If I Never Went Home (13 page)

‘Tina? You feeling better?’ asked Nanny from outside the bathroom door.

‘Yes, Nanny. I’ll be out just now.’

‘You eat something?’

‘A little.’

‘They had food at the retreat and I bring some for you. Is pelau. I not sure you will want that but it was all they had.’

‘No, I fine with that. I coming out now.’

I opened the bathroom door slightly, checked that Nanny was in the kitchen, and fled to my bedroom. I stuffed the dirty top under my bed, flung on a nightie and came out. I thought that as soon as she looked at me she would know exactly where I had been, but she didn’t. We ate the pelau, she went in her bed early, and that was the end of that. Can you believe how lucky I am?

Well Carnival came and Carnival went. Nanny did not even like me watching it on the TV. ‘Look at them girls. They not shame who see them carrying on so? And it look like once they see the camera they behaving more bad.’

‘They want to get on YouTube and be famous.’

‘What is that tube?’

‘Is just a website with videos.’

‘I hope you ain’t watching that.’

‘No, Nanny.’

Does she really think I won’t watch YouTube? Clueless.

Granny Gwen has not visited since that time with the purse. I have eighty dollars left. I have to get another twenty before I could put it back. Soon. I know what I did was a sin and I know I have to put the money back. Sometimes I think about it and feel shame. Imagine I took money from an old lady and I lied to my Nanny who took me in when I didn’t have a home. I’m glad they never found out. I promised Jesus that if he let me put the money back in Granny Gwen purse without getting caught then I will never do something like that again. I’m not a thief. It was one time and it will never happen again. The fete was fun, but to be honest I was scared even when I was jumping up with Charmaine and the other girls. Saints above, don’t let Nanny or Granny Gwen find out anything, I begging you.

Two weekends passed and still no Granny Gwen for a Saturday lime. We saw her in church so I know she still alive. By the third weekend when she didn’t visit I asked, as if I couldn’t care less, why we were not seeing Granny Gwen. Nanny said that to be honest she was not sure why. All she could think was that for Lent Granny Gwen want to stay home. Maybe the truth is Granny Gwen knew I took that hundred note, and instead of causing a scene she decide to stay clear of us. She might think I will take money again. Maybe is stew she want me to stew. She biding her time till she nice and ready, and then she will bust the mark. But I pray she never did miss that money and we not seeing her for some other reason.

Every time I think of the blasted money it scrapes the inside of my belly raw. I have the whole hundred now. All I need is a chance to put it back. It look like no one Nanny knows has seen me at the fete. Is only this f-ing money business hanging over my head day and night. If my mother was alive, none of this would have happened. Or if I had my father around he would be looking after me. We would go places together. He would know about stuff like YouTube and what young people like. He would have bought the fete tickets and given me more than enough pocket money. I will never stop praying that somehow, somewhere, he knows about me and is looking for me. I know before I die he will find me. He will find me and take me away to live with him. I know he will.

Granny Gwen has blanked us four straight weekends now. I must get the money back to her somehow. This coming Saturday Nanny having a few church ladies for a special Bible study, and I am hoping Granny Gwen in that. I am counting off the days until Saturday because I can’t take this pain much longer. Even if she didn’t miss the money, I know what I did was evil and God will punish me. It could be today, tomorrow or next year, but one day I will have to pay for my sins. The Lord sees all and knows all that we do on earth. My punishment is coming and when it come it go be one big-ass trouble.

Saturday morning finally reach. I am helping to tidy up the house but all I can think about is how I will get to put the money back at last. What if she doesn’t leave the purse in the kitchen? She might keep it next to her, as is not her and Nanny alone today. My belly hurting, my head hurting, and my skin feeling dry-dry. I have learnt my lesson good and proper. Jesus, please let me give the money back today. I can’t manage another second.

‘Afternoon. Inside. Good afternoon.’

I have never been happier to hear Granny Gwen’s voice calling from the front gate.

I called back. ‘Afternoon. Come. We home.’

Granny Gwen does her duck-waddle walk up the three steps to the veranda.

‘How you keeping, Tina girl?’

‘Fine thanks, Granny Gwen.’

‘Where your Nanny?’

‘In the kitchen. I think she cutting up a sweetbread she made this morning.’

