Housegirl Page 17

  ‘You shouldn’t steal their belongings, Mary.’

  ‘What steal? The sparkling water was the nearest one to hand. And it’s an emergency, not so? I could have choked to death but now I am saved, all praise and thanks to their San Pellegrinos. Halle, halle, hallelujah. I bet they will get an extra reward in heaven for it. They should even come to thank me.’

  Quick feet moved below. Through the banister’s spindles Belinda saw Amma coming up, holding her 3310 like it was too precious, the loose bun on her head wiggling, whistling the ‘freak-on’ song from the party in a bouncy way. When Amma reached the landing, the whistling stopped. Her dark forehead, spotty at the hairline, squashed itself at the sight of sitting Belinda. Then Amma smiled, saluted and put the Nokia away before walking off to her bedroom. Belinda’s shoulders jerked.

  ‘I don’t mind,’ Mary said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘If you want to do like this? I will even be happy to stay here quiet with you like this, with no words and hear you only breathing. You breathe quite heavy, actually. I bet some people will find it a bit disgusting but I quite like it. Is normal to me.’

  ‘I got distracted by something, that’s all. Pardon. I’m here now.’

  ‘Your mind always drifting to some other place.’

  ‘It isn’t.’ Belinda pulled at the split bits of her thumbnails. ‘Is it?’

  ‘Of course. I. I thought you will stop now that you are there. Because, because when you did it here in Daban, when you have these small moments with the face still like the world has stopped, I sometimes thought in my head she is imagining a beautiful place for herself. Daydreaming. I wanted sometimes to ask you what you thinking on but I felt a bit shy to. Even though I know you cannot believe that shyness of me. Seems to me like you still doing it, this daydreaming or whatever. Like, like your London is not even enough.’

  Belinda stroked one of the spindles, following its ladylike dips. She thought about her new room. She really liked her marble mantelpiece. It had the same olden days feel about it as the spindles in front of her and the lampposts out on the street. She carefully wiped the mantel’s grey swirls with Cif twice a day and, like an altar, put special things on it. At the end closest to her wardrobe a Hello Kitty pencil case sat, bursting with more felt-tips and rubbers than she had seen in her life; next to that her passport. Also, Penguin copies of Macbeth, Romeo and Juliet, The Tempest and Lord of the Flies for Abacus. A Lambeth Borough Library Card that Mrs Al-Kawthari had helped her apply for. Things Fall Apart and White Teeth for fun. To the left of those, the Coca-Cola money box for change from her pocket money. Then a letter about a class trip to the British Museum. And her keys with the peg doll key ring Amma didn’t want but that Belinda thought was so beautiful: a little Chinese lady with pink blossom trailing down her thin wooden back.

  ‘No. I will like to stay here for a long time. I think. As long as I can. To get myself a future security. One day I will come home. Maybe come for you, take you to some different places, show you some new things.’

  ‘Little me? You will return to collect Miss Mary for adventures? I don’t believe in it.’

  ‘I would do it. I would, whyever not? And also I would like to do something good and big in the place where we are from. Something important. Charity or a school perhaps. Something to help. I’m not clear on, like, like, what it will be. But I will like to … to try.’ Belinda smiled to herself, remembering Amma at Lavender’s. She shook her head. ‘I suppose that doesn’t even make much sense anyway.’

  Mary’s voice was stern and careful. ‘In a fact, I think it is a great and good answer.’

  ‘Oh. Oh. Thank you.’ Belinda shifted her weight on the carpet, its rough weave digging at her bottom. For a second Belinda wondered if such dreams were useless; how many days until the inevitable, when Amma let slip and it was over? Her next, tired sigh rippled like one that comes before crying. But then Mary started up about the long lack of a replacement housegirl and did an impression of Aunty and Uncle moaning that none met the standard Belinda set. The crumpled list stayed by Belinda’s knee, untouched, as Mary kept on and on and on, speaking as if to please only herself, as if no one would be able to stop her, laughing at her own jokes and answering her own questions. So Belinda went back to humming agreement sometimes, tutting disapproval at others, offering suggestions soon batted off. And as Belinda listened, spoke, listened, she saw that she gripped the banister’s spindle like she had held up her shoe at Monique; tight and certain.

