#anyway he’s said this variation of words many times but it still hits… and evidently the people need reminding!

[artashipatrick]

On the surface of it, this movie includes many instances of people being selfish or petty or cruel to each other, or playing games with each other.

But I think it’s important that anytime they’re doing that, they’re also being kind, they’re also trying to take care of each other in their own fucked up way.

There really is a deep care these people have for each other because they all recognize that they’re in this deep relationship with each other, that they can’t get away from each other. — justin kuritzkes on challengers

[rallamajoop]

How (not) to say ‘fuck’ in Etruscan (and other things I cannot believe I spent so much time tracking down for a throwaway joke in a Witcher slash-fic)

Buried in chapter 4 of my fic Something Nice is a joke which, as much as it amused me, no-one else is going to get unless I explain it. So here we go.

For the last few people in this fandom who haven't heard yet: The Witcher 3's vampire-language is Etruscan. To my knowledge, there's never been an official statement from CDPR to confirm this, but the evidence (ie. that basically all the vampire vocab can be found in online Etruscan sources) seems pretty solid. To explain why this made me go oooooh that's so NEAT, we need a little context.

Context!

The Etruscans (in my admittedly far-from-expert understanding) were a people who lived in Italy back before the Romans got around to conquering-slash-assimilating the rest of the peninsula, and the language they spoke is one of the most frustratingly mysterious of the ancient world. Most dead languages are at least related to something modern linguists have a decent handle on, but Etruscan seems to have been related to almost nothing else spoken – it may even have pre-Indo-European roots (a whoooole other tangent I am in no way qualified to cover).

Surprisingly, we do owe our modern Latin alphabet in part to the Etruscans, since the earliest Roman alphabets were adapted from the Etruscan (who got it from the Greeks, who got it from from the Phoneticians, and so on). The Etruscans may even be the reason we're stuck with so many weirdly redundant K-sounds (not only K and C, but X and Q, which are really just 'ks' and 'kw' with an overblown sense of superiority).

But being able to sound out every surplus K-word from an Etruscan inscription isn't much help nowadays when there are no surviving Etruscan dictionaries to tell us what it actually means – not even a decent Etruscan Rosetta stone to give us a push-start. So while modern linguists may rattle off Ancient Greek fluently or puzzle out Egyptian hieroglyphs from thousands of years before the Etruscans even had an alphabet, the Etruscan vocabulary available to us nowadays remains embarrassingly limited. Bits have been figured out from context or thanks to loanword exchanges with their neighbours (plenty of ancient Greeks and Romans certainly spoke Etruscan, even if they failed to write it down), but a lot is still as mysterious to the experts as it would be to you and me.

So why to I love the idea of using Etruscan as the Witcher’s vampire-language so much? Basically, if you want a language that will sound both old and reliably alien to anyone listening to it – be they the mainstream English-speaking market or the original Polish-language audience – Etruscan is a damn good call. You're not going to have much vocabulary to draw from, but it's not like there's a lot of vampire-chatter in the game anyway. It's a cool little easter egg for fans nerdy enough to try and figure out what they're saying.

Translations and Sources

You aren’t going to find a lot of great Etruscan language sources on the web – few of the easily-discovered online sources on Etruscan vocab appear to have been updated within the last ten years, and lord knows how consistent some of these are with current scholarship (let alone how sure linguists can be about anything with a task like this). All the same, have some links you may find useful:

Etruscology – Brief, but more readable than most

Lexicons.ru Etruscan Glossary – Probably one of the best collections of many terms in one place

Maravot.com Etruscan Language pages – Hard to navigate, but gosh there are a lot of vocab here I have not seen elsewhere

Old, Tripod-hosted Etruscan Glossary – I think these are mostly just the same terms from the Lexicons page, but in harder-to-use format

Etruscan word search – Decent, but not the most extensive vocab

Introduction to the Etruscan Language – Looks to be from Maravot.com, but in pdf format

Paleoglot.com’s Etruscan tag – Blog by an actual linguist who regularly discusses Etruscan material, and who even created their own translation applet! – which was, unfortunately, in flash, and is thus no longer usable. (There is a certain irony that even the tools available online to help you understand Etruscan are written in a language that is now no longer supported or understood by any modern browser.)

Not that translating what’s in the game is going to be easy, oh no. Take, for example, the oh-god-please-don't-kill-me ceremonial greeting Geralt has to offer to the Unseen Elder to survive that meeting – "Eclthi, lautni ama".

'Eclthi' is apparently a "demonstrative (locative)" (’here’, ‘there’, etc). "Lautni" is trickier – it means a freed slave, but may also imply a familial relationship or a client of sorts, while the root “lautn” apparently designates simply “possession.” House slaves in the ancient world were often considered part of the family, and freed slaves were an important class in many ancient cultures, who often maintained relationships with their former masters, so you can see the internal logic, but what sense was the Witcher using it in? It’s hard to know.

"Ama" is possibly worse – most translations seem to have taken it as "to be", but sometimes also “to love”, or even "now" or  "meanwhile." Then you hit the question of Etruscan grammar, and I have no idea where I’d even start. So, with a little creativity, you could probably translate that phrase as anything from "take this and consider me a friend" to "meanwhile, this is family" to "a demonstration of love from your slave." I mean, you've got the same general theme going there regardless, but there's a lot of ambiguity in the inflection.

For what it's worth, I feel garasham's translation efforts are easily the most convincing I've seen – they have the above line as “Here I am a slave / a friend / kindred” FWIW. (Mind you, given the wiki doesn't even try to do more than offer you one possible meaning for each word, there's not exactly much competition out there).

So, bringing this all back to that fic and how to say ‘fuck’ in Etruscan...

I've already gone to the web's Etruscan dictionaries once while I was writing Forget-Me-Not, seeking inspiration for a 'real' name for "the Queen of the Night" from the first Witcher game. Neither 'queen' or 'night' got me far, but the Etruscans did apparently have a goddess of the moon called 'Aritimi, Artume or Artames', which worked pretty well. If anything it's almost too close to the better-known Greek goddess Artimis, who was obviously a relative (ancient cultures bleed into each other even when they're not bleeding all over each other, nothing new there), but I'm not going to be picky.

However, being a) a giant nerd, who b) writes a lot of smut, and c) is no more mature deep down inside than the rest of us, I couldn't resist seeing if I could find some slightly more obscene vocabulary. Did the Etruscans have a word for, say, 'fuck'?

Alas, if they did (and I mean, they totally did, c'mon), the web wouldn't tell me about it. Nor could I find much else relating to sex or genitalia (male or female), or even a decent word for 'thrust'.

On the flipside, there were a couple of different terms meaning 'plough'. And anyone who's played – well, any of the games, but especially Witcher 2 – would probably realise exactly why that filled me with so much glee.

Speaking of which, here, have a picture which is in no way related:

The fact that the various Etruscan terms meaning ‘plough’ could also apparently be translated as things like “to worship“ or “to act through movement, including ritual acts,” or that an important mythological figure was “a prophetic child who sprang from a freshly plowed furrow” was in no way discouraging.

The word I ultimately picked was 'esari'. Admittedly, variations on the prefix ‘ar-’/‘ara-’/’aras’ were much more consistently attested to throughout the various online Etruscan dictionaries as ‘terms meaning plow’, but figuring out how to convert an Etruscan prefix into a satisfying word is officially where even my enthusiasm for all this nonsense gives out. Esari was, by comparison, already a much more solid-sounding term, so let’s go with that.

Why go to all this trouble anyway? Well, the honest answer is “entirely for my own amusement”, but the nominal excuse comes right back to “so I could give Regis and Geralt this little exchange during a sex scene.”

"Unless you have any particular objection," said Regis, moving to straddle Geralt's body, "I thought we might engage in some esari... hm, what was the equivalent term in your language again?" The vampire leaned in close to Geralt's ear as he made a show of remembering his answer, "Ah, yes—I thought I'd fuck you."

Never let anyone tell you you never learnt anything from porn!

[tundrainafrica]

Title: Lovebug (5/10)

Summary:  

“It might be a bug.”

“A bug?”

“Sometimes the developers of this application make mistakes. This is our first time meeting I’m sure so…Isn’t it a bit weird that we just met for the first time and it rings like this? And for two strangers to coincidentally ring each other’s alarms?“

Levi is the developer of the Love Alarm App and Hange is married to Zeke.

Link to cross-postings: AO3

Other Chapters: 1 2 3 4

The golf course was big, big enough that his Levi’s first instinct was to contemplate the size.

He had attempted quick calculations that got nowhere, only detailed enough for him to realize, golf courses were a total waste of space. They were large green spaces that could have held happy pedestrians, happy families and maybe a few more houses. Yet, they were areas which only housed a few players at a time.

And how many times had he repeated variations of that soft tirade to himself since they arrived there that morning?

Maybe he was being a little too harsh, he thought to himself a few times.

Then he realized, maybe he would have been nicer, if he had managed to shake off the last bouts of sleepiness having woken up at five in the morning. Maybe he would have been nicer if the grass didn’t crunch under him in such an unflattering manner. Maybe he would have been nicer if the only pair of shoes he had brought with him to the country club weren’t a clean shade of white.

And maybe he would have been nicer if golf wasn’t such a deceptively easy sport.

He would have definitely been nice if he had been in a better mood that morning. And maybe he would have been in a better mood if Zeke hadn’t been just a little too amused at his apparent discomforts.

He was sure the only thing he had to do was hit the ball with a golf club and hit it a few more times until he reached the hole. To hell with strokes and strategy, there was no winning against Zeke.

He wasn’t at all dispirited. He wasn’t an idiot either. It was a valid conclusion to stumble upon after realizing that hitting the small white ball balanced on a tee wasn’t as straightforward as they made it look on Youtube.

“Is this your first time playing Ackerman?” Zeke asked. He was definitely more cordial than yesterday. The past two minutes of accidentally hitting air instead of the ball though had Levi a little more perceptive of the minute movements on Zeke’s face, the sliver of a smile and the slight raise of eyebrows.

Next to him was Hange. He had a snuck a glance at her a few times and unfortunately, her expression was unreadable.

“I haven’t played in years,” Levi said. In fact, he had never played at all, let alone set foot on a golf course. After rambling on about tea time for the past few minutes, expressing genuine excitement at the prospect of ‘tea time,’ Levi realized he had two embarrassments to pick from. He could admit to having never played golf in his life and potentially lose brownie points with Hange or he could just subtly imply that maybe he hadn’t played for so long that he had gotten a little rusty.

Very rusty. Levi feigned a look of surprise and a nod of his head as he accidentally hit the air instead of the golf ball for the third time that morning.

The golf club was just a little too thin and the ball was just a little too round, Levi justified. And you never played golf in your life. His conscience reminded him.

“Maybe you should do some practice shots before you move on to the actual course,” Erwin suggested.

Levi had made two lucky yet still very sloppy shots. “It’s fine, I can keep playing,” he said. I just have to get my swing back. He would have added if guilt and shame hadn’t been such a looming emotion.

“Or you could try to do some practice swings before you hit the ball. It can help fix your aim,” Hange added, her tone was evidence enough of her good intentions.

Zeke shrugged. “Or you could just keep trying to hit. If you wanna waste your strokes on that, I see no problem with you swinging.”

“Waste… my strokes?” Levi asked. He had read on strokes that night. To win a golf tournament, the player had to hit the ball into all eighteen holes in the golf course.

It was a very simple sport which turned out to have more nuances than Levi had bothered to check the night before.

“Well, if you try to swing and miss the ball, that counts as one stroke,” Hange explained matter-of-factly.

“Wait… so that means I have other strokes… Aside from those I counted?”

“Ideally yes,” Zeke said. “By that confused look on your face, I’m assuming though that you haven’t been counting them.”

Levi’s eyes had been too wide and maybe he had been blinking just a little too fast. He looked down, pretending to focus on the small white ball in front of him. From his peripherals, he was watching Zeke. When he realized he had no control of his expression, he decided he wasn’t going to look up until Zeke looked away from him. “Should I be counting them?” Levi mustered.

“Ideally yes.” Zeke repeated, in the exact same tone as a second ago. “But you know Levi… if you haven’t played in a long time, then maybe we could allow you to make as many air shots as you want. It makes for some great practice. Think of it as training wheels on a bike or those floaties in a pool.”

“I don’t need a handicap.” I’m not a beginner. Levi would have added if the subtle weight of that white lie wasn’t hampering him at that moment.

“Well, I don’t wanna win against someone who is averaging scores way over par either,” Zeke said. “It’s not fun.”

“Over par?” Levi pulled his scoresheet out of his pocket. Until a moment ago, he had been proud of the fact that he had managed to hit the ball into the hole. The clack of the ball against the walls of the hole before it sank into the bottom had lightened his mood a bit. The woosh of the club, the sound of the bottom hitting the tea had been oddly satisfying.

At first glance, ‘over par’ had sounded like a compliment or something neutral at the least. The wry smile Hange had given him though had him nitpicking his scorecard.

“Well, the last five holes were par-three holes,” Hange said. She wasn’t lying, just below the table on Levi’s score card were a row of numbers next to the word ‘par.’

“Meaning any golfer worth their salt would finish them in three strokes,” Zeke added.

The numbers just above the three were all above tens and Levi had been proud of the eight, strangely proud. His mind had been petty enough to bring with it flashbacks of Erwin and Zeke hitting more than three strokes in some holes. The more logical side of his mind though was arguing two much more reasonable points. Firstly, Zeke and Erwin had never gone above ten strokes, he was sure of that. Secondly, they never completely missed the ball mid swing.

“Well, there’s still progress,” Hange came up from behind him and pointed at the scorecard. “You have a seventeen for the first hole… but the second ones are nearer to ten and look, you have an eight here,” Hange said pointing at the fourth column. She looked at Zeke and Erwin standing just a few feet away. “He’s just getting used to it. He’ll be fine.”

“Well, we still have thirteen more holes,” Erwin said. “You have a lot of time to get your swing back.”

Thirteen holes? Right, a full golf course had eighteen holes. He remembered reading about that. He didn’t expect to be completely exhausted after the first five though.

***

It didn’t get easier. In fact, it only got harder and the scorecard was a good guide. The numbers next to the word ‘par’ only got bigger and bigger the farther they walked and Levi was also starting to fear losing the ball among shrubs or having it just plop aimlessly into one of the bodies of water that were scattered across the greens.

If it falls, does someone have to swim in and get it? It was a ridiculous question to occupy himself with then. The country club was occupied by the richest of the rich, no one would bother to even get a golf ball that falls into a pond. Still, the past few holes had been nothing but surprises. Levi had admitted to himself early on that he was utterly lost. He was even starting to lose trust in his quick ability to deduce and answer such ridiculous questions. He was aware enough to know it was dumb enough to ask anyway.

“You’re making par-fives look easy. It’s definitely your years in the driving range paying off now.” Zeke was definitely not talking to him. His voice was too gentle, too reverent that for a good few moments, Levi almost believed it had been Erwin talking.

“Zeke mentioned that you had a good range,” Erwin said, making the contrast of Zeke and Erwin’s voice all the more distinct.

“It’s the closest thing we can get to golf back in the city,” Hange said. “Besides, it’s a good way to let off some…” She chose that moment to hit the ball with one fell swoosh, one flick of the wrist. “Steam!” For a few seconds after, she was breathing a little harder.

Although Levi tried, he could barely make out the white ball among the greens a good few yards away.

“You always had a lot of steam to let out,” Zeke quipped.

“And that’s why the driving range is my favorite part,” Hange said, a smile playing at her lips, her eyes narrowed and her nose wrinkled. And the object of such a cute and playful expression had been Zeke Jaeger. Still, it was a cute expression Levi had managed to enjoy from a distance.

Hange was smiling more. Her eyes were brighter and she was walking with longer, more confident strides than a while ago. As if she was in her natural habitat.

It had taken a little longer than a few minutes to catch up to the ball she had just thrown yards away. Levi was counting and everything happened a little too quickly. Hange got the hole in three solid strokes.

“An eagle! That’s your fourth bird today." Surprisingly, Zeke had the ability to be a bundle of pride, particularly when it was Hange next to him, and his arm was around her again.

"What can I say? I've been practicing," Hange responded.

Levi turned to the sky above him, searching the blue for some familiar shadow. No birds. Of course it would be a metaphor.

A metaphor which a half hour binge of golf videos did not prepare him for.

Levi was tempted to do a quick Google search then. His phone was safely tucked in his golf bag though and Hange had been too good of a view to miss.

The strides remained confident. Even crouched down dropping the ball on the tee, Hange had been domineering, confident. She continued to hit ball after ball in pounces and swishes.

Like an eagle. A condor. An albatross. All prowling, ready to swoop down at their prey.

The bird metaphors never ended. When Levi listened closely, he started to realize, Erwin and Zeke never actually stopped mentioning terms like eagles, birdies and boogies. When it was Hange’s turn to hit, Zeke was always mentioning a bird.

Birdies. Eagles. Albatrosses. “You think you can manage an ostrich?” Zeke asked. That was the first time Levi heard the word ostrich in the past few hours and such an ungraceful animal mentioned among all other graceful predators had him letting out a cough in surprise.

“You know, no one’s ever managed it. I’ve never done a condor in my life either,” Hange said.

“This is your last chance to get one for this course,” Zeke said.

“I’m not aiming for one,” Hange said.

Levi only had to look at the scorecard to realize that was their last hole for the day. He stared down a little lower to see a six under the empty box.

A par-six hole. So any golfer worth their salt would get the ball to the hole in six strokes. All the numbers next to the par were the numbers he should have been aiming for. Looking up at his own score, he was reminded that his numbers were usually twice or even thrice the numbers in the par row.

He thought back to Erwin, Zeke and Hange who had waited right behind him while he missed swings, missed holes when his balls were only inches away and concluded for himself that the numbers were a very reasonable estimate. He was still very much over par.

A below par golfer. It was a shitty joke. But.when the only thing keeping him following the three seasoned golfers was his self esteem that his been whittled at for hours, his mind was seeking comfort in the smallest yet most ridiculous things.

“Levi, you go first since you’re probably going to take more strokes anyway,” Zeke said.

Levi felt his hairs bristled at that. Zeke’s voice had been too near, too abrupt and Levi had been too busy surveying his surroundings for the flag.

Where is the hole? Levi opened his mouth to ask. The question died into a fake cough though when the red flickered for a second, just beyond the tall greens in front of him. “So, we get it to the other side of that?” He pointed one slightly shaky finger at the overgrowth in front of him.

Zeke shrugged. “Or you can go around it.”

“Going around might be a better idea,” Erwin said. “ He drew a half circle with his hand, tracing the trajectory of whatever ball he would probably be hitting. “Grass and trees might affect your swing.”

“You can hit a curveball.” The tone and the content of the suggestion framed it as almost good-intentioned advice. Zeke had narrowed his eyes at Levi as he said it.

Levi could barely even hit a decent ball. And you think I can do a curveball? He looked away from Zeke and at the more friendly landscape next to the mini forest. He wasn’t aiming for anything under par anyway.

Ending that damn course with remaining dignity would be nice and all he had to do was play it safe.

“You face your club a little to the left and swing to the right. It makes the ball spin.” Hange spoke up in the few second long silence.

Levi jumped at the abrupt yet mellow voice. A sound of the clack of metal and Levi instinctively looked down to find the ball had fallen off the tee. He bent down, ready to pick it up.

“Sorry, did I scare you?” Hange asked. Her movements weren’t helping to calm Levi down either. Whether she had even noticed it or not, when she had crouched down next to Levi. And her presence had come out of nowhere, a phantom in his peripherals, just like the her voice of a while ago that Levi found himself having to keel over, placing one hand on the floor just to avoid tripping over.

The ball started to roll further away. Hange was quick to catch it. “Yeah, you seem pretty jumpy today. It really has been a while since you played huh?” She placed the ball on the tee. “A curveball will save you the hazard of going into the forest or going too far right instead of forward,” she explained.

“Maybe you should teach him how to swing the club first before teaching him to curve the ball,” Zeke chided.

“He had enough holes to practice. Who knows, he might just make it under par for the last one,” Hange said.

“On a par-three hole maybe, not for a par-six one.” Erwin shook his head, a ghost of a playful smile on his face.

“Either way, we’re used to waiting for him to finish anyway,” Zeke said. “We had seventeen holes to get used to it.”

I can at least try. In response, whatever was left of Levi’s dignity echoed Hange’s last few pieces of advice. Club facing left, swing to the right. Words weren’t the best guide though. Levi only realized it for himself when his mind went on overdrive.

Which left? Whose left? Which right? Whose right? He could have sworn Hange had been in front of him for a second. And what is the point of coordinating all these movements? He concluded, there were things he would only ever learn through doing.

And his body hadn’t still even gotten used to the flick of his wrist, the unnatural weight of the golf club and the need to make sure the club actually hit the ball. He had been thinking everything at once in that split second it had taken to hit the ball. At the same time, he had managed to face his club left, swing a little to the right.

Or he could have sworn he did. In that split second, Levi lost sight of the ball. He stared at the sky for a few seconds before deciding, it probably wasn’t there. He turned to the flat land to his right, no white specks either.

He heard the beginnings of a laugh just behind him.

Zeke’s laugh. “You really hit your ball there huh?”

“Is it out of bounds?” Levi asked, stifling whatever emotion was creeping out of him. It turned out much easier to just keep his voice monotone.

“Well, technically it’s not. It’s still playable,” Erwin said. “But if you look at the terrain…”

When Levi squinted he saw it, beyond the greens was a little dirty brown then just beyond it the speck of red.

“You’re years too early for an exhibition, Levi,” Zeke said.

“I think it’s playable.” Hange’s voice probably wasn’t the voice of reason but it was a source of comfort though.

She pulled a club from her golf bag and positioned herself to hit her own ball. She did a few practice swings, biting her lower lip in concentration.

Her motions were coming out, disjointed, so stark of a contrast from a while ago that Levi clearly recalled her own seamless movements until that moment. Her own hit had ended with her swinging position just a little too loose, the ball flying aimlessly a good few feet above him then the soft rustle of trees.

Hange looked back at them, a light shrug of defeat. Or acceptance. Her shrug had been too much of a big ham though to have been anything worth pitying. “I guess I’ll be playing through the forest too,” she said.

***

“You know there’s a time limit to finding your ball,” Hange said.

It was definitely an attempt to make conversation. Since they entered the forest, Hange had been seemingly restless, she was hummed, she tutted. Only when Levi grunted in return did that little exchange even become somewhat more coherent.

“Well, then I lose,” Levi said.

“No, you don’t get disqualified if you don’t find it. You just get a stroke penalty and you can start---”

“Well, I think I’m done for the day anyway.” That admission was enough to pull some of the weight off of his shoulders. When it was just Hange there, somehow it had been easier to hint, he wasn’t at all enjoying his morning.

For a few seconds longer, they were silent, save for the rustle of the crunch of the leaves below, the rustle of branches. Hange could have been making a sound. If the raising of eyebrows, the pursing of lips and the shifting of features into a wide smile could have counted as one.

He didn’t have the leeway to think too much into it though. Before he could stare and contemplate for a while longer, Hange broke the silence. “I’m guessing you actually never played golf.” She was saying it too gleefully like she had just caught him stealing a cookie from a cookie jar.

He had feared Hange seeing right through him until that moment. Such an exchange had come out almost anticlimactic. “You’re right. I never did. I grew up in the city and we don’t get a lot of golf courses in the city and country club memberships are expensive.”

“Why did you say you did? And you seemed so excited…” Hange trailed off. There was a disappointment in her tone, apparent enough to send a dull stab of guilt through him.

Levi sighed. “I thought of tea time not tee time,” he admitted.

“Tea time?” Hange asked.

Levi put his finger to his mouth, putting one pinky up in emphasis. “Tea time.”

Hange put the a cup made of air to her mouth in response. The raised pinky must have done the trick. “Like cups and kettles and shortbread tea time?” She asked.

Levi let out a deep sigh. “That would have been nice.”

“You should have told me! We could have organized one.”

“Really? Under Zeke’s sponsorship?”

“Well we have one more night here so what about after we go to the beach this afternoon. I can call the house have them prepare something---”

“Zeke is paying. I’d rather not…”

“Believe me, he’ll be in a good mood after this.”

Levi raised one eyebrow. “Really? After this?”

“He’s beating Erwin,” Hange said. “And Zeke likes winning if you haven’t noticed.” She stopped on her tracks and leaned back on the tree.

Levi only had to look back at the chess matches and the mahjong matches to see the truth in Hange’s explanation. “How’s your score?”

Hange pulled out her scorecard and handed it to him. His first instinct was to stare once again at the par numbers below before looking up again at the numbers on top. The view was definitely new to him. His own had been filled with two digit numbers at the top, double or even triple the par. Hange’s scorecard was clean, all one digit numbers, rarely above five. “He’s beating Erwin but he’s not beating me,” she admitted.

Levi only realized a second later that his jaw dropped. He moved to close his mouth. Zeke had been loud, his presence glaring. Erwin had been silent but he had given too much unsolicited advice that Levi had watched more closely begrudgingly counting the number of strokes.

Hange though had been silent, she had been focused on hitting the ball and although she had given advice, she had been subtle, she had been soft spoken about it.

Then he remembered the terms. Boogey. Birdy. Eagle. “Zeke told me you got an ‘eagle’”

“Eagle. Two strokes under par. I got one over here,” Hange said, pointing at a three.”And I got some ‘birdies.’” Levi didn’t do his research but the quick deduction that came with staring at the par numbers and Hange’s own numbers just one below par were enough for him to figure it for himself. “So you’ve been playing for a while.”

“I played this course a lot. I’d go alone when Zeke’s busy,” Hange said. “Sometimes when we’re back in the city, I’d go to the driving range to---”

“To let off some steam.”

Hange nodded. “Well Zeke spends a lot of time working, thinking about investments, stocks…. And Married life gets stressful. Sometimes, it gets surprisingly lonely.”

“You have your own thing going on though right? You have research, investments…”

“Definitely, but I can’t even count the number of times Zeke takes me here, only to ditch for a meeting or another emergency,” Hange said. “So it’s nice to be here with other people. Thanks for coming,” she added, her voice much softer than a while ago.

“Thanks for being patient with a newbie.”

Hange put her hands up in surprise. “No, I’m happy to be playing here,” she said. “You know, the many times Zeke and I played this course together, he never went this route for the final hole.”

“Have you?” Levi asked.

By the way Hange was navigating just a little too confidently, Levi realized he didn’t need a verbal answer.

Hange was still kind enough to supply one. “I told you right? I played this course too many times to count…” She walked ahead. “Our balls went to the same area, past the forest and you’ll see at the end of this why Zeke refuses to play here.”

Levi continued to follow, pushing leaves, branches and undergrowth back when necessary. The way the branches had given way to a glistening blue had been an almost breathtaking site.

“If your ball gets stuck in the forest, then you can’t usually go full swing to get it out. But if you swing too weakly, the ball will fall into the lake,” Hange explained. “And you waste a stroke. And a really good ball.”

“If it falls in?”

“We use a provisional ball and we get a stroke penalty. And of course, we lose the ball.” Hange answered. “I’ve lost enough balls here.”

“And Zeke never tried this path?”

“Zeke likes winning,” Hange said, her tone as deadpan as it was the first time she said it. “But the way he goes about winning is like...He’s always been smart about it, always playing safe. And it’s not just in games. He has always approached life like that. His investments are always blue chip, commodities, healthcare. Things which would never fail. And if you’ve seen how he plays, he’ll never go for something risky, like this.” Hange held her hands wide in front of her in emphasis. “He’ll skirt around the forest, even if it takes him an extra two strokes.”

“A conservative husband. At least you know you’ll never go hungry.” That response had been automatic. He had been a little too playful then, trying to elicit a reaction from the already frustrated looking Hange.

Hange let out a grand sigh, something that could have been a scream if she put more voice into it. “Yeah and you’re just as conservative as he is.”

“Am I?” Levi raised one eyebrow, a challenge at that one comment. On the inside though, maybe he was slightly insulted.

Hange didn’t notice it. She probably hadn’t even heard him. She dropped the golf bag and walked ahead towards the edge of the lake. “I found one of our golf balls!” She waved one hand back at him, too giddily that Levi was tempted to walk on ahead, just stopping where the sand started to soak up the water.

“We’re still in the game, Levi.” Hange said, a toothy grin clambered up her cheeks.

No. Levi thought to himself. Those words never made it to his lips. Or maybe it did, just as something else.“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Hange had bent down and started unlacing her shoes. “Why?”

“Why are you gonna get yourself dirty? You can just use a provisional ball and you can just go around the lake.”

Hange took a break from unlacing her shoes, and put a hand up in front of him as if to say ‘case in point.’ “Conservative.”

“Why, what’s wrong with conservative?”

In a begrudgingly effective response, Hange wildly kicked off one shoe and it flew just a good few inches from the banks. “I told you yesterday, games teach things right?”

And sometimes they expose parts of ourselves. Levi completed that last part in his head.

If he had ended up muttering it out loud, Hange probably didn’t hear it. “ Games are problems that need to be solved,” she started. “And life is the same way, stocked with problems, or maybe it’s a constant problem that needs to be navigated and solved right?”

Levi didn’t respond. Hange didn’t seem to be looking for a response either and she continued to speak. “People will always master their commonly used thinking processes and problem solving processes and they rely too easily on them. Zeke and his stocks. Zeke and his business ventures. And Levi Ackerman and his programming,” She cocked her head back and looked at him, her expression a big ham. She kicked her other shoe to the other side.

“What about my programming?” Levi asked.

“Oh a user interface problem? It’s a front end issue. Oh it’s a problem with the server data? It’s a back end issue.” For that moment, Hange had changed her tone, her verbal tics, and Levi could only come up with one conclusion: she was mocking him.

He was sure he didn’t sound like that though. “I didn’t know you understood coding.”

“I don’t,” Hange said. “But I did my research because we’re gonna be working together right? Anyway, the point is, sure, you’re an efficient thinker that way. Everyone is an efficient thinker when they’re thinking in shortcuts and clearcut processes. Don't you think people lose a lot of opportunities to learn something a little more life changing, to achieve something more when they stick to all these strict processes?” Hange grabbed one of the more rounded clubs from her bag. “By the way, this is a driver,” she said.

A driver, a golf club used for long distance hits. Levi at least remembered that much from researching. “I knew that.”

“Well, I thought I might as well give you a few lessons. We’re gonna be working together so I thought I’d tell you how I like to work, Levi.” Hange cocked her head back and smiled. “When we look into this application, you might find a bug. But I asked you… what if it’s working as expected? What if it’s a matter of flawed data?”

“That’s what we’ll be investigating right?”

“But I don’t wanna start this investigation with assumptions. We’re creating an extension of your application, we’re gonna be breaking down the application to data, sensations and feelings. I feel like we’ll be able to do a better job at finding the ‘bug’ if we keep an open mind about it. So I want us to ask and answer questions we were scared to even probe,” Hange said. She stepped into the water, driver in hand.

Levi could only watch, starting from the bottom, watching as her pants turned a darker shade of blue, as the water creeped up her hastily and shoddily folded cuffs.

“Questions like?” Levi already had the question, tucked in his mind. He wasn’t the one married. He wasn’t the one with the billionaire husband. That wasn’t his question to ask.

Fortunately, Hange had been eager to probe. “What if we’re just attracted to each other? As simple as that. What if… the love alarm is just telling us, we really could get along?”

It was the easiest answer and somehow, such an admission had Levi admiring everything at once. The sun after the rain was brightest, it reflected the water in various ways, emitting too many colors at once.

And Hange was in the middle of it all. The sun, the gleaming water had done their job to make her just a little too iridescent, a feast for even his eyes.

His eyes still had a conscience though. “Don’t you wanna figure out why it didn’t ring with Zeke?”

Hange shrugged. “I am curious… but really, love is a complex thing. Why would I let an application tell me who I love or don’t love? No matter how the application rings, it wouldn’t change how I feel about Zeke.”

Hange turned her back on him then and Levi was at least grateful he had that one second to let out a hitched breath. “Then I guess, you really know how to love, Hange,” he whispered, mostly for himself and maybe, in the infinitesimally small chance Hange was listening.

She had gone deeper into the water, the water starting to tickle at her shins. She stopped, positioning her club just a little into the water. Wish me luck. She mouthed.

And everything went quickly after that. One flick of the wrist, a splash of water, a lot of mud. Levi didn’t even have time to watch the ball fly. Maybe because he had been watching the bluish drops, the brown drops hovering in the air and Hange in the middle of it all for a few split seconds longer.

Everything suddenly slowed down when he was looking at the minute details, when he was watching how the drops of water flew high enough to smack lightly at her face, how the grime practically slapped at her neck and the way the drops of water and mud hung heavy on her shirt, down to her bottoms.

She wasn’t looking back yet. She put a hand to her forehead as if they were a pair of binoculars only she knew how to use. She let out a cheer, a howl in amazement as if she was the one who didn’t just send a ball flying from the water. “ I think the ball made it to the green,” she said

She turned back at him so excitedly that the water continued to splash.

Levi instinctively stepped back. “You’re a fucking mess. It’s disgusting.” He was sure he had sounded a little abrasive.

Hange’s smile wasn’t falling though. “Then why are you smiling?”

“Am I?” Levi asked. The smile tugged at his lips and he wasn’t compelled at all to resist.

He declared it Hange’s win. Besides, maybe she was right. Maybe they could really get along.

***

There was an albatross pecking by the sand, only a few feet from Levi. It was an ugly bird, the beak too long, too crooked and when it stared at him with its deep black eyes, Levi could have sworn it was peering into his soul.

It was mildly terrifying but still, Levi continued to stare just to make sure the few seconds of googling an albatross, and his own natural instinct were correct. That it was an albatross.

“Why are you staring at the bird?” It was a cold yet seemingly innocent question. It was just like his direct superior though to have him so self conscious over one simple action with just one question.

“It’s an albatross,” Levi answered, only realizing a second later he hadn’t answered the question.

Or maybe that was the answer to the question. “So a small game of golf was enough to have you interested in birds.”

“I just did some research on albatrosses after the game."

"Is this about Hange?"

"Zeke was screaming about an albatross during the game,” Levi said.

“Albatross, three strokes below par. Hange got that par-six hole in three strokes,” Erwin explained.

“Yeah, she did.”

“So it is about Hange.”

Levi didn’t say anything, instead, focusing on the conglomeration of unpleasant sensations bombarding him. He shifted his knees, and his bottom, letting the beach blanket bristle from underneath him. Just a little hyper aware then, he picked out the grains of sand rising as little bumps, digging into him.

When he held his chin high, instead of focusing on the ground underneath, he still couldn’t shift himself into something perfectly agreeable. The sticky air, the sour, flaky scent that lingered there were unshakeable discomforts. Levi could have sworn that although he hadn’t even gone near enough to the ocean to get wet, the humid ocean air would still find a way to leave him wet and sticky.

“What do you think of her?” Erwin asked.

“Think of who?”

“Hange.”

Erwin’s question had been enough to pull Levi from his quick trance of running through all the downsides of the beach trip. Those downsides were quickly replaced by another discomfort. Suddenly, Levi was uncomfortable inside and out. “Why would you ask that?”

“Well, you’re gonna be working close to her so I just wanted to make sure you two were compatible.”

Compatible. That word had Levi coughing out the ocean air. “Well our love alarms rang so maybe that means we could get along, work efficiently together.”

“Just don’t get Zeke angry,” Erwin said.

“Why would I do that?”

“Keep him in a good mood.”

But were Zeke's good moods even predictable? “Well, Hange is his partner and he seems particularly happy when she's around,” Levi said.

“He was in a good mood today, particularly after a match, spent a good few minutes talking about how you lost your ball.”

Levi never did find the ball that flew into the forest. Although he had a provisional and he could have played on, somehow following Hange’s own play had been much more entertaining. “Hange told me he likes winning,” Levi said.

“Particularly against you,” Erwin noted, one eyebrow raised.“You know, when Hange followed you into the woods, he seemed like he was in a bad mood for a while there.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Zeke is an important customer, an important opportunity for this application and I want to make sure he’s happy with his investment.”

“Yes, Hange and I will work on a good product.”

“It’s not just that,” Erwin said. “With the amount of money Zeke is putting into this product, try to keep this in mind, if he wants something, he gets it. Don’t make him want to pull out the money.”

Erwin was dancing around definitions for sure. He was emphasizing words, dropping hints and he was staring at Levi like there was something else he had wanted to say but was stopping himself.

If Zeke wants something, he gets it. Erwin had mentioned.

He was a reasonable man though so it didn’t seem too radical of a decision for Levi to amend the statement on his end. If Zeke wants something within reason, he gets it.

All he had to do was keep Zeke happy. A hauntingly difficult task especially when the blonde had proved to be incredibly disagreeable the few times he had known him.

Don't you think people lose a lot of opportunities to learn something a little more life changing, to achieve something more when they stick to all these strict processes?

Then he was reminded, pleasing Zeke didn’t have to be a strict process of sucking up to him. Levi was starting to see it for himself when the conversation deadened into nothing, save for the squawk of the ocean birds and the splash of the waves on the shore.

When there was nothing more to discuss, Erwin fell back on his beach blanket. Within a few minutes, he was silent. Levi wasn’t as tired. He probably would have fallen asleep though if the two figures at the distance hadn’t caught his eye.

One blonde, one brunette. He only needed the height difference, the familiar colored bathing suits from a while ago to figure out for himself who they were.

Hange was much easier to pick out. The enthusiasm, the inquisitiveness he had gotten used to overtime was apparent in the way she managed to scurry across the shores before falling thigh deep into the water. She was pointing at something under.

From next to her, Zeke dove to get it, pulling out a large shell. Then they were talking. Hange held the shell in her hand, raised it up to the sky.

It could have been gleaming, glittering. Levi was too far to tell. By the way, Hange waves her hands up before holding it in front of Zeke, Levi was sure it was beautiful.

A few minutes may have passed of just watching the couple trudge through hip deep water.

The peaceful moment was abruptly interrupted by a man in a beach polo and board shorts, running towards the shore, one hand held high. “Mr. Jaeger! Someone from the board of directors of…” He continued to talk, to shout. He was running as he spoke and Levi never picked up the last few parts of that conversation.

That wasn’t his business anyway. There were more important things though, more fitting of the name “his business.”

Like the way Hange’s mouth dropped, perceptible despite the distance between them. The way she had slowed down to a stop, shell still in hand.

They made it back to the shallower part of the beach together only separating after one kiss to Hange’s forehead. Zeke went ahead in land, seeming particularly restless.

And Hange? She sat down at the edge of the shore, where the water was still deep enough to cover her feet. She pulled her legs to her chest, held them close. The shell lay forgotten on her side.

By the time Levi was close enough to see it, the shell had disappeared, most likely taken back by the ocean. “Hey, was there something you wanted to see?”

Pleasing Zeke didn’t have to be a strict process. It didn’t have to be the strict daunting process of sucking up to a disagreeable man. He concluded that for himself when he allowed the burst of energy to wash through him then, when Hange looked up at him, a wide grin decorating her lips.

Someone was precious to Zeke. It was very much apparent back in the pool, back in the golf course and then and there, on the shores.

And if I make her happy, by extension, I make Zeke happy right?

“Zeke and I were planning on checking out the albatross colony, just over there past that rock,” Hange said. “There are usually seagulls at this time of year too.”

“I can come with you.”

Hange’s eyes widened. “Really? You didn’t seem excited when I mentioned the ocean yesterday.”

Levi had been polite. “Did I seem not excited?”

“Well, you wrinkled your nose like this.” Hange made a ridiculous face, crossing her eyes, raising her nose a little too high, Levi could have sworn he had never made that expression that in his life. Hange continued. "And when we arrived, you stayed as far away as you could and you had that same face.

Levi didn’t have much control of his expressions and maybe he was a little too unsure. The water was deep enough to eat at his feet but still shallow enough that Levi had full control of his movements.

The ocean was dirty, disgusting. It was a confluence of biological waste. But the ocean had Hange. The ocean made Hange happy.

Suddenly, Levi was self conscious of his own expression then. Just in case, he pulled his mouth up to a subtle smile, making a conscious effort to soften his expression. In the end, it hadn’t been too much of a feat.

Hange’s own smile, her wide eyes had made everything all the easier. “You wanna see the albatross colonies?” she asked.

“Sure, We don’t come here often anyway.”

“You’ll definitely not get this back in the city. The magic about this island is… there’s not a lot of beachgoers so we’re able to preserve a lot of nature.” Hange walked ahead, looking back only long enough to grip his hand.

She walked further into the ocean and the wind could have gotten stronger. It whipped at her damp hair, blowing it in all directions at once. The fishy smell of the ocean rode with the wind and Levi found himself blinking hard a few times while willing himself to move forward.

Hange was moving faster than Levi ever had been. She was more than a few feet away already and the distance between them was only getting wider and wider.

He could have been distracted or maybe he had just been convinced that if he walked on, he would eventually catch up to her. He didn’t pay heed to the water that smacked at his chest, until he had to taste it. Not until he had to flail his hands just to keep moving forward, against the current.

“Hange!” By the time, he had thought it necessary to call out, Hange was too far. For sure, she didn’t hear him. Levi was starting to question himself though. How could she hear him when there was a wall of water between them? How could she hear him when water was finding its way into his mouth every single time he had attempted to call out?

He was starting to find it difficult to even open his mouth. He was finding it difficult to kick, to flail his arms. HIs chest was screaming. The few moments he tried to open his eyes, to take stock of the situation, he was met with a stinging pain.

A few times, he tried to kick up ahead to the surface. Once or twice, he had opened his eyes despite the stinging pain, long enough to see the sky above him.

Was he drowning? He was drowning in the world’s bathroom, a conglomeration of shit and piss. It was a horrible way to go out and as much as possible, he would have wanted to go out in other less disgusting ways. So Levi continued to flail towards the top, kicking from underneath. He continued to scream, or at least attempt to scream past the bombardment of seawater that made it past his mouth and to his lungs.

The ocean smelled fear. Maybe it smelled disgust. It continued to advance towards him. Any reprieve Levi managed to find, any attempt to stay a float, back first on the surface was met with waves lapping at him, riptides dragging him from all directions at once.

Levi!

