had been found to be corrupt too, and that wasn’t helping.

Jim was amenable, but Lydia knew he wouldn’t care for the disruption her presence might cause to the smooth running of the estate. It took time for an assistant manager like Jack to find his feet, cope with the loneliness, understand the harsh complexities of plantation life, and earn trust. It was physically tough too. He had to be strong, have the resilience to stumble through squelching undergrowth, hacking his way through thick grass, and dealing with hostile tappers every day. And that was without the constant threat posed by Chinese rebels. If danger was present, as it usually was, Jack had no choice but to ignore it.

Lydia looked up as he put down the phone. He shrugged. ‘He’ll let me know.’

She thought of all the times she’d shut him out and felt guilty. He had a good heart, but had never expected any of this when they met. She looked over at him. Now they only had each other, Jack talked of their future with shining eyes.

‘Come to bed,’ he said. ‘It’s too hot for anything else.’

It was tender gentle lovemaking they had now. They fell back on the pillows, his tanned arm resting across her middle. She ran a palm over the fair hairs on his arm, a silver bangle on her wrist glinting in the light. Sunlight streamed through the shutters as he repeatedly tickled her ribs, until tears of laughter ran down her cheeks. They listened to a magpie robin sing outside the window, then he hung an orange and gold sari over the shutter. Pink light washed over the room.

‘I like your hair long like this,’ he said, and pulled out one of the growing number of silver threads.

‘Ouch!’

He pushed the damp mass of hair away from her face, then brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her palm. ‘I like them,’ he said and held the hair to the light where it shone silvery pink.

She frowned.

‘For goodness sake, there are hardly any.’

They lapsed into a peaceful silence. He traced the blue veins of her inner wrist. ‘Tell me about the girls again.’

Her heart lifted. She had no fear of their silent presence now, called for it even, replayed over and over the days they were born, fat solid little babies. Christmases, special occasions. Now the worst was over, their deaths had become a part of her, but it was the daily routine of their lives that was in the process of becoming lost. Their first words, their huge pupils and burning cheeks when they were sick. The funny little looks, the laughter. Now, fearful of forgetting, it raised her spirits to talk of them, and Jack knew it, his arms encircling her as she spoke. She shaped her back against him, his face so close she felt his breath on the nape of her neck.

‘Emma always read lying on her stomach, waving her left foot in the air. We had this big old camphor wood chest. I kept all the old fancy dress costumes in there, and they used to fight over whose turn it was to wear the Peter Pan crocodile outfit.’

She longed for the old, jam-packed days. For Fleur to hold out
a hand and say, ‘I love you, Mummy.’ For Emma to run in covered in mud and spiders. But her girls would have been older now, Emma nearly fourteen, Fleur ten. She tried to picture how they’d look but it hurt too much. She thought about Jack instead. He was strong and handsome, and she was grateful that he’d taken her in. She loved the blond hair that fell over his eyes, and his big hands as he brushed it aside.

He held her tight, as tight as if he was part of her, then drew back, moisture in his eyes. He reached under the bed and scattered some fresh petals over the sheets.

She laughed. ‘What’s this, you handsome devil? A new seduction technique?’

‘We could marry. When my tour’s up.’

‘On the level?’

There was a silence between them for a moment.

‘Don’t we need Alec’s death certificate? George did say he’d sort that out, but I still haven’t heard.’

‘You can remind him,’ Jack said. ‘But in principle. What do you say?’

She kissed him hard on the mouth, her heart thumping with pleasure. ‘I say, yes.’

‘Well then, Mrs Plantation Officer, I have something for you.’

A wide grin signalled his intention, and after the sighs and the moans were done, he lay smoking, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

‘My sex fiend,’ she said, and rested her chin on his shoulder.

He flexed his muscles and laughed. ‘I have a question for you.’

‘Another?’

‘Where do you want to live?’

‘In Malaya?’

‘In the world.’

She raised her eyebrows. ‘I don’t know. I haven’t thought. What about you?’