  24

  Amma led them over the zebra crossing by Herne Hill Station.

  ‘I think I will find it very interesting. This fireworks display thing,’ Belinda said as they walked. Her voice was as firm and game as it had been when she’d accepted Amma’s invitation to the event earlier in the week. Amma had been embarrassingly pleased when Belinda had said yes; it was a sign that Belinda’s stifling awkwardness and suspicion of her – the furtive looks were the worst – was finally starting to subside. Now, as they got closer to Brockwell, Amma smiled to herself and then at Belinda.

  ‘Interesting? You’re a pyromaniac, you’ll be in your element, darling.’

  ‘What’s a py-ro-ma-ni-ac? That’s new.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m being silly.’

  ‘Remind me. To reassure, these fire-works, they are entirely safe, right?’

  ‘Of course they are, Be. It’s a big Lambeth Council type thingy. St John’s on standby and shit. I’ve come every year since forever and there are never any accidents or anything like that. Usually Helena tags along too but, alas, this eve she’s preoccupied with the irresistible Maximilian –’

  ‘Mm. I mean. I mean not to sound ungrateful, but. The whole occasion seem strange to me. Is it normal to take days and days to build a model of a human and then you throw on the flames to watch it burn? Why!’

  ‘I know there’s, like, obviously historical reasoning for its happening and, like, this will definitely sound quite silly, but there’s something appropriately late-autumnal about it? The bonfire getting rid of the old so the new can eventually come. Or something?’ Amma noted Belinda’s thoughtful expression.

  ‘Tickets, madam,’ was the officious instruction at the park’s gates.

  ‘Right, yes, sorry,’ Amma handed pink slips to the shivering attendant who, without eye contact, tore them with a perfunctory swipe. Amma laughed at Belinda’s insistent ‘Thanking you very much’ as they entered Brockwell, nudged by the chattering groups surrounding them.

  ‘I don’t understand those either,’ Belinda said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Those gloves the rude lady back there she had on. It’s a cold night so why would you put things on where the finger coverings have been sliced off? Won’t they freeze? Fingerless. Adɛn?’

  ‘At least the cold is something you won’t have to worry about.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Three scarves on your neck and, erm, are you wearing a fucking gilet under your duffle coat? How many layers have you actually got on?’ Belinda counted six. ‘Christ alive, woman. You’ll evaporate.’

  ‘This cold is se-r-ious. How you can survive it for some six months? Half of your life is lived in a torture.’

  ‘You sound like Mum. She’s forever going on about, like, “the wind’s wickedness” – like, hilariously –’

  Belinda feigned interest in hot dogs and candy floss, and continued to do so as they trudged forward, avoiding all the kids with sparklers. Mum. The word Mum.

  ‘I promised I wouldn’t tell. I meant it. OK?’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘It. It doesn’t change anything. Honestly.’

  ‘Not for you, anyway.’

  ‘Definitely not for me.’

  Amma’s attention landed on a brilliant stall and idea. ‘Mulled cider, yeah? Yeah.’

  ‘Is there alcohol in it?’

  ‘Tiny, tiny bit. Really not much at all. And it’s a traditional part of the event. So.’ Belinda sneered. ‘Don’t be such
a flipping grandmama.’

  Amma tugged Belinda over, flashed her excellent and expensive fake ID and carried the two drinks away.

  ‘Thank you,’ Belinda said as she accepted a fizzing flagon, enunciating each of those words so Amma could not help but understand their more profound meaning. Amma nodded, slurped.

  A sound system screeched. ‘Dancing Queen’ started up. The crowd cheered and quickened its pace towards the bonfire. Eager for a good spot, Amma and Belinda continued towards spectral light and smoke, mulching fallen leaves underfoot, skirting round empty trees. Through the cup’s steam, Amma watched Belinda indulge in increasingly large sips.

  ‘You big fat wino.’

  ‘Is not wine. Is mulled cider.’

  ‘When you’re pissed on the kerb somewhere, don’t expect me to carry you home.’

  ‘Ay! Will I? Will I become pissed?’

  ‘Shut up, Be! And stop walking so slowly, everyone’s pushing ahead.’