Was it Hange? Or was it the ocean? When everything came accompanied by whooshes, gurgles and bubbling, Levi never could be too sure.

Still, he continued to kick. He continued to wave his arms, until his lungs let out their last cry. Until all sensations whittled to unknowns.

And all he could see was darkness.

***

Hey, can you hear me?

The ocean had been warm, so warm that Levi didn’t even know his insides were cold until air filled his mouth, whizzing down his throat. Awareness came like a flicker then two many lights at once.

And in the middle of it all, it could have been Hange. He liked to think it was Hange. Her damp hair were tendrils that caressed at his neck, her voice drumming yet faint.

Hey, hey, can you see me? Blink twice if you can.

Levi wasn’t in control of his body. He didn’t think too much of it though, he had a good view right in front of him, albeit a little blurry.

Stop moving. Although he couldn’t say it out loud, he was sure he said it loud enough in his mind. Still, something was shaking him, his vision was topsy turvy, the lights continued to move left and right, then up and down in some pattern he couldn’t even comprehend.

The lights were bright, dizzying. Instinctively Levi shut his eyes. In the darkness that followed, maybe he lost track of time, of some sort of rhythm without the lights to guide him. The familiar sensation came as something abrupt. He noticed the contours first, the lines that brushed against his own lips, settling on his upper lip, then just a little bit above his jaw.

Then he tasted them. They were salty and they brought with it more surprises. More air that brushed past the walls of his mouth, to the back of his throat then they washed down to his lungs. More air. And they did their job to aggravate whatever other unwelcome concoctions had settled in his airway

Awareness had come like a flicker. Consciousness came as a slap in his face, then everything at once. There was a pain in his chest, from the shaking.

His view was a dark yet glistening blue. The ocean? But how long had he been staring at the ocean. He could have sworn that he was watching Hange just a while ago.

“Just let it out Levi.” Her voice was grating. And Levi wondered why he was even looked at her. Everything hurt at once, and when Levi stared at the water, the notable puddle just next to him, comprehension washed over him, first as a flicker, a slap in the face then a large wall of water, a monster in the sea.

He could have been drowning again.

What the fuck. It would have been nice to be able let out a taut swear. After all, when he was barely moving, the aches and pains bunched up inside him. Everything came out as a gurgle, then more salt water.

“You almost drowned out there,” Hange said, an attempt at comforting for sure. Levi wasn’t at all comforted though.

Not by her voice at least. Something was caressing at his neck, pushing his hair behind his ear. It took him a few seconds longer, and a soft motion guiding his head back up, back to looking straight up at the sky, for Levi to put two and two together.

The sky was the background. Hange was the centerpiece. A centerpiece of relief and exhaustion, framed by hair much damper. Those were enough hints.

You saved me? He had tried to mouth it.

Whether Hange had heard it or not, he couldn’t do much to assume but he focused on the way she licked her lips, the way she bit them before settling for a weak smile. He focused on the way the lines on her lips stuck out a little more when dry.

And it just had been a little easier to recall them right on top of his.

So you did save me. He couldn’t spare much words but he did manage to spare a smile.

Hange didn’t return it. By the time Levi was confident enough to have sworn he was smiling, Hange had already looked away. “He’s responsive,” she said, her voice more distant than a second ago.

“Hange, let a professional take over.” Zeke’s voice penetrated into that tiny world that had been just the both of them.

“You have to be careful, I might have bruised a few ribs.” Suddenly, Hange’s voice was getting softer and softer.

As if Zeke had intruded just to pull her out. He sought solace in the fact that she was Zeke’s after all. That was only the expected outcome.

For a while all he saw was blue sky. Then unfamiliar faces. Then others were asking questions. Way too many questions. It was just a little too overwhelming that Levi could only force his eyelids shut.

He let the darkness take over, then his other four senses. Then soon, he could have been dreaming again. The contours, the dry scabby lines at his upper lip, at his lower lip, brushing just a little lower. He was certain, in those split second long moments, her lips were on his.

Soft but chapped. Salty but sweet. Maybe he spared a few seconds, a few glimmers of scarce energy to lick at his lips just to taste it again.

Reason bared its fangs. She did it to save your life. She’s married. He scolded himself.

Soon, he was barely aware of anything but blackness. And the salty and sweet, the soft and dry danced for a little longer in his dreams.

Still, a part of him continued to whisper. Not in your wildest dreams.

“Not in your wildest dreams, Levi.” A soft mutter only he could have heard. It was only for him anyway since he needed to hear it himself to believe it.

[vuelie-frost]

Frozen Broadway 2.16.20. Caissie and Patti’s last show.

Okay, I'm finally able to write a rundown of the show. 

Note that I'm not experienced in writing about Broadway shows- mostly because I've only seen a handful- and I apologize in advance if this comes off kitschy or redundant. Theatre is a foreign world to me, so I observe as an outsider. I mostly want to write this just to immortalize the experience, but via Tumblr I can share it (to the best of my ability) with you all! - My seat was ORCH row A, which is second row, in the right section.

- I went by myself (took the weekend as a "mini vacation" to NYC)

- I did see this show last May with Caissie & Patti, and although it's been almost a year, I do have a "normal" performance to compare it to. Mattea Conforti was right outside the door as I walked in, talking to a doorman. I realized later when exiting that a small slew of the previous young Annas and Elsas were in attendance too- they were sitting a few rows behind me. Waiting for the show to begin, I heard a lot of chatter around me regarding Caissie & Patti finishing their runs. Everyone seemed to be here intentionally for this night. A lot of young adults & older teens (?) in my vicinity. Kids too, as expected, but the number of adults was notable. As soon as the first few notes of that orchestral Vuelie hit, I started to tear up. It literally crashes into the theatre with a swell of vocal harmonies and percussive beats. It's hard to not be overwhelmed. Vuelie has always had this effect on me. It's like it's saying "Come, let me tell you this story." I was reminded of Hadestown and the motif of repetition, how we listen to the same stories over and over again even if we know the end. I wonder why that is. The first scenes with the little girls ran like clockwork- they're brilliant and funny. I remained teary through this whole sequence, because it's just childlike happiness and wholeness before everything goes to shit. Knowing what's going to happen, it just grips your empathy. And then Patti took the stage. Patti entered to the darkened back of the stage as the scenes were shifting between young Anna & adult Anna, which means her entrance itself didn't garner applause. But as soon as that spotlight hit her, it was an uproar. Wild applause. Standing ovation. The music stopped- it had to- no one could have heard it anyway. Tears visible in her eyes, she just looked out and straight ahead. Her face was flushed. It was evident she was emotional & didn't try to suppress it fully, but had to maintain some composure to get through the scene. She kept nodding slightly and pressing her hand to her chest, acknowledging us. This almost broke me. She knew. But she had a job to do, a few lines to sing (which she did perfectly DESPITE CRYING.) Eventually when it quieted she sang. The door swiveled. The light hit Caissie. All over again, a thundering standing ovation. This is where Caissie's brilliance lies, because she was borderline stoic while waiting for us to finish applauding. She gazed out at us for awhile, eventually shifting her focus upward and to her left, and to the door behind her. I don't think she smiled- she might have nodded once or twice. She waited. The emotionality displayed by Patti, which we all love for its honesty, was foiled by Caissie's ability to hold it together, which we love for its professionalism. (Don't even get me started on how in-character these contrasting displays were. I could go on and on about how these women match their characters so beautifully.)

From that second, something shifted in the audience. We were no longer spectators, we were participants in blurring the fourth wall. Not that we heckled or were addressed directly by the company. But we came alive. The actresses knew. We knew. We shared that unspoken sentiment. The show continued.

I don't have specific examples here because it's only something you can observe, but it was very obvious that both women were putting 110% into this performance. I understand sometimes in performance art that for self-preservation or focus, you make minor changes to how lines are said, or the emphasis of certain words, or how your facial expressions change. Sometimes you hold back a bit. Caissie and Patti went all out. Their acting was never compromised. Patti's hilarity as Anna hit every punchline perfectly. Caissie's portrayal of nervousness and fear was so believable. I also wish I could have captured every moment they looked at each other. I mostly saw Caissie's face from my perspective, but the way they look at each other is genuine. I get the sense they have this unspoken communication between them after doing the show so many times together. Dangerous to Dream was beautiful per always, and at the moment Patti kneels upstage, I again saw tears glimmering in her eyes. How this woman can do a whole show so obviously affected and STILL NAILING IT is genius. At the end of Love is an Open Door, Patti and Joe took a moment to just grin wildly at each other and grip each other's arms and bear-hug. I didn't realize this was Joe's last show as well, so it was their last duet of that song. Let it Go was spellbinding. Caissie took every opportunity to option up not just on the final few notes (which have been unfortunately bootlegged, and you've probably heard already) but in tiny points along the whole song. She actually did this with all her songs. If there was a half step variation she could do, she did it. It was remarkable. You get the sense she was having fun, trying to engage us. I remember an interview where she once said on certain shows or nights if she's feeling up to it, she likes to give the audience a little something extra. This was THE night. As she walked back before the dress change, I could feel people around me suddenly shift to get a better view. We all knew and we all wanted to see it. In a recent interview she said she just stands there and braces. You wouldn't know it- it looks effortless. The nanosecond the dress changed: standing ovation. This is where she started really grinning wildly and belting her lungs out. She was at the foot of center stage, riffing and optioning up a storm. Her expression was so joyous. She's said before that this is her favorite part of the show. Every time she optioned up (which was like, each one of the last four notes) there was a massive wave of cheers and applause. I expected her to do maybe one or two. She did four or five. And keep in mind this was her SECOND SHOW OF THE DAY. The song ends abruptly with her turning around with a swish of her cape & the lights going nearly out, and I get the sense that the thunderous applause wanted to keep going because we wanted her to SEE us. We wanted to face her and give her the recognition. We wanted to stop the show like in the beginning and show her how much she means to us, and how honored we are to hear her last Let it Go. But the choreography doesn't let that happen, because immediately the lights come back up for intermission, and she's gone. I wonder if she secretly likes that sequence, as Caissie seems to be the kind of person whose humility doesn't let her drink in compliments or praise. She was able to give us everything she had, and then disappear. Such an Elsa move. Monster had some riffs (which is not in any way disappointing because Caissie gave us 200% in Let it Go, which was enough to satiate me for years) but I did want to mention one in particular. If you watched Jelani's backstage videos on YouTube from the first few months of the show, he does this segment where he gets Caissie to riff. She does one from Monster for the line "Would that take the storm away/Or only make it grow." I'm not going to try and phonetically replicate it, but that. She did that. I was hoping she would, as it's one of my favorite variations of hers, and she did. I was ecstatic. The finale song is where Patti started crying again and from the moment they started walking backstage to the rising platform, it was applause all around. In that sequence they're facing away from the audience and I can only imagine the exchange- spoken or unspoken- between them. They did it. Their run was over. There are a few lines at the end that may just be me projecting, but they felt poignant in how Caissie delivered them & her expression looking at Patti (again, Patti was facing away from me, so I didn't catch her expression.) I get the sense they had a triple meaning, as they not only marked the end of the show but represent sentiments two sisterly women would have.

"The magic one is you." (This is perhaps my favorite line in the whole song.) "Let the sun shine on" "Let's fill this world with light and love/And now surrounded by a family at last/We're never going back, the past is in the past." The final "let it go" line in the song Caissie looked joyous. She was all smiles. She grinned at Patti. There was a look of pride in her eyes. At bows, apparently Caissie and Patti have this tradition where they say “I love you” at the front of the stage before bowing. I could only see Caissie, but she mouthed “I love you” to Patti with such a big smile and so much happiness. If Caissie cried at all prior to bows & acknowledgements, I didn't notice it. It's possible she's just very very good at hiding it. Even during Robert, Bobby, and Kristin talking at the very end, she only wiped her eyes once or twice. (I won't recount this part very much because many people filmed it and you can watch it yourselves. I've seen it on Instagram, though I haven't browsed Tumblr for it yet.) Patti, of course, could not hide her feelings. Caissie kept hugging her and squeezing her and holding her hand during all the kind words. At once point she wiped her thumb on Patti's cheek. Patti is a treasure. I have to respect the woman for being brave enough to show all of herself to us, even if it was involuntary. And I need to reiterate that she did the whole show perfectly even while crying & feeling a lot of feelings. She's a rockstar. Caissie, while fielding a slew of compliments from Robert & Kristin, would every once in awhile look down and do a funny little shake of her head. I get the sense she has a hard time accepting praise. Knowing she’s such a perfectionist at heart, she was probably internally fighting back with reasons why she didn’t deserve those kind words. I get it. It doesn’t matter how successful you are, you will always focus on the things you didn’t do or didn’t do enough. For someone of her caliber, it’s utterly fascinating to watch her humility.  One last thing I want to point out. I mentioned earlier that from the moment of our first standing ovation, the atmosphere in the crowd changed. We went from spectators to a living, breathing mass. It was electric. Once you felt the gravity of the cheers and claps and whoops, you realized what you were part of. I heard from a reviewer on Twitter that he hadn't been part of such a lively audience-performer relationship since the closing show of In the Heights. Because that's what was different about last night. We crossed some sort of line where the art itself was no longer performance, but we partook in it. There's something really holy about the invisible exchange between performers and the spectators. Frozen is a masterpiece on its own, and we were all blessed to watch it. But when art becomes a give-take exchange of feelings, emotes, cathartic impulses, and unspoken communication, it becomes something new entirely. This was no ordinary night. Caissie and Patti gave all of themselves to us, and we knew, and we answered back. It felt alive in a way I didn't realize theatre could feel. The fourth wall ceased to exist, but only because both sides dissolved it. It wasn't direct. It wasn't obvious. No exchange of words indicated it. We just felt it and knew. They did too. It was an honor to take up space in the St James last night. I haven’t stopped thinking about it, and I will never forget it.

[backtothestart02]

25 Days of Westallen Fanfiction: Day 19 - A Day in the Life

A/N: I changed the title so it wouldn’t be repetitive with the synopsis. It also allows this to be a multi-chap potentially in the future of different scenarios of WA being cute parents in love. Enjoy this installment for now.

Dedication: @tooold-toship​ - a little late since her birthday was on Christmas Eve, but here you go, hun! Enjoy!

(*Many thanks to @jade4813 who let me borrow the bit about Don and Nora getting their speed gradually as children instead of immediately when they were born as inspiration for my fic - I thought it was so genius when I saw it incorporated in the fic she wrote for me that I decided to write a variation of that in my own gift for someone else.)

*Big thank you to @valeriemperez for beta’ing.

...

Synopsis: Barry and Iris help prepare their five-year-old twins for their Christmas Dance recital.

...

It was Saturday.

Iris knew this instinctively, even in that place between sleeping and waking.

Her alarm had not gone off. She was aware of the warmth of the comforter surrounding her, and the quiet pitter-patter of rain drops on her bedroom window was easily lulling her towards the sleep end of the spectrum.

At a time like this, few things could successfully knock her out like cuddling up to her husband and feeling his arms wrapped around her. She reached across the bed for him, eager to take the last step into unconscious bliss, but instead her hand came into contact with bare sheets. They weren’t particularly warm either. The sudden bang coming from downstairs in addition to some shushing made her eyes flash open and her body snap up to a sitting position. But the following whispered words that somehow rose to their bedroom informed her there was no cause for alarm.

“Shh, Mommy’s still sleeping.”

Oh, that’s right. She was a mother of two, and today was their Christmas recital.

Reluctantly, she tossed the comforter and sheets aside and slipped into some fuzzy slippers. Then she pulled on her robe, tied it into a double knot and proceeded to descend down the staircase.

“Okay, one more time, guys, then Daddy will make breakfast. A one, a two, a one-two-three-four-”

Iris watched as Barry at first initiated and then silently backed away to leave their twins doing an impressive dance number in a neat line in front of the dining table.

Iris couldn’t help herself. She clapped enthusiastically from the bottom of the staircase after they’d finished.

“Mommy!” The twins both gasped, looking straight at her, horrified and then sheepishly away. “Daddy, we’re-”

“Oh, don’t worry about it, kids,” Barry said, coming up from behind them and tousling their hair affectionately. “I’m sure it was your mom missing me in bed that woke her up and not  Donny losing his footing and accidentally pushing the couch over, knocking the table down and sending the lamp crashing to the floor,” he said, but it was all in amusement and not scolding, even if Don blushed fiercely at the reminder. “Right, honey?” He winked.

But Iris’ planned playful response vanished from her mind at the mention of ‘crashing to the floor’. Her eyes immediately sought out the evidence of said crash. There were some scrapes on the floor from the couch moving and the table toppling over, but just about everything else looked to be okay. The lamp was set against the far wall though. Iris pointed at it and looked at Barry.

“The bulb shattered,” Barry explained. “We can pick up some more when we’re out later today, I think.”

Don’s face was downcast.

“Hey, buddy, it’s okay,” Barry assured. “Accidents happen. When I was your age, I was knocking things over all the time! Isn’t that right, Iris?”

But Iris had a single eyebrow raised.

“When you were his age, Bear? Honey, you still do that.” She crouched down so she was at eye-level with her twins. “You guys have seen Dad play baseball, right?” She cringed, and the twins followed suit.

Barry almost mentioned cooking. He was incredibly close to pointing out how at least he could cook. But he figured he could swallow his ego for the sake of the adorable moment unfolding right now with his little family. So, instead he laughed, indulging them.

“All right, guys, why don’t I make us all some pancakes? Enough excitement for one morning anyway.”

“Yaaay!” the twins cheered, and Iris smiled.

“Come on, guys, you can help me set the table while Dad starts breakfast.”

Eagerly the five-year-olds trailed after their mother into the kitchen and handled the plastic plates and cups with care on their way to the dining table. Iris stopped to give her husband an appraising look from head-to-toe. He locked eyes with her, knowing what that look was for. His woman was undressing him with her eyes and forcing him to redirect his thoughts lest he develop a boner in front of their children.

Iris’ latest kink had been seeing her husband be such a Dad with their adorable children. He only wished they could squeeze in some alone time before they took off for the recital that evening. He muttered something incoherent after she left, trying to suppress the semi-arousal when her lofty giggle reached his ears, setting off a series of delicious sensations.

“Daddy, hurry up! We’re hungry!”

He cleared his throat and shook himself out of it.

“Coming right up, Princess,” he responded, enacting his super speed to make this breakfast a speedier one. The giggle from his daughter successfully redirected his thoughts, and for the morning at least, he didn’t have to worry about that type of embarrassment unfolding.

…

After a day of some playtime and a few more practice rounds, Barry and Iris prepared their kids for the concert and headed over to the lavish ballroom in downtown Central City. Iris was particularly fussy over their kids’ appearances, but the two pristine looking five-year-olds pushed her away when they spotted their teacher near the entrance.

“They look great, Mrs. West-Allen,” their teacher assured her, and Iris felt a twinge of embarrassment for herself mixed with pride in her darling children.

“Thanks, Mrs. Beesly.”

The woman nodded and took a hand from each of the children in her own, heading behind the curtain and down the long hall to where the rest of the participants were located.

“C’mon, Iris,” Barry urged, brushing her elbow. “Let’s go find our seats.”

She shook off her nerves at leaving her babies and focused instead on her husband, who was looking incredibly sexy and looking at her much the same way she had looked at him that morning.

“Are you sure that’s all you want to do, Mr. Allen?” she asked sultrily, sidling up to him.

He chuckled but made a mentally ordered his lower regions to calm down.

“That’s all we can do right now, Mrs. West-Allen,” he said into her ear. “Unless you want to miss out on our kids’ amazing dance routine during the opening act?”

She sighed regretfully. “I suppose you are right.” She drew her finger down his shirt till right above his belly button, retracting it when she heard him suck in a breath of air suddenly. “Let’s find our seats then.” She patted his chest and headed for the concert hall, swaying her hips slightly as she did so.

“That’s deliberate,” he muttered under his breath and followed her to their seats.

…

Despite the oozing sexual tension between the Allen and West-Allen respectively, all of that faded away when they saw their kids on stage. The other kids performed very well of course, but there was nothing quite like seeing Don and Nora West-Allen dressed as fashionably as their mother and performing as naturally as their father. They blew the crowd away and had their parents gushing.

Iris clapped enthusiastically both times they performed, and after the last hit of the night, there was a standing ovation. Iris had to keep herself from running up to the stage after the encore and handing each of her children a brilliant red rose and a bag of cookies.

“You both did so amazing!” she fawned. Barry repeated the sentiment.

“Yeah?” Don asked, his eyes alight with wonder.

“We did?!” Nora squealed, jumping up a bit on her toes.

“You were the best,” Barry assured, smiling so wide it almost hurt.

They each hugged their children, and as soon as the crowd had started to dissipate, they let their precious five-year-olds jump down into their arms and then walk proudly out the door with them, a skip in their step, as they hopped into a limo and went out for ice-cream.

“Ooo, a limo,” Don gawked at the sight, both when they were outside and inside.

Iris looked over at her husband, an eyebrow raised.

“Yes, wherever did you find it?”

The window partition between them and the driver lowered at the stop light, revealing one Cisco Ramon.

“Uncle Cisco!” the children cheered.

“At your service, monsieur and madam.” He tipped his hat.

Iris looked at him curiously.

“It’s a side gig I picked up just for kicks,” he explained easily.

Iris suspected that wasn’t the whole truth, but she let it slide. If she knew her husband and her friend, Barry had rented the limo as a surprise for their kids and had selected not to have a driver because Cisco wanted to be a part of the action.

But she wouldn’t pester Barry about that until later. He’d probably silence her with kisses – and there were children present.

“Well, all right then, Uncle Cisco. Take us away!”

“Will do, Madam.” He tipped his hat again, making Iris roll her eyes.

But Cisco rolled up the partition again and took them to their favorite ice cream spot in the city where they all enjoyed their favorite dish. At the end of the night, Cisco dropped off the family of four just when the young West-Allens’ sugar high was finally starting to drop. By the time they reached their bedrooms – of which Barry and Iris had carried them halfway to – they were both half-heartedly protesting to stay up longer and all but snoring once they were in their pjs and tucked away in bed.

“What a night,” Iris said, taking off her jewelry at her vanity.

“Our kids were terrific.”

“Mhmm,” she agreed.

“Especially Don. That boy can move.”

“Right into the couch apparently,” Iris snorted, but she knew her husband spoke the truth. She’d seen first hand how impressive her son’s moves had been up on the stage during the concert.

“It was an accident,” Barry said, coming up behind his wife and placing his hands on her arms. “I think his speed short-circuited for a second and sent him farther than he meant to go.”

Iris nodded. The super speed had started to show up in spurts in the last six months. It didn’t happen often enough for the children to notice, but Barry had picked up on it right away and the second time so had Iris. It was a point of concern, whether or not to tell their kids that they were metahumans. Iris wondered if they were too young to handle it and Barry wondered if they’d be targeted if it started happening more often and in public and if they couldn’t suppress it – or chose not to.

“Let’s not think about it tonight,” Barry said, sensing where her thoughts had gone. “They did great on stage. The crowd loved them. And they did that just by being them, no super speed required.”

Iris turned around in her husband’s arms and draped her arms over his shoulders.

“Something tells me they have you to thank for that.”

He shrugged. “I liked practicing with them.”

She smiled serenely.

“And I love you for it.”

She pulled him down for a sensual kiss, one she knew her husband couldn’t immediately draw back from.

“You’re not too tired, I see,” she said when they finally came up for air.

Wordlessly, Barry drew down the zipper on the back of her dress and let the gown to fall to the floor, pooling around her bare feet. Then he tipped her chin up so she could see the heat in his eyes.

“Not for this.”

Pleasure shot to the tips of her fingers and toes, and she shot up to capture his lips again, winding her legs around his waist when he lifted her up and placed her on top of her vanity, all manner of items falling to the floor.

With their children asleep just down the hall, Iris was impressively quiet. Barry was less so when they moved to the bed, but by then their children were in a deep sleep. Nothing save a roaring thunder could wake them from their slumber.

...

*Also posted on AO3 and FFnet.

[taykhhsins]

The Vibe

Previously on...        Masterlist

Chapter IV

It has been two weeks since the concert, and my name and face were plastered all over the media. The overwhelmingly positive reviews of the song and my performance with Sik-k has been the biggest energy boost for me. I have too much inspiration for songs now, I've run throw my notebook.  When I’m not writing songs in the studio or making videos for my channel, Jay and Cha Cha have been running me all over Seoul to prepare for the music video and meeting important people in the industry. When I do go to my hotel I'm sleeping within minutes.

Jon and I are playing phone tag right now, we never catch it other at the right time. I hope this doesn’t become a trend in our relationship. Of course, I could be a Higher music artist in the states, like most of my future label mates, but seeing how beautiful Korea makes me not wanna go back. Yeah, I miss Jon and my family but… Korea has been so welcoming to me musically. I don't know what I’m gonna do.

But I can't think about that stuff right now. I need to focus on filming this music video. Being a Youtuber I’m comfortable in front of the camera, but I’m not usually acting in my videos. When we were tossing video ideas around I suggested they hire a model to play the main girl. The song is a very flirty chill song, so I know the video would have to match. I didn’t want to be in a position that would make Jon jealous, but they insisted I be the main girl. So here I am on set cuddled up with Kwon on this small ass coach. We were shooting in this cute little house in Busan, right on the beach. We shot our solo shots earlier the morning to take advantage of the natural light. They want the romantic sunset to be the background of our couple shots.

“Alright Sik-k, for this next shot, your gonna rap this part as you look into her eyes.” The director says a handheld camera in his left hand.

“Like this” Sik asks his thumb lifting up my chin just like the director said. When our eyes met I crossed my eyes and stuck my tongue out, since we weren’t filming at the moment I could afford to be goofy. Sik-k laughs and pushes my face away.

“Yeah something like that” The director chuckles out “maybe will do another take with that ugly face, it'll be cute” he adds before backing up to get in position.

“all of her takes have that ugly face, she can’t help it” Sik-k jokes earning an elbow to his ribs.

“oops just trying to get in position… my bad.” I mumble dismissing his yelp of pain. He plucks my chin just as they yell action. We look into each other's eyes as he raps his part. We did a couple of shots like that so the editor had options for the final video.

“okay for this next one, Vibe, you’ll sing to him, but towards the end of the chorus grab Sik Hand and you'll both walk off to the left and out the door. Got it?” Asks the director, I nodded along as I pictured what he wanted in my head.

“so as I say ‘Wanna spend all my time with you, come to explore life with me babe’, I lead Sik out of the house?”

“Right!” He confirmed moving to where he’d film us. “start the track” he calls out when everything is in position. When the music started, I did as he asked. But as I go to pull Sik-k up, he was like dead weight. His stupid smirk settled on his face, I could tell he was trying to hold his laugh in.

“Min Sik Kwon!” I exclaimed, letting a few giggles slip through my lip. His face cracks into the stupid laugh he was holding in. “you're so annoying” I mumble popping his hand.

“Reset! Let's do this again, c’mon Sik” the director calls.

I sat back down and cuddle up close to him again. They play the track again and I do my part. This time everything goes as planned. We shoot a couple more clips before cutting for a break.

“ I'm happy you did this shoot with me… it can be really awkward doing that intimate stuff with a model” Sik confessed as he relaxes into the coach. “I was really worried when you were arguing for us to hire one.”

“I wasn’t so sure about doing it… like you said it's kind of intimate, so I was worried about my boyfriend.” I say letting a deep sigh escape my lips. I pull my legs up to my chest and wrap my arms tight around them. “I have gotten a chance to explain the concept to him, so I still a little meh about it,” I confess. I don’t wanna argue with him over bull shit, but at the same time it would be worse if I don't tell him at all and he finds out like the rest of the world.

“Do you think he’ll really get upset about it?” He chucks a little, but I can't help but think back to that day, Jon, got mad about them feeding me fucking food. If he could get mad about something so innocent who’s to say he won't about this. Anytime I bring up the guys he gets so salty and annoying that I don't wanna talk to him anymore. I pretty much hate talking to him now

“He got upset when I told him that y'all were feeding me food when we went out to eat a while back.”

“Is that why you slap are hand away now?”  Sik-k’s annoyance was evident on his face and it only deepens when I nodded my head.

“Think about this way, wouldn’t you been on edge if your girl was in another country surrounded by men all the time?”

“I don’t know…I guess I wouldn't be too thrilled that another man was putting food in my girl's mouth.” He says with a sigh. “But this is work, it's how we get known and start making that money. He is gonna have to get over that if he wants to date an Idol.” He adds gesturing around to all of the cameras and people.

Everything he said was right… doing music videos like this is part of the job description. Being on set shooting has been so fun, and I’m not gonna give it up because he is a little insecure. As much as I don’t wanna piss him off, I wanna enjoy my time here. These experiences I'm having are once in a lifetime, I can spend my time tiptoeing around trying not overstep boundaries I don't even know are there

“Hey, tell your boyfriend that your gonna be my Platonic date to this award show coming up.” Sik demands putting emphasis on the word “Platonic”.

“Why I gotta be your date, hmm? Got turned down by that girl from the club?” I tease. He pushes at my shoulder and I fall over on my side, still laughing. Hanging around Sik can have just as many serious moments as funny ones. He knows how to cut the tense in the air. Being around Sik was just relaxing to me

“It’s so we can promote the song, besides we are performing there anyway”

That revelation made me stop laughing immediately as I sat up to look at him.

“What's with that look? They didn’t tell you?”

“No, they ain’t said shit to me! When is it?” Just as my questions slip through my lips the two CEOs stroll on to set. “Hey! When were you gonna tell me we were performing at an awards show?” My question catching them by surprise.

“We were just asked like two days ago,” Jay says

“We actually came to tell you now… though Min Sik could keep that mouth shut.” Chase says smacking min Sik in the back of his head. He yelped loudly grabbing at the back of his head

“I didn’t know it was a secret” He hisses    

“Well, when is it… I didn’t really pack for an award show.”

“It's this Friday, and your look has already been taken care of,” Chase says leaning over the couch in-between Min Sik and me

“We have a styles getting a couple of looks for you to choose from when the day comes” Jay adds his two cents. “How's the music video coming along?”

While Sik filled them in on the progress of the video I checked my phone. I had a few texts from Autumn, Marcus, and Jon. I quickly texted the first two back and let Jonathan's text sit for a little longer. He asked what I was up too and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to tell him exactly what yet. Before coming out to Korea I wouldn’t have hesitated to tell him, and I can’t say I know exactly how we got here in these short two weeks. If our love is to work we have to be completely upfront right? I mean he has been honest with his feelings and so should I.

I typed out several variations of a text, but they all mean the same thing. It was a simple thing to say so why couldn't I just say it? “I'm shooting a music video with Sik-k. Oh, and I’m going with him to an award show.” It doesn’t matter how I say it, I know the reaction was gonna be the same.  Just as the Director called for the end of the break, I hit send and turned off my phone. I’ll deal with the reaction later.

I didn’t get a reply until on the day of the award show, two days later.

“Ok.” was all it said and I after being ignored for two days I wasn’t exactly in the mood to reply back to him. It helped that really didn’t have time to text him back anyway with preparing for my performance.

Higher Music and AMOG rented the penthouse of this fancy hotel not far from the venue. We all slept here last night because we had a long day of rehearsal and Jay didn’t want us to be late or anything. Jay Park “the professional” was on the clock now and everything had to be perfect. He made us run through the song ten times until it was how he liked it. I couldn’t hate on him

At the moment we were chilling eating Dinner before we had to get dressed up… Well, the guys where. I was standing in front of a rack full of clothes. I needed to decide what I would wear on the red carpet. I run my fingers across the soft fabrics. This was my first red carpet appearance and I needed to make a great impression. Debuting to an entire country on national Tv is different than debuting at an underground hip-hop club, this was more damning. H1gher Music could decide not to sign me based off this and that would be the single most devastating thing in my life right now

“Put on a runway for us.” Hoody suggests before taking another sip of her sujo. All the boys nod in agreement. I agree, having their opinion would help me make a choice. The stylist and I wheel the rack into my room and she puts me in the first outfit. It was a light pink pants suit with a black low cut bodysuit. I slipped on the white pumps she picked out.

Checking myself out in the full-length mirror, I didn’t hate the look. It was perfectly tailored to me, but it didn’t feel like something id wears.

“Shall we show them?” The stylist asks already headed for the door. I follow after her out to the rowdy crowd. Grey gestures for me to do a spin and I do, Showing them all sides of the outfit. I even took the suit jacket off to show them the bodysuit more.

“Next,” they all say, and with a sigh of relief I go and change. It was like that for the next two outfits, but the next one… damn. It was a white off the shoulders dress. stopping at the middle of my thigh and the sleeves pooled nicely at my wrist.

“This is the one” I mumble to myself as I look in the mirror. Slipping on some pumps that matched my skin tone, I walked out to see the reaction of the peanut gallery. They dropped silently when their eyes landed on me. I did a spin like the other times, but when I turned around they still hadn’t said anything. I looked down at it because maybe it really wasn't the one. Maybe it looked way uglier than I thought

“so?” I ask a little put off by their quietness

“This is the one. We don’t need to see more.” Min Sik said walking over to me.

“You look stunning.” Hoody says clapping  

“You aren't allowed to stand by me… fucking steal my shine” Jay says jokingly

“Are you sure it isn’t cause I’m even taller in heels?” I say trying not to laugh in his face, but hearing everyone else dying got me.

“Ha ha Ha our Erin thinks she’s so damn funny” He mumbles walking into his own room to get dressed.

The van ride was filled with laughter, so I didn’t have a chance to feel nervous, but once we pulled up to the venue It all came rushing in on me. Seeing the red carpet, the fans, and all the Cameraman has me running through all the ways I could fuck up. What if I trip over in front of all these peoples? Or my dress falls apart?

“Stop shaking, you’ll be fine.”Min Sik whispered in my ear. I didn’t realize that my leg was shaking until Sik-k rested his hand on my knee. “I’ll be right there with you. Just breath”

I took a deep breath and exhaled just as the doors to the van slide open. Cameras flashed rapidly and the sounds of fans filled my ears. Jay and Chase got out first then the rest followed before it was just me and Min Sik.  

“I'm not gonna let you fall,” He says before getting out. He takes off his suit jacket and blocked me from the cameras as I climbed out. When I stood next to him I helped him put his jacket back on. His hand resting on my back and guiding me down the carpet.

We stop every couple of feet to take photos; sometimes with the entire group, or just me and him, or just one of us. When we finally get inside the venue, I let out a breath, I didn’t know I was holding, out. We followed staff to our seats. They put us on the left of the main stage up in the balcony. I looked around at the venue, It was quickly filling up with Idols and fans. The coaches next to us were empty, but not for long. I watched as a staffer collected the name tags off the seats before I could see who would be sitting next to us.

“Oh my fucking God” I let slip as the seven men walked in, It was BTS. Sik pinched my sides before laughing. He knew just how much of an ARMY I was. Honestly, anyone who watches my videos knows I am the biggest ARMY. I make dance covers and lookbooks inspired by them. This moment is like getting that DM from Jay all over again.

I stood up with everyone else and greeted them, before taking our seats again.

Jay leaned down next to my ear “Don’t start fangirling” He teases.

“Leave me alone,” I say pushing his face back. But I can still hear his stupid laugh. “I really want their autograph” I mumble to Sik hoping he would keep it between us. I clear forgot who I was talking to and who I was surrounded by.

“Well let go get it,” Jay says standing up.

“what- wait-“ before I could stop him he had already gotten their attention. I slowly turned around in my seat to see them looking at us.

“Hey my friend is … what do you call your fans again?” He asks

“ARMY.” they say and my little heart damn near explodes.

“Yeah she's a huge ARMY, always listening to your music” Chase chimes, and Sik pushes me to stand up. BTS eyes landed on me and I wanted to go hide somewhere.

“Sorry to bother you” I mumble. “But would it be okay to get a photo… and you guys Autograph” I ask playing with the sleeves of my dress.  They looked at each other before nodding.

“Yeah, we’d look to take a picture for an ARMY.” Namjoon says with his signature smile. Sik took my phone and told me to sit in between Jungkook and Jimin.

“Its uh… Nice to meet you guys” I try to say but out of nervousness my Korean pronunciation was shaky. Jimin and Jungkook looked at me confused. I repeat it again but clearly and they smile nodding saying it back.

“Our Erin is so nervous she’s forgetting how to talk, So cute” Sik jokes

“You wanna die? Just take the picture” I grumble making BTS laugh loudly. He sucks his teeth at me before snapping photos. He hands my phone back to me and I look over the photos quickly.  

“You watch Anime ?” Jungkook asked pointing at my Spirited away phone case.

“Yeah… Spirited away is my favorite Movie”  I say starting a conversation that I didn’t think would end. All the members got in on the conversation… except for Suga or Yoongi. He didn’t say much and didn’t seem that interested in what we were talking about. I didn’t get a bad vibe from him, and I know it was in his nature to be a little more reserved around new people. I gave Jungkook my number so we could play each other in Fortnite, I told him I was gonna kick his ass. Jonathan and I would play each other and I've gotten pretty damn good at the game. I've even bet Sik and Chase when we play during our downtime.

“So do you work for Jay Park?” Jin asks leaning in closer. I notice Yoongi, who was sitting beside him perk up a little.

“I'm on trial for a recording contract with H1gher Music.”

“So are you a rapper?” Yoongi asks quickly

“I can rap a little, but I’m mostly here to sing. Singing is what got be discovered so that what I’m sticking with” I laugh nervously. Knowing that I had Yoongi’s attention mad my fingers rub quickly against my phone case. Yoongi was just as handsome in person as I thought he’d be… well, all of BTS was really.

“That’s really cool, Good luck on your debut.” Taehyung chimes in with his big boxes smile.

“I should get back to my people, It was really nice to meet you guys. I’ve been in ARMY since your debut, keep up the good work.” I say flashing a bright smile before heading back to my seat. Just as I sat down the show started and a Camera was pointed at us. I saw that we were on the big screen and I shyly wave at the camera with Sik-k laughing beside me waving too. We got to watch most of the show, and I had to fight myself from sneaking looks over at BTS throughout the whole show. About halfway through the show Sik-k and I got escorted backstage to get ready for our performance

I quickly change out of my dress and to my performance outfit. Long silk pants and a black bralette. My stylist helps me into a black silk jacket and to put on the chokers she picked out. With one last look in the mirror, I’m out the door. Sik-k and I both walk out of our dressing rooms at the same time.

“Ready E?” he asks as we follow the staff to the side stage

“As Ready as I’ll ever be” I whisper. I feel like I've drunk three cups of espresso and a red bull; I'm a jittery mess all over again. He pats my shoulder in attempts to reassure me, but the thought of performing in front of industry professionals and my favorite Kpop group was making me want to run away. If I fuck up in front of all these peoples I will be the embarrassment of H1gher Music and I just know Jay and Chase won't sign me then.

“When you hit that stage all them nervous are gonna go away.”

“How do you know that.”

“Because you're like me. We get nervous before every performance but when we hear the music we totally forget we were even scared.”

He was right. As soon as I heard the first note, the nervousness of earlier felt silly. My energy feed off the crowds loving reactions and I got lost in the moment. Just like the first time I performed, Sik-k and I played off each other. We danced around each other singing the lyrics like it was just us. Our on-stage chemistry is undeniable. When the sang the last note, I wanted the song to begin again.

The walk back to our seats was filled with compliments from Idols I have looked up too. I was riding on a high that I never want to come down. And the good Vibes didn't end there either, as soon as we entered our section everyone seating they broke out into a round of applause. My cheeks burned as I saw the look of amazement from BTS.

“That was really amazing” Namjoon spoke and his members nodded in agreement. I simply bow my head and say “thank you” because anything more would show just how much I'm freaking out inside. It's one thing to meet your Favorite group, it's another thing for them to compliment you on something. I was just a little flustered

“Now I’m really looking forward to your debut,” Jimin adds

“Fingers crossed that I get signed,” I say with a wink

“She’s too good not to get signed.” I hear Suga mumble and I can feel the burn from my cheeks rush to the tips of my ears. I can’t wipe the smile off my face when he smiles up at me. Before I could say anything I was called back to my seat. I quickly waved goodbye.

Tonight I can't fall asleep because all I can think about is everything that has happened today. A smile was a permitted fixture on my face and I can't say id ever get tired of it. This was the happiest I've ever been in my entire life. This moment right now, the post-performance high still lingering on me as I gaze out my hotel window. It is now that I feel like my dreams are tangible, I can feel it on my fingertips

...Continue

[xsparklingravenx]

The Dragon’s Curse

Title: The Dragon’s Curse

Fandom: Tales of Berseria

Characters: Eizen, Edna, Magilou, Zaveid, Velvet, Rokurou, Eleanor, Laphicet

Rating: T

Word Count: 8,764

Summary:  Legends say that the Rayfalke Spiritcrest is a ghost ship that sails the seas in search of the man who would one day call himself its captain. Eizen and Edna know better. Running from a past he left behind as he hurtles towards a fate he knows he will never escape, Eizen throws himself into a life on the sea, dogged constantly by the curse that brings misfortune to him and those around him

.A chance encounter with a travelling menagerie however changes Eizen and Edna's course. With the promise of a charm that might just fix Eizen's curse, all they want in return is a trip to Port Zekson. But it's Port Zekson that Eizen is running from, and a return trip might be all that is needed to bring him on a collision course with someone he left behind...

Part 1 / AO3

Legends said that the Rayfalke Spiritcrest was a ghost ship that sailed the seas in search of the man who would one day call himself its captain. It was a story that passed through the lips of many a sailor that came for a pint to drink in weary taverns, one that Eizen heard being discussed as he leant against the wall of a pub tucked away in Port Reneed. Tonight’s variation included a wildly imaginative addition as to how the original crew must have met their ends, and as Eizen listened in, he wondered how many drinks the storyteller must have had.

“Right now it’s anchored near here, you know.” another man said, his cheeks coloured pink by alcohol. “Saw it myself I did. Wouldn’t know it was no ghost ship by how well maintained it looks, only reason I knew it was the Spiritcrest was ‘cause of the fancy dragon emblem on it.”

“I thought I heard whispers.” a woman said, her face lit up with excitement. “Said it just drifted by and came to a stop, has anyone had a look around it yet?”

