Separation, The (33 page)

There was another brief silence then Harriet smiled faintly. ‘I like Malaya. Can’t imagine going back to Surrey. Well, life and death are inseparable here, aren’t they? They are everywhere, of course, but here you know it. Your friend Jack. He knew.’

Lydia flinched.

‘Russian roulette. You know the way it goes. Of course it was before he met you. I think the futility of life after the war caused his depression. Meeting you broke him of it, but it was just a matter of time with his type …’ Harriet trailed off.

‘Look, I’ve heard enough,’ Lydia said. ‘Jack’s dead now and I
don’t see the point of rehashing the past. I think we’d better go now. Don’t you, Adil?’

Harriet ignored her. ‘We only left Malaya once – during the war. Nineteen forty-one. George’s doing, not long before the first air raid by the Japs on Singapore.’

As Harriet drifted back, Lydia and Adil exchanged looks. Still angry, she mouthed a question at him. What do we do now? He gave a subtle head shake. Outside the rain continued to pound the ground, sounding like machine gunfire. She felt trapped, wanted to leave, and felt if she stayed a minute longer she’d lose all self-control.

‘I owe George my life,’ Harriet said. ‘When Malaya fell in forty-two, old friends died. Life. It’s all swings and roundabouts. You’ll see.’

‘Can we just please stop this. Now.’ Lydia felt her voice rise. ‘I’d rather not look back.’

‘You’re right, my dear, and I hope we can draw a curtain over George’s unfortunate dealings too.’ Harriet looked at Adil.

He met her eyes but gave nothing away. Lydia needed time to think. As Adil and Harriet talked a little longer, she focussed on a vase of startling pink roses on a side table in front of the window, their sickly sweet fragrance reaching her from there.

‘You’ll stay the night,’ Harriet was saying. ‘Twin beds all right? There are other rooms, of course, but none of the beds are made up. The storm’s simply too ferocious to drive back now.’

‘Maybe,’ Adil said, glancing at Lydia for confirmation.

She looked at the rain and shrugged.

Harriet indicated which door they should take, and as they left the room, Lydia turned back over her shoulder. ‘I wonder. Do you have airmail note paper and a pen I could use?’

‘Writing paper? Of course, I’ll have it sent to your room.’

In the small guestroom at the back of the house, Lydia left the window slightly ajar and turned off the overhead light. A small table lamp cast a muted light in one corner of the room. Adil
came across to where she stood beside one of the beds. He paused, stepped back a little so that he could study her face.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

‘Bloody furious actually.’

The shock of hearing Harriet’s confession had left her with a sense of unreality, compounded by the fact that now, here she was, alone with Adil in a bedroom at Harriet’s house. Everything was happening so fast, and she was unnerved by the strength of, first, the anger she’d felt, and now the explosion that was going on in her.

‘Let’s lie on one of the beds together,’ he said. ‘Just until you feel better.’

Both on their backs, they lay fully clothed on top of the counterpane, fingers laced together. She turned sideways towards him, rested one hand on his thigh, and looked at the reflection of lamp light shining in his eyes. He squeezed her hand. Thoughts floated in and out of her mind as she went over everything Harriet had said.

‘Calmer now?’ he asked, after a while.

‘Yes.’

Suddenly shy, she touched his face, and something passed between them. Very slowly, he rolled over, loosened his shirt, then resting on one elbow, reached across and slid open the zip at the side of her dress. He seemed to wait. She slipped her hand inside his shirt, felt the cool of his skin as she ran her palm up the length of his back.

‘Let’s get into bed properly,’ she said.

‘You’re sure?’

‘I’m sure. Now for heaven’s sake, get that shirt off!’

He raised his eyes upwards and grinned. She gazed at him for a moment, then tilted her head back and laughed. He pushed the hair behind her ears, and sat up properly to remove his shirt. She slipped her dress up and over her head, then dived under the covers, her legs tangling in the sheets. He kicked the bedclothes off and on to the floor. She took a slow breath and closed her eyes.

There had been a time when Lydia believed she’d never feel peace again. Even though she looked the same, life had aged her, stolen her innocence, and replaced it with knowledge she’d never asked for. It had set her apart, but in that space, she’d also found Adil. She opened her eyes, blinked, and smiled at him.

Their love making was the kind that comes from a very slow burn, the sense of disbelief combining with a hitherto unknown thrill. Adil was gentle, completely in tune with her, so much so that at times she felt so breathless she could hardly breathe at all.

Afterwards he pulled up a sheet from the floor and covered their naked bodies. She curled into him in the cramped single bed. He kissed her on both eyelids, then, one of the lucky ones, fell asleep instantly, snoring softly. She took comfort in the intimacy. By moonlight, she watched him smile in his sleep, his snores merging with the sound of rainwater splashing from the roof. Not wanting to leave him, but unable to sleep and feeling overwhelmed by the events of the day, she untangled her limbs and decided to write her letters.

After she’d written to the Inland Revenue, the Ministry of Pensions, and Somerset House, she extinguished the light and made herself comfortable between the cool sheets of the second twin bed. Adil would obtain the necessary addresses in the morning. She stretched out a hand to touch the other bed and feel the warmth of him. In the simple relief of night, when words and actions were over for the day, her body lay still, but not her mind.