  The echoing track changed to ‘Billie Jean’. Amma had misdirected them, to a part of the throng where forward motion was largely impossible. The ghoulish guy’s moppy head, crowned with flames, was just visible, but little else was: the view blocked by a wall of six-year-olds sat atop fathers’ shoulders and their Barboured backs. Belinda craned her neck to see more.

  ‘Never mind, Be.’

  ‘No, it’s totally fine actually. I can get the smell from here. Is nice. Wood smoke. It reminds me of home, somewhat. Like dinner time in Adurubaa, and everyone is out to prepare their evening meals. And, and I’m more enjoying the music than the fire, actually. I love Michael Jackson. Next to Whitney Houston, is one of the artists we like the most in Ghana, even if we know he is ashamed to be black.’

  Amma bristled. The sky exploded.

  ‘My goodness – is … my goodness!’

  Now the DJ opted for Prokofiev. There was a glittering spillage. Pompoms of colour – electric reds, electric pinks, electric oranges shredded into the night. Hundreds of points of light sprayed and then soon fizzled away. Next, a series of silver droplets showered everywhere. There were whoops, cheers, shouts.

  ‘That last one is my favourite so far. Like crystals. Ooh, Amma, look. Ooh!’ Belinda shouted above the rustle of collective excitement. A scatter of purple hearts appeared above, breaking into blue pixels. ‘No, no – I preferred that one. That one is, like, amazing! How can they make it happen?’

  Amma saw that, despite Belinda’s cumbersome layers, she revelled in a new ease: Catherine wheels excited her into squealing, coerced her into bigger gulpings of cider. Abandon lightened her laughter each time a rocket shot up. In pauses during the display, Belinda even tickled the ears of a child in front and made small talk with her. Amma wondered if that was what being unburdened looked like. Maybe Belinda’s confident play, her pretending to steal the little blonde girl’s nose said: I’m frightened, yes. But at least there will be change now. At least something different will happen to me. No more festering, festering, festering.

  There was that, and, for Amma, the prospect of Roisin in a few days. Roisin’s unexpected, long overdue text – a demand that they see each other – had come – naturally – without warning on Saturday afternoon. A simple suggestion of dates and locations and it brought no promise of more, but the miraculous idea that she had been in Roisin’s thinking again was more than something, it was certainly a start and it mattered. More unabashed pops above, whizzes, applause. Amma’s heart raced like the crowd’s feet stamping for warmth. She tapped Belinda’s shoulder. But, instructed by a clashing of cymbals, Belinda’s gaze returned to the sky.

  It ended with ‘We Are the Champions’ and a battery of fluorescence. Then silence, crescents of smoke and timely rainclouds. Amma rocked on her heels as the blonde toddler’s predictable wailing came with the realisation that all fun had been had. Thinking quickly, Belinda offered up the maze of her cornrows – revealed from under the hood for the girl’s inspection – and that magically stopped the tears. The little girl traced the patterns quietly and studiously. Chuckling at Belinda, the girl’s mother glowed with gratitude. Belinda chuckled back and waved off the calmed child as she was pushed away in her pram. Amma wanted to know why, why it would be easier if that little one grew up to love a Roisin or an Elizabeth or a Susannah, only because she was white.

  ‘Come on,’ Amma said.

  ‘Oh, you talk sharp! You going to start making a scene like that child too?’

  ‘I just quite want to leave now. Show’s over, right? Sorry. Didn’t mean to, to snap. Or whatever.’

  ‘OK then. We walk.’

  ‘Yeah. Let’s.’

  Once out of Brockwell, back on the main road, she and Belinda made their way back past the launderette, the toy-town train station, the newsagent; the man by his counter waving at them through the window. Amma did not wave back. Instead, she grabbed and lashed out at the bushes; greens and whites flurried and her heels scuffed the pavement. Amma felt Belinda at the edge of her vision, pulling her coat’s toggles. Carousers probably headed for the Prince Regent congaed by, towards Rymer Road, much to Belinda’s bewilderment.

  ‘Smoking! Yes. Just the thing!’ Amma’s cold fingers struggled to do what was needed, but eventually she took a drag and was unsurprised when it didn’t help. She pulled harder and harder on the cigarette, tutting.

  ‘See,’ Belinda said unhappily.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’re uncomfortable. Can only pretend for a bit and then. Then you feel awkward about it all over again.’