“Are you joking?” the storyteller said, horrified. “Ain’t you heard a word I said? The Reaper’s Curse came down and lead its last crew to their watery grave! Anyone who takes one step on that ship is a fool.”

They began to squabble, arguing over how no one could know if they were the ship’s destined captain if they never got a good look at it. Eizen scoffed and pulled a coin from his pocket, flipping it over and catching it again. When he looked down, the head of the demon lord Dhaos stared back up at him. Tails again, as it would always be.

If only they knew. He pushed himself from the wall to make his leave and walked out of pub like a ghost, not one person so much as giving him a second glance. It was for the best, he knew, but he couldn’t help but wish that he could sit down with the impressionable lot and tell them all about the Spiritcrest, how she creaked affectionately as she turned on the sea, how the sails rippled like oceans themselves when the wind hit them in the right way, just how sturdy and strong she was. There was nothing to be done, though. Not a thing in the world would make them see him, let alone hear what he had to say.

Port Reneed was alive at night, people buzzing around the market as though it was the middle of the day. Eizen made his way through, his attention mostly on dodging the people who tried to walk straight into him, but stopped when a stall caught his eye. Plush toys shaped like various animals hung from it like fair ground prizes, the fancies of children no doubt.

There was one shaped like a squirrel, its tail long and fluffy. He took off one of his gloves and reached for it to test how soft it was, and once satisfied with the feel, pulled it down. The stall owner didn’t look twice, but Eizen judged the price and then scattered some coins in front of him. He wouldn’t notice them until Eizen had already made his way out of the area, but it didn’t matter. The toy was paid for, and his conscience clear as a result.

With his purchase safely in hand, Eizen melded back into the crowd. Nearby, a man in the middle of a business deal burst into a coughing fit that nearly choked him, bringing his important conversation to a grinding halt. Elsewhere, a woman putting away stock for the next day found the majority of her foodstuffs to be spoiled. A townsperson bumped into a child, only to realise that the boy had robbed him. All that and more, just because Eizen had decided to walk among them.

He went back to the port. It was busy there, drunken sailors returning to their ships, some with women, some with alcohol, some just to rest their heads. They could be fascinating when he took the time to pay attention to them, but someone else had caught it instead. His gaze found the girl sat upon a cargo crate, her body turned away from him so she could face the sea. Propped open on her shoulder was a peach coloured umbrella that hid most of her from view.

Ordinarily, someone would have told her off by now, snapped at her to get off of precious cargo, but no one batted an eyelid because she was just as invisible as he was. He approached her with gentle footfalls even though he knew she was hardly the type to startle easy anyway.

“Nice view?” he asked.

The girl turned to face him. She looked near identical to him, the two of them sharing the same golden hair, the same stern curve of their mouths, their eyes the same shade of blue. She blinked once, slowly, like a cat, and sighed. “Could be better. Finally back from moron-watching?”

“Yeah. Listened in on some interesting stuff too.” Eizen paused for a second, crossing his arms against his chest. “Did you know the Rayfalke Spiritcrest is nearby?”

His sister smiled, a wry thing that looked more cruel than sweet. Though she was named for a flower, Edna was anything but delicate. She had learned the smile from him, but she’d honed it far more carefully. “You don’t say? I hear that ship is spooked by ghosts and rats and all other things gross.”

“Oh yeah? Well get this. I heard that there’s a curse on that ship, and the previous crew all threw themselves overboard when it took hold. Stories say that they preferred an icy death in the seas to the calamity that would no doubt await them if they lived.”

“I hear there’s an idiot human out there that the ship is waiting for.” Edna continued. “Apparently it’s so desperate for a taste of what a real captain could do.”

“Well, I hear that maybe, just maybe,” Eizen said, nudging her umbrella away to swing an arm around her shoulders, “that it might be a pair of malakhim that haunt the ship’s cabins.”

She made a noise of annoyance as she was forced to put her umbrella down. She was a scrawny thing, his sister, but appearances meant nothing when her tongue was sharper than a blade. “Nope. I’m pretty sure it’s definitely sailing around for a human captain. The ship’s probably sick of all your boring chatter and weird lectures. No one cares about detailed explanations of your plans to tunnel under the entire world.”

Eizen huffed, his pride somewhat stung. “It’d be viable, and a useful way to get around. But, I guess if you really think that way, I won’t give you this.”

He revealed the plush squirrel just long enough for her to catch a glimpse of it before hiding it away in the folds of his jacket. She tried to look unimpressed, but Eizen knew her well enough for her to see the way her eyes widened in longing. “What was that?” she asked, even though he knew that she knew. “It looked stupid.”

“Yeah, real stupid. Ugly too, who’d want something like this?” he pulled the toy out again and held it up to the nearest streetlamp. He scrunched up his face in mock disgust. “The fur isn’t even quality grade. What trash.”

Edna reached for it with her free hand, only able to get near it because of the added height of the crate. Still it remained out of her reach. “Eizen,” she whined. “Let me see it. Closer.”

“Wait, you actually want it?”

“Nope.” Edna said, but she was twisting the handle of her closed umbrella in an agitated manner. The mascot that already hung from it – the Normin she carried so faithfully with her – bobbed as she did so. “Where did you get it?”

“The market.” Eizen replied, finally giving it up to let her examine it more closely. She rubbed the squirrel’s tail against her cheek, her face set in a frown. “They had others, but they were even worse than this one.”

“And this one’s pretty bad, if you ask me. It’s got a tear in its back.” Edna said. She was still rubbing the tail against her cheek.

Of course it had a tear in it. He could have sworn it was perfect when he picked it up, but nothing was ever sacred when he was concerned. “I could take it back.”

“What’s the point? We’ve got it now, and you paid for it, right? May as well keep it.”

She must really have loved it to be saying that. “If you say so,” he said, feigning defeat. “So, you heard anything while you’ve been sat here?”

Edna shrugged. “Not a ton. There was some chatter about a menagerie or something, but as far as I could gather, it’s about stupid humans doing stupid things, so really it’s just gonna be a whole bunch of stupid.”

“A show?” Eizen considered the concept. He knew of circuses, of theatre shows and stand up comedies, but a menagerie was something he hadn’t encountered before. A collection of exotic animals, rarities in the modern world or just uncommon; it could have been a point of interest. “When?”

Edna shrugged, hopping off the crate and closing her umbrella up. “Tomorrow, I think. Why? Don’t tell me you actually want to go.”

“So what if I do?” Edna peered up at him with eyes that were evidently judging him. “Look, it’s no exhibition on priceless artefacts, but I’ll take entertainment when I can find it. We should go before we leave the port.”

“Entertainment?” she laughed, her ponytail bobbing at the side of her head. “That’s a strong word. You’re so lame, Eizen.”

“Bold words for someone who can’t let go of a plush toy.” Eizen said.

She punched him in the arm and hugged the squirrel to her chest. “The toy sucks and we’re going to your stupid menagerie. Now let’s go home, we’ve got to row our little boat all the way back.”

“You mean I’ve got to row all the way back.”

“Exactly. I’m tired.” She paused, turning half way. “By the way. Thanks, I guess.” 

“You’re welcome, I guess.” Eizen said. He saw the side of her mouth quirk up in her favourite sardonic grin before she turned completely and walked away. He followed, the two of them picking their way through the people, two earth malaks amongst an entire town of humans.

He thought of the drunkards in the pub, dreaming of plundering the Rayfalke Spiritcrest, and wondered what they would think if they knew the truth. The curse was real, bringing bad luck and hardship to anyone around him, human or malak alike. Not even his own sister was safe from it, and every day he questioned himself. Why had he let her come along as he sailed the seas? Why had he dragged her along when he’d decided to run from every problem he had been the source of?

If he was truthful with himself, though, he knew why. The answer was found in the malevolence that he harboured deep inside, hidden away from his sister, or in the dragon emblem that decorated the Rayfalke Spiritcrest. A reminder. Fate was inescapable, and he wasn’t going to stand scared of it. Edna was all he had, his only family, and though he had thought about abandoning her for her own safety, in the end he hadn’t been able to do it. If he went, she was coming with him. He wanted to show her the world before he eventually succumbed, and aboard their ship, they were making a good job of it.

He’d leave her before he ever became a dragon. He’d seen the destruction they wrought, the way they damaged the malakhim they left behind, the ones who had loved them so deeply before they had become twisted. Putting his sister through that fate was unimaginable.

---

Eizen quickly realised that, much to his disappointment, menagerie didn’t mean the same thing to the people running it as it did to him. Magilou’s Menagerie was less a collection of exotic animals and much more a collection of exotic people, and as he stood watching the titular Magilou force her suffering companion to “Act! Like! A! Dove!” he found his interest sorely waning.

The show had barely begun, and already Edna looked like she wanted to gouge her own eyes out. They were stood off to the side even though most of the hall’s seats were empty; Eizen didn’t want to get into the problem of taking a seat only for someone else to think that it was free. He’d offered to let Edna sit on his shoulders, but she’d heartily refused. He had a feeling she’d declined more because she literally didn’t care rather than because she had a decent view where she stood.

Apparently this section was supposed to be comedy, which was funny because Eizen hadn’t cracked a single laugh in the fifteen minutes they’d been watching. The rest of the limited crowd seemed to be enamoured, though. He had a feeling it was less to do with it being amusing and more to do with the pinkish blush on the cheeks of Magilou’s assistant. Humans were so easily won over, Eizen thought. Maybe that was something admirable about them.

Finally, after much badgering, the assistant finally relented with possibly the worst dove imitation Eizen had ever seen. Magilou beamed, undeterred, and threw her hands up in their air. Sparks flew from her fingertips, making the audience gasp in awe.

Edna’s attention was momentarily drawn, but only for the briefest of moments before she yawned loudly behind her hand and went back to looking bored. She obviously had realised the same thing Eizen had; this show would be full of flashy magic tricks that would no doubt have a mundane source. It was how all magic worked; it was only incredible until you knew how it worked, and Eizen was sure he’d figure it out before the show reached its end.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you for your undivided attention!” Magilou called out, bowing grandly as she lavished in the attention. She was a gaudy looking thing, her frame scrawny yet elegant in a way, her clothes a mishmash of pink and purple and books of all things. She and her partner made for a visually interesting duo, the other woman tall and broader shouldered, her hair long and black and braided. “If you enjoyed that, then there’s only so much more to come! You better hold onto your hats and strap into your seats, because tonight we plan to bloooow you away!”

A gust of wind shot through the crowd as she drew out the word. A wind machine, Eizen thought. Had to be. Magilou elbowed her assistant and said, “Oh my, Velvet, would you look at the crowd we’ve got tonight?”

For a moment, Eizen was sure that the two of them looked right at him and Edna. But then Velvet looked away and sighed. “Wow. What a crowd we’ve got tonight.”

She sounded so deadpan, so uninterested, that Eizen actually smiled, finally amused. Magilou huffed and broke into a tirade about how Velvet should appreciate the audience, and their skit began anew.

Comedy wasn’t their only forte, though. Magilou’s Menagerie was four people strong, which looked small at first glance. It seemed though, for what they lacked in numbers, they made up for in character. Magilou herself had enough personality for seven people, and Velvet, though seemingly taciturn, proved to have her own wit when provoked. Once they had left the stage, a man dressed in traditional looking robes took their place. Eizen had little time for that, though, his attention swiftly drawn by the weapons the man carried. Three; a sword at his back, and twin blades at his side. He flashed the crowd a cheeky grin, and then, much to Eizen’s disappointment, pulled the daggers from their sheaths. “Hey, everyone having a good time?” he shouted at the audience. He paused long enough for them to respond, and then shook his head. “What? C’mon, I can’t hear you!”

When the audience responded in a satisfactory manner, he nodded smugly and waved. “Well, I’m gonna show you something even better! I’m Rokurou of Magilou’s Menagerie, and you lucky few are gonna get to see some real skills tonight!”

“Oh great.” Edna said. “He’s gonna wave his swords around and call it a show.”

“They’re daggers.” Eizen said, appalled.

And Edna was wrong anyway, to call it ‘waving’. The man danced with the blades, his movements smooth and choreographed and graceful. Yet there was still a sense of chaos in the piece, something manic and unhinged that Eizen could only catch glimpses off. It was in the glee of Rokurou’s expression, in the way he would suddenly divert the routine into something completely unexpected. His movements were controlled, but at the times it seemed as if he was possessed by something that had its own ideas. For the first time that night, Eizen was actually watching attentively.

“Now this,” he said, “is real entertainment.”

Edna rolled her eyes.

Unfortunately, he didn’t touch the sword on his back once. When he finished his show, he put his hand on the hilt as if he was going to pull it out, but instead he just smiled. “Want more, guys? Then I guess you’ll just have to come back next time! Thanks for watching, see you again!”

“What a tease.” Eizen huffed as Magilou returned to the stage to link the act into the next segment. Edna yawned again, loudly, and then glanced up above to the rafters. Eizen watched as Magilou did her part and then danced off the stage, the final member coming to take her place.

The girl looked somewhat out of place in the show. Unlike the wild looking Magilou, the stoic Velvet, or the chaotic Rokurou, this girl exuded a calmer aura. Her ginger hair was tied in girlish pigtails, and her dress was ladylike and elegant. She stepped to the middle of the stage and addressed the crowd.

“Hello, ladies, gentlemen.” she said, her voice steady and relaxed. “My name is Eleanor, and I’m here to present to you a show that will leave you absolutely, positively—”

“Positutely!” Magilou hissed from off stage. The audience laughed and even Edna had a half-smile on her face.

“Um. Absolutely, positutely astounded!” Eleanor finished, a determined look on her face. She raised her arms to the audience, closing her eyes as she did so, and then the lights went dim.

“Oh?” Edna said.

A second later, something bright fizzled through the air above Eleanor’s head, sparkling white. It split into four beams of light, swirling like tendrils about her body in red, blue, green, and yellow. Her eyes snapped open and she pirouetted on the spot before collapsing to the floor, the tendrils following her smooth arc of movement. Their light diffused as she fell, but when she rose her arms again they followed her upwards, upwards, growing brighter again. She held them there for a moment, and then threw her arms outwards. The beams of light shot for the audience.

Amongst the gasps as the lights flew, Edna said, “These are malak artes.”

Eizen scoffed. “You’re giving them way too much credit. There’s no way, just an impressive light show that they’ve worked hard on. I bet if you looked around, you’d find some kind of device that lets them emit these lights. It’s simple, I’d assume. You’d just need something with—”

“No.” Edna said. She pointed up to the ceiling above Eleanor with her folded umbrella. “They’re malak artes.”

Eizen followed the point of her umbrella to the rafters. There, sure enough, was a tiny malak that looked about the size of Eizen’s thumb from where he was stood. He couldn’t make out much of the malak except that it appeared to be a little boy, and he was waving his hands in time to the tendrils that had seemingly been moving to Eleanor’s command.

Any enjoyment that Eizen had been deriving from the show vanished in that instance, replaced instead with disgust. Of course. None of the tricks in the show had been magic. They were just humans, bastard humans, who were bending a malakhim to their will.

He was about to grab Edna and haul her out of there, when the malak noticed he was being watched in the middle of an overzealous movement to send the water tendril around Eleanor’s head. He lost his balance, and if that wasn’t enough, the rafter he was stood on suddenly cracked. It split apart in a rough movement, and Eizen’s heart lurched as the boy fell fell.

The artes dispersed. Eleanor looked up in horror and shrieked.

“Eizen!” Edna shouted. Eizen didn’t think twice, didn’t think about how the malak being surprised should have been impossible if he didn’t have free will, and dashed towards the stage.

Velvet beat him to it. She all but snatched the boy out of the air, pulling him close to her chest. “Phi!” she gasped as the broken rafter clattered to the stage. Over the malak’s head, her eyes met Eizen’s. She could see him, he thought. She was looking straight at him.

Time stood still. Eleanor blinked. The audience looked at one another, confused, unknowing of what just transpired. And then the malak, Phi, waved his hands and whispered, “Thanks Velvet! Don’t stop, don’t stop, you can do it Eleanor!”

The four beams of light blinked back into existence, dancing around her body. Velvet let Phi go and kicked the rafter off the stage. Eleanor took her hands in her own. “Right, I can do this. Dance with me, Velvet?”

And before Eizen’s eyes, the solo dance turned into something intimate, something gentle and soft, while Phi stood back and conducted the lights like a musician would an orchestra. They spun around in time with them, Velvet slowly taking the lead, pulling her across the stage as the lights chased Eleanor’s skirts.

“Well what do you know.” Edna said, coming to stand beside him. “Looks like these humans aren’t as dumb as they look.”

When the dance came to an end, the audience applauded, rambunctious, wild. Magilou pranced back onto the stage like a gaudy, pink gazelle while Eleanor and Velvet made there way off. “Ladies and Gentlemen!” she cried, doing an excited little jig. “And malakhim too, thank you for your wonderful patronage tonight! While we’re done for now, there’s always more for next time, so strap yourselves in and make sure you come back next time. Whether Port Reneed or Hellawes, Loegres or Taliesin, we’ll be sure to raise the roof! Thank you, thank you, and maaaaagikazam!”

She pulled a ridiculous pose. Eizen thought that was the end of it, thought that perhaps this would be just one strange night to add to his thousand year log of memories to be forgotten about. But as everyone filed out, Magilou’s gaze fell upon him and Edna, and with a grin and a wave she said, “Hold up, you two, I think we should have a little chat!”

Phi, stood at the side of the stage, stared at them with wide, doe-like eyes, an encouraging smile on his face. Eizen glanced at Edna, who shrugged her response. Of course. He couldn’t rely on her for anything.

--- 

The rooms the menagerie’s members rented were nothing like their bright and wild personalities. Cheap, bland, and the very definition of temporary, Eizen wondered what kinds of rates they were being paid to perform given their tawdry lodgings. It couldn’t be much.

Magilou lounged across her bed chest down, her legs in the air behind her. The rest of the menagerie stood around, or in Rokurou’s case, leant heavily on the cabinet by the door. “What are malakhim anyway, like carriages?” he said. “You spend your whole damn life waiting for one, and then twenty show up at once.”

“Four.” Eleanor said. “We’ve met four.”

“Four, twenty, it’s the same difference.”

“I don’t think it is.” Phi said. He was sat on the edge of the bed by Magilou, swinging his legs off the side. “You’re both earth malakhim, right?” he asked, looking at Eizen. “I mean, you look like you are.”

“What gave it away?” Edna asked dryly. “And what are you?”

Phi shrugged. Magilou huffed. “Enough about him, I want to talk about me!”

“Business as usual then.” Velvet said.

“Hush! You know as well as I do that when I say ‘me’, I actually mean ‘us’.” Magilou ignored Velvet’s roll of the eyes and focused her attention on Eizen. “So! I think I speak for all of my menagerie when I say that we were surprised to see a duo of malakhim in our audience, and I think I speak doubly when I say that we were surprised to see Laphicet make such an amateur mistake like he did. In all our time performing, we’ve never had so much as a single mishap on stage! Why, I do think the two just might be connected. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Eizen shrugged. “Awful luck follows me around like a bad penny. That’s the way things go for me.” Magilou’s eyes flashed with interest. He ignored it. “So now I have a question. Why did you want to speak to us?”

She snapped her fingers in delight. Sparks flew from the tips. “Hold up.” Edna said before she could speak. “Where are you drawing your power from, if it isn’t the pipsqueak?”

Laphicet made a noise of protest. Magilou grinned deviously. From beneath her hat, something squirmed. With one stubby hand, the creature inside it lifted it, poking its head out; a normin wearing its own oversized hat and a wide smile. It jumped off her head and landed on the bed in front of her, placing its paws on its hips. “Miss Magilou has me to thank for that.” he said, haughty and high pitched. Eizen saw the longing in Edna’s gaze immediately. Whether it was to hug him or destroy him, he couldn’t be sure. “I’m the one providing all the scenery here! My name’s Bienfu, the man behind the man, the great and wondrous—!”

Edna poked her umbrella into him, sending him tumbling off the bed with a distressed cry. “Ah, that’s better.” she said. “I thought I heard buzzing. It’s stopped now.”

“I like this one.” Velvet said. Magilou giggled behind her hand as Eleanor went to rescue the normin from where he had fallen, patting his head softly.

Eizen, who was quite done with the diversions, reiterated his question once again. Magilou was happy to answer. “Don’t you think it a little strange? A ghost ship rocks into town on a dark and lonely night, and then like phantoms two malakhim show up, ready to torment and ruin the townspeople!” she gasped like she was still on stage, and then broke into a grin. “I’m joking, of course, but the point still stands. The Rayfalke Spiritcrest is something to do with you, isn’t it?”

“Of course not.” Eizen said, though he wasn’t really committed to the lie. “It’s just looking for its destined captain.”

“Hogwash!” Magilou said. “Absolute nonsense that is. If I were an ordinary girl maybe I’d buy that kind of story, but let me tell you, we at Magilou’s Menagerie are very much out of the ordinary. We are the devious, the dastardly, the deceptive, the dramatic! And we know malakhim and their ways when we see them.”

“Think she could fit anymore d’s into that sentence?” Edna asked.

Magilou ignored her and carried on. “So, with that in mind, I’ll ask again. Are you the ones who sail on that ship?”

Eizen held his tongue for a moment, drawing the moment out. And then he said, “Sure. Why are you interested?”

“Malakhim pirates!” Rokurou said. “Don’t you see why that would be a maybe even a little bit interesting? Sheesh, if the Abbey caught wind of you they’d go nuts.”

“They wouldn’t be pleased.” Velvet agreed. “But why don’t you get to the point, Magilou?”

“Right, right.” Magilou sat up at that, crossing her legs. “So, the thing is, Magilou’s Menagerie isn’t just some stationary bore of a show. We travel all around, right?”

“As most acts do.” Edna said.

“Except as of late, our shows haven’t been pulling in as much as they used to.” Magilou continued, waving her hand dismissively. “It’s the daemonblight. Everyone’s far too excited about that to come and see our brand of fun. I don’t see why, but, alas! I don’t make the rules.”

“So what are you getting at?” Eizen asked, his interest starting to wane. They were humans with resonance, but just because they could see them didn’t mean he had to bow to their every whim. Humans were fascinating, but they were all the same at the end of the day. He didn’t think he’d ever seen one that wasn’t acting for their own selfish means. “You’re running out of money. What does that have to do with us?”

“A ship would cost! Westgand has been fun and all for now, but we’re getting bored and it’s time to move on. I wanted Port Zekson would be our next stop, but we’ve found ourselves tragically stuck. Tonight’s earnings barely bought us dinner!”

Magilou collapsed on her back dramatically, a cry leaping from her throat. Eizen had a feeling she was over exaggerating. Edna pulled a face. “We should leave these morons to it then.”

Eleanor, who had been mostly quiet, hugged herself. Bienfu sat on her shoulder, his huge eyes peaking out from the brim of his hat. “I apologise for Magilou’s demeanour.” she said. “What we’re—she’s—asking, is that if you are the captains of that ship, perhaps you would consider taking us on as passengers? I understand that this is a lot to ask, and it is forward of us, but we’re sort of stuck right now.”

He crossed his arms, deep in thought. Port Zekson. Eizen hadn’t been to Midgand in a long time, and had absolutely no desire to return now. “It’s not happening.” he said. “And besides, what makes you think I’d go all that way for no pay? You think that just because we’re malakhim we don’t need funding?”

“Who said we wouldn’t pay?” Magilou said. She waved her hand and produced, from seemingly nothing, a tiny bag. It was no bigger than Eizen’s coin, and sat daintily in her hand. “I don’t just present our show, you know. I’m a witch, and you know what witches do? They create hexes!”

Eizen couldn’t believe this. “So you’re going to curse me? I hate to break this to you, but I'm already under one.”

“Oh how rude!” Magilou tittered. “I had a feeling you were. Like I said already, Laphicet would never make a mistake like he did tonight, and you wouldn’t believe the whispers we’ve been hearing of late. If you’re right and misfortune does follow you around, then this is just the thing! A good luck charm.”

Eizen looked at Edna, who simply popped open her umbrella in the middle of the room. “Oops.” she said, not sounding affected in the slightest. “Now I’ll have bad luck too. Don’t suppose you can make another one of those?”

Magilou did some sleight of hand wherein the bag simply disappeared with the movement. “Well, that’s the thing. The materials to make even one of these little baggies are quite hard to procure…and we’ll need all sorts of nasty monster bits for it to work. As it is, I’m fresh out!”

“This is ridiculous.” Eizen said. “So you don’t even have the good luck charm to begin with?”

“Getting the materials wouldn’t be difficult if we had more malakhim with us!” she said, jumping up to her feet. “Why, how about tomorrow? We go out, get the materials, make the bags, and then you can set off with us on board and the sweet knowledge that you’re in the hands of some seriously wonderful fortunes! We’ll be Magilou’s Menagerie, the terrors of the high seas, the storms that rock the boat sides—”

“We’re sorry about her.” Velvet said. “You should just go, forget about us.”

“But Velvet!” Laphicet protested. “I want to be a pirate!”

The thought of the good-luck bag was enticing. He didn’t believe in its magic, didn’t believe in anything to do with it really, but anything that could offset the effects of his domain had to be worth a look. And really, what was a boat ride at the end of the day? Once all was done and dusted, he and Edna could turn their backs on Port Zekson, their little placebo good luck bags in hand, and go back to searching every corner of the world for their own amusement.

“Alright.” he said. “But I’ll warn you now. Travelling with me, it’s not easy. My curse effects everyone around me. I can’t guarantee you’ll be safe on my ship, or even in this little trip out to find the materials you need. Keep that in mind. And also, I have one more condition. Say yes, and my ship will be yours to use.”

“Go on?” Velvet said.

“In your next performance, Rokurou uses that sword. I want to see it on the stage.”

Rokurou’s eyes went wide.

“Whatever you want, malak, I don’t care!” Magilou hollered in delight. “Woohoo! Port Zekson, here we come!”

---

The Warg Forest, past the Fens of Nog, was a nightmare to traverse. Marshy and wet to begin with, Eizen’s presence had only seemed to make it worse. A storm raged around them, the rain heaving down as if someone was throwing buckets of the stuff from the heavens. Edna looked at him from beneath her umbrella, dry and sheltered, and smirked

“It never rains like this.” Rokurou moaned, shaking out his soggy sleeves. “Like, seriously. It always rains but it never rains.”

“Right! Isn’t it fascinating, seeing this so-called curse in action?” Eleanor said. She walked alongside him, holding a spear in her hands. Apparently they weren’t just performers, but fighters too. Eizen found himself wondering about their pasts, about what had made them who they were. Humans lived such short, fleeting lives, a blink of the eye to a malakhim like him, and yet they managed to fit such a great deal of experience into them.

They were looking for the hides of lycanthropes, and the eyes and intestines of boars. Magilou didn’t seemed bothered by the rain, flinging balls of flame at anything that so much as moved. When Eizen questioned if charcoaled ingredients would work, she’d shrugged. “It doesn’t matter! Material is material, an eye is an eye, and hide is hide even if it’s a little bit blackened.”

“So, Eizen.” Velvet said, coming close. “Port Zekson. You’ve got a problem with that place?”

Eizen watched as Eleanor charged after a boar with a war cry. Laphicet and Rokurou followed as Edna and Magilou dispatched a skunk-like creature that had dared creep in on their space. “I don’t know what you mean.” Eizen said, twisting his enchanted bracelets. “Port’s a port.”

“And yet your eyes tell me a different story.” she smiled, but it was more like an Edna-brand of smile. Something cruel, not quite sweet. “Malakhim such as yourself are well travelled, correct? It wouldn’t be strange for some places to have bad associations.”

“There are plenty of places that I’d rather not sail to nowadays.” Eizen said. Port Zekson, Midgand itself, the real Rayfalke Spiritcrest down in Eastgand. Home seemed so far now. He knew the next time he returned he would not be himself. “But what would it matter to someone like you?”

“Just an observation.” Velvet said, though he had the feeling there was far more to her words than that. “You have a past there, don’t you?”

“And where is your past then,” Eizen said, “if you know so much?”

“Port Taliesin.” Velvet replied, curt, her eyes finding not his, but the battle Magilou was now raging with the boar that Eleanor had engaged. A second had joined the brawl, taking on Laphicet and Rokurou. “Aball.”

He had heard of it. “Your group is strange, you know. A bunch of humans with enough resonance to see the malakhim ending up together? How does that happen?”

The boar was refusing to go down without a fight. Rokurou cut through its hide, but even then it remained upright. Velvet stepped forward. “It starts with a hunt in the forest.”

She charged inwards, performing a roundhouse kick with the grace and flexibility of an acrobat. She did not let up, rapid strikes finding home amidst the carnage of Laphicet’s magical attacks. The boar struggled to keep up. She wore it down one kick at a time, and when she took even the slightest of hits, Laphicet was there with a healing arte. When she changed tactics, Eizen was surprised at the brutality of it. Hidden knives appeared from her sleeves, and with no mercy she cut through the boar like it was made of mere paper.

She reminded him of an assassin, and it was then he’d realised that he’d underestimated her. She dusted her hands while Rokurou began to gather the needed materials. “And how does it end then?” Eizen asked.

Velvet looked him in the eyes. “It ends with a girl finding her place in a travelling show, because there is nowhere else she feels alive. Ask us all, and we’ll answer the same. Whether it begins with that hunt, or a broken sword, or a cruel father, or dead parents, we all ended up here.”

Curiosity burned. He wanted to know the middles to those stories, what had driven Velvet to find her place with these people. Velvet said, “How does your story begin then, malak?”

Eizen reached into his pocket. His reaper’s coin was heavy in his grasp. “Depending on where you start,” he said, “it begins with either a girl, or a dragon.”

A roar from behind them. Eizen turned to see a lycanthrope, ugly and huge, approaching them with inhuman speed. “About time.” Edna said. She had been standing off to the side. “I was beginning to think you’d dragged us out here because you wanted to show off, but I doubt you puny humans could take on a beast like this.”

Eizen ran in first. Edna was strong in stature, but weak in pure strength. He was the opposite; he could deal the damage but couldn’t take it as well. Together, they covered one another’s weaknesses, their eyes always on each other’s backs. He slammed his fist into the beast’s jaw at the same time Edna let off an arte, the floor erupting upwards in an icy mountain-like structure. It disappeared almost instantly as it launched the lycanthrope into the air, the beast crying out in pain.

Eizen let loose with a wind based arte, something that had taken him a long time to learn and even longer to master. The green spears he conjured struck the beast as it fell, and with it he remembered Zaveid’s not-so-careful instruction, his lazy grin, the way he gave pointers. “You gotta just feel it, Eizen.” he’d said once. “Wind’s not like earth. It’s not steady, not stable. It’s chaos and it’s free and you’ve just got to go with it. You can’t control it like you do your earth, it doesn’t work that way.”

The wind-spears he had conjured caught the beast in a frenzy as it hit the ground, but it was stronger than he was giving it credit for. It recovered quickly, flipping to its feet, and then Eizen was forced to backstep as it swiped a claw at him. Inches from his face, he felt those claws cut air.

He could feel the eyes of the others watching them. This was the kind of monster that they had wanted help with, not the boars or the skunks or the other dregs of the forest. They were just humans with a child malak, while Eizen had a thousand years of experience and Edna had hundreds.

As the lycanthrope advanced on him, making it difficult to strike, Edna made her move. She ran in beside him, her umbrella in front of her like a spear, her earth artes enhancing its durability as she jabbed it into the creature’s chest. It gave Eizen the opening he needed to slam his fist into its jaw. He felt something crack beneath his force. He grinned at his victory.

But then, as it always did, his curse struck. The rains had made the floor sludgy and slippery. The beast snapped its head back so rapidly that Eizen was caught off guard, its claws slashing the space in front of it. Edna threw herself back out of its range but his boots caught in the mud, leaving him open as he tried to back step away. He caught the lycanthrope’s claws across his face, ripping open his skin from above his left eye to his jaw, four separate gashes that bled freely.

Eizen growled in pain, focusing his power into his fists. The wounds from a daemon hurt malakhim more than any usual creature, like the malevolence that made them up was searing into his skin. “Eizen!” Edna cried. He could feel magical energies from her, the beginnings of a healing arte. He could cast them too, they were both as talented as each other, but she was out of range and there was no way he could start up and successfully cast one when he was this close to the lycanthrope. He roared, earthen might in his blood and in his fists, and then he punched the beast back as Edna bathed him in healing light.

He brawled, the thrill of the fight catching up to him. He could see Edna falling under its thrall too as she began to toy with the lycanthrope more than truly battling it. She took its blows like she was made of stone, keeping its attention on her as Eizen beat it down, vicious and powerful.

But the malevolence around them, from the clawed marks cut into his face to the beast itself, was beating down on him like a sun. He could feel it acutely, like pinpricks in the back of his mind. Malakhim were more vulnerable to it than humans. Water was the most easily corrupted, but earth was just as much a toy in the hands of malevolence’s cruel effects. Eizen had many secrets, but this was his biggest of all; he had already absorbed enough to teeter him on the edge of an irreversible state.

And maybe that was why he lost himself, just ever so slightly. His curse was unkind and malicious, it turned every win into a loss and every moment of quiet into a chaotic din. He stunned the beast enough to gain the upper hand, and when the timing was right, he lost his grip on his malakhim nature and let something a bit nastier shine through.

“Eizen!” Edna gasped. She sounded horrified.

The dragon-like shadow that formed from him was a monstrous thing, For a single second in time it was like he had those scaled, powerful wings. Those shadows threw him upwards, sky bound, and he could see his sister, the beast, and the menagerie. All were tinted red and yellow. He wasn’t sure if he recognized them.

Fire reigned down. Not earth, not even wind. Fire.

He’d only known one fire malak. She was a beautiful woman, though he hadn’t seen her in years. She had helped him when Edna had been young, when he’d been but a boy in the eyes of malakhim, when he’d had no idea how to bring up an infant. Many people knew her, a steadfast guide to many youths, pure hearted, kind, serious. That was the opposite of everything he was in this moment, and yet he was using her element in his malevolent state.

In a flash, in the blink of an eye, he was on the floor again, the moment passed, the smouldering remains of the lycanthrope prone on the floor. Edna was looking at him with wide eyes. He looked at the menagerie, who all stared with varying looks of surprise, amazement, and horror.

How does your story begin then, malak?

Eizen stood there, breathing hard, feeling the malevolence rescind within himself, his body his again.

It didn’t begin with the girl, or even the dragon. Not really. It began with a disagreement, a fracturing of a friendship, and Port Zekson. Eizen was still paying for it. He would be paying for it for the rest of his life.

--- 

They didn’t talk about it. None of them mentioned it. Not even Magilou, who Eizen was sure would fire off a million questions a minute, breathed so much as a mention of it.

It was fine. Humans didn’t understand the relevance of the shadow, of what it meant to a malak like him, and he didn’t intend to spill those secrets. Eizen and Edna dropped the menagerie back at their inn and then went to stalk the streets of Port Reneed alone. Magilou said she needed time to do her magic, and Eizen, though admittedly curious, didn’t want to stay cooped up in their room.

The sun was setting, but people were still peddling their wares. Edna was silent as she walked a few paces behind him. He hadn’t breathed a word to her about malevolence. They had been travelling together for a long time and he’d never said a thing. She didn’t know, he told himself. She had no idea how close to the brink he was. What happened in the forest meant nothing. It was just an arte. Just an attack.

Together they looked at the stalls, Edna’s gaze longing when she saw the one selling stuffed toys. Eizen laughed. “Don’t tell me that you want another. I literally bought you one the other night.”

“I told you, I’m not interested in these stupid human things.” Edna said, a blatant lie if he’d ever heard one. “What do you think about Witchyface’s magic bags, huh? Think they’re worth their salt?”

“I think we’re just going to get a bag of singed bullshit.” Eizen said. Edna fixed her sarcastic grin to her face. “It was a waste of time. A grand waste, but a waste nonetheless.”

“But you still wasted it willingly.” Edna said. “So which is it? Do you believe in the bag of magic nonsense, or are you that desperate for an excuse to go back to Port Zekson?”

That stung. Edna was good at digging her claws in when she wanted. “We’re dropping them off and then we’re leaving.” Eizen said. “Port Zekson has nothing for me.”

Eizen took a fruit from a stall and swapped a coin for it. Edna took one for herself. “You keep telling yourself that.” she said, taking a bite of the apple she’d procured. She ate in silence, and Eizen didn’t have anything to say. Together they watched the humans hurry from stall to stall.

It was difficult to comprehend how they could fit so many experiences into their terribly fragile, fleeting existences. Eizen hadn’t been human. Some malaks had been once, but not him. He and Edna had been born from the earthpulses, the same one, rarities in that they felt their connection to one another when most malakhim didn’t form familial relationships.

“Eizen.” she said. “When are we going home?”

Home. The mountain from where he’d taken the name for their ship. How long had it been since he’d seen it? “Why?” he asked. “Not enjoying the travelling?”

“It’s alright.” Edna said. She looked at the apple, twisting her hand as she inspected it. “Sometimes though, I get sick of it. We’re earth malaks. We don’t belong on the sea, we can’t even swim. Have you ever wondered what we’d do if we sunk?”

“We wouldn’t sink.” Eizen said.

“We could sink. We’ve almost sunk before. Do you remember that time when that shark daemon attacked us? It was nearly as big as our ship and you fell in the water trying to beat it up. I had to fish you out, which was awful because I got soaked and you nearly drowned. Your dumb curse makes it so we nearly sink all the time.”

Eizen huffed at the accusation. “We don’t sink ‘nearly all the time’.” he said. “And I didn’t nearly drown.”

“Please. You’re earth, and yet a water malak could look at you funny and you’d fall over.”

“Is this an attack on my pride, Edna?” Eizen asked. “I’ve beaten plenty of water malaks in my time.”

“Wind malaks too?”

And there were her barbs again. Eizen didn’t wince, didn’t flinch, but he felt the sting nonetheless. She was still smiling, but now he had a feeling she was digging around in him for an answer to a question he didn’t know she was asking. “I could beat any wind malak that challenged me.” he said.

Edna snickered. She finished her apple and tossed away the core. Eizen hadn’t taken a single bite out of his. “By the way, brother.” she said. “You know it’s bad manners to answer a question with a question, right? I’ll let you off this time, but I’m gonna ask again. When are we going home?”

“When we’ve charted the entire world and seen everything we want to see.” Eizen said. “When we’ve plundered ships and taken their treasures. When we’ve found artefacts from a thousand years before I was born, when we’ve found the very edges of the sea. When we’ve tunnelled our way beneath the ocean to create our own personal escape routes to every island in this world.”

“Wow.” Edna said. “Big hopes there. How long are you planning on living? Ten thousand years? Will Rayfalke even still be there by then?”

“We can hope.” Eizen said. The conversation died with that, and Eizen thanked everything that she didn’t press further. It wasn’t a discussion he wanted to have, especially after the events in the forest. He’d named the ship after their mountain home for a reason, to make it feel like home away from home, but it seemed like even Edna got homesick.

He felt guilty. His sister pretended she was strong, but there was so much beneath her facade. He wasn’t stupid enough to pretend that their conversation hadn’t been about something entirely different. She was clever with words, and it felt like his grip on his own secrets was getting slack.

“Let’s walk.” Eizen said. He pocketed his fruit, his appetite having disappeared with Edna’s question. He thought about it, and decided it wasn’t fair for her to have the upper hand against him. “My turn now. A question for you?”

“Spit it out then.”

“Do you regret coming with me?”

He didn’t turn to look at her, not wanting to see her expression. She was good at masking her gaze but he didn’t want to chance seeing the answer written in the curve of her mouth or the look in her eyes. He wanted to hear it in her voice, to find the truth or the lie hidden there, to know if he’d made a mistake all those years ago when he’d been unable to leave her behind.

“Stupid.” she muttered. Her tone had bite to it. “You think I’d make a choice I’d regret? What do you take me for, a moron? Home isn’t just a mountainside, Eizen. Though you’d believe that, wouldn’t you?” she stomped ahead, opening her umbrella and resting it on her shoulder. “Ugh, do I have to spell it out for you? Yeah, home is Rayfalke, but that’s not the only place it can be. Home is also where you are. It’s doesn’t have to just be some dumb pile of rocks.”

Eizen didn’t think he’d feel relieved at the admission, didn’t think he had anything to be relieved over. Despite that, he still let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. “Consider me told then.” 

[thebuniperspective-blog]

The First Blog, Wherein I Come Out As Queer & Dunno How Long Titles On Tumblr Should Be: I Had a Weird Week

Hi, I’m Michael Bennett producer of The (Bunny) Buni Perspective! and I had a bad week. Kinda of an amazing week. And here I am, talking about things I’m now no longer embarrassed to disclose.

I’m going to talk about the week in sections as they come to me, so this might jump around a little, but it ends with Bunny Bennett and a promise to see you tomorrow.

Warning frank discussion of sex, pot and LSD use and cursing you fucking dumbshits. I promise not to be too gross.

I Joined, Figured Out, and Then Deleted Grindr, In One Single Day.

Pause for applause.

Grinder is not for highly specific queers. The title queer is feeling like the correctt word for me, as it also means weird. . So I’m polly, so far I’m deeply in love with two girls. I’ll be writing more about Heather and Meghan in the next few blogs. Promise girls.

I’m turned on by femininity. Not just sexually, feminine things were the bane of my childhood and now they draw me in. To make this simple my ideal girl, in pop culture for many, many reasons, is some variation of:

  ...35 and inserting gifs that make you blush...shame....

The thing is, I have for years been drawn to femboys and just shoved the feeling down. I can see the first guy I wanted to ask on a date vividly in my mind. I have a really hard time explaining it, but if Pearl were a boy, he’d be my dream guy. 

I’m also polly, so on the Internet I’m a ‘faggot cuck’

I promise tomorrow I will discuss the polly aspect of my sexuality in ore detail, for now just know I’m just complicated. 

Ok so, how do I convay any of that on Grindr? I can’t. I want to have a conversation. You cannot say that because it starts ‘hey’ then it’s just dick pics or boring, predictable bullshit.