The ladies chatted while I got the tea and sweetbread ready. Granny Gwen put her bag on the kitchen table. I was hoping as hard as I could that she would leave it there. When I helped them take the trays out, the bag was left behind.

Another church lady arrived and the three of them settled in. I didn’t wait another minute. I checked they had everything and went back to the kitchen. I unzipped the handbag quickly and grabbed the purse. It didn’t have other hundred dollar notes in it – just a few twenties. There was no choice. Maybe when she looked in her purse later she would think she getting old and forget how much she had on her. I pushed the purse back in and zipped the bag so fast I pulled the skin on my index finger. A little sting and some blood. It didn’t matter. Amen. Amen. Amen. I have made amends. Please forgive me, Jesus. I don’t ever want to feel like that again. I could have been caught putting the money back and would have had to confess to taking it first. Anyway, it’s over. Over. I am going to watch TV and try to forget this whole nasty business. Of course none of this trouble would have happened if Nanny had let me go to the fete in the first place. Stupid old woman.

[1. Trinidadian street food, a doubles is a sandwich made with two bara (a soft, fried bread) filled with curried chickpeas and garnished with tamarind, cucumber, hot sauce and the herb chadon beni.]

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Bea stood outside Michael’s apartment taking deep breaths to steady herself. She was wearing new clothes – grey jeans and a silky white top. Dr. Payne was right. She needed to be getting out more, and Michael’s invitation to dinner at his place was something she wanted to do and thought she could handle. They were developing an easy understanding founded on their childhood friendship. Michael also had the knack of being present without intruding – something Bea appreciated.

She smoothed the short bangs off her forehead, straightened her top and dared to press the buzzer. When he opened his apartment door his face looked happy and she thought a little nervous. They kissed lightly on the lips rather than on the cheeks as they usually did. She awkwardly handed him a bottle of wine and a single lily she had picked in the park nearby. His hands were trembling as he accepted the gifts. The red wine he had bought was already breathing.

‘Your place is lovely,’ she said, accepting the glass of wine he offered. ‘Cosy.’

‘I’ve been cleaning all day,’ he replied.

She smiled. ‘What inspired that?’

‘Well, I’ve been here over a year and the place needed a good tidy.’

She ran her hand along the bookshelf. ‘For a computer person you have a lot of books. We have quite a few authors in common.’

‘I do so much on my computer I guess I enjoy the feel of real books. One day I’ll get around to sorting them,’ he said, raising his glass of wine. ‘Cheers.’

They drank in silence as Bea thumbed through books. A timer went off and made her jump.

‘You want to come in the kitchen while I finish cooking?’ he asked.

‘Sure. What’s for dinner?’

He smiled. ‘I’ve been slaving over a hot stove for days.’

He took her hand and led the way. She sat at the small kitchen table set with a white cloth and proper linen napkins, sipping her wine while he made a green salad.

‘We’re having lasagne, salad and garlic bread. For dessert we have strawberries and cream.’

‘Don’t remember the last time I had such a home-made feast.’

‘Wait till you taste it. I know Trini people are super-critical if food is not up to their exacting standards.’

‘It smells wonderful.’

While he placed dishes on the table he asked her to put on some music. Bea anxiously flicked through his iPod and settled on a Bach compilation.

Dinner was delicious and the conversation uncomplicated. Bea forgot the horrors of the past months and enjoyed the unfolding evening with this man she had been lucky to find again after so long. Later they moved to his compact sofa and he slowly fed her strawberries. She began to feel uneasy.

‘Bea, are you crying?’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, wiping her face. ‘I didn’t even realise.’

‘It’s not the normal reaction I get when feeding a girl strawberries.’

‘It’s not you. It’s the music. “Air on the G string”. Bach.’

She pulled away and sat up.

‘Did my father ever go into details about what happened when he left?’

Michael popped a strawberry into his mouth. ‘Gosh. Well, if he did, I don’t know about it. I was just a kid. Why are you asking?’

‘I need to know.’

‘I’m sorry, but I don’t remember anything.’

‘Do you think my Dad remembers the music that was playing? I mean, if it happened to you, would you remember?’

‘Beezy, this is an odd conversation.’

She chewed the nail of her left index finger.

Michael leaned closer. ‘Why are you asking me about stuff that happened decades ago?’