  ‘I am but. Uncomfortable, yeah, but.’ A car screeched up from Spenser playing reggae that hushed into the night. ‘Not about that. Sorry.’

  ‘A lot of sorry from the tigress today.’

  Amma stopped under a lamppost on the corner of their street, making Belinda stand still too. Dots swam in front of her eyes.

  ‘What is the meaning of this one?’

  ‘You’re my friend,’ Amma was methodical, ‘and this is … this is the place where our friendship has taken us; where it’s reached.’ She tugged at her beanie. ‘I. I don’t want you to feel unsafe ever again, OK? You’ve had enough … shit, enough shit to deal with. I know that. I don’t want to lie, or hide, or be ambiguous.’

  ‘Is so kind for … for someone to be kind.’

  ‘Yeah. Yeah, I hope. I hope it is.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘And I’m not sure exactly how I want you to react, but, but if you can at least, like, do kind once I’m finished, I can manage with that. Definitely. Kind would be cool, cool, cool.’

  Amma watched Belinda staring at the illuminated air around the two of them, at the dust drifting through the beam. That brightness reflected off Amma’s Doc Martens; Roisin had promised to cover those boots with hundreds of tiny, painted flowers. One for each of the different feelings they had for each other. Amma had not been allowed to call her cheesy, because Roisin’s face had soon closed. They started walking again.

  ‘Now is when I tell you that I fell in love.’

  ‘Oh.’ Belinda reached up to wipe her nose. ‘Oh.’

  ‘No. Present continuous. Still falling. And it’s confusing and. And not necessarily always great. But. Yes. Here’s where I am.’ Amma inhaled and nodded with false authority.

  ‘Well, to start. First, I thank you that you wanted to share with this with me. It must frighten to, to do it. Now that you have – said, I mean – now that you have spoken these to me I suppose I can only advise. I only advise this one. I think a love at our age can be a very dangerous paaaaa. Maybe it can give you scars for life, can even send you crazy. Me, I don’t know entirely for sure. I’m only guessing, because I’ve never had a boyfriend myself, or something such as this.’

  ‘Me neither.’

  ‘Neither what?’

  ‘Like, I’ve kissed a few KCS boys at house parties and that, but. No. No boyfriends.’

  ‘So … so, you mean that this one now who you are … loving, you want to call him a boyfriend,
but he won’t give his love back and this is why you have a pain? Is this it? I tell you for free, Sister, the man must have rocks inside his head if he can’t see your real worth and beauty.’

  ‘It’s not a boy, or a man.’ Amma unwound and rewound the scarf around her neck. Belinda did the same.

  ‘Is not man or boy?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then is a girl?’

  Amma nodded.

  ‘A girl?’

  ‘Yes. I’m in love with a fucking girl. How do you like them apples?’ She unwound and rewound the scarf again.

  ‘Is, is maybe like Supi? We have in Ghana. In the girls boarding schools. You have a special girl friend who you spend time with and you never leave them. Like a best friend. Me, I never took one because as I wasn’t going to any of those boarding schools of course. And, yes, you not going to one either, but maybe Supi works different here, so, so maybe. Maybe what you’re trying to tell is that you are sad you have warred with your Supi, eh? And I am, I am sorry for that one if that is the reason. Yes?’

  ‘I don’t think I quite understand what a Supi is because you’re talking a lot but, like, not really saying very much. So. Look, I can tell by your rattling on that you get it and…’

  ‘I get nothing.’

  ‘I – We’re more than friends, best friends, whatever.’

  ‘Who? Me and you? Me? Wa bo dam!’

  ‘Fucking-narcissist-much? Her name is Roisin and. And I think we want to be together. Possibly. We’re meeting in a couple of days. And. We’ll sort it out.’ Amma watched Belinda’s mouth slacken.

  ‘Sort it out? You are a joker. How can you sort that?’

  ‘Be –’

  ‘I’m meant to be pleased that you sharing this with me? Happy? Happy for you and this Raysheen, or whatever?’

  ‘I didn’t really think about it in terms of your happiness, Be. Sorry. I. It needed doing. I’ve wanted to for a while now. I thought that –’

  ‘Seem like you never really thinking at all, Amma, if this is how you want to have your life. As a homosexual lesbian.’

  ‘It’s just about her, OK? Me and her and love and –’