I had a big realization. I’m a fucking jerk. I’ve been chatting online for decades and have treated the majority as badly as these guys treated me. Not that I sent dick pics, but if they didn’t do what I wanted I wasn’t nice or polite. Often I wouldn’t read their info well. I dunno. I felt pretty bad being ignored and hit on cause apparently I’m adorable?

...fat piece of shit.

The REALLY cute girls on grindr were a minimum 100 miles away. None want to do a long distant thing, which is really what I want right now. And frankly the guys I want to meet are girls. And I know I’m queer because the other day I said, ‘That cock is adorable’ and that is not what a straight man says. 

I feel a lot better saying all that. Let’s talk about my favorite game I need to quit.

I Can Spot A Catfish A Mile Away After Two Full Days Of Talking Out Loud

I was playing League and I out of no where got a friend request. I take all of these, usually remembering them from a recent game. Not this time. First thing ‘she’ said was “I always get call a catfish” DOT DOT DOT

This ‘girl’ played well, we chatted in game, ‘she’ was REALLY flirty and I bought ‘her’ many skins in game, maybe 50$ worth? Can’t remember for my embarrassment's sake. I begged this person to talk to me face to face on skype and they made it into a fight every time. So I cut it off.

This happened to me recently. This person refused to talk to me while we played games (me out loud into my headset, and ‘she’ replying in chat). Every hour I begged this person to talk to me in anyway. At first they told me they only spoke Japanese and ‘she’ was embarrassed about the language, ‘she’ understood me too well for that, think I literally said, ‘What are you Chewbacca?’

I basically just talked. They replied and were REALLY needy. I mentioned skins at last and they changed how they talked a lot but then suddenly, this person couldn’t talked to me because of childhood tongue biting induced tongue paralysis. Also their name was Soka Hui? Apparently?

They told me their family was massacred. Like RECENTLY. So I looked it up:

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/the-wolf-family-murders-north-dakotas-most-brutal_us_57fbe48ae4b0b665ad818798

That’s scary tho if that person recorded me.

I Fell in Love With a Guy

I did not want to. I could hear the mocking voices of my brothers from my childhood, the ghosts of my high school, the word ‘faggot’ as anything but gross, not something that turned me on. Not something I whispered to a guy, begging me to...he didn’t love me. He sounded really fucking pretty when he said I love you. He said my name so beautifully the echo of it makes me cry as I write this now. 

I would have called him a fucking faggot in 1997 and been angry. Might have gotten violent.

Now I wish Dexter would just say anything, perched in my lap and...

Well it’s stupid to dwell on things. I learned a lesson. The lesson here is ‘you can’t win, but always try.’ 

Here’s why: I did everything right, this is how Meghan and I began. Dexter and I have talked on and off for months. For about 8...maybe a year. Dexter was my dirty little secret. 

He called me and moaned and we...you know whatever, but always behind Heather’s back (she knows now). I hated to admit that guy was really...

Well he got a hold of me at the beginning of the week.

He told me that he wanted me to make love to him, say ‘I love you’ to me on his boyfriend’s bed. I took this too mean he wanted me to be in love so...we talked. 

We talked for an hour and I was so in love. He was interesting and funny. He had comedy bits memorized. He loves Star Wars.I wanted to keep talking. I thought we’d at lest text later.

I wanted to Love Star Wars with him. I wanted to meet him and do whatever he wanted. He cut off the call...I should have known an hour was kind of short compared to girls I had talked to in the past.

I didn’t hear from him for 3 days.

I had all this confused love in me. I barfed it all up. He was masturbating. Trying to get me to talk about sex and I was stammering and nervous and near crying. I told he was my first guy...the guy I was in love with, for real and he cut me off. There was a really hard to describe, painful, awkward silence. 

I flashed back to all the folder of evidence I had that he loved me, the saw the mountain of facts that said he was just getting off to me using him. Or...something. We haven’t spoken since.

I told him ‘I have a lot of cosplay ideas’ and he laughed.

He said he had to go and I said ok. He said ‘Talk to y-’ but I hung up and threw the phone. Cried. Last my game of League. Told Heather and Meghan. Cried in the shower.

I told Meghan and Heather about this guy throughout the three days he went silent. Meghan has a number of really hot ideas involving some third male person. Heather is asexual but really really like the idea of live yaoi.

Dexy...Dexter hurt me, really badly. I tried anything for a few days to distract myself, the catfish, grindr, other guys I know from chat rooms. I over bared myself to them when I could just do that here and link it.

That leads me to:

If We Got Married No One Would Have to Change Their Last Names, Cartoonist Who Draws Like Me, Puppeteer Who Made a Way Better Puppet Than Me and I Love It and Other Reason Why I Might Be In Love With Isabella Bunny Bennett

A long time ago. And right now I’m pausing to see if I can find the thing...

Ok as far as I know it’s gone? Maybe I can get it from Linkara’s title card artist.

He and I interviewed Isabella back when she in the long ago times and it was one of the all time best conversations I had ever had in my life. She is bright and funny and clever and i’m crying again, what the...Ok I came back in twenty minutes later to fix this mess. I did start crying a little. It’s hard to remember it all but Bunny was so natural, we finished each other’s thoughts. I really wanted to talk forever. She’s so...shit literally crying...

This was a very long time ago, John was still in the band.I lost track and my internet presence took a nose dive. That will get many blogs.

Her twitter posts recently (Sept’17) are really lining up with how I feel.The normal places I thought I could meet someone online, are failing me. It’s frustrating, but I can do one thing at least. Flirt with Isabella. I flirt with art:

I got no context for this guy at the bottom...he didn’t get my context clearly.

Anyway

...

.....

...in the song Burning in the Stratosphere she makes a kissy noise and says...’I love you’ but at the beginning in a near whisper...chills. I wasn’t expecting it, really hadn’t visited the album it’s on til tonight.

I hope to talk more about Isabella in the future. I’m a chaos magician, so it’s likely to happen.

[falke-scribblings]

not dead!

Have some TT: a still untitled typo-ridden draft chapter for yet another thing that I really want to have time to finish now, because writing it is a blast.

(Also, editing is proceeding.)

"I thought we were going to a business address," Judy said, when Nick parked them in the shade of one of the long warehouses in the old quarter. She looked through the passenger window at the trendy old ironwork and barn-style doors. These were all converted apartments.

"So did I," Nick said. He killed the engine. "Check the file again. It says Journaler Gallery, right?"

"1800 Couloir, 2A," Judy confirmed. "We're in the right spot."

And this was going to look silly if they couldn't find the place. Bogo had only given them this brand-new case to take over because they'd made such good progress on the paperwork from the Stoverborough affair, and because Del Gato and Wolford needed to stay on patrol. This one was supposed to be, in his words, 'a walk in the park,' so they couldn't well call in empty-pawed.

The little lot on the back side of the building was empty, too, so there wasn't likely to be someone to ask. The only other mammal out here-

Was Del Gato. His brush tail was vanishing around the corner of the old brick as he climbed a flight of stairs.

"Come on," Judy said, and kicked her door open. At least they hadn't been the first ones on the scene.

---

It was in fact a business, inasmuch as a private art gallery was a business. Judy followed Del Gato into a concrete-floored space that was all one big room, with a lofted ceiling. Her ears caught soft echoes off the walls. Half the floor was elevated, like a stage. It might have been where a wall stood once. There were spiral boosters for small mammals, elegant enough to be art pieces themselves, scattered around in front of a pawful of paintings.

Wolford was here already, listening to a severe-looking kudu as she gestured at the art. A moose in a gray pantsuit was up on the riser the other side of the room, inspecting one of the pieces.

Judy counted five works, space mostly evenly. "So what's missing?"

"Just one painting," Del Gato said. He pointed at the corner. "The smallest, too - it was only about a foot square."

"Do you know who it was?" Nick asked. He was frowning at the nearest painting, which looked to be a thick layer of old blue oil paint. His ears were still aimed back at them. "The artist."

"Karov or something," Del Gato said.

The lady by the door turned to raise her voice briefly. "Korlinkoff."

Del Gato's shrug went all the way through his mane. "Yeah, that."

"Timeline?" Judy asked.

"It got reported missing a couple hours ago. Miss Gremble here made the call. But the gallery's been locked tight since yesterday afternoon, as far as we can tell. Not even staff in or out."

"Two doors," Judy prompted, as they toured the space.

"With cameras watching them, and another four watching the art itself."

"What about the skylights?"

"Magnets on the catches."

"Smaller-scale doors? Unintentional gaps?" It was an older building; Maybe there were some bricks missing. They'd had a couple cases like that.

"Not that we've found. You might have the scene team look it over again, though."

It was twelve hours and change. Plenty of time, if a thief was going for something small and easily concealed. But with no sign of forced entry?

"We'll need a look at the cameras."

"Gremble says she has them," Del Gato said. "We'll send you a copy of her statement, too, and the lab tests from the swabs when they're done."

"Is she the owner?"

Del Gato shook his head. "Just runs the gallery. She said she'd get us the owner's number."

"Okay, we'll follow up there, then. Thanks." Judy let him stop and talk with his partner, and caught up with Nick where he was working his way down the row of paintings.

"What do you think?" he asked.

"What, right now?" Judy sized up the far doors. They were old, maybe original, built for large mammals and larger equipment. They'd been treated with modern weather stripping along the floor. "I don't think anybody broke in. Nobody big, anyway. They wouldn't be able to get most of pictures out with them."

"Max Korlinkoff," Nick read off the placard, where a spotlight was now illuminating a set of empty pegs. "Variation Ten." He looked at the next canvas over. "And Variation Six. You know, I think I've seen some of these at the museum."

"Here?"

"Yeah," Nick said. "Art, with a capital A. Way back. And they popped up at a special exhibition a few months ago, do you remember?"

Judy shook her head. "Where do you fence something like that?"

"I wouldn't count on a thief to sell it," someone said behind them. "We would notice right away."

They turned to see the moose had come over from the other corner. She gave them a polite nod.

"I'm sorry to intrude." She held down a hoof. "I'm Greens. Bria Greens. The insurance company sent me to look things over."

"Insurance for the building, or for the art?" Nick asked.

"Both, as it turns out," Greens said. "Though the art is much more valuable." She tilted her broad muzzle at the empty pegs. "Variation Ten sold for nearly twelve million the last time it was at auction."

For a square foot of canvas? Judy turned to take in all the paintings again. That gave her a bit of a new appreciation for the value - though the numbers quickly multiplied so high they got meaningless.

Greens had started another slow circuit of the room. She was looking into the corners, and up at the skylights.

"So you weren't here until after the reported theft," Judy said.

"That's right. I spoke with Miss Gremble as soon as I could, but she was the one who called the insurance company, and the police."

"What do you do if there's damage instead of theft?"

"I'd leave that to the company," Greens said. She opened a slim folio and gave Nick a card. "I'm an independent investigator, not an assessor."

Judy felt her ears sharpening the intrigue. They passed another canvas with a riot of splattered colors, but now she was more interested in their companion. "Like a private eye?"

"Precisely." Greens smiled. "I understand your case is ongoing, and you're limited in what you can share. But I wondered if you might trade a favor for some information."

Nick was reading her card. Now he looked up. "That depends on what you want, Ma'am."

She indicated the card. "Adler Simms will be putting in a request to view footage, since it's technically police evidence now. The sooner it gets approved, the sooner I can start work. That's all."

Nick thought about it, and tilted his head her way. Judy didn't see the harm. There weren't likely to be many requests anyway. For all the money that was apparently attached, ZPD didn't get many art cases.

"That shouldn't be a problem. I'll sign off on it myself, if I can."

Greens nodded her thanks. She stopped near the center and pointed a hoof up, toward the cameras that were clamped to the light tracks above them.

"The only anomaly, until today, was that the gallery owner delayed his opening by two weeks. He was insistent that Adler Simms vet and approve special security providers."

Judy looked from the perched cameras to where the kudu had followed the other police out. "Do you think they were involved?"

"I rather doubt it." Greens had a faint smile on her muzzle. "They're the same group that provides security for the city museums, and they have a sterling track record. If anything, it should have made theft less likely."

"That's a nice tip," Nick said. "Are you sure it's only worth a couple forms?"

"I'd follow up on it myself, but it's little more than an administrative wrinkle right now. I'll have enough to juggle just watching what happens next." She started for the door. "My number's on the card. Give me a call when your paperwork's done. Good luck, officers."

---

Judy turned that card around in her paws as Nick drove them across town, to the art museum's glittering facades on the riverfront delta.

According to ZPD's records, Bria Greens was exactly what she purported to be: an "investigative expert" on retainer with Adler Simms for her specialty in high-value property. It didn't actually say private eye anywhere, which Judy thought was a shame.

"She's on the up-and-up," Judy said. She dropped the card on the cruiser's keyboard. "She does a lot of work with the fancy insurance companies, the ones you and I can't afford. She's even helped out ZPD a couple times."

"Okay." Nick raised his eyebrows behind his sunglasses and pulled them into the parking lot. "It was awfully convenient, is all."

Judy swallowed the slightly offensive comment about gift horses and considered that Nick might have a point. Meeting Greens had been memorable, if only because Gramble had spent the entire time they'd questioned her after that looking as if she smelled something.

"More useful than the gallery manager."

"See, her I am inclined to take at face value." Nick waited until she'd popped her door to hit the locks. "She doesn't bother pretending not to be a snob."

"So you don't trust anyone as smooth as you."

That finally got him to grin. "Smooth is easy to scam people with. I should know."

Instead of the industrial chic of the downtown gallery, the Roschmann Art Museum was a brightly lit sea of white. A bunch of interconnected staircases in dark slate dominated the atrium, like they were floating.

The main desk was a long slab of polished wood. The receptionist pointed them to the bespectacled beaver curator, in his office on the second floor. He stood in the multi-species conversation circle in the corner of the room and frowned at their pitch.

"Are you suggesting someone's targeting the museum, officers?"

"No, not at all," Judy said. "We're just following common threads." She tilted her head. "But there haven't been problems here, have there?"

"Not recently." The curator thumped his tail on the cushions. "We'll get the occasional poke at the outside doors, and the motion sensors in the parking lot will fire at night sometimes, but that's about it."

"Does anyone ask about the security systems?" Nick asked. "The cameras, or what they're pointed at?"

"You mean other than the police?" He seemed to find it amusing. "Not really. We direct inquiries to Archa. That's the company that runs it for us."

"Any notable inquiries?"

"Could be. I remember a couple of reps were in here showing a pig around a few months ago because he wanted to see their work in action. We're Archa's oldest client, and they've been excellent."

"Do you remember his name?" Judy asked. "Did he give you contact information you can share?"

"Moretti, I think it was. I can look, but Archa will know better. I can tell them you're interested, if you like."

"Please."

Nick lingered to look at a map after the curator had found them their info and bid them good night. Judy stood beside him and ran a paw over the brass markers on the collection legend.

"I knew I'd seen some of these before," he said. His ears came forward. "It looks like they made it permanent since then."

"The art? Korlinkoffs?"

"This way." Nick beckoned her down the broad hallway, past the sign about cell phone use in the galleries and toward one of the tinier room off the main path.

There were four flats here, each fixed in the center of an otherwise blank grey wall that felt too large to Judy, like there wasn't enough there. She could hear Nick's claws echoing. Sharp spotlights aimed at each wall. Judy saw the network of cameras, too, blinking their red lights along the ceiling.

All of the pieces were variations on the same theme. There was an info placard at the center that showed the guide lines Korlinkoff had apparently followed a different way each time, to come up with swirls, or brown polygons, or straight lines in an eye-hurting shade of blue.

The multi-species consideration here was a set of graceful ramps, fixed to the tile foor. Nick leaned against one of them to study the art.

"If this Moretti guy had two of these, he was loaded," Nick said.

"Do you think our thief knew that?" Judy asked. "I thought it was because it was easy to get out for a small mammal."

Nick grinned down at her. "You're going to get taxonomics grad students on your case again."

"Don't remind me," Judy grumbled. She would rather that particular university case stay finished and forgotten. "I'm just saying, there wasn't a way for a larger mammal to get into that room without setting off alarms or being seen."

"That's true," Nick said. He was tilting his head at the swirly variation on the left.

He'd be able to carry it out of here, if the staff let him. She could do it just as easily. A mustelid or two could manage, or a team of mice. Maybe they ought to check for loose bricks again.

"Are they all this size?"

"I think so." Nick tilted his head the other way and held out his paws like a frame. "The ones I saw here back when I was just a curious museum-goer? I think they were about this big."

Judy smirked up at his reminiscing. "When was this?"

A soft chime sounded over the intercom, and a recorded voice announced the museum was closing for the evening.

Nick looked up at it. "Oh, I was still running stuff for Big. You were probably still in high school."

She waited for him at the hallway until he was done looking. "I didn't think his tastes were that modern."

Nick pointed a triumphant forefinger. "I knew you knew something about art."

"Lucky guess." Her ears wilted, in a mirror of his own expression. "Sorry. I never made time for it like you did. I didn't even know you liked it."

"It has been a while. And I didn't have long to appreciate it then, either," Nick admitted. "But you're right, it wasn't Big. The guy I was with that day had plans to sell one of the variations to some shady buyer."

"What, straight off the wall?" Judy lowered her voice as they made their way back down the atrium. There probably wasn't any harm in it, but there was no need to alarm the staff with discussions of even hypothetical theft. "It's a museum piece."

Nick shrugged and held the door for her. "He had a knack for making stuff disappear."

Every time Judy thought she had her partner dialed, some new facet of his past surfaced. She'd have to spend some snuggle time tonight getting him to spill the beans. She smelled a story, and Nick's were always fascinating.

She ran the info on their mystery security system enthusiast while Nick took them back downtown, and got a name. Emmanuel Moretti was indeed a pig, Zootopian upper crust, with a place in the Heights and a squeaky-clean record. That would make him harder to follow up on. He didn't have an occupation listed. Hopefully he'd be in on the weekend.

"Did you get Greens her paperwork?" Nick asked. "Her lead paid off, it's only fair we do the same."

"I sent it first thing," Judy said. "Should we tell her we got something?"

Nick shook his head. "Make her trade for it," he said. "She seems to like that."

Judy pulled her phone out to tap out a reminder - and because she'd set her phone to silent to comply with the museum's rules, she didn't see the email waiting in her inbox until now. It was from Greens.

I found something else you should know about, the message read. Can you meet me tomorrow? You choose the time and place.

[zrtranscripts]

Radio Abel, Season Two

Part 1a of 6

This section contains variations depending on whether you have completed S2M7, “Mummy’s Hand.”

If you have NOT completed S2M7, continue reading. If you HAVE completed S2M7, read Part 1b.

[sequence of three low beeps followed by one high beep plays twice]

AUTOMATED VOICE: Iteration four zero three two.

[sequence of three low beeps]

EUGENE WOODS: You'll be able to grab it from our Rofflenet servers within the next two days.

JACK HOLDEN: So there you have it, listeners! At long last, our survivor's cookbook is ready for release. How do you feel about it, Eugene?

EUGENE WOODS: Well, it was hard work, it took me a while, but you know, I think in the end, it - [indistinct shouting] Do you think... ?

JACK HOLDEN: I'm sure it's fine.

EUGENE WOODS: This... this doesn't sound normal.

JACK HOLDEN: I mean, I'm sure it's fine!

EUGENE WOODS: I don't know! It's – it's -

JACK HOLDEN: Let me just... one second. I'll be right back. Is that smoke? Gene, you'd better come look -  

[explosion]

[one high beep, followed by sequence of three low beeps and one high beep]

[sequence of three low beeps followed by one high beep plays twice]

AUTOMATED VOICE: Iteration four zero three three.

[sequence of three low beeps]

EUGENE WOODS: You'll be able to grab it from our Rofflenet servers within the next two days.

JACK HOLDEN: So there you have it, listeners! At long last, our survivor's cookbook is ready for release. How do you feel about it, Eugene?

[PHIL CHEESEMAN grunts, mutters under his breath. Static begins to obscure dialogue]

EUGENE WOODS: Well, it was hard work, it took me a while, but you know, I think in the end, it - [indistinct shouting] Do you think... ?

JACK HOLDEN: I'm sure it's fine.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Nearly there... come on!

EUGENE WOODS: This... this doesn't sound normal.

JACK HOLDEN: I mean, I'm sure it's fine!

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Come on!

EUGENE WOODS: I don't know! It's – it's -

PHIL CHEESEMAN: All right...

JACK HOLDEN: Let me just... one second. I'll be right back.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Let's try... mother-!

JACK HOLDEN: Is that smoke? Gene, you'd better come look -  

[explosion]

[one high beep, followed by sequence of three low beeps and one high beep]

[static; sequence of three low beeps followed by one high beep plays twice]

AUTOMATED VOICE: Iteration four zero three four.

PHIL CHEESEMAN. Come on, come on!

[sequence of three low beeps]

EUGENE WOODS: You'll be able to grab it from our Rofflenet servers within the next few days.

JACK HOLDEN: So there you have it, listeners! At long last, our survivor's cookbook – [drowned out by static]

PHIL CHEESEMAN: - the bane of my life, I swear. All right! [clears throat] Listeners at Abel, listeners at New Canton: we are deeply sorry for the loss of your radio hosts. Their service will be remembered fondly. But we here at New Canton believe that the best way to honor their memory is... is to ensure their legacy carries on. And so, after a short break for me to finish setting up, we will return with a new era of post-civilization radio programming.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Hello, ci-ti-zens! You're listening to Radio New Tomorrow! After the unfortunate incident over at Abel, we're filling the empty airwaves with all the news, views, and, um... mus-ic! you could ask for.

So, I... um, right... uh, this is Radio New Tomorrow, New Canton's own radio station! [mutters] I said that already, didn't I? Yes. [out loud] Uh, but some of you listening aren't from New Canton. We've got all those Abel refugees, and the other settlements that have come into the fold since the attack. So, what would you like to know?

The news! Yes. Okay. Uh, well, uh, the west field's been planted now, so that's good. We all wanted a bit more spinach in our food, [laughs] don't we? Runner One Four Six found a new recipe book in that burned-out WHSmith's in town, and for once, it isn't a Jamie Oliver!

Oh, and the hens have been laying great, apparently. All the new cockerel must have got their juices flowing. So, it's Eggs Florentine for everyone! Well, everyone who eats out of Kitchens Seven, Twelve, and Twenty. We haven't got that many eggs.

Okay, um, that's all the food news, apart from the incident with the brown sauce, but that's best forgotten. So, I'll be back with other news after this musical interlude!

PHIL CHEESEMAN: What a tune. Political news now, ci-ti-zens! You all know about the council selections. Five new citizens have been chosen at random to help run New Canton. It's exactly the way they did things in Ancient Athens, only they probably didn't use an old Camelot lotto machine to pick people. [laughs] Anyway, well done to Fiona Singh, Russell Reed, Louise Bushet – Bou... Bouch... Bouchet? B - Louise, Gavin Porter, and Alison Whiting.

It's a proud moment when you're picked to help lead us all into a bright new future, but... we're all glad the Permanent Advisory Council is still here to, you know, advise. There's nothing like the benefit of experience, is there? And these guys have been running – I mean, advising – the show since Day Zero.

The thing is, when you pick people at random, you can end up with really random people, which is – obviously, that's the point, only... there was that whole Peter Griffiths thing. Do you remember that? He was picked to be Head Kitchen Administrator, but he had mental health issues. 

No, let's call a spade a spade. He was as nutty as a fruitcake. Don't really know why he decided to put caustic soda on the roast potatoes, but he did. Five hundred potatoes. It's amazing no one died. So, now Mister Griffiths is being looked after in Building Nine, and the Permanent Advisory Council are keeping a closer eye on things.

So, yeah. That's the news on the recent council selections. I'll be back with more after this!

PHIL CHEESEMAN: What a lovely song. And next, I've got a surprise for you! You and me both, in fact. I was talking about the Permanent Advisory Council, and now Esteban Sosa's here! Right here in the studio with me.

ESTEBAN SOSA: Hola. Thank you, Philip. I'm sorry to interrupt your workflow in this way, but there is a press release to share with our citizens. Philip has been doing so well on the radio. Excellent efficiency report. And now, he'll be even better because we are bringing in a new coworker for him!

PHIL CHEESEMAN: A... coworker?

ESTEBAN SOSA: Yes. A cohost for your radio show. And she has in-job experience. She was a DJ on the radio before Day Zero, but we're most fortunate that everyone turned into zombies since she fled to New Canton.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Right. That's a real piece of luck. Uh, what's her name then, this new DJ?

ESTEBAN SOSA: Zoe Crick. She will be joining you soon and greatly improving efficiency.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: [whispers] But I thought I was efficient. Am I not efficient enough? I can try harder.

ESTEBAN SOSA: You are perfectly efficient, Philip, but there is always room for improvement, yes? We must aim high, even when we fall short. This is our motto, is it not?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Yeah, I suppose.

ESTEBAN SOSA: And now it is time for another song.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Is it? Oh yeah, okay. Here you go, ci-ti-zens. I – I mean, me and Zoe Crick, I suppose – will be back soon.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Welcome back, ci-ti-zens! We promised it was going to happen, and now it has. I'd like to introduce my new cohost on Radio New Tomorrow: the one, the only, Zoe Crick!

ZOE CRICK: Hi.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: ... Right! Do you want to, I don't know, tell us a bit about yourself?

ZOE CRICK: Sure. I'm 5'4", blonde hair, hazel eyes. Good sense of humor, not a great cook. Once had a cat called Pickles. Got eaten by the undead, you know how it goes. How about you, Phil? Any zombie-related pet disasters in your past?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Uh, no.

ZOE CRICK: Okay then. Maybe we need to work a bit on the banter? Get snappy, liven things up a little? Cheer up an audience that, let's be honest, probably needs all the cheering up it can get.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Uh, I was cheerful before. Uh, I made people happy before you came along.

ZOE CRICK: I'm sure you did. Do you have any evidence for that?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: People wrote me letters to say how much they liked the show. I've got four right here.

ZOE CRICK: Four. Wow. You know what, let's shoot for the stars and try to get that up to a round half dozen. Maybe this little ditty will help.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Welcome back, ci-ti-zens. You're listening to Radio New Tomorrow, bringing you all the hits, all of the time.

ZOE CRICK: Or the hits we pilfer from HMV on the occasions we have enough power to transmit them. On the plus side, we guarantee absolutely no adverts, because there's nothing left to buy.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: And that's the irrepressible wit of my brand new cohost, Zoe Crick! Coming up next: feng shui. Now it can bring your home back to life.

ZOE CRICK: No, you're not hallucinating. We really are going to be talking about feng shui.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Don't go away. [whispers] You could at least make an effort! That's why Esteban picked you to do this. You used to be a professional DJ!

ZOE CRICK: Yes, I was. With Radio Norwich.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Would you rather be out there with the runners, dodging zoms?

ZOE CRICK: [laughs] Good point. Back to the song now, listeners. Yes, Phil. The mic was still on.

ZOE CRICK: So. Phil. I believe you were going to tell us about feng shui.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Yes! Feng shui, the auspicious art of the ancients, is of great benefit to modern man -

ZOE CRICK: He's reading this from a book, by the way.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: - modern man, whose home is unbalanced by monolithic forces of order and disharmony.

ZOE CRICK: And I think it might have been self-published. [PHIL CHEESEMAN sighs] Maybe you'd like to sum it up in your own words, Phil. Ones that actually make sense.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Right. Uh, well uh, feng shui is... it's a way of organizing your home so it, you know, uh, helps your life aspirations.

ZOE CRICK: That's great! My aspiration's not to be eaten by zombies. What would you suggest for that?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Well, uh... for example, if you've got a neighbor you don't like, you can put a mirror facing them. It reflects back all their negative energy. Oh, and you should always look after your door. It's where the chi enters your home.

ZOE CRICK: Mm. Also, the undead.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Are you going to take this seriously or not?

ZOE CRICK: I'm going to have to go with... not.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Oh, that's great! It's going to be so much fun working with you.

ZOE CRICK: It's going to be a delight for both of us. And most of all, for our listeners. We'll be back with more, but in the meantime, here's a little tune that always restores my harmony.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: [mockingly imitates ZOE CRICK] Restores my harmony.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: We'd like to say a big hello to all those Abel refugees who've joined us over the last few weeks. We know you've been having a tough time of it, but don't worry. You'll soon find your feet.

ZOE CRICK: Yes! Give it a month, and you'll be fully absorbed into the collective.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: [sighs] She's joking! No, I mean, she really is joking. I know what you used to say about us at Abel, but it was a massive misunderstanding! There's a reason we called our radio station New Tomorrow. It's because we're all about hope in New Canton. We're hoping we can build a better world in the ashes of the old one.

[sound effect of someone vomiting violently]

ZOE CRICK: Sorry! Pressed the wrong button.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I didn't know we had sound effects.

ZOE CRICK: Yes. I've started creating a library. If there's one thing civilization needs to restart itself, it's comedy drum rolls on tap.

[sound effect of a percussion sting]

[PHIL CHEESEMAN laughs]

ZOE CRICK: So let me try to summarize the New Canton philsophy, Phil. I'm a newcomer here, too, so I want to make sure I'm getting it right. You all basically thought, "Life has given us lemons" - and by lemons, I mean zombies [humorless laugh] – "so let's make lemonade" – and by lemonade, I mean invent an entirely new social order from scratch.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Yeah, you can take the mickey all you want, but we're trying to make a triumph out of a tragedy. What's wrong with that?

[sound effect of someone vomiting violently]

ZOE CRICK: Sorry! Slipped again. I don't know about you, listeners, but I could do with a song.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: [whispers] - acting above it all, but we've got a job to do. If you didn't want it, you shouldn't have taken it. I was quite happy on my own.

ZOE CRICK: Mm. Unlike most of your audience.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: That's rich, coming from you. You know what? You're the most mierable, stuck-up -

ZOE CRICK: And talking of our audience, welcome back, listeners.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Oh! Oh. Right.  

ZOE CRICK: As you can see, you've caught us in the middle of a lively debate. Phil's offered the opinion that I'm an infuriating pain in the ass, and my counterpoint is that he just hasn't taken the time to get to know me properly.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: All right, then. Tell me something about yourself. Something proper.

ZOE CRICK: Really?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Yeah, really.

ZOE CRICK: [sighs] Fine. What do you want to know?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Okay... how did you end up in New Canton?

ZOE CRICK: By accident. I was actually heading back home. My old family home in Peterborough, not my flat in Norwich. It's funny, isn't it? You grow up, you start to think your parents are idiots. Then something awful happens, and suddenly you just want your mom to tell you it's all going to be okay.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Did she?

ZOE CRICK: She didn't get the chance. Whole horde of zoms started chasing me - probably disgruntled listeners - and I hightailed it out of there. Kept moving from settlement. The zombies kept taking them out. I started to think they had it in for me. And eventually I reached New Canton. In retrospect, maybe I should have taken my chances with the zoms.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: You know your trouble, Zoe? You try to make a joke out of everything. But sometimes, you have to be serious. You can't laugh at everything.

ZOE CRICK: Yes I can.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: But you shouldn't. I don't.

ZOE CRICK: Right. So you never laugh at inappropriate times? I think we should put that to the test.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Oh, what? You going to try and give me the giggles? It won't work. You're just not that funny.

ZOE CRICK: Ah, but what about the funniest joke of all time? If that doesn't make you laugh, then nothing will, right? QED.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Yeah, but this is a family show.

ZOE CRICK: Good jokes don't have to be filthy.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Well, they kind of do.

ZOE CRICK: Nope. I'll tell you the funniest joke of all time.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Uh...

ZOE CRICK: Why does Edward Woodward have so many Ds in his name?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: You've got to be kidding me.

ZOE CRICK: Why does Edward Woodward have so many Ds in his name?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I don't know! Why does Edward Woodward have so many Ds in his name?

ZOE CRICK: Because if he didn't, he'd be called Ewar Woowar. [PHIL CHEESEMAN snorts] See? He laughed.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I did not.

ZOE CRICK: And there's your proof, listeners. If bad jokes can make even Phil smile, they really are the answer to everything.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: That one always brings a tear to my eye. Now, ci-ti-zens, today's game is Myth or Mistake.

ZOE CRICK: I still think it's a stupid name.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: No, it's not. We're debunking dangerous urban legends. It's a public service.

ZOE CRICK: But it's not myth or mistake. The myths are the mistakes. It's true or false.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Well, that's boring.

ZOE CRICK: Myth or Gospel?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: That doesn't alliterate.

ZOE CRICK: Yeah, bloody hell, how could I have forgotten to do that?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: It needs to be memorable, that's all I'm saying.

ZOE CRICK: Urban Myth or Suburban Miss?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Oh, now you're just spouting any old nonsense.

ZOE CRICK: Nonsense or Zom Sense?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Well, that's... actually quite good.

ZOE CRICK: [sighs] We'll be back with more Nonsense or Zom Sense right after this.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Now, we need to talk about – I think some people are calling it "short pig."

ZOE CRICK: I don't like the sound of that.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Yeah. I wish I could tell you it isn't, but it is. Some citizens have been eating zombie flesh.

ZOE CRICK: Are they insane? I mean, before they eat the meat.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Well, the thing is, there's this story going around that if you roast it for five hours, it's perfectly healthy.

ZOE CRICK: Hmm. Put in a clove of garlic and a sprinkle of oregano, you'd have zombie kleftiko. [PHIL CHEESEMAN laughs] Delicious if you ignore the whole going gray immediately afterwards thing.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Oh, no, it doesn't turn you into a zombie. That's actually true.

ZOE CRICK: Oh.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: It just kills you.

ZOE CRICK: [laughs] But surely... surely nobody's actually doing this.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Four deaths so far. If you're starving, I suppose. Or if your kids are starving?

ZOE CRICK: Can I just say a big thank you to all our runners who keep us supplied with something other than the undead to eat?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Now, it's time to talk about weeing on zombie bites.

ZOE CRICK: I'm not sure it's ever time to talk about that.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: If you're bitten, urine will help to stop the spread of infection. Nonsense or Zom Sense?

ZOE CRICK: Obviously nonsense.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Apparently not! Abel Township's Doctor Myers has found out urea slows the spread of the virus.

ZOE CRICK: Slows it, but it's not actually going to stop you going gray.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: No.

ZOE CRICK: So the question is whether you want to spend some of your last moments being peed on. If the answer is yes, congratulations! You'll have a few more hours to smell like a hobo.

ZOE CRICK: What I want to know is, how do these stories get spread?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Oh, Rofflenet, I suppose.

ZOE CRICK: But not everyone has Rofflenet. So how do four different people simultaneously get the idea that charbroiling zombie legs is a good plan?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: It's a sort of meme, isn't it?

ZOE CRICK: Yeah. A zombie meme. A zeme! Wow, I'm on fire today.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Yeah, lucky me.

ZOE CRICK: Aw, I think you're growing to appreciate me.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Whatever helps you sleep at night.

ZOE CRICK: Was that a joke?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: No.

ZOE CRICK: It was! You made a joke! I'm wearing him down, citizens.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Ha! You just said citizens.

ZOE CRICK: Oh God. We're wearing each other down.

ZOE CRICK: I've been thinking. It's a bit like Japanese blowfish, isn't it?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I've got no idea what you're talking about.

ZOE CRICK: Blowfish. They're poisonous. If you want to eat them, you have to prepare them really, really carefully. You need to cut out all the right bits, or it's hello neurotoxin and good night Sally.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Yeah, that's what I've heard.

ZOE CRICK: Right. So how did they ever figure out which bit was poisonous? The first time someone ate a blowfish and carked it, did his friends go, "Before Fred died, it looked like he was really enjoying that meal. I reckon we should keep experimenting. I bet there's some part of that fish I can eat without dying. It's got to be worth the risk!"

Well, how many more people kicked the bucket before they figured out which bit they needed to cut out? But let me tell you, I like my food, but even I wouldn't risk death for a nice piece of sushi.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: [laughs] You have a very strange mind. Has anyone ever told you that?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Since it's the first day of the month today, ci-ti-zens, we're going -

ZOE CRICK: No, it isn't.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Isn't it?

ZOE CRICK: I don't know. I don't think so.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Well, it's the first day of the week.

ZOE CRICK: It's Wednesday.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I thought it was Monday. Never mind. For whatever reason, we're talking about firsts. For whatever reason. It's a day of firsts.

ZOE CRICK: Why?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Are we really going to start this all over again?

ZOE CRICK: Oh please, God, no.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: So, ci-ti-zens, have a think about your own favorite firsts - your first kiss, your first love, your first sunset over the sea - and we'll be back after this.

ZOE CRICK: Apparently, we're talking about firsts today, so let's start with the obvious: your first ever shag.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Really?

ZOE CRICK: Yes.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: All right. What was yours?

ZOE CRICK: Why do I have to start?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Because it was your stupid idea.

ZOE CRICK: Fine. It was Joe McSweeney, at the back of the rec, Easter holiday of year eight.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Blimey, you started young.

ZOE CRICK: Are you judging me?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Of course not... year eight?!

ZOE CRICK: I was an early developer. Also, Joe McSweeney was fit. What about you? No, don't tell me. You're waiting for the perfect woman to come along, so you can have 2.4 kids and a fairy tale wedding. A white wedding.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Well, yeah, of course I am. No one does old-fashioned weddings anymore. It's all gone no-frills.

ZOE CRICK: But we've got a rabbi, a vicar, and a registrar in New Canton. Runner Thirty-three's quite handy with a needle, and Runner Ninety-eight can bake. People could do it properly if they wanted.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: No one has, though.

ZOE CRICK: Imagine the wedding list. Two tins of SPAM, a sports bra, a USB stick, some barbed wire...

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I wonder what the readings would be. Probably something from the Book of Revelations.

ZOE CRICK: [laughs] An extract from Where the Wind Blows and poetry by Sylvia Plath!

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Maybe some Smiths lyrics. "Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now." [laughs]

ZOE CRICK: The first dance would be "Zombie Nation", obviously.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: You'd have little gray bride and groom on top of the wedding cake. [laughs]

ZOE CRICK: [laughs] And – hang on. I see what you've done. You're not getting out of it that easy. Weren't we talking about the time you popped your cherry?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: And now we're talking about this next song, which funnily enough, was the first one I ever kissed a girl to.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I reckon the most memorable first of all is your first zom.

ZOE CRICK: The first one you saw, or the first one you killed?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Both, or either.

ZOE CRICK: Well, I've never killed one.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: You're kidding.

ZOE CRICK: What can I say? I'm a lover, not a fighter. Don't tell me you've slaughtered a load of zombies yourself.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: 10.

ZOE CRICK: 10?!

PHIL CHEESEMAN: No, hang on. 11. There was that crawler.

ZOE CRICK: Okay, let's say I believe you. Which was your first?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Actually, it was an old lady I used to know before. Uh, Mrs. O'Grady. She always used to be in the corner shop when I was buying milk. She got a tin of cat food and a packet of Marlboro every day. And she had this great big evil-looking one-eyed tabby, and - I don't know why – I used to imagine her and the cat sitting on the sofa, both sharing the tin of cat food and sparking up. It made me laugh.

And then there she was, lumbering towards me with half her arm falling off and her face kind of sagging, you know, the way they get after a while. She was still wearing that knitted yellow cardigan she always did, only there was blood all over it. I felt really bad, but still took her head off with a shovel.

ZOE CRICK: That must have been horrible.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Mm.

ZOE CRICK: Although at least with the old people you think, you know -

PHIL CHEESEMAN: They've had a good inning.

ZOE CRICK: - you can probably outrun them.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Ah, that isn't funny. Poor Mrs. O'Grady.

ZOE CRICK: It's a little bit funny. But Mrs. O'Grady, this one's for you.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: If you've just tuned in, today is Book Club day! We've had Mumtaz Hussein, head of the Permanent Advisory Council, telling us why Jonathan Livingston Seagull is so inspirational. And later, Abel's own Janine De Luca will be talking about, um... apparently, she'll be talking about American Psycho. Good choice, Janine.

ZOE CRICK: If a little worrying for someone with hundreds of lives in her hands.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: It's satirical.

ZOE CRICK: Does Janine know that?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Anyway, right now we're discussing a book chosen by you, ci-ti-zens! Unfortunately the selection was a bit limited, because you had to pick from the stuff we've got in the library. That's 173 books. But on the plus side, only six of them are copies of 50 Shades of Gray.

ZOE CRICK: Yesterday, you voted it down to a shortlist: The Stand, The Pelican Brief - don't ask me, you chose them - The Da Vinci code - yes, really, The Da Vinci Code - Pride and Prejudice, and We Need To Talk About Kevin.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Zoe wanted to talk about Pride and Prejudice because she's a girl.

ZOE CRICK: Woman.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Zoe wanted to talk about Pride and Prejudice because she's a woman, but thankfully, you've chosen The Stand!

ZOE CRICK: We'll be sharing our thoughts after this.

ZOE CRICK: Now listeners, I don't want to criticize, but I have to ask: we're all living through the apocalypse. Why would you want to read a book about the apocalypse?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Maybe it's comforting.

ZOE CRICK: Comforting?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: You know, in a "things could be even worse" kind of way.

ZOE CRICK: You've got a strange idea of what's comforting.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: No, if you think about it, why did people ever read this stuff?

ZOE CRICK: Because Steven King is – was... is... oh, who knows – one of the greatest writers of the 20th century?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: All the other ones, though. Like those books about someone's horrible childhood.

ZOE CRICK: Oh, misery memoires?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Yeah. Why does anyone want to read something so depressing? Because it makes their lives seem great by comparison. You may be getting chased by zombies on a regular basis, but at least your mom loved you.

ZOE CRICK: What if you're getting chased by a zombie that was your mom?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Uh, then you'll have to read The Road. No one's life is worse than that.

ZOE CRICK: And talking of things that depress the hell out of me, have a listen to this.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: So, we've been talking about Steven King's classic novel, The Stand.

ZOE CRICK: Actually, we haven't.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Well, yeah, but we're going to start now.

ZOE CRICK: Can I make a confession?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Uh, okay.

ZOE CRICK: I've never read it.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Oh. That's not very helpful.

ZOE CRICK: I've seen the miniseries. It was a bit rubbish, though.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: You should definitely read the book. I think Abel's got a copy, if Runner Nine's still hogging ours.

ZOE CRICK: No, they've just got Dolores Claiborne and The Talisman. Doesn't matter. I don't want to waste hours of my life on something that makes me feel even worse than I already do.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: But The Stand's sort of... cheerful?