‘Our parents were close. You were next door, for goodness sake. You must have heard every blessed detail.’

He got up and refilled his glass.

‘A top up?’

‘No. Thank you. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be morbid,’ said Bea. ‘But this music. It was playing. He listened to it the day he left. When it was all over, he sat there listening to it.’

‘A favourite?’

‘Don’t think so. Maybe he wanted to hear some music. Any music. To calm down.’

‘Probably.’

They fell back into an awkward silence. Why was this slimy mess seeping out now? Michael squeezed her hand.

‘I’m going to change this music,’ he said firmly.  He bent close to her face and kissed her forehead. She inhaled his warm, comforting smell. ‘It’s going to be okay, Beezy. Lie down here and relax while I wash up.’

Her mind drifted to the BBC Radio 4 programme,
Desert Island Discs
, where celebrities were interviewed about the music they would select if marooned – the soundtrack of a life. The ‘Air’ would definitely be high on her list. What if she dared ask her father? If he had blocked out the events, then bringing them up would be an act of insensitivity, even ruthlessness. It was a silly piece of near ubiquitous music. But nothing could erase the image behind her eyes of his sad, slumped form in the old Morris mahogany sofa, the one with chocolate-brown cushions.

‘Play some music, Beezy,’ her father had said.

She selected a CD and held it up for him to see.

‘Yeah, that one,’ he had said. ‘That’s good.’

Christ, that was a day to forget.

But how do you do the actual physical and mental forgetting? Does Amazon stock
Forgetting For Idiots
with a step-by-carefully-planned-step of erasure? The details had invaded the cells of Bea’s body, rearranged her DNA. Putting years and thousands of miles between herself and Trinidad had done nothing to block the memory of that airless July day.

She was a little girl playing in Michael’s back yard that day, as they did most days that summer. He was the lucky one with a big garden and a hoard of toys. Over the fence they could hear the sound of water spraying from a hose. Her Daddy was washing the car. By the time she came home he was sitting on the front porch steps staring at a gleaming, spotless white Mazda.

‘What time you call this?’ he snapped as she walked toward him. ‘You know how long I here waiting for you?’

‘Sorry, Daddy.’ She smiled. ‘I didn’t know you wanted me to come home. I got sweeties.’

‘You always in the people house!’ he yelled.

Her smile evaporated.

‘Day and night you playing there.’ He glowered at her. ‘What, you living next door now? I have a mind to throw your clothes over the fence.’ He pointed to Michael’s house. ‘If you like it so much then go live by them!’

The ferocity of his words was like a punch in the stomach.

‘Sorry, Daddy. I didn’t know I should’ve come home.’

He glared down at her, his eyes wild.

‘You didn’t know?’ He gripped her arm tight and yanked her closer. ‘You didn’t know?’ His other hand rose as if to strike.

She froze while his hand was suspended in mid-air. He had never struck her or held her so roughly.

‘Get out of my sight!’ he shouted. ‘Get out before I put one beating on you right here in front the whole street.’ His mouth twisted in revulsion. ‘You disgusting like your mother.’ He let out a scary, grunting sound and pushed her away.

She wanted to run but her legs would not move. It seemed forever before she could will them to take her away, first walking tentatively, then faster and faster until she was safely in her bedroom. Her throat felt dry and her hands were sweating. The four o’clock sun streamed through her window. Her mother was probably having an afternoon nap in the next room. Disturbing her would guarantee being screamed at. It was impossible to predict what would happen if they were both angry. Her father’s anger was not unusual but she had never been subjected to this irrational, volatile temper. It had jolted her, making her little heart race and her knees shake.

She did not understand. Why would he threaten to beat her for playing where she played every day? Why today? She was his special girl. She wore a lemon coloured T-shirt with ‘Daddy’s Girl’ in black felt letters across the front. Not ‘Mummy’s Girl’. Mummy didn’t even want to be a Mummy. She had said so. Bea took too much of her mother’s time and energy. It suited everyone that Bea was, and always would be, Daddy’s Girl. And Daddy’s Girl got special protection. He provided his little girl with an invisible, magical force field that no bad person could penetrate. With it nothing bad, absolutely nothing, would happen to her.