The night had unfolded unexpectedly and her thoughts continued to revolve. It was unbearable that they still didn’t know where Emma and Fleur were. She pictured them, felt their hands in hers, and considered why no proof of their journey had been found. If Alec was still here in Malaya, surely someone would know something, especially with Adil’s contacts. But there was no record of them anywhere, and what was a false passport for, if not for travelling abroad? She thought again of Alec’s parents, but she was certain Alec would never go back there. How many
times had he said how much he hated it? She wondered if he’d got hold of a different car and driven up through Thailand. Yet Adil had made sure all the border controls were checked.

But to send her off on a false trail? To cause her such utter grief. And for George to have deceived her in the way he did. She shook her head. The affair with Jack must have hurt Alec more than she knew. By the time dawn was rising and narrow bands of red had spread across the sky, the sound of weeping reached her from another open window. Harriet, she thought, and with heavy eyelids, finally fell asleep.

It was the autumn half term, 1957. I pictured our first February in England, back in 1955, when we’d just arrived. I started to write about the shock of frosts that iced our bedroom windows, and the novelty of coal smoke that hung in the air as we walked home from school. But it brought back too many memories of leaving my mum.

Veronica popped her head round the door. She and Dad were still not married, thanks to the delay caused by her visit to Africa.

She came across, put an arm round me and looked over my shoulder. ‘A new story?’

‘Nothing really.’

‘Look, Emma, I’m in an awful rush, but I just dropped by to tell you there’s some exciting news.’

I looked up, my skin starting to tingle. ‘Has someone found Mum?’

Her face fell a little as she sat on the bed. ‘No, sorry, darling. We’ve been over that, and you must know it isn’t going to happen. But I promise you will be pleased.’

At the same time as that, Fleur clattered into my room, shutting the door behind her.

I swung round and gave her a cross look, annoyed at the interruption. ‘We were talking, Fleur.’

‘Guess what?’ Fleur said, ignoring me. She couldn’t keep still, eyes shining and cheeks bright pink. ‘You didn’t see it, did you?’

‘See what?’

She sat on my bed, next to Veronica, and bounced. ‘I saw the
boy deliver it. He was ever so smart. In a navy blue uniform with red piping and a pillbox cap too. He whistled at me.’

‘Fleur, what on earth are you jabbering on about?’ Veronica said, as she picked up her bag.

‘The telegram. It had Em’s name on it. Dad took it.’

‘Was this just now?’ I said.

‘A little while ago. It looked foreign. Dad took it upstairs.’

Despite everything, Fleur’s loyalty remained firmly with Dad, so it was odd she was telling me this. She frowned and looked at the floor. ‘I thought he was going to give it to you. But then you didn’t say anything. I wanted to know what it was. Are you sure he didn’t give it to you?’

I shook my head. Since the day he hugged me, we’d kept away from each other, both of us too embarrassed to speak of what had passed.

‘Don’t say I told,’ Fleur pleaded, her eyes huge.

‘Well, how else can I ask him?’

She pulled a face.

Veronica nodded to me. ‘I think you’d better ask him. But look, I really have to be off. I’ll see you tomorrow, Emma. Okay?’

I nodded but I was furious with Fleur. Now I’d have to wait until the next day to find out Veronica’s news.

‘Aren’t you having any lunch?’ Fleur said.

Veronica shook her head.

After she’d gone, Fleur and I went downstairs.

Dad was in the kitchen heating Campbell’s cream of chicken soup. It was Fleur’s favourite, though I preferred Gran’s homemade split pea. I swallowed the lump that came whenever I thought of Gran, and folded my arms.

‘Can I have the telegram please?’ I said, trying to sound calm.

He looked at me, his face severe. I stood my ground.

‘The one addressed to me.’

His shoulders sagged. ‘I only wanted to protect you.’

I stared at him. ‘But, Dad, it was addressed to me. Fleur saw it.’

Fleur sat with her eyes glued to the Formica tabletop. As if the pictures of saucepans, carrots, and casserole dishes were completely absorbing.

I thought of something else. ‘Why didn’t you tell us you planned to sell the house? Billy told me.’

‘You know it’s been on the cards,’ he said, his back to me as he stirred the soup.

I felt my skin prickle, but controlled my temper. ‘No, Dad, I don’t know. I don’t know anything, because you don’t tell me.’

The room went silent, but for the soup bubbling on the stove, and his wooden spoon stirring and scraping the bottom of the pan.

‘And anyway I don’t want to move.’

He whirled round to face me. ‘That decision is not up to you.’

I held out my hand. ‘Please can I have the telegram?’

‘Fleur is mistaken. The telegram was not for you.’

I saw Fleur’s mouth fall open in surprise. To her, Dad could do no wrong.

‘Well, what was it then?’

‘You have overstepped the mark, Emma. The telegram was no concern of yours.’

Then the air sort of went out of him and he looked at the floor. ‘Serve your soup. I’ll be back in a minute.’

The new venetian blinds were down in the kitchen, just slices of light lit the gloomy room. I served up and we ate our soup in silence.

When Dad didn’t come back, Fleur went to turn cartwheels outside, and I tiptoed up to his room. He wasn’t there. No sign of the telegram either. I couldn’t understand why he didn’t show it to me, if only to prove it wasn’t mine. It had to be something about Mum. It had to be. I saw my reflection in his dressing table mirror, a pale face with dark circles under the
eyes. Outside, a flock of starlings whistled as they spun across the sky then flew out towards the village.

I felt uneasy. Heard the hiss of the jungle snakes. Softly they came through the long grass. I shook myself out of it. This was England. No snakes. No jungle.

In my bedroom, Veronica had scribbled a message on my notepad.

Town Hall, tomorrow, ten o’clock sharp. See you there, and bring your letter from Johnson, Price & Co. x