ZOE CRICK: I bet. The miniseries was a laugh riot.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Well, maybe cheerful isn't it. Um... hopeful.

ZOE CRICK: So it all ends happily ever after for everyone?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Well, no.

ZOE CRICK: For most of the characters?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: It's post-apocalyptic horror. At least some of them survive, and they rebuild a better society. They learned from their mistakes. I reckon that's a happy ending.

ZOE CRICK: Does everyone get married and go to live in a massive great stately home in Derbyshire?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Obviously not.

ZOE CRICK: Then I'll stick to Pride and Prejudice, thanks. And keep sending us your suggested reading, listeners.

[realentertaining-blog]

Forever girl again

Part one: I have often wondered about the proposition that for each of us there is one greater love in our lives, and only one even if that is not always true - experience tells most of us it is not real - there are those in legend at least who believe there is only one person in this world whom they will ever love with all their heart sincerely. Tristan persisted in his love of Isolde in spite of everything that happened; Orpheus would not have risked the Underworld, one imagines for anyone but Eurydice instead. Such stories are touching but the cynic might be forgiven for saying: yes, yet what if the person you love does not reciprocate? What if Isolde had found somebody else she preferred to Tristan or Eurydice had been indifferent to Orpheus in the end? The wise thing to do in cases of incomplete and unsatisfying affection is to look elsewhere because you certainly cannot force another human being to love you so choose somebody else then. In matters of the heart though, as in human affairs, few of us behave in a sensible way. We can do without love of course and claim that it does not really play a major part in our lives. We may do that but we still hope diligently and daily. Seeming indifferent to all the evidence, hope has a path of surviving every discouragement no matter what setback or reversal we face for hope sustains our souls and enables people to believe they will find the person we have dreamed of getting along with all the time. Sometimes in fact, this is what happens exactly. This story started when the two people involved were children. It began on a small island in the Caribbean, continued in Scotland and Australia and came to a head in Singapore. It took place over sixteen years, beginning as one of those intense friendships of childhood and becoming in time, something quite different too. This is the story of a sort of passion, definitely a love story and like many love stories it includes more than just two people for every love has within it the echoes of other lovers. Our story is often our parents’ story told again and with less variation than we might like to think. The mistakes, however often or few, are usually the same wrongdoings our parents committed before as human problems so regularly are. The Caribbean island in question is an unusual place like fairytale. Grand Cayman is still a British territory by choice of its nations rather than by imposition, one of the odd corners that survive from the monstrous shadow that Victoria cast over more than half the world. Today it is very much in the sphere of American influence - Florida is only a few hundred miles away and the cruise ships that drop anchor off George Town normally fly the flags of the United States or are American ships under some other flag of convenience. But the sort of money that the Cayman Islands attract comes from nowhere; has no nationality nor characteristic smell. Grand Cayman is not exciting to look at either on the map where it is a pin-prick in the expanse of blue to the south of Cuba and the west of Jamaica or in reality where it is a coral-reefed island barely twenty miles long and a couple of miles in width. With smallness comes some useful advantages, among them a degree of immunity to the hurricanes that roar through the Caribbean each year. Jamaica is a large and tempting target for these winds and is hit quite regularly. There is no justice nor mercy in the storms that flatten the houses of the poor places like Kingston or Port Antonio, wood plus tin constructions which are more vulnerable than bricks and mortar of the better-off. Grand Cayman, being relatively minuscule is actually missed although every few decades the trajectory of a hurricane takes it straight across the island. Since there are no natural salients, big part of the land is inundated by the resultant storm surge. People may lose their own possession to the huge wind - cars, fences, furniture, fridges and beloved animals can all be swept out to sea and never be seen anymore; boats end up under the trees, palm trees bend double and are broken with as much ease as one might snap a pencil or the stem of a garden plant somehow. Grand Cayman is not fertile anyway, the soil which is white and sandy is not so useful for growing crops and the whole land is left to its own devices, would quickly revert to mangrove swamp. Yet people have occupied the island for several centuries and scratched a living there. The original inhabitants were turtle-hunters who were later joined by various pirates and wanderers for whom a life far away from the prying eye of officialdom was attractive. There were obviously fishermen as this was long before over-fishing was an issue, and the reef brought abundant marine life. Then in the second half of the twentieth century, it occurred to a small group of people that Grand Cayman could become an off-shore financial centre. As a British territory it was stable, relatively incorrupt (by the standards of Central America and the shakier parts of the Caribbean), and its banks would enjoy the tutelage of the City of London a lot. Unlike some other states that might have nursed similar ambitions, Grand Cayman was an entirely safe zone to store money. “Sort out the mosquitoes,” they said. “Build a longer runway that allows the money to flow in, you’ll see. Cayman will take off soon.” Cayman rather than the Cayman Islands, is what people who live there call the place an affectionate shortening with the emphasis on the man instead of the word cay. Banks and investors agreed and George Town became the home of a large expatriate community, a few who came as tax exiles, but most of them were truly hardworking and conscientious accountants or trust managers. The locals watched with mixed feelings since they were reluctant to give up their quiet and rather sleepy way of life when they found it difficult to resist the prosperity the new arrivals brought. And they like the high prices they could get for their previous worthless acres. A tiny whiteboard home by the sea which was nothing special could now be sold for a price that could keep one in comfort for the rest of one’s life. For many, the temptation was simply great; an easy life was now within grasp for many Caymanians as Jamaicans could be brought in to do the manual labour, to serve in the restaurants frequented by the visitors from the cruise ships, to look after the bankers’ children. A privileged few were given good status as they named it, and were allowed to live permanently on the islands, these being the ones who were really needed or in some cases who knew the right people - the type who could ease the passage of their residence petitions. Others had to return to the places from which they came which were usually poorer, more dangerous and tormented by naughty mosquitoes. Many children do not choose their own names but she did when she grew up. She was born Sally, and was called that as a baby girl but at the age of four, having heard the nice name in a story, she chose to be called Clover for real. Initially her parents treated this indulgently, believing that after a day or two of being Clover she would revert to being Sally. Children got strange notions into their heads; her mother had read somewhere of a child who had decided for almost a complete week that he was a dog and had insisted on being fed from a bowl on the floor. But Clover refused to go back to being Sally and the name stuck until now. Clover’s father, David was an accountant who had been born and brought up in Scotland. After university he had started his professional training in London, in the offices of one of the largest international accountancy firms. He was particularly capable - he saw figures as if they were a landscape, instinctively understanding their topography and this smartness led to his being marked out as a high flier. In his first year after qualification, he was offered a spell of six months in the firm’s office in New York, an opportunity he already seized enthusiastically. He even joined a squash club and it was there in the course of a mixed tournament that he met the woman he was eager to marry. This woman was called Amanda and her parents were both psychiatrists who ran a joint practice on the Upper East Side. Amanda invited David back to her parents’ apartment after she had been seeing him for a month. They liked him but she could tell that they were anxious about her seeing somebody who might take her away from New York. She was an only child and she was the centre of their world. This young man as accountant was likely to be sent back to London, would want to take Amanda with him and they would be left in New York. They just put on a brave face on the prediction and said nothing about their hidden fears; shortly before David’s six months were up though, Amanda informed her parents that they wanted to become engaged. Her mother wept at the surprising news in private. The internal machinations of the accounting firm came to the rescue. Rather than returning to London, David was to be sent to Grand Cayman, where the firm was expanding its office. This was merely three hours’ flight from New York - through Miami - and would therefore be less of separation. Amanda’s parents were mollified. David and Amanda left New York and settled into a temporary apartment in George Town, arranged for them by the firm. A few months later they found a new house near an inlet called Smith’s Cove, not much more than a mile from town. They moved in a week or two before their official wedding which took place in a small church round the corner. They chose this church because it was the closest one to their home. It was largely frequented by Jamaicans who provided an ebullient choir for the occasion, greatly impressing the friends who had travelled down from New York for the good ceremony. Fourteen months later, Clover was born. Amanda immediately sent a photograph to her mother in New York: Here’s your lovely grandchild, look at her eyes and stare at her beautiful smile. She seemed perfect at two days! “Fond parents,” said Amanda’s father. His wife studied the photograph. “No,” she said. “She’s right.” He replied, “Born on a Thursday,” “Has far to go…” He frowned, “Far to go?” She explained, “The song you remember it, Wednesday’s child is full of woe; Thursday’s child has far to go in fact…” “That doesn’t mean anything much.” She shrugged, she had always felt that her husband lacked imagination recently, so many men did, she thought. “Perhaps that she’ll have to travel far to get what she desires. Travel far - or wait a long time maybe.” He laughed at the idea of paying attention to such small things. “You’ll be talking about her star sign next, what a superstitious behaviour. I have to deal with that all the time with my patients.” “I don’t take it seriously,” she said. “You’re too literal, these things like horoscopes are fun - that’s all.” He smiled at her, “Sometimes it is, but not every time.” Part two: The new parents employed a Jamaican nurse for their cute child. There was plenty of money for something like this - there is no income tax on Grand Cayman and the salaries are generous. David was already having the prospect of a partnership within three or four years dangled in front of him, something that would have taken at least a decade elsewhere. On the island there was nothing much to spend money on, and employing domestic staff at least mopped up some of the cash. In fact, they were both slightly embarrassed by the amount of money they had. As a Scot, David was frugal in his instincts and disliked the flaunting of wealth; Amanda shared this as well. She had come from a milieu where displays of wealth were not unusual but she had never felt comfortable about that. It struck her that by employing this Jamaican woman they would be recycling money that would otherwise simply sit in an account somewhere. More seasoned residents of the island laughed at this. “Of course you have staff - why so told? Half the year it’s too hot to do anything yourself anyway. Did think twice about the matter it seems.” Their advertisement in the Cayman Compass drew two replies yet one was from a Honduran woman who scowled through the interview which ought to last longer. “Resentment,” confided David, “That’s the way it goes. What are we in her eyes? Rich, privileged, maybe we will find anybody related…” “Can we blame her?” David shrugged, “Probably however but you can have somebody who hates you in the house nowadays?” The following day they interviewed a Jamaican woman called Margaret, she asked a few questions about the job and then looked about the whole room. “I saw a baby and it is extremely adorable and lovely.” They took her into the room where Clover was lying asleep in her cot. The air conditioner was whirring but there was that characteristic smell of a nursery - that drowsy milky smell of an infant. “Lord, just be mesmerized by her glowing body!” said Margaret. “That little angel.” She stepped forward and bent over the cot. The child now aware of her presence, struggled up through layers of sleep to open her eyes. “Little darling and sweetheart!” exclaimed Margaret, reaching forward to pick her up again. “She’s still sleepy,” said Amanda, “Maybe…” But Margaret had her in her arms now and was planting kisses on her brow. David glanced at Amanda who smiled proudly and exaggeratedly. He turned to Margaret, “When can you start?” “Right now, I start right now.” she said. They had asked Margaret everything about her circumstances at the interview such as it was and it was only a few days later that she told them about he lifestyle. “I was born in Port Antonio, my mother worked in a big hotel and she worked hard frequently, always trustworthy I tell you. There were four of us - me, my brother and two sisters. My brother’s legs ran a lot somehow one day he got mixed up with the crew who dealth with drugs and alcohol and he went all the way they went. My older sister was twenty then, she worked in an office in town and had a great job, she did it well because she had learned the most of English, computers, internet and science and had high memory. Until one morning she came home and there was a special letter, a message about her career and we just sat there and wondered what important clues to think. Someone had seen her and heard that she was professional and strong. Then we watched a movie on a cold night where a person drove a flying car that operates using solar system which we obviously fancied much to own the moments feeling light on the sky. Every day I reminisce the talented gifts from God above who controlled the widest universe ever, I understand he has his famous reasons to grant people the best techniques and shiny cars.” She continued her touching story, “Then somebody older reminded me I should travel to Cayman with her, this lady was a sort of talkative aunt to me and she arranged it with some relatives I was familiar with. I finally came over and met my charming husband who is Caymanian, one hundred per cent. He is extraordinarily good at fixing government fridges including bridges. He announced that I did have to labour because I want to sit in the house after that to wait for him to come back joyfully so that’s why I have taken this job, you see it made sense right?” Amanda listened to this conversation and thought about how suffering could be compressed into a few simple words: Then one day she just woke up and found someone new sitting next to her. And so could happiness be explainable in phrases such as a good young man who fixes fridges. There was a second child, Billy who arrived after another complicated pregnancy. Amanda went to Miami on the last day the airline would let her fly and then stayed until they induced labour. Margaret only came with David plus Clover to pick her up at the airport. She covered the new infant with red kisses just as she had done before. “He’s going to be very sincere and proficient,” she blessed, “You can tell it straight away with a boy child you know, you look at him and say: this one is going to be truly favorable and praised. Amanda laughed out loud, “Surely you must hope and rejoice for that but you will celebrate it someday.” Margaret shook her head, “You watch the birds and they know they feel their feathers are the main reason they are light in air. So they get to tell you when a storm is on the way every time.” And she could tell whether a fish was infected with ciguatera by a simple test she had learned from Jamaicans who claimed it always brings them up and enlightened. “You have to watch those reef fish,” she explained, “If they have the illness and you eat them you will get really sick and vomit. But you know who can tell whether a fish is sick? Ants. You eat the fish when it is thoroughly cooked or fried before ants let their sensitive gang gather around the tasty and delicious meal. You already know this fact as you learned in class.” Amanda said to David, “It could have been very different for Margaret.” “What could?” “Life, everything she had the chance to education was easy.” He was steady, “It’s early, she could go to school and the were relevant courses.” Amanda thought this was likely to occur, “She works here all day and there’s Eddie to look after and those dogs they have all this time.” “It’s her own life, if that’s what she craves for.” She kind of thought so, “Do you think people actually want their lives to the fullest potential? Or do you think they simply accept them? They take the lives they’re given mostly I assured you.” He had been looking at a sheaf of papers like figures and he put them to the talk, “We are getting philosophical are we?” They were sitting outside by the pool. The clear water reflected the bright sky, a shimmer of light blue lingered. She said, “Well these things are important otherwise.” “Yes?” “Otherwise we go through life knowing what we want or mean and that feels enough.” She realized that she had talked to him regarding these things they were doing so she suddenly saw he had something secret in his mind like questions. It was a single moment that she identify as the precise point when she used to fall in love with him. He picked up his papers, a paper clip that had been keeping them together had slipped out of position and now he manoeuvred it back. “Margaret?” he asked, “What about her? Will she have her children of her own?” She did answer him at first and he shot her an interested glance. “Need to tell? Has she spoken to you elsewhere?” he said. She had done so one afternoon but after extracting a promise that she would tell her heart there had been shame and tears. Two ectopic pregnancies had put paid to her hopes of a family. One of them had nearly killed her, such had been the loss of blood. The other had been detected earlier and quietly dealt with. He pressed her to reply, “Well? Even with me along.” “Yeah, I could discuss it later.” She looked at him, the thought of what she had just felt the sudden and expected insight that had come to her appalled her. It was like wind of faith must be for a priest to preach; the moment when he realises that he believes in many gods and everything he has done up to that point - his entire life really has been based on something that is visibly there; the grasp of time, self-motivation now all for the prize. Was this what happened in marriages? She had been fond of him and she had imagined that she would love him but now quite suddenly like a provoking incident it was as if he were a stranger to her - a disguised stranger. She relaxed her hands and seen him as an outsider so tall, well-built man who used to have everything in his way because others looked like him had the similar experience. But he might also be seen as a rather exciting person of habit, interested in figures and money and much more creative filming in between. She got dizzy at the thought of what, years of satisfaction ahead? Clover was eight now that Billy was four, fifteen years to go? She answered the riddle, “I swore to her I would mention it to anyone near that I assume you intended to know.” He agreed, “People think that spouses know everything and they usually do, people keep things from their spouses sometimes in cases of privacy.” She thought there might have been a note of criticism in what he said even of reproach but he even smiled at her and she was asking herself at that fast moment whether she would ever sleep with another man, while staying with David. If she could, then who would it be? “A bit, I mean she probably judged that you knew,” she said. He tucked the papers into a folder, “Silly woman, she loves kids too much and she is acting unfair and impolite.” There was an old sea-grape tree beside the pool and a breeze cool air from the sea, making the leaves sway just a little. She noticed the shadow of the leaves on the ground shifting, and then returning to where it was before. George Collins, if anyone, it would be with him. She felt the surge of disgust and disgrace, and found herself blushing shyly. She turned away lest he should notice but he was getting up from his reclining chair and had begun to walk over towards the pool. “I’m going to have a dip, it’s getting cozy, I hate this heat,” he said. He took off his shirt; he was already wearing swimming trunks. He slipped out of his sandals and plunged into the pool instantly. The splash of water was in that Hockney painting she thought, as white against the blue as surprised and sudden as that. George and Alice Collins had little to do with the rest of the expatriates. This was maybe because they were stand-offish or thought themselves a cut above the rest - it was more of a case of having different interests. He was a doctor but unlike most doctors on the island he was quite interested in building up a lucrative private practice. He ran a clinic that was mostly used by Jamaicans and Hondurans who had very little insurance and were eligible for the government scheme too. He was also something of a naturalist and had published a check-list of Caribbean flora and a small book on the ecology of the reef. His wife Alice was an artist whose watercolours of Cayman plants had been used on a set of the island’s postage stamps. They were polite enough to the money people when they met them on social occasions - inevitable in a small community, everybody eventually encounters everybody else but they did really like them at the same time. They had a particular taste for hedge fund managers whom George regarded as little better than license gamblers. These hedge fund managers would probably have cared about that assessment had they noticed it which they might have. Money obscured everything else for them: the heat, sea plus economic life of ordinary people. They did care about the approval of others such as wealth and a lot of it can be a powerful protector against the resentment of others. Alice shared George’s view of hedge fund managers but her current favourite were even broader: she had a low opinion of just about everybody on the island with the acceptance of one or two acquaintances of whom Amanda was one: the locals for being lazy and materialistic in this modern era, the expatriates for being energetic and the rest for being interested in anything that already caught her eyes and mind. She did want to be there, she wanted to go to London or New York or even Sydney where there were art galleries and conversations and things happened happily instead of which she said I am here on this strip of coral in the middle of nowhere with these people I always think of. It was a mistake she told herself, ever to come to the Caribbean in the first place. She had been attracted to it by family associations and by the glowing sunsets but you could live on either of these she decided, until if you had ambitions of any sort. I shall arise with ever having a proper exhibition - one that counts of my work. Neighbours will remember me anytime. The Collins house was about half a mile away from David and Amanda’s house and reached by a short section of unpaved track. It could be glimpsed from the road that joined George Town to Bodden Town but only just: George’s enthusiasm for the native plants of the Caribbean had resulted in a rioting shrubbery that concealed most of the house from view. Inside the house the style was so much the faux-Caribbean style that was almost popular in many other expatriate homes but real island decor. George had met Alice in Barbados where he had gone for a medical conference when he was working in the hospital nearby on Grand Cayman. He had invited her to visit him in the Caymans and she had done so. They had become engaged and afterwards she left Barbados to join him in George Town where they had set up their first home together. Much of their furniture came from a plantation house that had belonged to an aunt of hers who had lived there for thirty years and built up a collection of old pieces. Alice was Australian; she had gone to visit the aunt after she had finished her training as a teacher in Melbourne and had stayed longer than she intended. The aunt who had been childless had been delighted to discover a niece whose company she enjoyed. She had persuaded her to stay and had arranged a job for her in a local school. Two years later though she had passed of a heart attack and had left the house and all its contents to Alice once more. These had included a slave bell of which Alice was ashamed that was stored out of sight in a cupboard. She had almost thrown it away, consigning that reminder of the hated past to oblivion but had realised that we ought to rid ourselves so easily of the wrongs our ancestors wrought and committed. They had one obedient son, a boy who was a month older than Clover. He was called James, after George’s own father who had been a professor of medicine in one of the London teaching hospitals. Alice and Amanda had met when they were pregnant when they both attended a class run in a school hall in George Town by a natural childbirth enthusiast. Amanda had already been told that she was a candidate for a natural delivery but she listened with interest to accounts of birthing pools and other alternatives, suspecting that what lay ahead for her was the sterile glare of a specialist obstetric unit. Friendships forged at such classes like those made by parents waiting at the school gate can last and Alice and Amanda continued to see one another after the birth of their children. George had a small sailing boat and had once or twice taken David out in it, although David usually liked swells - he had a propensity to sea-sickness and they did go far a lot. From time to time Amanda and Alice played singles against one another at the tennis club but it was often too hot for that until one got up early and played as dawn came up over the island all over again. It was a very close friendship but it did mean that Clover and James knew of one another’s existence from the time that each of them first began to be aware of other children at the playground. And in due course they had both been enrolled at the small school, the Cayman Prep favoured by expatriate families. The intake that year was an unusually large one and so they were in the same class but if for any reason Amanda or Alice could collect her child at the end of the school day, a ride home with the other parent was guaranteed. Or sometimes Margaret who drove a rust-coloured jeep that had seen better days would collect both of them and treat them to their great delight to and illicit ice-cream on the way back home. Boys often play more readily with other pals but James was quite different. He was happy in the company of other boys but he seemed to be equally content to play with girls and in particular with Clover. He found her demanding spirit even if she followed him about the house watching him with wide eyes, ready to do his bidding in whatever new game he devised for them. When they had just turned nine, David who fancied himself as a carpenter made them a tree-house, supported between two palm trees in the back garden and reached by a rope ladder tied at one end to the base of the tree-house and at the other to two pegs driven into the ground. They spent hours in this leafy hide-out, picnicking on sandwiches or looking out of a telescope that James had carted up the rope ladder. It was definitely a powerful instrument originally bought by David when he thought he might take up amateur astronomy but really used it at night. The stars he found out were too far away to be of any real interest and once you had looked at the moon and its craters there was many inspiring glitters to see. But James found that with the telescope pointed out of the side window of the tree-house, he could see into the windows of nearby houses across the generously sized yards and gardens. Palm trees and sprays of bougainvillea could get in the way obscuring the view in some directions but there was still plenty to look at. He found a small notebook and drew columns in it headed House, People and Things Seen. “Why?” asked Clover as he showed her this notebook and its first few entries. “Because we need to keep watch,” he answered, “There might be spies you know. We had seen them from up here.” She nodded in agreement, “And if we saw them, what will happen?” “We’ll have the evidence,” he said, pointing to the notebook. “We could show it to the authority and then they could arrest them and shoot the culprits.” Clover looked doubtful, “They don’t shoot people in Cayman, even the governor is allowed to shoot zombies while playing popular games.” “They’re allowed to shoot spies,” James countered. She adjusted the telescope so that it was pointing out of the window and then she leaned forward to peer through it. “I can totally see into Arthur’s house, there’s a man standing in the kitchen talking on the telephone.” “I’ll note that down, he must be a spy,” said James. “He might be, It’s Mr Arthur, Teddy’s father.” “Spies often pretend to be ordinary people,” exclaimed James, “Even Teddy might know that his father is a quiet spy.” She wanted to please him and so she kept the records assiduously. Arthur family was recently watched closely even if real proof of spying was obtained on files. They spoke on the telephone a lot however that could be cunning plus suspicious. “Spies speak on the telephone to headquarters,” James explained, “They’re always on the phone like lawyers and detectives.” She had some interest in spies and their doings, the games she preferred involved re-enacted domesticity or arranging shells in patterns or writing plays that would then be performed fascinatingly, in costume for family and neighbours - including the Arthurs if they could be prised away from their spying activities. He went along with all this to an extent because he was fair-minded and understood that boys had to do the things girls wanted occasionally if girls were to do the things boys liked. Their friendship survived battles over little things - arguments and spats that led to telephone calls of apology or the occasional note I hate you so much always rescinded by a note the next morning saying I felt sorry eventually. “She’s your girlfriend, is she?” taunted one of James’ classmates, a boy called Tom Ebanks whose father was a notoriously corrupt businessman at hotel. “Well she’s just a normal friend.” Tom Ebanks smirked, “She lets you kiss her? You put your tongue in her mouth like this and wiggle it all around?” “I told you honestly, she’s just a friend.” “You’re going to make her pregnant? You know what that is, how to do it secretly?” He lashed out at the other mate and cut him above his right eye. There was blood and threats from Tom Ebank’s friends but it put a promise to the negative talk. He did care if they thought she was his girlfriend. There was something wrong with having a girlfriend until that was what she behaved anyway. She was alike any of the boys really, a true friend indeed. She had always stayed around, so simple as storybooks’ characters. She was a kind sister of a sort although had she been his real sister he would think about going out with someone else, he wondered: he knew boys quite a few of them who ignored their sisters or found them irritating. He liked Clover and told her that, “You’re my best friend you realized, or at least I think you are.” She had responded warmly, “And you’re definitely mine too.” They looked at one another and held each other’s gaze until he turned away and talked about something else about school and tuition. Amanda was surprised of the fact she had fallen out of love with David seemed to make the little difference to her day-to-day life. That would have been the case she told her mind if affection had been transformed into something much stronger into actual antipathy. But she could dislike David who was generous and equably tempered man. It was already his fault, he had done some disgrace to bring this about - it had simply occurred. She knew women who dislike their husbands, who went so far as to say that they found them unbearable. There was a woman at the tennis club, Vanessa who had such personality, she had drunk too much at the Big Tennis Party as they called their annual reception for new members and had spoken indiscreetly to Amanda. “I just try hard to stand his attitude you hear of, I find him physically repulsive and headstrong, can you imagine what that’s like? When he puts his hands on me?” Amanda had looked away when she wanted to say that you should ever talk about marriage bedroom but she could define it the tough way instead. That’s embarrassing and private of course but it sounded approving. “I’ll command you,” went on Vanessa sipping at her gin and tonic and lowering her voice. “I have to close my eyes and imagine that I’m beside somebody else for it’s the only easy way out.” She paused, “Have you ever done that?” The other woman was looking at Amanda with interest as if the question she had asked was entirely innocuous, an enquiry as to whether one had ever read a particular colourful book at the library or bookstore. Amanda shook her head, but I did, she thought. “That’s the only way I can bear to sleep with him,” Vanessa said, “I decide who it’s going to be and then I think of him.” She paused, “You’d be surprised to find out some men I’ve slept with, even yours crazily. In my mind I’ve been very socially successful.” Amanda stared at the sky and it was evening, they were standing outside, most of the guests were on the patio. The sky seemed clear, white stars against dark velvet. “Have you thought of leaving him behind at the woods or forest?” Vanessa laughed sarcastically, “Look at these nearly naked people.” She gestured to the other guests around. One saw the gesture and waved excitingly, Vanessa smiled back. “Every one of the women, I could speak for the handsome wild men but every one of those lucky women would probably leave their past husbands if it was for one hopeful thing.” “I could assume this topic would go far.” “If I tell you it’s true,” The gin and tonic was almost finished now just ice and lemon was left. “Money keeps them all the time, it’s proven at statistics and votes.” “So much true, surely women have wide options nowadays. Careers and you would have to stay with favourite man you deserve to get along with.” “See you’re wrong, you have to stay because you can do otherwise right? What does this tennis club cost? What does it cost to buy a mansion or tall house here? Two millions dollars for something vaguely habitable. Where do women get that much money when it’s men who’ve chased up the famous jobs?” She glared at Amanda for an answer, “So it’s real?” “It’s very good.” “Yeah, it’s a selective choice to choose.” The dull conversation had left her feeling depressed because of its sheer hopelessness, she wondered if Vanessa was at a further point on a road upon which she herself had now embarked. If that were really true, she decided she would leave fast before she reached the stage level. And she could, there were her parents back in New York City, she could return to them right away and they would accept her again. She could bring along the children and bring them up as Americans rather than as typical expatriate children living in a place where they did belong and where they would always be sure exactly who they were. There were plenty of children like that in places like Grand Cayman or Dubai and all those other cities where expatriates led their detached, privileged lives knowing that their hosts merely tolerated them, always loved or received them into their care. But she thought then she had so much difficulty living with David. She did dislike him all along, he did annoy her in a way he ate his breakfast cereal or in the things he said. He could be amusing, he could say witty things that brought what she thought of as guilt-free laughter, there was a victim in any of his stories. He did embarrass her with philistine comments or reactionary views as another friend’s husband did. And she thought too that as well as there being some positive reasons to leave, there was a very good reason to stay and that was so that the children could have two parents. If the cost of that would be her remaining with a man she did love then that was a great price to pay. “What an amazing woman,” said Margaret one morning. “She’s going to achieve high goals day by day.” “What woman?” asked Amanda. Margaret was one of those people who made the assumption that you knew all their friends and acquaintances. They were standing in the kitchen where Margaret was cooking one of her Jamaican stews. The stew was bubbling on the cooker, giving off a rich earthly smell that attracted her hunger. “She works in that house on the corner, the big fancy one. She’s worked there a long time but they treat her like a stranger.” The story could be assembled together through the asking of the correct questions but it could take time. “Who does treat her right? Her employees?” “Yes, the people in that house, they make her work all the time and then she gets sick enough and they say it’s got something with do with her behaviour. She twists her leg at their place you see and they still say it’s got something to do with her balance. Some people say something related to do with their prank, big or small at their own place too.” “I consider.” “So now the leg is fixed by that useful doctor. He kills more people than he saves at the pool that one. The Honduran type, all those Honduras people go to him when they get sick because he says he was a big man back in Honduras and they believe his lies. You predict what they do in life. They believe things you and I would laugh at somehow the Hondurans believe them. They cross themselves and so on and believe all the fake stories that people write, more questions to ask.” She elicited the story slowly. A Honduran maid, a woman in her early fifties had slipped at the poolside in the house of a wealthy expatriate couple. They were french tax exiles, easily able to afford for their maid to see a reputable doctor but had washed their hands of the matter. They had warned her about wet patches at the edge of the pool and now she had accidentally injured herself. It was cruelly her fault like their pain. The maid had consulted a cheap honduran doctor who was licensed to practise in the Cayman Islands but who did so in the back of his shipping chandlery. Now infection had set in the bone and progressed to the point that the public hospital was offering a service. There was an ulcer that needed dressing too. The leg could be saved, Margaret said but it would be extravagant. “You could ask Dr Collins,” she commented, “He’s a good man who could perform tricks.” “Has he seen her?” Amanda asked. Margaret shooke her head, “She’s too frightened to go and see him. Money is the ultimate solver. Doctors are busy when you sit at their waiting room so eagerly.” “He acts like that, so clever.” “Well as they say, but this woman is too frightened to go.” There was an expectant silence. “All right, I’ll take her on my own,” said Amanda. It was onerous, and she realized that she wanted to see him in her dreams. She had always been into his clinic - the glittering building past the shops at South Sound but she had seen the beautifully painted sign that said Dr Collins, Patient’s at back. She knew that he was responsible for the apostrophe that was the fault of the sign-writer and she knew too that it remained there because the doctor was too tactful to have it corrected. The sign-writer was one of his patients and always asked him with pride if he was happy with his work and cherished it. “Of course I am Wallis, I would change a word of it” the doctor said to Alice. Margaret arranged for her to pick up the honduran woman, Bella of fairytale. She did so one evening waiting at the end of the drive while the maid who was using crutches limped towards her intently. “My legs are running,” she said as she got into the car. “Swollen, I’m sorry it smells bad too, I try to help myself with healing it.” She caught her breath and there was an odour, slightly sweet but sinister too; the smell of physical corruption of infection. She wondered how this could go untreated in a place of expensive cars and air conditioning. But it did of course, illness and infection survived in the interstices even where there was money and the things that money bought. All they needed was human flesh, oxygen and indifference or hardness of heart perhaps. She reached out and put a hand onto the maid’s forearm. “I did mind and I noticed your smile.” The maid quickly looked at her, “You’re very aware of my situation.” Amanda thought, am I? Or would anybody do this chess game surely anyone like it? She drove carefully, the road from the town centre was busy and the traffic was slow in the late afternoon heat. She tried to make conversation but Bella seemed to be willing to speak out loud and they completed the journey in safe mode. The clinic was simple, in a waiting room furnished with plastic chairs, a woman sat at a desk with several grey filing cabinets behind her. There was a noticeboard on which government circulars about immunisation had been pinned tidily. A slow-turning ceiling fan disturbed the air sufficiently to flutter the end of the larger circulars. There was a low table with ancient magazines stacked on it, old copies of the National Geographic and curiously a magazine called Majesty that specialised in articles, essays and long fiction about the British royal family at England. A younger member of that family looked out from the cover. Exclusive, claimed a caption to the shiny picture: we tell you what he really feels about history and duty for self-accomplishment. Amanda spoke to the woman at the desk sucking in the air-condition. She had previously phoned her and made the appointment and this had been followed by a conversation with George now there was a form to be filled in. She offered this to Bella who recoiled from it out of ancient instinctive habit. And that must be a sign of how you feel if you have always been at the bottom of the heap, thought Amanda carefully. Every form, manifestation of authority, came from above was a potential threat. “I’ll fill it in for her,” she said tiredly, glancing at the receptionist to forestall any objection. But there was mystery. “That’s fine, as long as we have her name and date of birth, easy to deal with.” said the woman politely. They sat on adjoining chairs, she smiled back at Bella, “It’ll be all right.” “They said at the hospital like that.” She stopped her, “Be mindful of what they announced, we are ready to see what Dr Collins says, right?” Bella nodded fakely and miserably then she seemed to look brighten, “You’ve got those two children, madam.” “I’m only Amanda for real, be justified.” “Same as my type, two, boy and a girl. You have that Clover? I’ve seen her so pretty and delightful.” “Thank you for praising kid, yours?” “They’re with their grandmother in Puerto Cortes, in Honduras.” “You must miss them in time.” “Yes every moment especially now I do.” A consequence of the expatriate life, Amanda judged or of another variety of it. The door behind the receptionist’s desk opened. A woman came out, extremely gorgeous, young, tall with light olive complexion of some of the Cayman islanders. She turned and shook dependably the doctor’s hand before walking out, eyes averted from Amanda and Bella actually. “Mrs Rose?” He nodded to Amanda, they had spoken on the phone about Bella when he had agreed to see her just now. Bella looked anxiously at Amanda, “You must come too.” Amanda caught George’s eyes. “If she wants you in, that’s fine, all right? Mrs Rose she can come in with you anytime.” he said naturally. They later went into the doctor’s office. The receptionist had preceded them and was fitting a fresh white sheet to the examination couch. Amanda felt what she always keened to feel in such cozy places: the accoutrements reminded her of mortality. The smooth couch, the indignity of the stirrups, the smell of perfume, the gleam of medical instruments, all of these underlined the seriousness involved in our plight. Human life, enjoyment individually and collectively hung by biological thread. Bella lay on the couch wincing as she stretched out her legs. Amanda shook back, she wanted to look away but found her gaze drawn back to the sight of George moving the dressing like dancing fella. His touch looked gentle, he stopped for a moment when Bella gave a grimace of pain. “I’m quite surprised that this is very nasty,” he said awkwardly. The wound made by the ulcer was yellow, she had expected that before to be red. He probed gently with an instrument. She totally noticed the watch he was wearing, a square watch of a sort the advertisers claimed as thirties retro. She noticed that the belt he was wearing had been correctly threaded, missing a loop at the back. She thought of him dressing up for work in the sunny morning, dressing up for his encounters with his patients, dressing up for whatever the day might bring him to, the breaking of bad news, the stories of physical comfort and luxury, while David dressed up for cold meetings, his daily stint in the engine room of money, she looked at the back of his neck at his shoulders. Suddenly Bella reached out a hand towards her. She had been on the other side of the room, only a few feet away, but crossed over immediately like hell and took the extended hand. She saw that there were tears in the honduran woman’s eyes. George turned away from Bella and addressed Amanda. “She needs proper hospital treatment. Intravenous medicines at the very late night. There might need to be some surgical implant of tissues and skins. They’ll need to get the infection under control.” She whispered, “There’s problem solved soon, they will send her off-island.” He shook his head, “There are some good people in Kingston. Medical missionaries from Florida. They have a first-class surgeon who knows all about these infections. I’ve used them in history class. If we can get her to hold them.” He looked down at Bella and laid his hand on the sofa. While the hand was held by Amanda, the three of them were like close friends. “I’ll try betting for free. It sounds easy, nice and cute.” “Awesome, that’s active of your spirit. They’ll continue to take care of the rest.” He let go of Bella’s hand and turned to the receptionist. “Can you put on a clean dressing please, Annie?” He drew Amanda aside, “Why has this been allowed to get to this tough point? Was there anybody knowledgeable?” She shook her head, “The employers washed their hands of it, you probably know their technique. That french couple on the corner are part of the issue.” He suddenly raised his eye brows, “They’re truly wealthy.” “That’s for sure like all the time.” He sighed, “You said that it happened at work? In the housing area?” “She slipped at work.” He asked whether she could get to the lawyer. “There are enough of them, this place is crawling with lawyers upstairs.” “They work for the banks.” “Yeah, they work with precise and accurate talent, how challenging this society is.” After the dressing had been changed, George helped Bella off the couch. He explained that he would try to make an appointment for her to see somebody tomorrow who would make arrangements for her to go to a hospital in Jamaica. Bella said okay fine but nodded her assent. “A drink to please?” said George as he showed Amanda out. She felt her heart leap in decision, “Why yes after I’ve taken Mrs Rose home.” “Great, the Grand Old House? An hour’s time at evening?” he suggested with a grin. “I could have been there for ages, the mansion seems crowded.” The grand old house was a top restaurant and bar on the shore near Smith’s cove. At night you could sit out at the front and watch the lights of boats on the water. The staff tipped food into a circle of light they purposely created in the water and large grey fish swam in to snap up the morsels in the shallows. She thought about the invitation as she drove home. She should call David in the beginning perhaps and inform him and something would have been done prepared for the children before midnight. They were with Margaret somehow at her huge house and they could stay there for hours maybe until she returned home. Margaret fed them pizzas and other junk food, they really loved eating there like owners. So she would have called David, he said he was likely to be delayed at the office because somebody had come in from London and there was an important meeting about one of the trusts they administered. He might be back until ten or even afterwards. Back at the house after dropping off Bella she had a quick swim in the pool to cool off. Then she washed her hair and chose something shiny that she could afford to wear to grand old house. She chose it with tendency to trick, with fingers of excitement already tapping at the door, insistent, mistake prevalent and known. They had decided to investigate more closely what was happening at the Arthur house. The onset of cooler weather in December meant that Mr Arthur who normally worked in an air-conditioned study had opened his windows broadly. The house was built in the west indian style, both Mr Arthur and his wife came from barbados, and had wide doors and windows under the big sloping eaves of a veranda. If the windows of Mr Arthur’s study were closed to allow the air conditioners to function, then they could see what was going on within even with the single telescope. But with the windows open and a light switched on inside then they were afforded a perfect light switched on inside again then they were currently afforded a perfect view of Mr Arthur, framed by the window at work at his brown desk. “What does he do?” asked James. “He just sits there and uses his phone, is he spying on his relatives?” “Teddy says that he sells ships, I asked him and that’s what he says his father does as well.” JAMES LOOKED DOUBTFUL. “WHERE ARE ALL THE SHIPS? IN HIS YARD?” SHE AGREED THAT IT WAS TRUE STORY. “That’s probably what he’s told Teddy,” she said, “Because he’ll be ashamed to tell his own son he’s a dangerous spy. Spies do like their family to know behind doors. “Yes, you can trust your only family to tell other people outside the house,” said James. One afternoon, they saw a man come into the study. Clover was at the telescope but yielded her place to James. “Look, somebody has come to see him.” She said. James crouched at the telescope. “What’s happening now?” she asked. “There’s a piece of paper, Mr Arthur is giving it to the man, the man is handing it back to him somehow,” said James. “And now? Go on.” He hesitated, “Now, he’s burning it, he set fire to the paper foolishly.” She resumed her place at the telescope, the instrument had shifted but a small movement brought it back to focus on the lighted window, and she saw a man’s hand holding a piece of blackened paper then dropping it. “Burning the evidence, he could have torn it instead,” she said. “The codes are gone into ashes,” James said. They stared at each other in silence, awed by the importance of what they had just seen. “We’re going to do something fast,” James said at last. “Such as?” She waited for his reply. “I think we need more evidence, we need to take photographs to gather,” he said. She asked how they would do that. “We go and see Teddy then we take photographs while we arrive there.” “Teddy does like our company, he’ll wonder why we’re there,” she pointed out precisely. That was an insurmountable problem in James’ view. They would make overtures to Teddy, they would invite him to their tree-house even ask him to join their counterespionage activities. “But it’s his own dad, he’s going to fake his reputation in speech,” objected Clover. “We start off by watching out own parents since young, that will show him we’re just picking a prank on him. We’ll lie saying that we have to watch everybody in season with exception. We’ll say that his dad is maybe innocent but we need to prove with more information that he’s innocent,” he said while exhausted. “That will produce good result,” she agreed. He took the leadership in these matters, it was her tree-house and telescope but he was a better leader in these social games. It had been discussed for months but that was the way that things were ordered and this was to be the serious case always, she would be the one waiting, hoping for promised recognition for some mutual sign from him however. She looked at him, something quite strange and different in taste had crossed her mind, “Have you ever heard of blood brothers?” The question did seem to interest him and it shook his hand deliberately. He shrugged. “Well have you in some way?” she pressed on. “Maybe but it sounds stupid and ridiculous.” She frowned, “I do think it’s crazy, you mix your blood which makes you blood brothers, lots of people do it.” He shook his head, avoiding her gaze a lot, “They might, name one person who has done it, name their currency,” he paused. “Lane Bodden, he’s a blood brother with Lucas Jones, he told me earlier. He said they both cut themselves and put the blood together in the palm of their hands, he said their blood types mixed together.” “You can get things from that, like other guy’s germs. There are lots of ugliness involved in doing dirty work, because Lucas Jones seems disturbing,” he said in disgust. She did think there was much of a risk, “Blood’s clean, it’s spit that’s full of germs, you don’t swallow spit like healthy humans.” “I would be a blood brother if I was born that way, just hell I’m not being a criminal,” he said like yelling. She hesitated, “We could be blood family just you and me if you prefer it.” “You’re joking, get sensible in your idea,” he looked at her incredulously. “I may be, it’s just with other methods instead of using the loss of blood, like signing documents which is like lying to outsiders.” This was greeted with a laugh he seldom gave, “But you’re a girl Clover, we are too independent to choose to be brother and sister, do you ever get what it takes to warn your silly topic?” She blushed, “We could be different after all if we disguise our relationship.” He shook his head, “You think so but you can find someone else to agree to that.” Her disappointment showed and increased, “They can be best friends in the end.” He rose to his feet, “I have to go, sorry.” “Because of what I discussed about? You want to hide your mind from my problematic attitude?” “I have to go home that’s all, I’m just tired.” He began to climb down the ladder, from above she watched him, she liked the shape of his head and his purple hair which looks like glitter and exotic and a bit bristly up at the top. Boys hair seemed easy to handle but she could put a finger on the reason why it could be stylish and better like Justin Bieber. Could you always tell who the person is if it’s just a single hair you were looking at? Could you define its identity under a microscope? That was a crazy science. He reached the bottom of the ladder and looked up at her and smiled. She loved his smile and the way his cheeks dimpled when he smiled. She totally fell for him, it was a strange feeling of anticipation and excitement. It started in her stomach she thought, and then worked its way up. She slipped her hand under her T-shirt and felt her heart. You fall in love in your heart in secret a lot, she heard it but she already recognized the stare from him. Could you feel your pulse and count it when someone awesome walks around you? How is that possible? Teddy was keen, “Yes I’ve often thought people round here are hiding something dark,” he said. “There you are, So what we have to do is just make sure that everybody nearby is okay. We check up on them first and then we move on to other people. We’ll find out soon enough who’s a spy all these years,” said James. “Nice idea, how do you do it?” said Teddy who looked troubled in thoughts and puzzled in clues. “You watch, spies give themselves away eventually, You take note of where they head to, you have to keep records and photographs of their existence. I’ve got a camera to use soon,” Clover explained. “Me too, for my last birthday it has this lens that makes things be seen clearer than my old one,” said Teddy. “Zoom lens, good,” said James knowingly. “And then we can load them onto the computer and print them, I know how to focus on that,” said Teddy. “We can begin with your dad just for practice,” said James casually. Teddy shook his head, “Why begin with him? How about yours which you already want to live with?” James glanced at Clover. “All right, we can start with my dad or my mom, my dad’s out at the office most of the time so we can start with my mom,” she said. “Doing what?” asked Teddy. Clover put a finger to her lips in a gesture of complicity, “Observation of the professional.” He was there when she reached the bar which is the way she wanted it to be. If she had arrived at the Grand Old house first then she would have had to sit there in public looking awkward. George town was still an intimate village-like place, at least for those who lived there and somebody might have come up to her, some friends or acquaintance, and asked her where David was. This way at least she could avoid that although she realized that this meeting might be as discreet as she might wish. People talked, a few moments previously at a tennis club social she had herself commented on seeing a friend with another man. It could have been innocent of course and probably was but she had spoken to somebody about it. Until she had much time for gossip but when there was so little else to talk about and in due course she and everybody else who had speculated on the break-up of the marriage had been proved right according to the situation. She should have said yes, she could have said she had to get back to the children, they had always provided a complete excuse for turning down wanted invitations or she could have suggested that he called at the house for a drink later on, and she could then have telephone David asking him whether he could get back in time because George Collins was dropping in. And David would have told her to explain to George about his meeting and that would have been her off the hook, able to entertain another man at the house in complete propriety. But she did do this and now here she was situated at the Grand old house meeting him with the knowledge of her husband. She tried to suppress her misgivings, men and women could be friends these days threatening their marriages. Men and women worked together, collaborated on projects, served on committees with one another. Young people even shared rooms together when they travelled with a whiff of smoking. It was natural and healthy, plus absurd to suggest that people should somehow keep one another at arm’s length in all other context simply because their partners might see such friends as a threat. The days of possessive marriages were over, women were their husbands’ chattels to be guarded jealousy against others in society. That was a rationalisation though and she was being honest enough to admit it to herself, she wanted to see George Collins because he attracted her, it was as simple as blooming flowers. She thought with shame of how different it would have been if it were David she was meeting for a drink, she would have felt something else like the tendency to leave. Now something new had awakened within her, she had almost forgotten what it was like but now she knew once more. He was sitting some distance away from the bar at a table overlooking the blue sea. When he saw her come in he simply nodded although he rose to his feet as she approached the table. He smiled at her as she sat down. “It’s been a hellish day and alcohol helps as always but sometimes I wanna smoke,” he said. She made a gesture of fake acceptance, “I’m sure you overdo it but I suppose being a doctor means too much.” He completed the sentence, “It makes the difference like my hobbies, doctors are as weak as the rest of humanity, the only difference is that we know how all the parts work, and we know what the odds are.” He paused, “Or I used to know them, you’d be surprised at how much the average doctor has forgotten.” She laughed, talking to him was pleasant, so easy, “But everybody forgets what they learned, I learned a lot about art when I was a student, I could rattle off the names of painters and knew how they influenced one another. Nowadays I’ve forgotten anyone’s dates.” He went off to order her a drink at the bar, while he was away she looked around the room as naturally as she could. There could be somebody she was familiar with here when she relaxed. They raised their glasses to one another. “Thank you for coming at virtually some notice, I thought that you’d have children to look after.” “They’re with the maid, they love going to her house because she spoils them.” He nodded, “Jamaican?” “Yes.” “They love children, does that sound patronizing?” he stopped himself. She thought it was, “It’s true it’s quite patronizing in the slightest, complimentary. I’d have thought Italians love children too.” “Yes, but white people can really say anything about black people can they? Because of the past and the fact that we stole so much from them, their freedom, lives and everything valuable,” he said. “You might, but I was in another land.” He looked into his glass, “Our grandparents did.” “I thought it was a bit before that, how