‘Australia. Perth, I was thinking. There’s money to be made out there. A mate of mine is setting up a copper mine. Wants a partner.’

‘What’s it like?’

‘Don’t really know. Hills, of course. Sea.’

‘By the sea?’

‘Yeah. We could have a boat.’

She laughed and snuggled up. ‘It sounds great, Jack.’

An idea struck her and she felt hope rise suddenly. If they married she could have another baby. Together they’d make a new life. Whatever was still broken inside her would mend. The loss of her girls was a scar for ever, so total that for a long time there had been no comprehending a life without them. Yet here she was. She had survived. And could it be that at some point, the thought of them might not dominate every day?

In the intensity of the afternoon, when the urge to sleep had taken over, they were woken by the phone. Jack went into the hall to pick up.

‘Yes, absolutely, I’ll drive down immediately,’ she heard him say.

He came back in and grinned. ‘That was Bert. You’ll never believe it, but someone has found Maznan.’

She gasped and sat bolt upright. ‘Oh, Jack. Really?’

‘Better get moving. I have to go now before the curfew, though the line was terribly distorted, I could hardly make out a word. And there’s some kind of trouble with one of the tappers. But can you credit it? We’re going to collect Maznan, after all this time!’

‘Get Tenuk to drive you.’

‘Well, he’s not really on duty now.’

‘Still.’

Jack went under the covered walkway to the servants’ day quarters, but came back frowning.

‘Nobody there.’

She raised her brows. ‘Odd, but never mind, I’ll come. I’d really like to.’

‘We’ll take the van,’ he said. ‘The car’s low on petrol.’

She dressed, thrilled to soon be seeing the boy again, in a way Jack didn’t understand. How could he know the unbearable bittersweet hold a child has on your heart. How you’d lay down your life in a heartbeat. How, when they die, it’s as much as you can do to take another breath.

Outside, she heard the usual chorus of frogs, and looked up as lumpy clouds, edged with light, rolled down from the top of the hills. She waited while Jack brought round the small van. The side windows were armoured with big sheets of steel, and there were only narrow slits to look through. It was safer than the car, though Jack rarely went out without his driver, Tenuk, or one or two Special Constables. If the SCs weren’t available he took the Malay
mata-mata
, especially when they used the heavy truck to convey workers. Jack said he didn’t know whom he trusted the least, the Malay police or the Chinese rebels. But this time they were only going as far as the village.

Lydia had missed the times when she had breakfasted on the veranda with Maz, missed watching the shadowy trees, and listening to the day birds, before the baking sun sent them indoors. She hugged herself. It was all going to be okay now. She felt a sense of elation. Someone had found Maz. They just had to collect him and he’d be safe again, she and Jack would be married,
and
they’d have a baby. All of them live together. It crossed her mind she didn’t know if Jack wanted children.

She started to climb in the front of the van.

‘No, Lyd. Hop in the back. Safer to stick to the rules.’

She groaned, but full of hope, complied.

‘I wonder why Channa’s not there,’ she said, leaning forward and speaking into the gap in a loud voice. ‘She’d usually be resting before making supper.’

‘She might be visiting relatives. She sometimes goes on her bicycle after lunch. But what great news,’ Jack shouted back. Steel, partially dividing the front from the back, made it hard to hear.

Feeling a rush of excitement, and longing to see Maz, she hugged herself. ‘I’m so happy. Did Bert say any more?’

‘No. There was something going on.’

It was neither the time nor the place, but she couldn’t stop herself. He didn’t hear at first, so she shouted the second time.

‘What do you think about having a baby?’

The van jerked and Lydia held her breath. What if it wasn’t what he wanted? He wanted a boat, cricket, rugby. He might not want to be a father. Men had adventures. Women had children. That was just the way of things.

‘Bloody Ada, Lydia. That’s enough to give a man a heart attack.’ He paused. ‘Let’s get Maz back first, then see what the future brings.’

‘Maybe we could adopt him.’