Soon his heavy footsteps passed her bedroom on the way to his. ‘The door locked!’ he shouted, jiggling the doorknob. ‘Open the blasted door.’

Silence.

‘You better open this door or I go break it down right now.’

Bea heard the door as it banged hard against the wall.

‘Oh, Jesus Christ, I was taking a rest,’ her mother said. ‘Why you have to carry on so?’

‘Who was on the phone this afternoon?’

‘No one.’

‘Stop taking me for a fool. Who were you talking to on the phone? You think I don’t know you was talking to that red nigger?’

Bea heard furniture being thrown over.

‘I wasn’t on the phone. Stop talking like that. Bea will hear you.’

‘You lying bitch! I had enough of your shit! You think I stupid because I don’t have your fancy qualifications? Eh? You take me for a fool? Answer me.’

‘No one take you for a fool.’

‘Well, you must really think I dumb not to see what going on right under my nose. I know exactly which red nigger you fucking!’

‘Stop it!’ her mother screamed.

‘You think nobody see you, eh? Well, let me tell you something. I see you.’

‘What you talking about?’

‘I see you with my own eye park up in the car with him!’

‘We were only talking.’

‘Oh, so that is how you does talk now?’

‘Stop it!’

‘No, you stop it! Fucking bitch!’

This was not the first time the neighbourhood had heard their voices echo through the street. Michael must have heard every word.

It’s just as well Daddy did not to want me to play next door any more. I am so ashamed to face Michael again.

Bea’s head hurt. Her parents went on screaming accusations at each other. Then the strangest thing happened. Bea stopped hearing. In a split second, she became deaf. Part of her knew they were still yelling, but their voices were silent. She shut her eyes tight and tried to control the overwhelming urge to vomit.

Bea floated gently towards the ceiling. The house was so quiet from up here. Up and out she glided into her parents’ bedroom. Daddy was yanking a frame off the wall. He smashed it, then snatched the photograph and viciously shredded it.

Careful of the glass, Dad.

Mom, watch out.

He must have thrown the frame at the window because that was smashed too. Glass was everywhere. There were perfume bottles and picture frames on the bedroom dressing table that could break. Better to stay in the corner by the bedside table. Safe for now. Suddenly her ears popped and she could once again hear the shouting.

‘I never plan to hurt you. I never wanted it to be so,’ her mother cried.

‘So what exactly you expected to happen?’

‘I so sorry. I didn’t mean it. I so sorry.’

The words were swallowed by loud sobs.

‘Sorry?’ He sneered. ‘Sorry? You can kiss my ass.’

For the first time he seemed to notice Bea shaking in the corner.

‘Bea, pack your clothes. We’re leaving this damn house right now.’

So it had finally come to this. The End. Bea did not move.

‘You can’t take my child!’ her mother screamed.

Daddy pushed his face right up to Mummy’s.

‘A whore like you trying to tell me what I can and can’t do?’

‘I am the mother!’ she shouted between sobs. ‘Is my child!’

He turned to find Bea. ‘I said get your clothes. I not making joke. Now!’

Bea floated over and hovered between her parents.

Her mother was clutching the other Bea and her snot and tears were dampening the front of the child’s dress. Bea had been warned this might happen one day. But Daddy had told her they would be okay. They would always have each other, and Daddy loved Bea more than anything or anyone else in the whole wide world.

‘She’s not leaving this house,’ her mother cried. ‘You go have to kill me first before you take Bea!’

They would live at Granny Gwen’s house, safe in the warmth of the extended family. There would always be people around to talk to and play with. And on Sundays Granny Gwen would bring rice cakes from the market and make her special lentil soup. And only Daddy loved her and only Daddy would always love her the most.

‘Hurry up, Bea!’ her Daddy snarled.

Mummy would be fine. She probably wouldn’t even notice Bea was gone. To deserve maternal love she had to be prettier, brighter or better mannered. So why then was her mother howling like a wounded dog and gripping Bea’s hand?

‘I said she not going. You deaf?’

Bea felt her body floating over to inspect the torn edges of the photograph peeking through shards of glass. It must have hurt too much to see them both young and unbearably beautiful on their wedding day. Where was Daddy now? Ah, throwing his clothes out of the cupboard and into an old black suitcase. He was moving quickly in and out of the room.