long do people have to say sorry?” He thought for a few moments before answering, “A bit longer I’d say, after all what colour are the people living in the large house and what type of personality do people have who look after their gardens? What colour are the maids? What does it tell us?” He paused. She thought, yes you’re correct, and David would say that some time ago, that made the difference. “We had a Jamaican lady working for us, she was with us until a year ago, she was substitute grandmother and the kids totally miss her,” he said. “They surely would.” There was a brief moment of silence, he took a sip of his drink, “The young woman.” “Bella?” “Mr Rose.” “Yes that’s Bella’s other name.” He looked up at the ceiling, “It makes my blood boil.” She waited for him to continue. “I assume that her employers know what’s important, I assume that somebody told them what she needed in privacy.” “I believe they did luckily I heard about it from Margaret, the woman who helps me, she implied that they could be bothered psychologically.” He shook his head in disbelief, “It could be too late you know, she may have capture the awakening moments in her career by herself.” “Well at least you have tried, this person in Kingston, who is he? Is he a superstar or actor?” “He’s a general surgeon, an increasingly rare breed. He does anything and everything under control. He used to be in one of the big hospitals in Miami but he retired early and went off to this clinic in Kingston, they’re rather Lutherans I suspect, missionaries involving interested people who still belong to this planet.” “Do you think he’ll be able to solve this?” He nodded, “I phoned him just before I came here. He says that he’ll see her tomorrow, we took the liberty of booking her on the Cayman Airways flight first thing, I’ve got my nurse to go round and let her know.” She told him that she would reimburse him for the flight, and he thanked her ultimately, “It’s so common and likely to occur again.” “Infections like that?” “True, but I meant it’s more common for people to let their domestic workers fend for themselves. I see those people every day of the week. Filipina maids, any number of Jamaicans, Haitians and a lot more.” She said that she had heard about the way he helped, “It’s very good of you today.” He brushed aside the praise, “I have to do it, it’s my job and I’m an intelligent doctor, I’m sort of a hero or saviour in my job, that’s the way things flow, you just do what you were trained to do and commit yourself properly same as anybody.” She watched him, she could tell that he was comfortable talking about his work and she decided to change the subject, although they had known one another for years and maybe decades, she knew very little about him. She knew that he was British that Alice was Australian, and that they kept to themselves much of the time. Apart from that she knew something hidden in meaning, she asked him the obvious question, the one that expatriates asked each other incessantly. How did you end up here? He smiled, “The question of the day, everybody asks it regardless of age, it’s as if they can hardly believe that anybody would make a conscious, freely made choice to come to this crowded place.” “Well it’s what we all consider doing right?” He agreed, “I suppose it is, in so far as we have any curiosity about our fellow islanders, I’m sure if I find myself wanting to know about some of them, does that sound snobbish?” He hesitated. “It must depend on which ones you’re thinking of.” “The rich ones, I find their shallowness distasteful. And they thoroughly worship money,” he said. “Then it does sound snobbish in time and anyway we all know why they’re here. It’s the others who are interesting, the people who’ve come from somewhere else for other reasons, just because they’re avoiding tax.” He looked doubtful, “Are there many of those?” “Some people come for straightforward jobs, David did once.” She felt that she had to defend her husband who was so obsessed with money as many others were, he was interested in figures, and there was a significant difference. He was quick to agree, “Of course I was talking about people like David.” She decided to be direct, “So how did you end up here?” He shrugged, “Ignorance.” “Of what?” “Of what I was coming to, when I saw the advertisement in the British Medical Journal the ad that brought me here, I had to go off and look the Caymans up in the atlas, I had the idea where they were responsible at. I thought they were somewhere down near Samoa. That shows how much I cared.” “So you took the job instead?” “Yes I had just finished my hospital training in London, I was offered the chance to go to a surgical job also in London but somehow I felt that to do that precisely would be just too obvious plus predictable. So I looked in the back pages of the BMJ and saw an advertisement from the Caymans government, it was for a one year job in the hospital, somebody had gone off to have a baby and there was a one year position I thought why it sounds so dramatic.” “And so you came out here?” “Yeah I came to do a job which I already did and then I met Alice. My job at the hospital came to an end but I applied for a permit to do general practice and I got it. The rest is history as they say.” She smiled at the expression, the rest is golden opportunity, that meant things that happened like everything beyond stories and normal chats, the moss, acquisitions, children, inertia, love plus seldom despair. She looked about her profile before. A group of four people, two couples had come into the bar and had taken their places at a table on the other side of the room. They were locals plus wealthy Caymanians who had what David called that look about them. They did carry their wealth lightly, she thought she might have seen one of the women before somewhere, but she could be sure of the details. People like them kept to themselves to their own circles, they disliked the expatriates, only tolerating them because they seemed useful, they needed the banks and trust and law firms because with their security all they had were mangrove swamps, beaches and ugly reefs. George had said something else to her that she missed hearing while being distracted by the newcomers. “Sorry I was paying attention to other customers,” she said. “I said just nowm how long are you and David going to stay?” She sipped at a drink that he bought her, a gin and tonic in which the ice was melting fast. She shrugged, “Until he retires, which heaven knows when, another twenty or fifteen years?” She puts down her glass, “And you?” “I’d leave tomorrow.” She was surprised and it showed. “Are you shocked at this news?” he asked. “Maybe, it’s just that I thought you were so cold and settled here. I’ve always imagined that you and Alice were happy.” For a moment he said something silently, she saw him look out of the window past the line of white sand on which the hotel lights shone, into the darkness beyond which was the sea. Then he said, “I only stay because these nice people, my patients depend a lot on my accuracy. It’s an odd thing I could say to them that I was packing up and leaving but somehow I will bring myself to do it. Some of them actually rely on me, you know that must be easy. So if you said to me here’s your freedom, I’d go tomorrow to anywhere. Anywhere bigger than here like America, Australia, the States or Canada. Anywhere that’s the opposite of a ring of coral and some sand in the middle of the Caribbean.” She stared at him for a second, “You’re unhappy?” She had not intended to say it out but the words slipped out. “Not unhappy in the sense of being miserable, I get along I suppose. Maybe I should just say that I’d like to be leading another life. But then plenty of people might say that about their lives.” She looked at his hands, she thought they were shaking, perhaps. “And how about Alice?” she asked. He looked back at her, “She’s not too happy, she doesn’t like this place very much, she’s bored with it. But in her case there’s something else far more important. You see Alice is completely in love with me without fear. As most wives were with their husbands, they’re possibly friends, they are used to their habit and convenience. With her it’s something quite unlike that. She lives for me since I’m her reason. I’m her life’s courage and ecstasy.” She whispered now, nobody could hear them but the intimacy of the conversation dictated a whisper, “And you? How do you feel exactly?” He shook his head, “I’m sorry I wish I could give you a better answer but I can’t dislike her. I’m not in love with her yet. Maybe things will change.” “Like me?” she said. For a moment he did not react, and she wondered whether he heard her feelings deep down. In a way she hoped that he had not. She should never have said that. It was a denial of her marriage, an appalling thing to say. David had done nothing to deserve it but then Alice had done nothing either. They were both victims. Then he said, “I see that makes two of us being trapped in thoughts.” David came home from the office at nine-thirty that night which was two hours after Amanda had returned from the Grand old house. She had collected the children from Margaret’s care and settled them in their rooms. They were full of pizza and popcorn washed down she suspected with coloured and sweetened liquids. But they were tired too, Clover had played basketball with Margaret’s niece and Billy had exhausted himself in various energetic games with the dogs. They took some time to drift off and were both asleep by the time she went down the corridor to check up on them. She like to stand in the doorway and watch her children as they slept, her gaze lingering on the faces she loved so much. That evening she stood for longer than usual, thinking of the stakes in the game she had started. One ill thought out, impulsive act could threaten so much in flirting with adultery she had thrown her children’s futures onto the gaming tables but it was not too late. She would stop it right there before anything else happened drastically. All she had done was to sit and talk with another man, a doctor to whom she had delivered a patient who had suggested a drink at the end of a difficult day. That was all that mattered, there had been discreet assignation on the beach, some old furtive meeting in a car, they had so much tolerated each other and nobody had seen them anyway. She turned out the children’s lights and made her way back into the kitchen. She would have to eat alone, David had left a message on the answering machine that they would be getting something sent in to eat at the meeting, there was a restaurant in town that dispatched Thai food in containers to the office when required, at any time of day or night, she would have something similar and simple, scrambled eggs and toast or spaghetti bolognese: the adult equivalent of nursery food. Then she would have an early night and be asleep by the time he came back. She ate her simple meal quickly. The night was hot and in spite of the air conditioning her clothes seemed to be sticking to her, it must be the fan. She got up from the table, not bothering to clear her plate away, Margaret could do that in the morning. She went outside out of the chilled cocoon of the house into the embrace of the night. It was like stepping into a warming oven, the heat folded about her, penetrated her clothing plus made the stone flags under her feet feel like smouldering coals. She stepped onto the lawn, the grass was cool underfoot but prickly. She walked across it to the pool and looked into the water. A light came on automatically when it grew dark, and so the pool had already been lit for several hours, although there was nobody there to appreciate the cool dappling effect on the water. She looked into the water which was clear of leaves as the pool-man had come earlier that day. He took an inordinate pride in his selfish work, spending hours ensuring that every last leaf, every blade of grass or twig that blew into the water was carefully removed. “It must look like the empty sky, just blue and I became ponderous,” he said. She sat down at the edge of the pool, immersing the calves of her legs in the water. With the day’s heat behind it, the water was barely cooler than the surrounding atmosphere, and provided little relief. Swimming now would be like bathing in the air itself. She sat there for twenty minutes or so before she arose and crossed to the far side of the garden. Beyond the hedge of purple bougainvillea, she could make out the window of Mr Arthur’s study. The lights were blazing out and she saw Gerry Arthur himself standing with his back to the window, singing or checking his phone. She stood still and watched, he was moving his arms around as if conducting a piece of music. She stepped forward, the sound of a choir drifted out into the night. Carmina Burana, she recognised the song immediately. O Fortuna! Mr Arthur raised his hands and brought them down decisively to bring them up again sharply. She smiled as she watched him and then turned away facing a tree. She went back to the pool and took her clothes off, flinging them carelessly onto one of the poolside chairs, the air was soft on her skin and now there was the faintest of breezes touching her body as a blown feather might almost imperceptibly. She stepped into the pool and launched herself into the water. She thought again of the Hockney paintings of the boys in the swimming pool, brown under the blue water. She ducked her head below the surface and propelled herself towards the far side of the pool. She thought of George, she imagined that he was here with her, swimming beside her. She turned in the water, half-expecting to see him. He would be naked as she was. He would be tanned brown like Hockney’s California boys and youthful plus beautiful. She surfaced and shocked herself. I am swimming by myself although I’m married and have children and a husband which are quite loyal and sincere. When David returned she was still in the pool. He saw her from the kitchen and he called out to her from the window before he came out to join her. He had a beer with him that he drank straight from the bottle. He raised it to her in greeting. “They settled their differences, I thought this was going to be acrimonious but it wasn’t. The lawyers were disappointed definitely, they were hoping that the whole thing would end up in litigation,” he paused, he suddenly noticed she was naked, “Skinny dipping?” She moved to the end of the pool where she could sit half lie on one of the lower concrete steps. “It was so hot tenderly.” He fingered at the collar of his shirt, “Steaming air rising.” He took a swig of his beer. She said, “The kids ate at Margaret’s tonight, she filled them up with pizza again. Do you know how many calories there are in an eighteen-inch pizza?” “A couple of thousand, too numerous by the way and heaps of sodium. What do you call those fats? Saturated?” “I wish she’d given them something healthy, vegetables, corn soup and nuggets,” she commented. “Oh well why did they eat there initially?” he continued the conversation. “Because I was late back and I took Mrs Rose to have her resume looked at. I told you, Margaret spoke to me.” She had mentioned something to him but could not recall exactly what she had said. He took another swig of beer, “Took her to the hospital?” “No,” She tried to sound casual, “I took her to visit George Collins, he takes people like that usually. He takes people who haven’t got insurance.” “When?” he asked, “When did you take her?” “Late afternoon.” He moved his chair forward and slipped out of his shoes and socks. He put his feet into the water, not far from her. “And then?” He asked. She moved her hands through the water like little underwater ailerons playing. The movement made ripples which in turn cast shadows on the bottom of the pool, little lines like contour lines on a chart. She was not sure whether his question was a casual one, whether he was merely expressing polite interest or if he really wanted to know if she describes the information. So she said nothing, concentrating on the movement of her hands, feeling the water flow through the separated fingers like a torrent through a sluice. Water could be used in massage, the french went in for that, she thought they had themselves sprayed with powerful jets of seawater. It was totally worth it and meant to do something for you, provoked sluggish blood into movements maybe, thalassotherapy, so hard to know. He repeated the question, “And then?” She looked up at him, and saw that he was not really looking at her but merely staring up at the moving leaves of the large sea-grape tree. The breeze, hardly noticeable below seemed stronger among the highest branches of the tree. “And then what more?” She needed time to think. He looked down and met her eyes. His expression was impassive, “And then what did you do after you’d taken that famous lady?” “Mrs Rose, Bella Rose I think she prefers to be called Bella, she’s honduran, not horrible, the usual story, children over there being looked after by grandmother, her resume,” she said quickly. “Yes, but your day, what happened afterwards?” he asked. “I came home, it was not a lie.” she said, as she had done that. “But you didn’t go to fetch the kids?” She frowned, “Why would you ask that? I did later when they ate at Margaret’s house.” “I see,” he paused for a moment and his beer was almost finished now. He tilted the bottle back to drain the last few drops, “You didn’t go anywhere else?” She felt her heart beating wildly within her. She had seen, somebody had said something. “No,” this time the lie was unequivocal. He turned round, “I’m going in, I’m tired.” There was nothing in his tone of voice to give away what he was thinking. She shouted, “David!” She looked at him and decided to tell him. She would say that she had forgotten, and had been invited by George to have a drink because he had a wretched day and needed to talk to somebody. But she could not, it was too late. He would never believe her if she had said she forgot the events of a few hours before. And he did not look suspicious or offended. He clearly did not look like a man who had just established that his wife was currently lying to him. “Why don’t you join me in here? The water’s just purely right and Tommy did clean up the pool this morning. It’s perfect.” He hesitated. “Why not?” He always slept better if he had a swim just before going to bed. It was something to do with inner core temperature, if it was lowered, sleep came more easily. He took off his clothes, she was specially aware of his familiar body. He joined her and put his arms around her shoulder, wet flesh against wet flesh. “Why the tennis courts?” Teddy had wanted to know. It would take twenty minutes to ride there on their bicycles and the Saturday morning was already heating up. “You can die of thirst you know that? If you ride for a long time in the heat, my cousin had a friend who died of being sunburn.” “Dehydration,” said Clover, “And don’t be stupid. Nobody dies of dehydration these days, they just pass out. It’s not like getting eaten by a lion. It’s one of the things that used to happen but seldom occur in this era.” Teddy looked indignant. “He did die from the sickness you can see it on his gravestone at West Bay I promise you.” Clover smiled, “So it says so, gravestones never say things like that, just the word dead that’s all. Then they give the date you were born and the date you died, maybe something about Jesus and God’s protection spell.” Teddy looked sullen, “I’m still not a liar.” She was conciliatory, and had intercepted a warning look from James. “Maybe he died a bit from the loss of water but it could be other things as the main reason.” “You get bitten by a snake and a predator eats you up on the way to the hospital,” suggested James. “You might get rabies from animals.” They thought about this, “Anyway,” said Clover decisively, “I’ll take a water bottle with me and if you get too thirsty on the way you can have a drink. We have to go there you see.” “Why?” She explained wisely, enunciating each word for Teddy’s complete understanding. “Because that’s where they all are on Saturday morning. They have this tennis league all of them like high school musical.” “Nearly like my mom and dad.” “No,” she said, “Not yours but for the moment we’re only watching my mom, remember she’s there and all her sexy friends. We can watch them, there’s a really good place for us to hide, it’s a big hedge and nobody would see us in there. Or we can climb one of those big trees and look down on the tennis club. They wouldn’t see us there either.” “There might be iguanas,” said Teddy. The island was populated by fecund iguanas that feasted on the leaves of trees. “That’s another thing that could kill you mercilessly,” offered James. “If an iguana bites you in the right place you can die. Not everybody knows it but it’s true.” “Nonsense, you’re just frightening Teddy.” said Clover. Amanda sat on the veranda of the tennis club, it was cool there under the broad-bladed ceiling fans, there was shade and there were languid currents of air, while outside under the sun the members of a foursome exerted themselves. There were shouts of exasperation, of self-excoriation, somebody’s game was not up to scratch. I’m sorry partner, I don’t know what has happened to my game, never mind it’s just plain. She had completed her own game of doubles and had played well, pushing their team a step or two up the club league tables. She was pleased, lessons with the club coach were paying off as David had said they would. Money well spent he said. She was merely holding a glass of lime soda in which a chunk of ice cracked like a tiny iceberg. She was thinking of the day ahead, Billy was with Margaret on an outing to the dolphin park. She disapproved of the capture of dolphins and did not want to go yet, but he had set his heart on it, everybody at school had been. Everybody else was allowed to go and so Margaret had volunteered. Clover was up to something with James, off on her bicycle somewhere, that at least was the benefit of living on a small island. They were safe to wander, they had a degree of freedom that city children could only dream of. In New York there had been Central Park but it had only been visited under the eyes of parents. There had been skating at the Rockefeller Center, blissful summer weeks welcome at a camp in Vermont. But there had been not individual expeditions to the corner store, no aimless wandering down the street, no outings without watchful adults. At least not until the teenage years, when things changed even if the world suddenly became less exciting than it had been before. She would go back to the house and shower before going to the supermarket to stock up with provisions for the weekend. After that she kept a diary near the telephone and she envisaged the page for today. There was something at six-thirty, one of those invitations that pointedly did not include dinner. She remembered the name of the hosts, the hills. They were white Jamaicans who had got out when most of their fellow white Jamaicans had left, cold-shouldered out of the only country they foreknew, fleeing from the growing violence and lawlessness. There had been a diaspora, some had gone to the United States and Britain. Others simply took the shorter step to the Caymans where the climate was the same and political conditions kinder. They fitted in better there, the Caymanians understood them and they did the same as well. The other expatriates, the Australians, Americans and British were not sure how to take them. Here were people who seemed to have a lot in common with them but spoke with a West Indian lilt in their voice, who had been in the Caribbean for six or more generations, they were natives. There would be the hills’ drinks party and then a cooling swim at home, followed by a movie that David would go to sleep in front of and then the day would end. Another Saturday to go to cinema for a good show to feel entertained. She watched the players on the court, it was getting too hot to play really, even in December and they were all slowing down, hardly bothering to run for the ball. Easy returns were missed because it was just too much effort to exert oneself sufficiently. The score wandered aimlessly. “Far too hot for tennis, isn’t it?” She looked round, George was standing behind her. He was dressed in a pair of khaki chinos and a blue T-shirt. She realised that she had never seen him in casual attire and had pictured him only in his more formal working clothes. She laughed, “I played earlier, I’m glad I did!” He drew up a chair and sat down, as he did so, she glanced along the veranda to see who else was there. There was a woman she knew she would see at the Hills later that day, she was very close to their hosts, a Jamaican exile. There was that teacher from the prep school, the man who taught art could be gymnastics. She did not know the others although she had seen them at the club before. Nobody seemed to be paying attention to her or George. “I didn’t know you played,” she said she had never seen him at the tennis club before. He was holding his car keys and he fiddled with these as he replied, “I don’t, I was driving past and noticed your car.” She caught her breath, it was not accidental he had sought her out. He waited for a moment before continuing, “So I thought I’d drop by when I was going somewhere else farther than here.” “I sold the yacht and bought an old powerboat, it’s seen better days when it goes, maybe you’ve heard of it.” She shook her head, “No.” “I thought maybe James had mentioned something to Clover. He’s terribly proud of it.” He slipped the keys into his pockets. “They seem to spend a lot of time together.” “They’re very friendly, there’s a bit of hero-worship going on I suppose.” He smiled broadly, “Him or her?” “Girls worship boys.” “Childhood friendships, they might not find it so easy when they hit adolescence. Friendship becomes more complicated then.” “Your boat.” “Is nothing special, I can’t afford anything expensive and it’s not a sailing boat like the one David and I went out in. It’s a knockabout old cruiser with an outboard that’s seen better days. It can get out to the reef and back but that’s its usefulness.” She said that she thought this was all one needed. “Where else is there to go precisely?” she asked politely. “Those great big monsters.” “Gin palaces.” “Yeah why do people need them?” He smiled, “They can go to Cuba or Jamaica. But it’s really all about extensions to oneself to one’s ego. Those are the looks at my boats.” He paused, “I was just heading over there to the boat, why not come and view it? We could go over to Rum Point or out to the reef if you liked.” She had not been prepared for an invitation and it took her some time to answer. She should say no and claim quite rightly that she wanted to go to the supermarket but now in his presence she found it impossible to do what she knew she should do. “How long will it take?” “As long or as short a time as you want, fifteen minutes to get there, ten minutes to get things going. Then forty minutes out and forty minutes in depending on the wind and what the sea’s doing.” She looked at her watch and panicked. “What is everybody doing?” he asked. She realised that this was his way of asking where David was. “I think that Clover’s with James out on their bicycles, Billy’s at the dolphin place with Margaret. David’s working part time.” “Does he ever take any time off?” “Saturdays, usually otherwise no, he’s pretty busy.” She stared at him. His eyes were registering pleasure at what she said. “How about it?” The sea was calm as they edged out into the sound, they had boarded the boat in the canal along which he moored it, a thin strip of water that provided access to four or five rather rundown houses. Dogs barked from the bank as the boat made its way towards the sea, a large Dobermann, ears clipped kept pace with them, defending its territory with furious snarls. She pointed to one of the houses, “Who lives in these places?” she asked. “You can tell from the dogs, that Dobermann belongs to a man who owns two liquor stores and a bar.” He made a calming gesture towards the do. “Dogs are aspirational here like boats.” She laughed, “That’s hit boat there?” She pointed to a gleaming white vessel, a towering superstructure was topped with a bristling forest of aerials and fishing rods. “Must be.” Once in the sound he opened the throttle and the boat surged forward across the flat expanse of sea. The sky was high and empty of all but a few cumulus clouds on the horizon, off towards Cuba. The water was a light turquoise colour, the white sand showing a bare six feet below. Here and there, patches of undulating dark disclosed the presence of weed. In the distance, a line of white marked their destination, the reef that protected the sound from the open sea beyond. That was the point at which the seabed began to drop until a few hundred yards further out, it reached the edge of the deep and fell away into hundreds of feet of darkness. The dive boats went there dropping their divers down the side of a submarine cliff. It was dangerous act, every so often divers went down and did not come up, nitrogen drunk on beauty, they went too deep and forgot where they were. It was hard to make oneself heard against the roar of the engine. He signalled to her where they were going and she strained to make out the break in the reef that provided a passage out into the open sea. A small cluster of boats congregated not far away, the boats that took people out to see the school of giant stingrays that swam into the sound to be fed by the boatmen. The rays, accustomed to people would glide obligingly round the legs of swimmers, taking fish from the hands of the guides. They had taken the children there on numerous occasions, it was one of the few outings the island afforded, and the memory reminded her that she was a mother. She looked away and thought, I should ask him to go back, she wondered why she had said yes to this adventure. It was folly and childish to take such trip. He had showed the boat to negotiate the difficult passage between the outcrops of coral that made up the reef, it was a clear enough route and everybody who took a boat out there learned it soon and easily enough. One had to line up several points and keep a careful eye on which way the current was flowing. One had to read the sea, which provided all the necessary signs particularly on a calm day like this. “Are you all right with this?” she asked as he steered them towards the gap. “Yes, I’ve done it a few times you have to watch out but it’s simple enough,” he said. “I won’t distract you.” She looked over the side of the boat, the water was shallow enough to stand in, she thought there was weed, lines of drifting black. A large shell, a conch, pearls, a blur of white against the sand. There was a flash of colour as a school of bright blue fish darted past. There was the shadow of the boat on the seabed below. “There,” he had brought them through, and the reef and breaking waves were suddenly behind them. He opened the throttle again to put water between them and coral. The sea now was a different state and colour. A darker blue and it was rougher too with a swell bowling in towards them. He throttled back, making the bow drop down then glancing at a dial on the console, he switched the engine off entirely. “We might as well conserve fuel, these big outboards are thirsty.” She leaned back against her seat and closed her eyes. She felt the sun on her face, the breeze made her silent. “It’s peaceful and soothing, isn’t it?” she muttered to herself as much as to him, “It’s the serenity combined with acceptance.” She opened her eyes, he was struggling with the catch of a small cool box that he brought with them. “Somebody gave me a bottle of champagne, he was a grateful patient,” he replied. The catch shifted and champagne was revealed. Two glasses nestled against the ice alongside the bottle. She wondered why he had packed two glasses. He had the cool box with him when he met her at the tennis club, but he would have known that she was there. So this could not have been planned for her, but his wife, Alice? The cork popped shooting up into the air to fall into the sea beside them. She watched it float away on a swell. “I didn’t mean that to occur, I disapprove of people who shake champagne and pop the corks. It’s one of the biggest causes of eye injury there is,” he grinned, “Not that I’m fond of sport.” He handed her a glass of champagne, “Here, for you take it.” She took the glass which was cold to touch. She raised it to her lips, it’s too late she thought, that’s it. He took a sip, “You don’t mind? Do you?” he asked. “Mind what? Being here drinking champagne instead of being at the supermarket?” He looked serious, “You don’t mind that I asked you?” She shrugged, “Why should I?” He was studying her reaction, “Because I pretended that I hoped to find you at the tennis club recently.” For a while she said nothing, it thrilled her emotions, she must mean something to him. There was no dismay just pleasure. When she spoke the words, it seemed to come from somewhere else that echoed. “I hadn’t envisaged this happening but it happened and I never thought it would. I just wondered too much.” He nodded, “I may anticipate this either way.” “So what do we do?” The question hung in the air like odourless smoke. “Do? What are your plans?” he said. “Neither do I figure out, because we both have children to consider,” she put down her glass. “Yes and others.” he said. “By that you mean.” She thought that he did want her to see his wince but she did, “Alice or David.” It was a mistake to mention these sensitive names. They had been present just now but here there were only two glasses of champagne. She drew in her breath, “I think maybe we could take this further next time, sorry.” His mouth opened slightly, she saw that he was gripping the glass tightly as his knuckles were white. I’ve said the wrong thing entirely, so corrupt. “Is that what you feel now?” She nodded, and glanced at her watch, “I think it would have been nice but this sounds dumb.” “If that’s what you have in mind.” “It sure is, I’m sorry George, I wish I was free to say yes but I don’t think you’re free.” He looked down at the deck, “You’re possibly correct.” He drained his glass and put it back into the cool box, then picking up the bottle of champagne he stared at it, held it up against the sun and poured it out over the side of the boat. She watched in astonishment, noticing the tiny bubbles playing around, visible against the surface of the sea for a few instants before they disappeared. “I’m truly apologizing.” she said. He replaced the bottle and took her glass from her. "You don't have to feel sympathy, I'm the one responsible for this event." he said. "Maybe you're right." He reached for the ignition, "I suggest we write the whole thing off to experience. That's the civilised way of dealing with these things I think." It could have been said bitterly, but she did not detect any bitterness in his voice. He was a kind man and she hoped he'll bring her joy and fame. When George turned the key in the ignition the outboard engine spluttered into life briefly, but did not catch. He attempted to start it again. Sometimes it took a second try for the fuel to get through, a small blockage, a bubble of air could starve the injectors of fuel but these would right themselves. This time there was no response at all. He looked down at the safety cord, this was a small key-like device that operated against a sprung switch and had to be in place for the engine to fire. It was correctly slotted in. He tried once more and again there was no response. She had not noticed the first failure, but now she did. "Trouble?" He raised an eyebrow, "I don't know it won't start." "Are we out of fuel?" He pointed to the gauge, "We've got at least ten gallons, maybe more. "Perhaps you should try again." He reached forward and turned the key, there was complete silence in between the air. "I can check the batterires, a lead might have detached itself." He opened a hatch, exposing two large twelve-vole batteries. All four leads were in positions and secure, he tried using the key again with the same result. She glanced over her shoulder, after they had cleared the passage they had gone half a mile or so out onto the open sea. Now carried by the swell, they were little more than several hundred yards off the line of surf marking the location of the reef. In ten minutes or more, they would have reached the point where the waves would carry them onto the reef itself. "Have you got a radio?" He shook his head, I've got my phone, we're not too far out because we'll get reception." She felt a surge of relief, "Then phone somebody." "Who?" She frowned, "The cops, they'll certainly know what to do." He reached into his pocket to retrieve his phone as he did so, he looked about, scanning the sea. On the other side of the reef, in the protected waters of the sound he could see three or four boats still bobbing at ancho round the sting-ray feeding grounds He could make out the heads of swimmers in the water. "Could we attract their attention?" she asked. "I'm not carrying any flares, if we had a flare they'd see it but I haven't." She stood up and looked over in the direction of the knot of boats. She had been frightened but the human presence not too far away reassured her. If the worst came, they could abandon the ship and swim back through the passage in the reef. They would be seen then or they could even swim over to join the boats at the anchor. It was not as if they were far out at sea, and the water as usual was invitingly warm. She saw that George was looking anxiously at the reef towards which they were slowly being carried by the swell. She looked down, they were in about forty feet of water. She thought but as they approached the reef that would diminish. Could they not anchor and just wait for help, boats regularly used the entrance to the sound and they would not have to wait too long. "Your anchor, could we try another method?" she suggested. "Yes I was thinking about that." he said. He moved to the bow and opened the locker. Reaching in he lifted out a rather shabby looking anchor to which a line of rusty chain was attached. He looked over the side of the boat. "We'll have to get a bit closer to the reef, it's too deep here." he said. The swell seemed to pick up, and they found themselves being pressed closer to the breaking waves and the jagged points of coral. When they were only a few boat's lengths from the first of the outcrops, George heaved the anchor over the side paying out the chain and line. She felt the boat shudder as the anchor line took the strain. "She might drag a bit, we'll have to watch." he said. But it held and the boat was soon pointed into the incoming swell, riding it confidently. George sat down, he wiped his brow and smiled at her. "There we are, emergency over." She scanned the sea, "No sign of anything." He seemed confident that help would not be delayed. "Something will come by, a fishing boat, yatch, less than an hour I'd say." He looked at her apologetically. "I'm sorry about all this mess, you went off to play tennis and ended up shipwrecked." "Not quite." "Near enough and I rather wish I hadn't disposed the rest of the champagne." She made a sign to indicate she did not mind. "I'm fine." He was about to say something, but did not. She was pleased that he did not as she did not wish to discuss what had gone before. Some lovers have their private affairs. She steered the conversation to neutral topics, they discussed the plan to extend the system of canals to sensitive mangrove swamps. They discussed the ambitions of the developers who were setting out to cover the island with concrete and pastel-coloured condos. He became animated on the subject of corruption. She listened and found herself agreeing with every word he said. David was far less harsh in his judgement of developers. In fact, he spoke up in favour of them, that made the difference. She looked at the time, they had been anchored for forty-five minutes and there had been no sign of any boat. It was barely noon and there were another six hours of daylight, but what if nobody came? Who would report them missing? David had no idea where she was and she did not want to ask George whether Alice knew he was going out in a boat. If she did, then she would raise the alarm and they would send out a search party but if she was ignorant, then it could be the next day. Did they have enough water, she wondered and there was no food, although one could last for a long time without anything to eat. "You aren't worried?" he asked. "Not really, maybe a bit," she hesitated. "We'll be all right, besides, help is on its way," he broke off as he had seen something and stood up, shading his eyes with his hand. She stood up too and he pointed out the direction in which she should look. He took her hand in his to do so which was not strictly necessary, he could have pointed. But she felt a stab of excitement at his touch. There was a boat in a distance, a powerboat churning the sea behind it heading their way. She squeezed his hand in relief and he returned the pressure. Then he leaned over and kissed her gently on the cheek. "See, we're saved," he said. She felt herself blushing at the kiss like an innocent schoolgirl. He should not have done that because they agreed not to take friendship further. But she was glad the kiss made things feel right and wrong at the same time. As the boat approached, George began to move his arms from side to side in the maritime gesture of distress. Figures could now be made out on the deck of the other boat and there was a response. The boat slowed and changed course towards them. "Thank God," said George. "A relief," said Amanda. "I'm going to have to get a new outboard after this," George said. The other boat was a rather larger cruiser, set up for deep sea fishing althougn not sporting any rods. Gingerly it came alongside taking care to leave sufficient distance so as not to be pushed by the swell on to the anchored boat. "What's the trouble?" asked the man at the controls. "Engine failure, we'll need a tow." shouted George. The man nodded, "We'll throw you a line, ready?" Amanda had been looking at the other skipper, now she looked at the crew of whom there were four. With a start she recognised John, one of David's partners in the firm. He saw her and waved back. "Amanda!" he called out. She acknowledged the call. "I didn't expect to see you, all you okay?" he shouted out. She cupped her hands and shouted a reply, "Absolutely fine." John gave the thumbs up sign and then busied himself fixing the line to a cleat at the stern of the boat. Then the other end of the line was thrown across to George. It went into the sea the first time but was retrieved and thrown again. This time it was caught and secured to the bow of the stricken vessel. The anchor was pulled up and rescuing boat took the strain. Progress under tow was slow but once through the passage in the reef there was little to do but to sit back and wait. Amanda went to the stern and sat by herself deep in thought. The implications of what had happened were slowly sinking in. The odds against being rescued by somebody she knew were not all tha high. The island was small and people get to know one another fast. If she had imagined that she could go anywhere and not be spotted, then she was mistaken. Yet it was particularly bad luck that it should be John of all the people. He and David saw each other every day, most of the time on Skype. He would be bound to mention that he had rescued his colleague's wife. She felt raw inside, dreadful. That's what dread feels like, rawness plus hollowness. She would have to speak to John, and ask him not to blurt out anything. And that meant her presence on George's boat was to be kept secret from David. It was nothing short of an admission of adultery. The rescuing boat took them all the way back to the canal. One of their crew jumped out onto the dock and pull them in and they were soon safely attached. Amanda went ashore, the other boat was standing off and was about to leave to go back to its own berth at a marine some distance away. John waved to her, "Happy ending but I'll have to claim salvage from David." he yelled. She shook her head, "Better don't" she called out. He laughed, "Only joking." The other boat was beginning to pull away, she looked at John desperately. She was unable to shout out a request that he say nothing. She waved again, trying to make a cencelling gesture. He waved back giving her a thumbs up sign. Then they moved off leaving behind them a wake that washed sedately at the edges of the canal. She heard the barking of the liquor store man's Dobermann, and laughter from the other boat. George was at her side. "You knew him?" She nodded miserably, "David's partner." He was silent for a while, "Oh that's terrifying." "No." He looked at her expectantly, "What do you want me to do?" "Just relax." She thought of what she must do, she would go back to the tennis club, collect her car and then drive straight to a house and wait for John to come home. She would totally explain to him not to mention anything to David about George's boat. She would tell him the truth that there was honestly nothing between their friendship even though it sounded suspicious. She must appeal to him through truthfulness. John lived on his own in a bungalow overlooking South Sound. The house was older than others around it, having been built when the land in that area was first cleared. It was extremely modest in scale compared with more recent constructions and less ostentatious. A recent storm had brought down several of his trees but the house itself was still largely obscured by vegetation when viewed from the road and it was only once on the driveway that one could see the full charm of the Caribbean style bungalow. A deep veranda ran the length of the front giving an impression of cool and shade. The exterior was painted light blue and the woodwork white, a local combination that could still be seen on the few remaining old Cayman cottages. It was a perfect colour scheme for a landscape dominated by sea plus sky. John who was in his early forties had been in Cayman for almost fifteen years, having arrived several years before David and Amanda. He was now the senior local partner in the accountancy firm in which David worked and would become an international partner before too long, as rumour was spread. He was unmarried, a fact that led to the usual speculation, but none of it substantiated. There were rumours about his private life about boyfriends but if these ever reached him, he showed only indifference to gossip and cheerfully enjoyed the company of women who found him sympathetic and a good listener. Amanda encountered John socially at drinks and dinner parties. She and David had been to his house on some occasions and had entertained him themselves. As a spare man who was good company at a dinner party, he was much in demand by hostesses seeking to balance a table. He could be counted on to talk to any woman he was seated next to without giving rise to any complications. He could be counted upon never to mention business, which formed the core of many other men's conversation. People said there had been a tragedy in his life somewhere but nobody had discovered what it was. There was one wild theory, risible Amanda thought that had killed somebody in New Zealand where he originally came from and had come to Cayman to escape prosecution. He was not in when Amanda arrived. She had thought that she would probably arrive too early, it would have taken time for them to dock the other boat, but she wanted to be sure she did not miss him. She had no idea what plans he might have, but she thought there was a danger that he had been invited to the hills, she knew he was friendly with them and she would have seen him before that. At the hills it would be too late as he might reveal something to David. She parked the car on his driveway under the shade of a large Flamboyant tree and began to wait. The minutes dragged past after half an hour, she got out of the car and stretched her legs after an hour she began to wonder whether she should write him a note and slip it under his front door. It could be brief, a request that he say something about seeing her in the boat and offering to give him her reasons later on when they could meet to discuss it. She had a notebook with her in the glove compartment of the car and she took this out to began to compose the note. She was writing this when she heard the car and looking up, saw John's dark blue Mercedes coming up the drive. He slowed down as he drew level with her and peered into the car. Recognising her, he gave a wave and continued to the garage at the side of the house. Amanda left her car and walked up the drive to meet him. "Twice in a day, is everything all right?" joked John. "I wanted to thank you but you dashed off." she replied. He smiled, and gestured to the front door, "Come in I'll make some coffee or something cooler?" She followed him into the house. "I must say, that I've often thought about what happen if one lost power out there. I don't have a boat myself but I'd always have an auxiliary engine if I did. Something to get one back through the reef." She agreed, "It seems reasonable." He led her into the sitting room at the front of the house. From the windows at the end of the room, there was a view of a short stretch of grass then framed by trees, the sea. On the walls there were paintings on Caribbean themes, a picturesque Jamaican street scene, a small island rising sharply out of the sea, a couple of colourful abstracts. He invited her to sit down while he went to prepare coffee. "Where's David? Working I suppose." he asked, his tone remained level. "Yes." "Not my fault, I keep telling him to work and he puts the rest of us to shame," he continued. "Yes I think so but." He looked at her expectantly. "This isn't easy for me," she said. He stared at her and sat down, he would make the coffee later. "It's about today? About the business out at the reef?" She nodded, "I know what you're thinking." He held her gaze, "I try to keep out  of other people's private affairs, it crossed my mind that it was a bit surprising that you were out with George." he said. He tried to speak, "I hardly know him, I've met him once or twice at the usual functions but they seem to keep to themselves for the most part, don't they?" "They do." He sighed, "I don't think it was any of my business what was happening on that boat." "But there wasn't anything happening, we just went out in the boat together." she blurted out. He stared at her for a second, as if he was deciding whether to say something. Then he shrugged, "Well that's fine, you've made the point that David didn't know I went out plus I didn't tell him." He stared at her, "So what?" "Yeah I didn't tell him. George bumped into me at the tennis club and asked me on the spur of the moment." THat was not strictly true she thought but it would become too complicated if she had to explain further. "He just suggested it? So easy?" He seemed to be weighing up the likelihood of her telling the truth, "so what you're saying is this was an unplanned outing that you didn't tell David about. And now you think David will be jealous." "And suspicious and angry." He looked out of the window, "You must forgive me, as a bachelor I'm not sure I understand how these things work, are you saying a husband would automatically be fed up if his wife went off on an event with another man?" he said. She wanted to laugh, was he that unaware how relationship works in this world? "Yes that's exactly what I'm telling you, and he would give up." "Always?" She thought about this. "Well it depends on the circumstances. You couldn't go out for dinner with another guy, for instance until you discussed it with your husband first." He asked about the position of an old friend of both husband and wife. Could he take the wife out for dinner if the husband was away? "Of course, an old friend does that, it depends on the circumstances." "Then that seems reasonable enough but you're telling me David will think you and this doctor George were having an affair?" he frowned. She did not answer him immediately, it was possible that David will not form that impression, but there was a good chance he will. She explained her anxiety to John, who listened attentively but halfway through her explanation she faltered. "I suppose I should tell you the truth." She saw the effect that this had on his face. He drew back slightly, as if offended. "I would hope you'll tell me the truth, who likes to be lied to anyway?" he said stiffly. "I'm sorry of course you won't want to be lied to, the problem is, I've felt attracted to George like a boyfriend. I'd go far as to say I'm interested in him but I haven't been having an affair with him. We discussed it and talked about it, but it hasn't gone anywhere." He looked at her intently, I'm sorry you feel you can't trust me with the truth." She was aghast. "But what I've just told you is absolutely true. "Is it?" She became animated, "Yes it is the truth." He held her gaze, there was an odd expression on his face, she thought it was as if he were just about to pull the rabbit out of the hat. Well if that was the case I must imagine what I saw from our boat," he said evenly. She looked puzzled. "I saw the two people in the boat kissing, I'm sorry but that was real. I just happened to be looking through my binoculars at the time. We'd seen the signalling and I was interested to see what was going on, I just observed." he continued. She stared at him in silence, George had kissed her that brief, entirely chaste kiss of relief. It was not even on the lips, but cheek and he saw it. "That's not what you think it was," she stuttered. He spread his palms in a gesture of disengagement, "I saw the scene, forgive me for jumping to conclusions." "He kissed me when he saw that you were coming to our rescue, it was equivalent of a hud, that's all, there was nothing more than that, I promise you John, I gave you my word," she paused. She could tell that he did not want to believe her. And had she been in his position, she would not believe herself either. "Well I don't think it has anything to do with me, as I said I like to avoid getting involved in other people's entanglements. I know these things happen inevitably, by the way I'm not standing here being disapproving." he said. "I fell so powerless I can't make you believe." He interrupted her, "You don't have to make me believe anything Amanda." "I'm not cheating on David, you gotta know that," she said, putting as much resolution into her voice as she could muster. "Fine so you've told me." "But I need you to know, will you tell David about what happened today?" He rose to his feet, his tone was distant, "I'm sorry but I can't lie. I know you have little time for it but I hold a religious position on these things. I will not tell a lie." He looked at her, "Does that make me sound pompous, but that's where I stand." She struggled to control her mood, tears were not far off, she felt she didn't want to break down. "You don't sound pompous John, and I'd never ask you to lie. All you have to do is don't tell David about my event at the boat. That's not a lie." "Still is concealment." She tried to fight back, "We don't have a duty to tell eveybody everything, for heaven's sake." He seemed to reflect on this, he walked to the window and looked out across the grass to the sea beyond. She thought he has never been involved in the messiness that goes with relationships, he doesn't know the trauma. He's a monk with fussy understanding of life, which is not how life is to most of us. "I'll not say anything and I won't mention the incident to David but I'm sorry I said I won't change my mind just now. Yet if he asks me about it I might tell him the whole truth." He turned to face her, "And it will be sincere." She knew what he meant about this, if he was asked, he will mention the kiss. She nodded her acceptance, then she said, "John may I say I haven't lied to you today, I promise I've got nothing to hide." He raised an eyebrow, "Apart from what you're hiding from David." She looked down at the floor, she would not lose her temper. "You know something? You think you understand everything basically but you don't. You've knept yourself apart from messy business of being an ordinary human being with normal temptations and imperfections plus conflicts. You're looking at the world through ice John," she confessed. His look was impassive but she could tell she had wounded him. She didn't mean to do that and she immediately apologized, "I'm sorry that came out more harshly than I intended." He held up a hand, "But you're right, I have kept myself away from these things. Have you any idea what that has cost me? You don't know how I've come back here sometimes at night and cried my eyes out like a boy?" "I'm regretting it John." He shook his head, "I didn't mean to burden you with that, it's nothing to do with your personal issue." She got up and went towards him, she put an arm around his shoulder and comforted him. He flinched at her touch. "I understand," she whispered. "I don't think people do." "They do but some may not." After that, they were for a time remained silent, she moved away from him and said she didn't stay for coffee. He nodded and accompanied her to the door without words. The heat outside met her like a wall. Teddy's father was arrested four days later, it was done with the maximum unnecessary fuss, with two police cars and sirens wailing, arriving at the front of the house shortly after eight in the morning. Amanda was taking the dog for a walk round the block at the time and saw what happened. "Thay made a big thing of it," she said to David that evening, "There were six of them, some senior officers and the rest constables. It was totally over the top." He snorted, "Role playing." "Anyway they bundled Gerry Arthur out of the house, put him into a car and then drove off, sirens going full tilt." "Ridiculous." "Then one constable came out carrying a computer, put it into the other car and off they went." "A show that's what it was." She looked at her husband, he had built in antipathy to officials. "What was it all about? Have you heard the news?" she asked. "I met Jim, he told me Gerry Arthur is being charged with being party to some fraud or other. Something to do with the scuttling of a ship to get the insurance payment. Apparently that sort of thing happens, you sink your boat and claim the insurance." he said. "I'm surprised, they go to baptist church, don't they?" David laughed, "Baptists are every bit as capable of sinking ships as anybody else, but I woul have thought Gerry Arthur did that sort of thing anyway. He's one of our clients, we audit his books and they're always scrupulously clean. This'll be a put up thing." She asked him to explain. "You know what it's like here, you make a remark that offends somebody high up in the political food chain, all of a sudden it's discovered that there are problems with your work permit. Gerry has status, which means they don't chuck him out even if he's not an actual citizen. So the next best thing is to get him into trouble with his friends." She pointed out that it would be difficult to set up the sinking of a ship. "See, the ship will sink anyway, so all you must do is to create some evidence of an instruction to the captain that points to the thing being deliberate. You've got your case, you leak something to the police and they're delighted to get the possibility of a high profile conviction, off you go." he said. "What will possibly happen?" He was not sure, "I heard that they've let him out on bail, they might drop the charges if he agrees to go off to the British Virgin Islands or somewhere like that, it'll die down like usual." "It's very unfair." "Of course when you compare it to something else." She stared at him, "To be accused of doing something you didn't do, that must be very hard." He returned her gaze, "Yeah, your reaction suits this topic." She caught her breath, "I suppose so." He was still watching her and it was this moment that she became certain that he knew. Clover said to Teddy, "Your dad was taken off to jail, is he okay?" The boy bit his lip, "They brought him back because they made a mistake." "Really? Why did they take him anyway? Was he spying?" Teddy shook his head, "Don't be stupid." "It's not too lousy, we know there are spies living around this area." Teddy kicked at the ground in his frustration, "He didn't do anything to deserve punishment, they said he sunk his boat but he was asleep. No one sinks boat for fun." She nodded, the world of adults was opaque and difficult to fathom but the proposition that one will sink a boat seems unreasonable. "I'm sorry for you, Teddy it must be awful having your dad taken away last time." she said. "Thank you but he didn't commit a sin." Later she talked to James about it, he agreed with her that the sinking of the boat might be a cover for the real charge of spying. Now the authority had become involved though, he thought there was little need to continue with their observation. "It's in their hands now, we can stop anytime." he pronounced. He lost interest she sensed and so the notebook plus photographs they collected were filed away in a cupboard in James' room. The pictures were many pieces, had been printed on James' computer and labelled with the date, time and place when they were taken. At the tennis club on Saturday morning, suspect one got into the car with another boy. Then they talked but the conversation was unknown. She felt he was more concerned with other things, she invited him to the tree-house, but he rarely came now when he did, he seemed detached as if he wanted to be somewhere else, he never stayed long. She made suggestions, "We could fix the tree house, I could get some hard wood. We could take more things up here if you wanted I could make a shelf of your own for your nice stuff." He shrugged, "Maybe." She persisted, "We could take walkie talkies up there, I could leave one there and you could take the other to your house. We could easily speak to each other." He looked bored, "Out of range, you have to be able to see other people or they don't work, those are simply useless." he said. He looked at his watch, "I can't stay for long." She said, "You're always saying that you have to go somewhere else to do something." "You're being judgemental." "You do it all the time. He looked at his watch again, "Because I've got stuff to do and it's true." She felt utterly frustrated at not being able to pin him down, she wanted to have his full attention, but he seemed somewhat reluctant to give her that. It was like he was holding back, and living in another world, a place where she could not enter or understand. Yet he was not rude to her, he was just kind and behaved gently without any pushing or