He drove on for a while in silence and Lydia, smiling at the thought of seeing Maz, felt full of energy. She’d make him a little pageboy suit. She wouldn’t wear white, but they’d get married the moment this first tour ended, not long now, and straightaway try for a baby. For the first time the future looked really bright, and the world, wide open, waited for them. They could make a new life in Perth, or anywhere they chose. Her mind travelled off in a stream of imagining. Their life together. Maz, and the child they’d have together. A little brother or sister for him. Their garden with a big lawn, apple trees and a swing for them both.

She was shaken from her thoughts by a terrific din. The van swerved to the right and ended up wedged nose down in a storm ditch.

‘Get right down, Lydia,’ Jack hissed and pushed his head through the gap in the metal that separated them.

‘What’s happened?’

‘Don’t know.’ He blew a kiss, and passed through his spare revolver.

She took it with trembling hands.

‘Point this through the slits and don’t hesitate to use it. And whatever happens don’t get out.’

Her heart thumped. ‘What about you?’

‘I’ve got to look.’

‘No, Jack!’

She heard him struggle with the door as he got out, then the sound of shrill Chinese voices. She peered through the slit in the steel at the side of the van, but round at the front, Jack was out of her sight. In the split second before the shot was fired, she was certain she saw Lili standing back from the road, half hidden behind a rubber tree. She saw the girl gasp and cover her open mouth with her hand, her eyes wide with shock.

Lydia’s mind spun with a thousand images. Jack safe, Jack with her. Married. Happy. A baby. Their baby. She barely registered the second shot. Everything went unnaturally quiet. With her fingers on the trigger of Jack’s gun, her body froze, though her heart raced in terror as the silence grew. She felt sick, violently sick, as if her entire body wanted to drive out the truth behind that shot.

This could not be happening. Not Jack. Not after losing the girls. She closed her eyes and all she could see was the look on Lili’s face.

In the back of the van she doubled over and began to shiver. She clenched her fists and shoved them into her eye sockets, refusing to believe it, pleading with God, for the warmth of his body and the light in his bright blue eyes to still be there. His slow wicked smile when he wanted sex, his big hands. His throaty laugh. She heard the sound of whining mosquitoes, saw the jungle snakes and scorpions in her mind’s eye. Her body was rigid with shock, but she had to move. Get out. See Jack. Be with him.

She reached across and tried the back door. Locked.

Of course, it only opened from the outside. She stood up and crawled head first through the narrow gap into the front of the
van. When she straightened up, she caught sight of his blood, so much blood pooling on the tarmac, the air thick with the sweet salty odour of it. With one hand covering her mouth, she pushed open the door, now hanging at an angle, squeezed down into, and then climbed out of, the storm ditch. She ran, falling to her knees where Jack lay face down on the road. It began to rain, the water washing his life away in a stream along the road.

She gently rolled his body over to look at his face. His lips were white, his eyes vacant. Dead eyes. Not even a hint of accusation there. So quickly. It had happened so quickly. She remembered the warmth of his lips against hers, his smile, the way he tickled her. Tears sprang and slid down her cheeks.

Oh, Jack.

The rain stopped, leaving the sound of drips, and steam rising into the air. In the lengthening shadows, she got up to pee, squatted in tangled undergrowth, not taking her eyes from him for a second. Didn’t care if they shot her too. She deserved it. She blamed herself. If she hadn’t pestered him about Maz, and if he’d been able to concentrate on his job, this would never have happened. She didn’t notice the night descend. But when it came fully, she welcomed the curtain of darkness that separated them from the rest of the world. She lay on the road beside him, wrapped herself round him one last time, held him, kept him safe, her clothes soaking up his blood.

It was a glittering dawn when they found her. Four of them. Two police constables in khaki, Bert and another SC in an armoured lorry. She looked up and glimpsed silver birds swooping in the dawn sky, behind Bert’s head. His fingertips reached out and touched her hands. He lifted her off the ground. Bert with the strong Northern accent and purposeful walk. How incongruous the British are in a Malay jungle, she thought.