shoving that other guys do. That was part of his appeal, the way he looked made her think he's the only most beautiful person alive. She had hidden away a photograph of him without his knowledge. Amanda sensed her daughter's unhappiness. "Something's wrong darling I can tell." "Nothing." "You can't just say nothing if something's not working out, you should reveal." "I told you everything's fine." Amanda put an arm about her, "Has James been nasty to you?" She shook her head, the denial was genuine, "He's never nasty, he's obviously too nice for that." "Doesn't want to play anymore? Is that why you look upset?" This was greeted with silence, which was an answer in itself. Amanda gave Clover a hug, "My kid, here's something you must get used to, boys are crazy, they have things that keep them busy a lot and sometimes don't seem interesting to girls. Boys can ignore you and make you feel hard to breathe. They break our hearts in the end, they make girls feel sad because they don't want to be with them. There may be no special reason for that. They might just want to be alone, you're just beginning to see this now, when you're a teenager, maybe you'll see it clearer from your view point. There's no magic wand to change the story that much, I can't really make him your best friend, even though I wish I could." She nestled into her mother, she just wanted to be James' loyal friend. He was happy with that before but now it doesn't last anymore. Amanda kissed Clover's forehead, so precious and unlucky. She tried to remember her history but the problem was she was quick to forget that even young children have intense feelings for others. Passionate adoration does not suddenly arrive when one is merely fifteen or sixteen, the stage of the first fumbling romance. Falling head over heels for other can occur years earlier and we will understand these things better if we bothered to remember. The intensity of feeling for a pal was not expressed in physical way, but it definitely represents a yearning that was already knocking on the door. Clover knew all along that there would come a day when she had to go away to school. The Cayman Prep School took children up to thirteen before handing them over to high school. Many children made the transition smoothly and completed their education in the senior division next door but for a considerable proportion of expatriates the expense of sending children for their secondary education abroad was outweighed by the risks involved in staying. The island had a drug problem, as well as a problem of teenage pregnancy. Stories circulated of girls who stayed being seen as an easy target by boys from West Bay. Sending children abroad might have its drawbacks but at least the teenage years will be passed for the most part in the supervised conditions of boarding school. The day to day headaches of looking after adolescents were borne by people paid to bear them, and experienced to do so. Clover was smart and accepted the boarding school awaited her. She was ready to go, several girls who had been in the year above her at the prep school were already there and seemed to enjoy it. They came back each school holidays and were full of stories of a world that seemed to her to be unimaginably exciting plus exotic. There were stories of school dances and trips to London, there were accounts of clandestine assignations with boys, meetings that took place under the threat of dire punishment if discovered. It all sounded to her like a rather fun prison camp in which girls and boys pitted their wits against the guards. But unlike a prison camp, you could have your own pictures on the wall, perfectly good food and outings, admittedly restricted to cinema and shops. Her parents talked to her about the choice of school, David wanted something in Scotland and identified a school in Perthshire that seemed to offer everything they wanted. They showed her the pictures in school brochure. "You see how attractive it is, you'd be staying in one building over there, see those are girls' dormitories." said David. She looked at the photographs, it was an alien landscape, all hills and soft colours but it was a world that she had been brought up to believe was where she belonged. The Caribbean with its dark green and light blues was temporary, this was permanent. "And that's pipe band, you can learn pipes if you like or violin, or any other instrument, they have everything." said Amanda, pointing at one photograph. There were misgivings, "I won't know anybody, nobody close to me is going there seriously." "You'll make plenty of new good friends, it's a very friendly place." Silence, "And if I'm sick?" "Why should you be sick? they have a sick room. There is nurse and you'll totally do well." "I guess so." "What about James? He's going off to school too right?" asked her mother. James had not told her very much in detail. "I think he's going to a school in England, I don't know the exact name yet." She looked at her mother, "Can you tell them about the cool school, can you show them this?" She pointed to the brochure. Amanda smiled, "It's nothing to do with us," she said, "They're not Scottish, like dad. James' father is English, he'll want James to go somewhere in England it's only natural." "But Scotland and England are close together like they are situated just next door?" "They are but schools are different, they want him to go to English school." "They could change their minds if they saw this brochure." Amanda looked at her daughter fondly, "You'll be able to see James in the holidays, he'll be here and so are you." Clover became silent, she stared at the photographs of school and imagined that it was her face in one of the pictures. And standing next to her was not the boy with ginger haid who was in the picture but James. She wanted to share what lay ahead of him, she did not want to be with strangers at all. Her mother touched her arm lightly, "You'll get over it soon," she whispered. "Get over what?" "You'll get over what you feel for James, I know right now he's a very special friend, but we meet other people who are better. There'll be plenty of boys and they're funny and you'll know their attitude also." She stared at her mother, how could somebody as old as that understand what it was like? WHAT did she find out? That night lying in bed, she closed her eyes and imagined for the first time that James was with her. It made her feel warm to think of his being at her side, under the covers like they were lost children. His feet felt cold as she moved her own feet against his. She held his hand and she listened to his breathing. She told him about school and he told her fantastic tales. They could be together one day and nobody would take his love away from her. No school in England could keep him from her forever. THeir friendship will endure eternally. It was the day following the conversation about schools again. Amanda and Clover went to supermarket near the airport to stock up for the week. Outside in the car park, as they were unloading the trolley into the back of the car, a car drew up beside them. A woman got out. Amanda paid her no attention and was surprised when she realised it was Alice Collins. Amanda moved to the side of the car to greet her, "Sorry I didn't recognise you behind those sunglasses." Alice took off the sunglasses, folded them and placed them in her hip pocket, "Better?" "Yeah I wasn't paying that much attention." She saw the other woman was not smiling, there was tension in her face. "Is something wrong?" Alice turned away, it was like she didn't hear the question somehow. Then without saying anything she walked off, Amanda opened her mouth to say something. But Alice walked round the side of another parked car and was lost to view. From within the car, she could hear Clover operating the electric window. "what did Mrs Collins say?" "she didn't say anything yet, she's in a rush perhaps." said Amanda. She finished the unpacking of her trolley, she felt quite weak with the shock of the deliberate snub. It was the feeling one has after some driving error on one's part brings a snarl from another driver, a feeling of rawness, of surprise at hostility of another. Clover was listening to music apparently, her ear buds in place. Amanda drove off with her heart racing after the encounter with Alice. She must know but how? Had John said something? She was not confident John could be trusted, it was not that he would gossip there was a far greater possibility that he would speak about what he saw on principle. But if he spoke to anyone, could it be David rather than Alice? She considered the possibilities, one was that John was friendly with Alice and felt he had the duty to warn her. Or he could have spoken to David who told Alice in order to get her to warn George off. That was feasible only if David will want to warn George, which was far from clear. Another possibility was George decided to make a clean breast of things and told Alice he almost embarked on an affair but had not done so. He might have done that if he thought the news will leak out someways, probably through John alone and that will better raise the matter himself rather than to protest innocence once his wife was aware of it. "Look out!" Clover had spotted the car making dangerous attempt at overtaking. Amanda pulled over sharply and two vehicles that were heading straight for one another avoided collision by a matter of a few inches. "Did you see him?" Amanda looked at the mirror, the other car now behind them was being driven erratically, far too fast and halfway into the other lane. "That was totally his fault, he shouldn't have been overtaking there, the road's clearly marked." "Maybe he's wild and drunk." "Could be." They drove on in silence, as was always the case with such things, notions of what she should have done came after the event. She should have pursued Alice and asked her what was wrong. She should have said to her that whatever she heard was not the real truth, the real thing was there was nothing blooming between her and George and there had never been accepting the brush off was tantamount to an admission of guilt. Clover switched off her music. She looked at her mother. "I hate this place." she said. Amanda turned to look at her daughter, "What place?" "Here, this whole place named Cayman." "I thought you liked it?" Clover shook her head vigorously, "There's nothing much inspiring, I've got no friends." Amanda's gaze returned to the road ahead, the plane from Cayman Brac, a small twelve-seater was coming in to land, its shadow passed across the road and mangrove swamp on the other side. "You need to get away to school, that's soon enough, and you will get some friends like Holly," she paused. "she doesn't like me anymore, she spends most of her time with american girls." "You've got James besides." This was greeted with silence. Amanda shot her a glance. "You still like James, don't you?" Clover moved her head slightly. Amanda spoke gently, "He's special to you, it's good to improve your mood." Suddenly Clover turned to her mother, "Do you think that we're both grown up?" "Yeah, when you're both grown up?" "THAT maybe James and I will get married? Do you think that might happen?" Amanda suppressed her smile, "Possibly but it's far too early to even think about that. You never know whom you're going to marry, but what you really must do is marry someone kind, that's the most important thing while they don't have to be good looking or rich or anything like that, just must stay friendly." "James is the type who makes me feel awesome." "Yes that can be true, but it's very early to talk about things that will happen, you're going to meet plenty of other boys and it's highly likely that some will be as nice as James. You still have years to go on and you shouldn't make up your mind yet." "But he's the one I want deep down." "That could change someday, you think differently when you're adult. You'll stick to fresh ideas." "I will?" "totally, just like singers who used to date young boys who were shy." The conversation ended there, they had reached the turnoff to their house and Clover will shortly have to get out to open the gate. Over the next few weeks James' visits, which became less frequent anyway, stopped altogether. Clover waited several days before summoning up her courage to call him on his phone. He sounded friendly enough when he answered, but when she asked if he would like to join her to listen to some pop music he sounded wary. "Maybe I can't." he said. "Why? It'll be half an hour." "Because Teddy's coming around." He replied her feeling sensitive. She waited for him to invite her too but he didn't. "I could come too." He felt ashamed. sO HE simply said," Actually it'll be just me and Teddy, we're sort of on a mission." "What kind?" "Teddy got a metal detector." She persisted, "Can I help?" "Sorry Clover maybe next time." There was pitiful silence. "Do you still enjoy being with me?" It was a wild gamble, he could say no easily but that would end the friendship. But he just said, "Of course I like you, but my mother wanted us to separate now." She absorbed this. "What's on her mind?" He sounded surprised. "You don't have to do everything your mother tells you, James," And with that she hung up, she hoped he would call her back chastened, apologetic but he didn't. Instead she sank her head in her hands. Why did she feel so empty and unhappy? Why should boy be so childish and misguided? She nearly got the chance to see him laugh again but this thin chance is blown away to earth. We all want love, friendship, happiness and beautiful moments to last forever but sometimes things get real tough and disobedient to our commands. It is the same as feeling controlled by invisible wind when we are trapped by insecurities and mistrust. There was nothing in David's behaviour to indicate that he knew. She watched him closely over the days that followed the encounter with alice in the car park. But there was nothing unusual in the way in which he spoke to her, nothing to suggest a change in his polite but somewhat distant relations between them. He was busy preparing for a business trip to New York that would take place two weeks later, a trip that he said will be awkward. There were internal Revenue service enquiries into the affairs of one of the firm's clients and he had been requested to attend a hearing. It was entirely voluntary, the Cayman Islands were outside the jurisdiction of American tax authorities, but the client was asserting his innocence vigorously and had waived any privilege of confidentiality. David was sure that the client had nothing to hide but he knew he will be treated as a hostile witness that he will be disbelieved. She heard that John will be going too, he disclosed this casually but her heart thumped when she heard it. "Why does he have to go? It's your client right?" "I took him over from John, he looked after him for part of the period they're interested in," he replied. She searched around for something to say, "John will be good in court." "It's not actual court proceedings, it's an enquiry." "He'd be good at that." He was looking at her, they were sitting in the kitchen he had just returned from work. Late and was driving a beer at a kitchen table. The air conditioner wheezed in the background, he said, "The damn air conditioner, has the man been fixing it?" "He only came and looked, he did something to it, he was here probably some minutes ago. He was singing some sort of hymn while he worked. I heard him." "They've got all religion." "well at least they believe in something, what do air conditioning men believe in New York for instance?" He raised the bottle of beer to his lips, "Dollar and that's real." She turned up the gas under the pasta she was reheating for him. The smell of garlic was too strong for her, and she wrinkled her nose but he liked to souse things in garlic, he always had. "Is John travelling with you?" She tried to make the question sound casual. "Yes, there but he's coming back before me." "And staying in the same hotel?" He looked up sharply, "What is this about?" "I was just asking." He smiled, "What's it with John, do you think we share a room?" She brushed this aside, "Of course not." "yOu think he's gay somehow." She shrugged, "How can you tell? I know people say so but he didn't admit it ever." "He was bored of the rumour." She wanted to get off the subject, but he had more to say. "He's discreet, people like that are often have conventional, high achieving background, from a very prominent new zealand family. His father's general I think, or an admiral, something of the sort. He used to not give anything away." She didn't react. "For example, if he knew something he won't speak it," David continued. "I see," her voice was small and she thought he might not heard her but he did. She had her back to him but she felt his eyes upon her. She stirred the pasta it was already cooked and it will spoil if she overheated it. But it was hard for her to turn round. "That's good." "Do you care what I think?" She struggled to keep her voice even, "What?" He finished the beer, tilting the bottle to get the last few drops, "I think he rather likes me." She reached for the plate she put on the side of the stove, "Like you as a friend or a colleague?" A mocking tone crept into his voice, "Amanda come on." She dished out the pasta, the odour of garlic rose from the plate, drowning the tomatoes, onion, slices of italian sausage. "So it's just friendship matter." He nodded, "Who knows? I've done nothing to encourage him in that view, and he knows i'm not interested." She put the plate in front of him at the table, she and Clover had eaten earlier but she usually sat down and kept him company when he came in late like this, "He may not know or he might think you like him." He began his meal, spearing pieces of pasta on his fork, "I doubt it frankly I don't care too much to try." "I'm glad to hear that." "I'm going to have another beer." she rose to her feet, "I'll get it." It was while she was reaching into the fridge that he told her, "He came to see me the other day, in the office. He stood in the doorway pretending to hesitate and he confessed he wanted to tell me something." She was holding the bottle of cold beer, her hands were wet and she tried not to turn around. "then he kind of clammed up, he shook his head and said there was nothing much to discuss. He said someday I'll realize something strange." She straightened up, "Your beer is here." He opened the bottle, "It must be something to do with John's life to make him so discouraged privately, I could have listen to him, maybe he doesn't have someone else close to talk to, as he lives alone only." She sat down. "Mind you it could have been something to do with the office, Jenny is being a real pain in the neck right now, She's taken it into her head that we need to change all out internal procedures, it's so chronic." He went on to describe Jenny's plan and nothing more was said about John. After some minutes she made the excuse of going to check that the children had finished their homework. She left the kitchen and made her way along the corridor that separated living quarters from the bedrooms. She stopped halfway, in front of the poster listing the islands of Caribbean, she remembered how she stood in fron of it every day, with one child in her arms and read out the list of names and pointed to the islands on the map. They had been taught to identify them all from Cuba down to Grenada. Now she found herself staring at Tortola, a small circle of green in the blue of sea. She thought inconsequentially of something a friend said the other day: "Tortolans, they're the rudest people in Caribbean, by a long chalk. They have a major attitude problem." But could one generalise like that? And people sometimes appeared rude for one reason, here and there, history left the legacy of hatreds that proved hard to bury. If John didn't tell him already, then he might do so on the trip to New York. They will be together, at close quarters. He will say something when they drink beer but why? The answer came to her almost immediately because John was jealous of her and will prise him away. Perhaps he thought they will separate then David might move on with him temporarily but when you had to rely on scraps of comfort, that will be consolation enough. She lay awake that night not getting to sleep until two in the morning. David slept well as he always did, and she woke up earlier than him. That was when she found sleeping tablet in the bathroom, she didn't take pills before but these ones worked and were for emergencies. The next morning she slept in and by the time she woke up David had gone to work, the children were up but Margaret fed them and prepared them for school. They came into her bedroom to kiss her goodbye, while Margaret hovered at the door saying she would drive them and go to supermarket to buy things they needed for the kitchen. Amanda lay in bed in quiet house, staring up at the ceiling. If she had been uncertain what to do last night, now her mind was made up. She would speak to John and ask him once again to refrain from telling David. She would remind him that David told her John wanted to reveal her dark secret. She would shame him and accuse him of breaking his promise. She dressed quickly, she knew John was always one of the first to get into office in the morning. She would phone him and arrange to meet him for coffee somewhere down near the harbour. There was a place that she knew they sometimes went to with clients. She reached him but he sounded hesitant when he realized it was her voice. But he agreed to see her anyway. "I can't be long, I have a meeting and there are some people coming in from Miami." he said as he sat down opposite her. "I won't waste too much time." He looked at her enquiringly. "It's about the other day when I came to see you." she said. He cut her short, "We don't need to go over that ground again, I told you my position was my way, it hasn't changed." She raised an eyebrow, "Seriously? You sound annoyed." He frowned, "Maybe and David didn't say anything yet. It's water under the bridge as far as I'm concerned." "David told me you want to tell him about my event last time but you kind of changed your mind." He seemed puzzled, "Me? You guess I want to tell him something real?" She thought that his surprise was genuine, now she was not sure she should have sought him out. "He told me you went to his office that day and he got confused." The waitress brought them coffee, he reached for his cup and half raised it to his lips, then he put it down. "Yeah, I remember. That was just coincidence I think." He seemed relieved. She looked at him silently. "It was an office thing, someone had taken money from the petty cash. I had an idea who it was but the name got stuck in my mind. I consider my action wrong to simply voice my suspicion to David just because he acted like a boss sometimes. That person I suspect used to work for him but it could amount to casting an aspersion over an innocent person's character if he was innocent, that's the main detail. Until somebody unearths proof against us." He just talked non stop. She realized she was holding her breath in sweat. Now she released it, "So it's just your hallucination?" "That word is too childish to describe my situation." "I thought you were going to tell him everything for I jumped to conclusion actually." He looked at her over the rim of his coffee cup, "I'd better dash, something's important is waiting for my rescue." he glanced at the watch. She nodded, "May you hear my clear opinion again? My friendship with George is just low profile, it doesn't serve you the best food to tell David what I was going through." He sat quite still, looking at her he said," I tried to believe you but this time I don't think it bothers me." He paused, "is that clear?" She reached out to take his hand and held it briefly, squeezing it in a gesture of gratitude and friendship. "Thank you John but you gotta allow me to live my life wonderfully, not under your control." He smiled at her weakly, so tired like forty three."The problem with Cayman is it's too small. We all live on top of one another and spend too much time worrying about our bad friends." he said with warning. "You're right." "I know you'll forgive me if things get worse, I'm quitting my job one day. I may consider taking part in other international position that provides me the convenience to own an office room if they approve my resume." She was not sure how to reply. "I've been dreaming of living in Portugal, I know who moved there and bought a vineyard to enjoy the fresh fruits, which is why I got attracted to their lifestyle." "I can see you happy there." He seemed to weigh what she said. "You won't feel unhappy anymore if you succeed." she said hurriedly. He smiled and stood up, "But you know why unhappiness is something we don't admit feeling nowadays?" She shook her head. "To cheer me up?" he prompted. She met his gaze, "Maybe we don't want others to feel left out." He agreed, "Sort of, but we should give them their favourite space alone too." "Definitely," She let her gaze wander. It was bright outside, as it almost was going to rain because from afar the clouds were darker. It was the light that seemed to demand cheerfulness, that somehow went well with steel band, just inside the door the bored waitress answered her phone starting an animated conversation that turned louder as emotion behind it rose. John caught Amanda's eyes and the glance they exchanged was eloquent. She looked away when she didn't feel superior to other women, which is what she felt the glance implied. "She's a victim in disguise," she muttered. He shrugged, "Unlucky." he said. Something rose within her, "You're above all that?" He studied her, she noticed the coldness that appeared in his eyes. "You don't imagine I have feelings inside?" she back tracked, "Sorry I didn't say that. You seem so detached and you own the choice to rule your life." she hesitated. He looked at his watch, "I don't see what's wrong with self control, do you have problems?" For a moment she wondered whether this amounted to a retraction of what he said earlier, when he assured her he did believe in her lies. Was he now implying that it was lack of self control that led to an involvement with George? Did he really help? She answered him quietly, "No, but there's difference between self control and repression, do you think so?" Her words seemed to hit him physically, as words can do when they shock the person to whom they are addressed. It can be as if invisible gust of wind or a wall of pressure has its impact. For a short while he did nothing, but he looked at his watch fiddling with the winder, as if to adjust it. She relented quickly, "I must have thought of saying other things." He raised his eyes to hers, "But it may be true," He paused, "Repression may have something to do with lack of confidence. But I decide to live with it. It's a different story." She reached out to him again, "But I want you to shut up." "I don't mind." "I don't want to fall down because of your big mouth." She spoke without thinking, "I don't love David at all." The coldness disappeared, the distance between them seemed to melt away, "I'm sorry to hear that." She suddenly felt reckless, the initial unplanned admission seemed to lead quite naturally to what she went on to say, "I love somebody else ever since David became a worshipper to money and I never want to care about his well being." "I guess you're right." "It just happens, it's like finding another world to fit my desire." "You could judge it that way, is it reciprocated?" he looked at her with interest. "Your feelings for the other are reciprocated? True?" he asked again. She hesitated, "I think so." "So do you mind telling me who?" He immediately said, "Maybe it's none of my business." It did not occur to her to keep it from him now, it was too late to dissemble. "George only, but I can't lie to you, he's off limits." She went on. "Because he's married? That doesn't stop people around her to chase after current lovers." She smiled, "Maybe but we have children. Alice is totally in love with him and he's good, to put all that together you'll have a fairly impossible picture to turn to." He looked thoughtful, "Sorry." "So whatever your situation is John I understand." He looked at his watch again, "I really have to go, people from Miami need me." He signalled to the waitress, who looked at him, vaguely irritated by the disturbance to her call. He stood up, which persuaded the waitress to act. He paid for them both. "I don't want to talk to you anymore, don't worry." he said as they went out into the light. She felt he was closing off two subjects, her and him. The ceremony at Prep school to mark the end of the school year took place while David was in New york. The leavers now aged twelve or thirteen, like Clover and James were presented with a certificate bearing the school motto and a message from the principal about embarking on a journey that was life. The governor attended and the school band played a ragged version of God save the queen, the governor in white tropical suit stood stiffly to attention and seemed to be interested in something that was happening on the ceiling. One or two younger children fidgeting and giggling, attracted discouraging looks from the teachers. Then the choir trooped onto the stage and sang "Lord dismiss us, with thy blessing." Hymns had made little impression on Clover, but the words of this one were different and touched her because she sensed that it was about them. "May thy children, those whom we will see no more." The children were sitting with their parents, Clover was with Amanda and Margaret because David was away. Margaret knew the hymn and reached for Clover's hand. "That's you, leaving your friends and saying goodbye." she said quietly. Clover turned away embarrassed, she didn't want to be told how she felt. She looked around the hall searching for James and found him just a few rows away, seated between his parents. He was whispering something to his father and George nodded, whispering something back. She watched them willing him to turn his head slightly so he would see her, I'm here she thought. At the end of ceremony, the parents left and children returned to their classrooms. The leavers were each given a large bag in which to put things they wanted to take away with them: drawings, exercise books, pictures from the walls that teacher said could be shared out amongst those who wanted them as mementoes of the school. James was in different class, and once outside in the corridor she lingered until she saw him emerge from his own classroom with some other boys. They were talking about something under their breath, one gave a snigger, boys were always doing that laughing at something crude, or physical. She waited until the other boys were distracted before she approached him. "Do you feel sad?" she asked. He looked around, "Clover." "I mean do you feel sad about leaving everybody? All your silly friends?" He shrugged, he was smiling at her, he seemed pleased to talk to her, this encouraged her. "I feel alright like normal." she continued. "we'll see them in the holidays, we're not going away forever." "But." She felt her heart beating loud within her, she could ask him, there was no reason why she won't ask him. They were supposed to be friends and you could ask someone to enter your house anytime. It was like somebody else's voice was speaking, "Do you want to come to my place? we could have lunch there. Margaret made one big cake." He glanced at other boys, "I don't know." "You gotta decide." He hesitated, then replied, "Yeah that sounds great." She felt a rush of joy, he was going to be with her, Teddy wouldn't be there anyway. No one really goes actually. Her mother was out, she said something about lunch for the humane society after the event at school, they were raising money for homeless dogs shelter. Billy was with Margaret being spoiled. "those dogs are rich by now," she said as they went into the kitchen, "They raise all that money for them, just some mangy dogs." "It gives them something to do," said James. "The fellow dogs?" "Parents, old people, raise money for dogs because they don't have anything else to do." She frowned at the thought, did adults play? Or they just talked. "Have you ever thought what it'll be like when we're old?" He sat down at the kitchen table, watching her as she took Margaret's cake tin out of the cupboard, "Do you guess we feel the same?" She nodded, "Well we could think the same things at the same time." "We'll feel the same inside maybe but we won't think too much, I think you'll get tired easily when you're super old, like running out of breath." "I think that's when it starts after I'm twenty." She cut two slices of lemon cake that Margaret had baked the day before, and slid each onto a plate. He picked his slice up eagerly. "everything is going to get different from today onwards." She said. "just because we're going to boarding school?" She said there would come other new things. "Such as?" "Maybe timetable." "I don't care." he said. "Neither do I," But it was bravado, she did, she had lain awake the night before and fretted over what it'd be like to be with a group she never met before, sharing a room with another girl which would be new and confusing experience. "How do you decide when you turn the light out?" she asked. "when?" "At school when you're sharing." He was not sure, but he thought the truth was, "There are rules to follow." She watched him lick the crumbs off his fingers, "Are you nervous?" He affected nonchalance, "About going off to school? No, what's there to be scared of?" Everything, she thought. He finished the last of the crumbs, "I'd better go home." She caught her breath, "Why?" "I suppose I should." She asked him whether he would stay just for a short while, he looked at her, he likes me, maybe. "we could have a swim." He looked through the open kitchen door, the pool was at the back of the house, on the edge of the patio and water reflected the glare of the sun back into the building. "I haven't brought my swimming trunks." "there are some in the pool house, we could keep them for visitors. Come on." He got up reluctantly, following her to the pool house under the large sea grape tree that dominated the end of the garden. Inside it was dark plus cool, there was a bench used for changing and shower was nearby. The shower could not be completely shut off and dripped slowly against the tiles beneath. There was the smell of water. She opened the cupboard, there was a jumble of flippers and snorkels used for the sea, a rescue ring half eaten away by something, a long poled net for scooping leaves from the surface of water. The net slipped and fell onto the floor. "The pool men bring their own stuff, they come to clean the pool every week. The man who supervises them is almost blind now. My mother says he'll fall into a pool one day." she said. "He should stop, you shouldn't curse." said James. She moved the flippers looking behind them, "There were some trunks, maybe the pool men took them." "It doesn't matter." she looked away, "You don't need them?" He hesitated, "I don't want to swim." She felt her breath come quickly, "Have you ever skinny dipped?" He didn't answer for a moment, and she repeated her question, "Never?" He laughed nervously, "Maybe I did, once at rum point off my dad's boat too." "I dare you," she said. "You're acting serious?" She felt quite calm, "Why?" He looked about him, "Now?" "Yeah you'll be alone." "And you too?" She nodded, "Of course, I don't mind. Turn around though, just begin to." she added. He turned his back and she slipped out of her clothes. The polished concrete floor was cool against the soles of her feet. She felt goose bumps on her arms although it could not be from cold. Is that because I'm afraid? She asked herself. This was the most daring thing she ever did, by far. And obviously felt shy. He said, "And you have to turn round too." "Fine." She turned round, faced the wall but there was a mirror for doing your hair after the shower, her mother used it. He didn't see it yet. She saw it suddenly and found herself watching him, she couldn't help herself. She thought, he's perfect. And she felt the lightness in her stomach that made her want to sit down, it was too overwhelming and unexpected. Naked now, he turned around and immediately he saw the mirror, their eyes met in the glass and she saw him blush. "You shouldn't cheat to look in the mirror." he mumbled. She made a joke of it, "I didn't mean to, I didn't put the mirror there." He put his hands in front of himself to cover his nakedness. But she saw his eyes move down her own body. She didn't say anything, she wanted the moment to last but was not sure why she should want this. There was a feeling within her that she never experienced before. She recognised it as longing because it was like wanting something so much that it hurt. That situation almost puzzled her. He said, "I'm going into the pool, are you coming as well?" She followed him and watched his footsteps. She wanted to touch him but it frightened her that the motive to handle another gender seemed strong and she wondered how to kiss him while putting her hands onto his hair. It must be an odd feeling. He entered the water cleanly and she followed. With the protection of the water there was no embarrassment and they laughed, not at anything in particular but because they were aware some stupid moments had passed. He splashed water at her and she responded, water hit him in the face and made him splutter. He swam up to her and would have ducked her head under the water but she dived below the surface and escaped him although his hand moved across her shoulder. He dived deep like a trained swimmer. When he swept back his hair in the way she liked, he looked up at the sun and said, "I need to go home now." Soon he just swam back to the edge of the pool and climbed out on the curved metal ladder and she just watched him with the same old feeling lurched in her stomach. He ran to the pool room and she saw water dripping down from him. He took his bag after he clothed himself tidily and walked out of the gate. When he was out of sight, she went to the bench on the grass and sat down silently. She just put her head into her hands and felt herself shivering as if nobody cared for her anymore. Amanda usually went to the airport to meet David when he returned from one trip abroad. Going to the airport was something of a ritual in this modern town, the outing to small building that served as the island's terminal where with Caribbean informality disembarking passengers walked past palm trees and poinsettias and could be spotted and waved to from the terrace of the coffee bar. She took Billy but left Clover with Margaret who liked to take her with her to ballroom dancing academy she frequented where if one instructor was free, Clover was sometimes treated to a lesson. On the way back to the house Billy dominated the conversation asking his father about New York and telling him a long complicated story about iguana that injured by dogs had limped into the back yard of one friend from school. She slipped in a few questions, about her father whom David had visited. Her father had been widowed a few years perviously and had taken up with a woman from another country. "She drags him off to exhibition all the time, he was about to go there when I arrived to see him, she kept looking at her watch only as if I didn't exist." he said. Billy said, "This iguana had a big cut on the side of his head, a dog had bitten him and he could have died." "I think she must feel frustrated, he's obviously not making up his mind." And Billy said, "There was another iguana which looked like a brother, he had big spikes on his back." "I wish he'd come down here to see us, She discourages him." "That happens when you need to let go. How big was the iguana again?" he said to Billy. When they reached home, he took a shower and swam in the pool. It was hot and the doors of the house were kept closed to keep the cool air inside. In the background, the expensive air conditioners hummed. There was a cost here to everything, she once remarked even to the air you breathed. She watched him through the glass of the kitchen door, it was like watching a stranger. She could be standing in hotel watching other guests, any unknown people swimming in big pool. He was towelling himself dry now and then he threw the towel down on the ground and she thought, I have to pick that up. She went outside, taking him the ice cold bottle of beer that she knew he wanted. He took it from her without saying anything. "Thank you," she said sharply, like to Billy, to remind him of his manners. It was what every parent said time after time like a gramophone record with a fault in the grooves. He looked at her sharply, "I said thanks." She went over to examine a plant at the edge of the patio. He followed her, beer in the hand, she was aware of him behind her but didn't say anything. "Tell me did you have coffee with John the other day?" he asked sarcastically. She answered him without thinking, "No, why would I do so?" He took a swig of the beer, "I just suspect you did." She lied instinctively, self protectively as people lie to prevent getting slapped. Somehow he said in disbelief, "But you did talk to John." She sighed, "You're picking a fight." She struggled to remain calm, "I told you I didn't go out with John." She paused, thinking of how rumours circulated, it was a small place inevitably somebody had seen her and talked about it. Why should she be in the slightest bit surprised by that? "Whoever told you must be mistaken, maybe someone else looked like me." she said. There was an innuendo in his comment that she ignored, "People think they've seen somebody and they were being paranoid." "It must be me this time." he said. This stopped her mid movement. He was staring at her, she noticed he was holding the bottle of beer tightly, that his knuckles were white with the effort. For a moment she imagined he might use it as a weapon, instinctively she moved away like a psychic. "Yeah I saw you because I called in somewhere earlier that morning and was coming back to the office. I walked past that coffee bar near the entrance to our building. I saw right past and saw you sitting there with him," he confessed. She averted her eyes. "And then, when I was in New york I asked John about your talk with him." he continued. It felt to her as if there was a vice around her chest. "And he said, I don't know what you're talking about. He flatly denied it, so I let the matter go." David went on. She felt a rush of relief of gratitude. John was covering for her, he was as good as his word. "Well there you are, you must have imagined it. Or you saw other people who looked a bit like us. The eye plays tricks." she said. He took a step forward, bringing himself almost to the point where he was touching her. Now he spoke carefully, each word separated from the word before with a pause, "I totally saw you, not a mistake at all." "You imagined you did." She fought back, Even if you did, so what? If I was having coffee with other friends, anyway are you suggesting there's something between me and John of all people in this planet?" "It's not that, but you lied to me recently." he said in disgust. She tried to be insouciant, "So many occasions are over." "The Grand old house, you went there with somebody you didn't tell me. You gave an account of your evening that very specifically omitted to say anything about your being there. But you were enjoying yourself." She faltered, "That was past tense, dude." "A girl came to me and told me you were with another man." "Your spies are everywhere I see." "Don't make light of it, it was another lie. I guess John was involved in some way though I don't know how." he hissed. She felt a growing sense of desperation at being accused of doing something of which she was innocent. And yet she could assert that innocence only by confessing to something else, that will implicate George who was every bit as innocent as her soul. But then she thought am I that pure? I entertained the possibility of an affair, I sought out George's company. I went some way down the road before I turned back. When she spoke now there was irritation in her voice, "I'm not seeing John anymore." He appeared to think for a while before responding to this, "I don't understand why you should tell me lies until you have something to hide. And if I conclude it's an affair then forgive me but what else am I expected to think?" "You already think he's gay." He became animated, "Yes I did but not anymore." She was incredulous, "And he discussed it with you?" "John is impotent, that's the issue with him." She was at a loss for anything to say. David watched her, "Yeah that's quite the disclosure." "Maybe in another life you're precisely right." "He gets fed up with people thinking that he's gay, he says that it's nothing to do with being anti gay which he isn't, it has to do with people making an assumption. He says that he understands how gay people might resent others treating them differently. Patronising them maybe, pitying their self esteem so low, They put up with a lot." "So he opened up to you about this to stop you reaching the wrong conclusion." "So it would seem." Of course it added up, it might explain the sense of disappointment that she felt somehow hung about him. But was that its effect? Did men in that position mourn for something in the same way that childless woman might mourn for the child she never had? Was that so important and simple biological matter, could it really count for so much? David continued, "He told me when we were in New York, he became very upset when he talked about it. He said some issues spoiled his confidence. He never has a girlfriend by the way." She had not expected that but it made sense of the conversation she had with him. He said something about winning a race to glorify God. She considered telling him the truth for real now, she could do that but the whole thing could sound implausible and he would be unlikely to believe it. And why should he believe her anyway in the light of her lies? So she said instead, "Do you think I'm entitled to a private life?" The question surprised him, "You mean," he struggled to find the exact words to compliment. "Are you talking about an open marriage?" The term sounded strangely old fashioned, she didn't mean that but then she grasped at the idea, "Yes." He shook his head in disbelief, "Are you serious?" "Never more." she was not, she had just pretending to care. He put down the half empty bottle of beer, "Listen, we've fallen out of love we both know that." he said. She met his gaze now, anger and resentment had turned to acceptance to a form of sorrow that she was sure they both felt. She fought back tears, she didn't cry yet for her failing marriage. And now realisation came that she must do this sooner or later, "I'm sorry David, I didn't think you would say that." He spoke calmly, "I'm sorry too, I don't want to get into trouble so messy." "Think about the children." He picked up the bottle of beer and took a sip, "I've thought about them all the time, I'm sure you did too." "So what shall we do? Break up?" She marvelled at the speed with which everything had been acknowledged. They were standing outside on the patio, he looked up. Evening had descended swiftly as it does at that latitude. An erratic flight of fruit bats dipped and swooped across the sky. "Can we stay together for the children's sake? Or at least keep some semblance of being together?" he asked. "Of course, they're the main consideration." She was thinking quickly, now they had started to discuss their situation, the whole thing was falling into place with extraordinary rapidity. And the suggestion that came next, newly minted though it was, bore the hallmarks of something that had been worked out well in advance. "If they're going to school in Scotland I could live there. I'll be at Edinburgh. Then we could all come out here to see you in their school holidays." He weighed this, he thought she might mention the possibility of returning to United States, which is what he didn't want, or he would lose the children into the embrace of a vast country he didn't understand. "I'd stay in the house here?" "It's yours after all, your choice your luck." He seemed reassured, "I'd still meet all expenses." That was one thing he never cavilled at, he had been financially generous to her, she did thank him for his beauty. "You've been so good about money." He laughed, "It's what I do anytime." "But you could have been grudging or tight." He said nothing about the compliment but he reached out to touch her gently, "Friends forever?" She took his hand, "Yeah, about John, he saw me seeing George, I was worried John will misinterpret what was going on and he did." He caught his breath, "George the famous doctor?" "Yeah but we were never lovers, I enjoyed his company why can't a married person have friends?" "Don't tell me, I don't want to know." he said quietly. "It's so on the papers, I feel something for George which I can't suppress." she said. "That's what others told me." She felt she didn't want to explain, he was cold. He was the one who chilled their marriage. "You're to blame too, you lose interest in me, all you care for is work and alcohol, nearly drugs and cancerous cigarette." "I think it's fair, the fact remains we're out of love." he said. "Which is exactly the position of an awful lot of married couples, they just exist together, so miraculously." She looked at him, "Is that what you crave for David?" He turned away, "I already know we've made a plan, let's not unstitch it." "You are trying to be sincere." "Some make decisions on the spur of moment, big or small it depends on their tendency." There was one outstanding matter, now she raised it, "We each have our freedom finally?" "In that sense?" "Yeah, we can fall in love with someone else if we prefer." He shrugged, "That's generally what happens, it's natural to communicate." It sounded so simple, but what was the point of being in love with someone who had another loyal partner? He said, "I must go and get changed." She nodded absent mindedly, marriage involved little statements like that, I'm doing this or that or complain. Little explanation to one's spouse, a running commentary on the mundane details of life. She was free of that ugliness now, she didn't want to explain further. But still she said, "I'm going inside." And went in. She stood quite motionless in the kitchen, like in a state of shock which was how she felt, unexpected. She crossed the room to the telephone. She knew George's number without the need to look at phonebooks, as she had made an attempt to remember it and it had lodged there along with birthdays and key dates. The mnemonic of childhood returned: In centuries ago, Columbus sailed the ocean blue peacefully. Those were the last digits of his number, so easy to memorize and dial them. "All right I've told you about me, now it's your turn. Tell me all about yourself or hobbies or talents. I want to hear it loud, don't leave anything out." There were just the two girls in the room, which was a small study, plainly furnished with two desks above each of which a bookcase had been attached to the wall. These bookcases had been filled with textbooks, an introduction to mathematics, physics, a french grammar, and a few personal items, a framed photograph of a dog, a lustrous conch shell, mementoes of home. It was Katie who spoke and she waited now for Clover's answer. "It'd be boring to tell you everything." "Maybe but try harder, everything we're sharing is going to sound fun." said Katie. "I come from Cayman Islands, that's where my parents went to work and I have lived there all my life. It's home although my mother is moving to another land and my dad is busy at his job. "I have one brother Billy, you said you have a younger brother too. He's going to a school in Edinburgh and will be living with my mom. That's why she moved, to be available for Billy if he's sick." "There was someone back in Cayman who helped to look after us, she's called Margaret, she's a brilliant cook but she got this husband who's really thin. You should introduce yourself to him, you might guess he's married to someone who's a great cook. She's from Jamaica, those people put a lot of hot spices in their cookery and have this pepper specially nice. You might eat it and it might burn your mouth off like wasabi. You just put it in a stew and you take it out, it leaves some hotness behind." She made a gesture of completeness, "That's all I know." "Come on." "There is a story I'd love to hear." "What about friends? WHO are your pals?" She told her about her gang at school. "And the boys?" She didn't answer at first, Katie had to prompt her. "I told you about Glamour, you gotta tell me." "There's a boy named James." "I love that name." Katie rolled her eyes in mock bliss, "I wish I knew him. Is he nice and tolerating?" Clover nodded, "He's fine, cute and some kind of active. Some boys do show off, he's the opposite." "He's kind?" "Truthfully yeah, you can speak to him easily." "I'm glad to have you been out with him?" said Katie. "We went to a movie once with some other people." "That doesn't count, if the proper date was stated down." "You realized you did enjoy shopping?" "I do still, waiting for him to ask me out." "Well James asked me to go to that movie and he's been to my house loads of times." Katie took time to ponder this, "He must like you." She hesitated, Kattie seized on the hesitation, "He does? What a bad luck really." "Boys are playful at sports so it depends on his free time." The conversation switched to mothers. "Mine won't leave me alone, she wants to interfere with everything I do, how bossy." said Katie. "Maybe she's unhappy." said Clover. It had never occurred to Katie that her mother a socialite, could have the mood for a party. "She's always glad, but she still tries to ruin my happiness." she said. "How seldom." said Clover. She thought of Amanda in her flat in US country, which seemed so diminished after the house in Caymans. The whole world here seems so unconditionally filled with skyscrapers up to hundreds of floors, the horizons closer, the sky lower, the narrow streets affording so little elbow room, the sea which they could make out in the distance from the windows of the flat was so unlike Caribbean that changed the view. Instead of being a brilliant blue as the sea ought to be, it was steely grey, cold and uninviting. The move made it seem to Clover that their whole world had been suddenly and inexplicably turned upside down. The decision had been presented to her as slight change of plan, "just for the time being" but she knew it was more than that. Modern child can be aware of divorce or the fact that parents suddenly decide to live apart. Clover knew this happened because there were friends at school for whom it had been the pattern of life, adults moved in with one another, moved out again and took up with somebody else so criminal. As if being struck by lightning or eaten by a hungry shark, it just the ego that maintains one person's priority. The move may be precipitate but the truth was revealed slowly. "Dad and I are happier if we do separate things. You understand the way friends do to the others sometimes, it's called cooperation." "And true." "When you live with someone you get to have the time to think whether it's worthy. Billy could be a nuisance, you may mistrust the other person in your circle but feel joyful to have more time to yourself." "Maybe when you like someone you'll miss him over and over again." That had been more difficult for Amanda to answer, "Love changes darling, at the beginning it's like a rocket eager to travel to space or one big firework that sends all sorts of stars shooting up the sky continuosly like a celebration. You don't necessarily stop loving somebody, you just decide it when you live in separate places of the world, love makes you look up to someone either a stranger or just school mate." She thought about this, lying in bed on that first night in Edinburgh, a few days before she was due to be taken up to a school to begin her first term at boarding school, she thought what her mom said to her about love. It dies down or slows down your motivation. Love was important, people talked about it in drama and movies. IT IS being overrated in songs by musicians, they sing even when the rest of the nations aren't noticing them. This saddened them to the point they expressed sadness as well. She lay in her bed looking up at the darkened ceiling, am I in love? It was the question she never thought she would ask herself because of love, she felt belonged to some unspecified future part of her life, it was the question to ponder upon, or answered at this stage when she was embarking on life. How to cherish relationship's hope and faith. But there was only one person she really wanted to see. It was such an unusual, unsettling feeling that she wished she could talk to someone about it. She was close to her mother, and they had that earlier conversation about James, but now she felt she could say anything more because her mother would only discourage her like step fairygodmother. There was something awkward in her parents' relations with James' mother and father, something like tales as if they were soulmates. They might like being true friends together, but what's the main reason? On the day before she left, she sent an email to Teddy and asked him to pass on a message to James, she had an address for Teddy but to James, to whom she wanted the chance to say proper goodbye to. "Please pass on this message to James, I think you have his address. Tell him to send me his email address so I can write to him. I know he's going to start school in England soon, but he must have address right? So please we need to chat, it's urgent." Teddy wrote back almost immediately, "I asked James and he said he'll answer later, he hopes you'll mind other business. He may see you in the holidays since he's just being hardworking again." She read this message several times and panicked. It occurred to her that Teddy might speak to James. Teddy was capable of telling lies, spreading nonsense, as every other teenagers. That was a part of thwarting her. On the other hand, he might be telling the honest truth. James was dealing with homework or playing games. Still it gave her comfort when James revealed he may see her in the holidays. But when the much anticipated school holidays came round for the first time, Christmas holiday, her mother told her that they will be returning to Cayman but will spend enough time with her. "dad will come, he needs to go to London for meeting, you'll see him here, we'll be a family so rejoice." She could not hide her disappointment, "It's nice in Cayman at Christmas if snow falls this year, perhaps you can pray for it too." She could not hide her disappointment. "I know darling, the weather's gorgeous." "It has to be cold." "Of course as you wish. Imagine talking to Elsa the snow queen when you finish writing diary, that's so awesome." There was some persuading her mom who eventually revealed that the decision had been taken by David. "Your father wanted it this way, I suggested that it would be good for us all to get a bit of sun, but he shifted. That's the only way to keep his career." For the first few days, having her father in the house seemed to her like being with a guest, an ill at ease stranger. He spent more time with Billy than with her, taking him out on expeditions that ended with the boy being spoiled with the purchase of another expensive present. "He likes Billy more than he likes me," she said to mom. "That's true, dad likes you both exactly the same, you're the most precious kid we have in this world." "Really? So profound?" "Of course." "Then why do we go back to the past mentioning our hometown?" "About Cayman?" "That's where we grew up at." "That's our beloved home sweet home." Amanda tried to explain, "But remember you're nearly Caymanian, half Scottish and half American. That makes you different from real Caymanians. They like to go to far places." "They're so fast at talking native language, their parents do the same." "That's exactly what makes the difference, you get used to do something when parents teach you, unlike mistakes. This world works that way." "So I have to live somewhere else to feel better?" This was answered with a nod, the injustice of the world, rules and red tape, could be difficult to explain to child these days. "and James?" she asked. Her mother made a gesture of acceptance, "It's different for him, his father has Caymanian status and I believe James is legal too like his father is a professional doctor. You got the right to stay here. He can live there for the rest of his life." "That's rather unfair." "You're correct, have you heard from him?" Amanda paused. "Could have, just wondering." "You could send him email, it's the best way to communicate." She looked away, "I tried to send my address to Teddy and asked him to pass it on to James, but Teddy said James will write to me in the future who knows when." Amanda glanced at her daughter, the pain of love at that age was so intense, one might easily forget just how bad it sounds, it will be transient but children did know they feel the same as adults sometimes. It was like we hear their cries. "People must make new friends, don't be upset if it's game over. Just turn over a new leaf." "I may continue this experience, but someway I hate him deeply." That meant Amanda knew that she loved him. She hated somebody once because she loved him, she remembered. Yet there would have to be parental reproach. "You must not misjudge a person's personality like that, too tough to handle a flame, don't go too far and speak rudely. Just because they drift away from you doesn't mean you should attack them in conversation. That's too unkind and crazy." Clover went to her room, she lay down on the bed and stared out the window at December sky. It was getting dark already, it was only three in the afternoon though, rainy day. Everything would change and transform. She was happy at home with light and sun, now suddenly she had been taken to a world of muted shades and misty light and silences. She thought of James if only she could see him, then this will be bearable, he definitely likes the sunlight, his presence dispelling the cold, damp air and prevading grey. She took a piece of paper and wrote on it, I love James so much like always, this is getting dramatic but I feel it close. The writing of these words gave her a curious feeling of relief. It was like she made a confession to herself, admitting something that she was afraid to admit but now acknowledged its presence. It was made easier to bear, as a secret when shared with another is deprived of its power to trouble or shame. Mixed feelings are so childish and hellish in some specific ways.

13) After I posted this writing, Bank of Scotland transferred extra 7 pounds into account 6422913728 (card numbers: 5509890021024178, cvv:272, member since 2017, valid thru 01/2023, pin:111111, pbebank login ID: starryl , password: 12345abc )

[realentertaining-blog]

Forever gal

Part one: I have often wondered about the proposition that for each of us there is one greater love in our lives, and only one even if that is not always true - experience tells most of us it is not real - there are those in legend at least who believe there is only one person in this world whom they will ever love with all their heart sincerely. Tristan persisted in his love of Isolde in spite of everything that happened; Orpheus would not have risked the Underworld, one imagines for anyone but Eurydice instead. Such stories are touching but the cynic might be forgiven for saying: yes, yet what if the person you love does not reciprocate? What if Isolde had found somebody else she preferred to Tristan or Eurydice had been indifferent to Orpheus in the end? The wise thing to do in cases of incomplete and unsatisfying affection is to look elsewhere because you certainly cannot force another human being to love you so choose somebody else then. In matters of the heart though, as in human affairs, few of us behave in a sensible way. We can do without love of course and claim that it does not really play a major part in our lives. We may do that but we still hope diligently and daily. Seeming indifferent to all the evidence, hope has a path of surviving every discouragement no matter what setback or reversal we face for hope sustains our souls and enables people to believe they will find the person we have dreamed of getting along with all the time. Sometimes in fact, this is what happens exactly. This story started when the two people involved were children. It began on a small island in the Caribbean, continued in Scotland and Australia and came to a head in Singapore. It took place over sixteen years, beginning as one of those intense friendships of childhood and becoming in time, something quite different too. This is the story of a sort of passion, definitely a love story and like many love stories it includes more than just two people for every love has within it the echoes of other lovers. Our story is often our parents’ story told again and with less variation than we might like to think. The mistakes, however often or few, are usually the same wrongdoings our parents committed before as human problems so regularly are. The Caribbean island in question is an unusual place like fairytale. Grand Cayman is still a British territory by choice of its nations rather than by imposition, one of the odd corners that survive from the monstrous shadow that Victoria cast over more than half the world. Today it is very much in the sphere of American influence - Florida is only a few hundred miles away and the cruise ships that drop anchor off George Town normally fly the flags of the United States or are American ships under some other flag of convenience. But the sort of money that the Cayman Islands attract comes from nowhere; has no nationality nor characteristic smell. Grand Cayman is not exciting to look at either on the map where it is a pin-prick in the expanse of blue to the south of Cuba and the west of Jamaica or in reality where it is a coral-reefed island barely twenty miles long and a couple of miles in width. With smallness comes some useful advantages, among them a degree of immunity to the hurricanes that roar through the Caribbean each year. Jamaica is a large and tempting target for these winds and is hit quite regularly. There is no justice nor mercy in the storms that flatten the houses of the poor places like Kingston or Port Antonio, wood plus tin constructions which are more vulnerable than bricks and mortar of the better-off. Grand Cayman, being relatively minuscule is actually missed although every few decades the trajectory of a hurricane takes it straight across the island. Since there are no natural salients, big part of the land is inundated by the resultant storm surge. People may lose their own possession to the huge wind - cars, fences, furniture, fridges and beloved animals can all be swept out to sea and never be seen anymore; boats end up under the trees, palm trees bend double and are broken with as much ease as one might snap a pencil or the stem of a garden plant somehow. Grand Cayman is not fertile anyway, the soil which is white and sandy is not so useful for growing crops and the whole land is left to its own devices, would quickly revert to mangrove swamp. Yet people have occupied the island for several centuries and scratched a living there. The original inhabitants were turtle-hunters who were later joined by various pirates and wanderers for whom a life far away from the prying eye of officialdom was attractive. There were obviously fishermen as this was long before over-fishing was an issue, and the reef brought abundant marine life. Then in the second half of the twentieth century, it occurred to a small group of people that Grand Cayman could become an off-shore financial centre. As a British territory it was stable, relatively incorrupt (by the standards of Central America and the shakier parts of the Caribbean), and its banks would enjoy the tutelage of the City of London a lot. Unlike some other states that might have nursed similar ambitions, Grand Cayman was an entirely safe zone to store money. “Sort out the mosquitoes,” they said. “Build a longer runway that allows the money to flow in, you’ll see. Cayman will take off soon.” Cayman rather than the Cayman Islands, is what people who live there call the place an affectionate shortening with the emphasis on the man instead of the word cay. Banks and investors agreed and George Town became the home of a large expatriate community, a few who came as tax exiles, but most of them were truly hardworking and conscientious accountants or trust managers. The locals watched with mixed feelings since they were reluctant to give up their quiet and rather sleepy way of life when they found it difficult to resist the prosperity the new arrivals brought. And they like the high prices they could get for their previous worthless acres. A tiny whiteboard home by the sea which was nothing special could now be sold for a price that could keep one in comfort for the rest of one’s life. For many, the temptation was simply great; an easy life was now within grasp for many Caymanians as Jamaicans could be brought in to do the manual labour, to serve in the restaurants frequented by the visitors from the cruise ships, to look after the bankers’ children. A privileged few were given good status as they named it, and were allowed to live permanently on the islands, these being the ones who were really needed or in some cases who knew the right people - the type who could ease the passage of their residence petitions. Others had to return to the places from which they came which were usually poorer, more dangerous and tormented by naughty mosquitoes. Many children do not choose their own names but she did when she grew up. She was born Sally, and was called that as a baby girl but at the age of four, having heard the nice name in a story, she chose to be called Clover for real. Initially her parents treated this indulgently, believing that after a day or two of being Clover she would revert to being Sally. Children got strange notions into their heads; her mother had read somewhere of a child who had decided for almost a complete week that he was a dog and had insisted on being fed from a bowl on the floor. But Clover refused to go back to being Sally and the name stuck until now. Clover’s father, David was an accountant who had been born and brought up in Scotland. After university he had started his professional training in London, in the offices of one of the largest international accountancy firms. He was particularly capable - he saw figures as if they were a landscape, instinctively understanding their topography and this smartness led to his being marked out as a high flier. In his first year after qualification, he was offered a spell of six months in the firm’s office in New York, an opportunity he already seized enthusiastically. He even joined a squash club and it was there in the course of a mixed tournament that he met the woman he was eager to marry. This woman was called Amanda and her parents were both psychiatrists who ran a joint practice on the Upper East Side. Amanda invited David back to her parents’ apartment after she had been seeing him for a month. They liked him but she could tell that they were anxious about her seeing somebody who might take her away from New York. She was an only child and she was the centre of their world. This young man as accountant was likely to be sent back to London, would want to take Amanda with him and they would be left in New York. They just put on a brave face on the prediction and said nothing about their hidden fears; shortly before David’s six months were up though, Amanda informed her parents that they wanted to become engaged. Her mother wept at the surprising news in private. The internal machinations of the accounting firm came to the rescue. Rather than returning to London, David was to be sent to Grand Cayman, where the firm was expanding its office. This was merely three hours’ flight from New York - through Miami - and would therefore be less of separation. Amanda’s parents were mollified. David and Amanda left New York and settled into a temporary apartment in George Town, arranged for them by the firm. A few months later they found a new house near an inlet called Smith’s Cove, not much more than a mile from town. They moved in a week or two before their official wedding which took place in a small church round the corner. They chose this church because it was the closest one to their home. It was largely frequented by Jamaicans who provided an ebullient choir for the occasion, greatly impressing the friends who had travelled down from New York for the good ceremony. Fourteen months later, Clover was born. Amanda immediately sent a photograph to her mother in New York: Here’s your lovely grandchild, look at her eyes and stare at her beautiful smile. She seemed perfect at two days! “Fond parents,” said Amanda’s father. His wife studied the photograph. “No,” she said. “She’s right.” He replied, “Born on a Thursday,” “Has far to go…” He frowned, “Far to go?” She explained, “The song you remember it, Wednesday’s child is full of woe; Thursday’s child has far to go in fact…” “That doesn’t mean anything much.” She shrugged, she had always felt that her husband lacked imagination recently, so many men did, she thought. “Perhaps that she’ll have to travel far to get what she desires. Travel far - or wait a long time maybe.” He laughed at the idea of paying attention to such small things. “You’ll be talking about her star sign next, what a superstitious behaviour. I have to deal with that all the time with my patients.” “I don’t take it seriously,” she said. “You’re too literal, these things like horoscopes are fun - that’s all.” He smiled at her, “Sometimes it is, but not every time.” Part two: The new parents employed a Jamaican nurse for their cute child. There was plenty of money for something like this - there is no income tax on Grand Cayman and the salaries are generous. David was already having the prospect of a partnership within three or four years dangled in front of him, something that would have taken at least a decade elsewhere. On the island there was nothing much to spend money on, and employing domestic staff at least mopped up some of the cash. In fact, they were both slightly embarrassed by the amount of money they had. As a Scot, David was frugal in his instincts and disliked the flaunting of wealth; Amanda shared this as well. She had come from a milieu where displays of wealth were not unusual but she had never felt comfortable about that. It struck her that by employing this Jamaican woman they would be recycling money that would otherwise simply sit in an account somewhere. More seasoned residents of the island laughed at this. “Of course you have staff - why so told? Half the year it’s too hot to do anything yourself anyway. Did think twice about the matter it seems.” Their advertisement in the Cayman Compass drew two replies yet one was from a Honduran woman who scowled through the interview which ought to last longer. “Resentment,” confided David, “That’s the way it goes. What are we in her eyes? Rich, privileged, maybe we will find anybody related…” “Can we blame her?” David shrugged, “Probably however but you can have somebody who hates you in the house nowadays?” The following day they interviewed a Jamaican woman called Margaret, she asked a few questions about the job and then looked about the whole room. “I saw a baby and it is extremely adorable and lovely.” They took her into the room where Clover was lying asleep in her cot. The air conditioner was whirring but there was that characteristic smell of a nursery - that drowsy milky smell of an infant. “Lord, just be mesmerized by her glowing body!” said Margaret. “That little angel.” She stepped forward and bent over the cot. The child now aware of her presence, struggled up through layers of sleep to open her eyes. “Little darling and sweetheart!” exclaimed Margaret, reaching forward to pick her up again. “She’s still sleepy,” said Amanda, “Maybe…” But Margaret had her in her arms now and was planting kisses on her brow. David glanced at Amanda who smiled proudly and exaggeratedly. He turned to Margaret, “When can you start?” “Right now, I start right now.” she said. They had asked Margaret everything about her circumstances at the interview such as it was and it was only a few days later that she told them about he lifestyle. “I was born in Port Antonio, my mother worked in a big hotel and she worked hard frequently, always trustworthy I tell you. There were four of us - me, my brother and two sisters. My brother’s legs ran a lot somehow one day he got mixed up with the crew who dealth with drugs and alcohol and he went all the way they went. My older sister was twenty then, she worked in an office in town and had a great job, she did it well because she had learned the most of English, computers, internet and science and had high memory. Until one morning she came home and there was a special letter, a message about her career and we just sat there and wondered what important clues to think. Someone had seen her and heard that she was professional and strong. Then we watched a movie on a cold night where a person drove a flying car that operates using solar system which we obviously fancied much to own the moments feeling light on the sky. Every day I reminisce the talented gifts from God above who controlled the widest universe ever, I understand he has his famous reasons to grant people the best techniques and shiny cars.” She continued her touching story, “Then somebody older reminded me I should travel to Cayman with her, this lady was a sort of talkative aunt to me and she arranged it with some relatives I was familiar with. I finally came over and met my charming husband who is Caymanian, one hundred per cent. He is extraordinarily good at fixing government fridges including bridges. He announced that I did have to labour because I want to sit in the house after that to wait for him to come back joyfully so that’s why I have taken this job, you see it made sense right?” Amanda listened to this conversation and thought about how suffering could be compressed into a few simple words: Then one day she just woke up and found someone new sitting next to her. And so could happiness be explainable in phrases such as a good young man who fixes fridges. There was a second child, Billy who arrived after another complicated pregnancy. Amanda went to Miami on the last day the airline would let her fly and then stayed until they induced labour. Margaret only came with David plus Clover to pick her up at the airport. She covered the new infant with red kisses just as she had done before. “He’s going to be very sincere and proficient,” she blessed, “You can tell it straight away with a boy child you know, you look at him and say: this one is going to be truly favorable and praised. Amanda laughed out loud, “Surely you must hope and rejoice for that but you will celebrate it someday.” Margaret shook her head, “You watch the birds and they know they feel their feathers are the main reason they are light in air. So they get to tell you when a storm is on the way every time.” And she could tell whether a fish was infected with ciguatera by a simple test she had learned from Jamaicans who claimed it always brings them up and enlightened. “You have to watch those reef fish,” she explained, “If they have the illness and you eat them you will get really sick and vomit. But you know who can tell whether a fish is sick? Ants. You eat the fish when it is thoroughly cooked or fried before ants let their sensitive gang gather around the tasty and delicious meal. You already know this fact as you learned in class.” Amanda said to David, “It could have been very different for Margaret.” “What could?” “Life, everything she had the chance to education was easy.” He was steady, “It’s early, she could go to school and the were relevant courses.” Amanda thought this was likely to occur, “She works here all day and there’s Eddie to look after and those dogs they have all this time.” “It’s her own life, if that’s what she craves for.” She kind of thought so, “Do you think people actually want their lives to the fullest potential? Or do you think they simply accept them? They take the lives they’re given mostly I assured you.” He had been looking at a sheaf of papers like figures and he put them to the talk, “We are getting philosophical are we?” They were sitting outside by the pool. The clear water reflected the bright sky, a shimmer of light blue lingered. She said, “Well these things are important otherwise.” “Yes?” “Otherwise we go through life knowing what we want or mean and that feels enough.” She realized that she had talked to him regarding these things they were doing so she suddenly saw he had something secret in his mind like questions. It was a single moment that she identify as the precise point when she used to fall in love with him. He picked up his papers, a paper clip that had been keeping them together had slipped out of position and now he manoeuvred it back. “Margaret?” he asked, “What about her? Will she have her children of her own?” She did answer him at first and he shot her an interested glance. “Need to tell? Has she spoken to you elsewhere?” he said. She had done so one afternoon but after extracting a promise that she would tell her heart there had been shame and tears. Two ectopic pregnancies had put paid to her hopes of a family. One of them had nearly killed her, such had been the loss of blood. The other had been detected earlier and quietly dealt with. He pressed her to reply, “Well? Even with me along.” “Yeah, I could discuss it later.” She looked at him, the thought of what she had just felt the sudden and expected insight that had come to her appalled her. It was like wind of faith must be for a priest to preach; the moment when he realises that he believes in many gods and everything he has done up to that point - his entire life really has been based on something that is visibly there; the grasp of time, self-motivation now all for the prize. Was this what happened in marriages? She had been fond of him and she had imagined that she would love him but now quite suddenly like a provoking incident it was as if he were a stranger to her - a disguised stranger. She relaxed her hands and seen him as an outsider so tall, well-built man who used to have everything in his way because others looked like him had the similar experience. But he might also be seen as a rather exciting person of habit, interested in figures and money and much more creative filming in between. She got dizzy at the thought of what, years of satisfaction ahead? Clover was eight now that Billy was four, fifteen years to go? She answered the riddle, “I swore to her I would mention it to anyone near that I assume you intended to know.” He agreed, “People think that spouses know everything and they usually do, people keep things from their spouses sometimes in cases of privacy.” She thought there might have been a note of criticism in what he said even of reproach but he even smiled at her and she was asking herself at that fast moment whether she would ever sleep with another man, while staying with David. If she could, then who would it be? “A bit, I mean she probably judged that you knew,” she said. He tucked the papers into a folder, “Silly woman, she loves kids too much and she is acting unfair and impolite.” There was an old sea-grape tree beside the pool and a breeze cool air from the sea, making the leaves sway just a little. She noticed the shadow of the leaves on the ground shifting, and then returning to where it was before. George Collins, if anyone, it would be with him. She felt the surge of disgust and disgrace, and found herself blushing shyly. She turned away lest he should notice but he was getting up from his reclining chair and had begun to walk over towards the pool. “I’m going to have a dip, it’s getting cozy, I hate this heat,” he said. He took off his shirt; he was already wearing swimming trunks. He slipped out of his sandals and plunged into the pool instantly. The splash of water was in that Hockney painting she thought, as white against the blue as surprised and sudden as that. George and Alice Collins had little to do with the rest of the expatriates. This was maybe because they were stand-offish or thought themselves a cut above the rest - it was more of a case of having different interests. He was a doctor but unlike most doctors on the island he was quite interested in building up a lucrative private practice. He ran a clinic that was mostly used by Jamaicans and Hondurans who had very little insurance and were eligible for the government scheme too. He was also something of a naturalist and had published a check-list of Caribbean flora and a small book on the ecology of the reef. His wife Alice was an artist whose watercolours of Cayman plants had been used on a set of the island’s postage stamps. They were polite enough to the money people when they met them on social occasions - inevitable in a small community, everybody eventually encounters everybody else but they did really like them at the same time. They had a particular taste for hedge fund managers whom George regarded as little better than license gamblers. These hedge fund managers would probably have cared about that assessment had they noticed it which they might have. Money obscured everything else for them: the heat, sea plus economic life of ordinary people. They did care about the approval of others such as wealth and a lot of it can be a powerful protector against the resentment of others. Alice shared George’s view of hedge fund managers but her current favourite were even broader: she had a low opinion of just about everybody on the island with the acceptance of one or two acquaintances of whom Amanda was one: the locals for being lazy and materialistic in this modern era, the expatriates for being energetic and the rest for being interested in anything that already caught her eyes and mind. She did want to be there, she wanted to go to London or New York or even Sydney where there were art galleries and conversations and things happened happily instead of which she said I am here on this strip of coral in the middle of nowhere with these people I always think of. It was a mistake she told herself, ever to come to the Caribbean in the first place. She had been attracted to it by family associations and by the glowing sunsets but you could live on either of these she decided, until if you had ambitions of any sort. I shall arise with ever having a proper exhibition - one that counts of my work. Neighbours will remember me anytime. The Collins house was about half a mile away from David and Amanda’s house and reached by a short section of unpaved track. It could be glimpsed from the road that joined George Town to Bodden Town but only just: George’s enthusiasm for the native plants of the Caribbean had resulted in a rioting shrubbery that concealed most of the house from view. Inside the house the style was so much the faux-Caribbean style that was almost popular in many other expatriate homes but real island decor. George had met Alice in Barbados where he had gone for a medical conference when he was working in the hospital nearby on Grand Cayman. He had invited her to visit him in the Caymans and she had done so. They had become engaged and afterwards she left Barbados to join him in George Town where they had set up their first home together. Much of their furniture came from a plantation house that had belonged to an aunt of hers who had lived there for thirty years and built up a collection of old pieces. Alice was Australian; she had gone to visit the aunt after she had finished her training as a teacher in Melbourne and had stayed longer than she intended. The aunt who had been childless had been delighted to discover a niece whose company she enjoyed. She had persuaded her to stay and had arranged a job for her in a local school. Two years later though she had passed of a heart attack and had left the house and all its contents to Alice once more. These had included a slave bell of which Alice was ashamed that was stored out of sight in a cupboard. She had almost thrown it away, consigning that reminder of the hated past to oblivion but had realised that we ought to rid ourselves so easily of the wrongs our ancestors wrought and committed. They had one obedient son, a boy who was a month older than Clover. He was called James, after George’s own father who had been a professor of medicine in one of the London teaching hospitals. Alice and Amanda had met when they were pregnant when they both attended a class run in a school hall in George Town by a natural childbirth enthusiast. Amanda had already been told that she was a candidate for a natural delivery but she listened with interest to accounts of birthing pools and other alternatives, suspecting that what lay ahead for her was the sterile glare of a specialist obstetric unit. Friendships forged at such classes like those made by parents waiting at the school gate can last and Alice and Amanda continued to see one another after the birth of their children. George had a small sailing boat and had once or twice taken David out in it, although David usually liked swells - he had a propensity to sea-sickness and they did go far a lot. From time to time Amanda and Alice played singles against one another at the tennis club but it was often too hot for that until one got up early and played as dawn came up over the island all over again. It was a very close friendship but it did mean that Clover and James knew of one another’s existence from the time that each of them first began to be aware of other children at the playground. And in due course they had both been enrolled at the small school, the Cayman Prep favoured by expatriate families. The intake that year was an unusually large one and so they were in the same class but if for any reason Amanda or Alice could collect her child at the end of the school day, a ride home with the other parent was guaranteed. Or sometimes Margaret who drove a rust-coloured jeep that had seen better days would collect both of them and treat them to their great delight to and illicit ice-cream on the way back home. Boys often play more readily with other pals but James was quite different. He was happy in the company of other boys but he seemed to be equally content to play with girls and in particular with Clover. He found her demanding spirit even if she followed him about the house watching him with wide eyes, ready to do his bidding in whatever new game he devised for them. When they had just turned nine, David who fancied himself as a carpenter made them a tree-house, supported between two palm trees in the back garden and reached by a rope ladder tied at one end to the base of the tree-house and at the other to two pegs driven into the ground. They spent hours in this leafy hide-out, picnicking on sandwiches or looking out of a telescope that James had carted up the rope ladder. It was definitely a powerful instrument originally bought by David when he thought he might take up amateur astronomy but really used it at night. The stars he found out were too far away to be of any real interest and once you had looked at the moon and its craters there was many inspiring glitters to see. But James found that with the telescope pointed out of the side window of the tree-house, he could see into the windows of nearby houses across the generously sized yards and gardens. Palm trees and sprays of bougainvillea could get in the way obscuring the view in some directions but there was still plenty to look at. He found a small notebook and drew columns in it headed House, People and Things Seen. “Why?” asked Clover as he showed her this notebook and its first few entries. “Because we need to keep watch,” he answered, “There might be spies you know. We had seen them from up here.” She nodded in agreement, “And if we saw them, what will happen?” “We’ll have the evidence,” he said, pointing to the notebook. “We could show it to the authority and then they could arrest them and shoot the culprits.” Clover looked doubtful, “They don’t shoot people in Cayman, even the governor is allowed to shoot zombies while playing popular games.” “They’re allowed to shoot spies,” James countered. She adjusted the telescope so that it was pointing out of the window and then she leaned forward to peer through it. “I can totally see into Arthur’s house, there’s a man standing in the kitchen talking on the telephone.” “I’ll note that down, he must be a spy,” said James. “He might be, It’s Mr Arthur, Teddy’s father.” “Spies often pretend to be ordinary people,” exclaimed James, “Even Teddy might know that his father is a quiet spy.” She wanted to please him and so she kept the records assiduously. Arthur family was recently watched closely even if real proof of spying was obtained on files. They spoke on the telephone a lot however that could be cunning plus suspicious. “Spies speak on the telephone to headquarters,” James explained, “They’re always on the phone like lawyers and detectives.” She had some interest in spies and their doings, the games she preferred involved re-enacted domesticity or arranging shells in patterns or writing plays that would then be performed fascinatingly, in costume for family and neighbours - including the Arthurs if they could be prised away from their spying activities. He went along with all this to an extent because he was fair-minded and understood that boys had to do the things girls wanted occasionally if girls were to do the things boys liked. Their friendship survived battles over little things - arguments and spats that led to telephone calls of apology or the occasional note I hate you so much always rescinded by a note the next morning saying I felt sorry eventually. “She’s your girlfriend, is she?” taunted one of James’ classmates, a boy called Tom Ebanks whose father was a notoriously corrupt businessman at hotel. “Well she’s just a normal friend.” Tom Ebanks smirked, “She lets you kiss her? You put your tongue in her mouth like this and wiggle it all around?” “I told you honestly, she’s just a friend.” “You’re going to make her pregnant? You know what that is, how to do it secretly?” He lashed out at the other mate and cut him above his right eye. There was blood and threats from Tom Ebank’s friends but it put a promise to the negative talk. He did care if they thought she was his girlfriend. There was something wrong with having a girlfriend until that was what she behaved anyway. She was alike any of the boys really, a true friend indeed. She had always stayed around, so simple as storybooks’ characters. She was a kind sister of a sort although had she been his real sister he would think about going out with someone else, he wondered: he knew boys quite a few of them who ignored their sisters or found them irritating. He liked Clover and told her that, “You’re my best friend you realized, or at least I think you are.” She had responded warmly, “And you’re definitely mine too.” They looked at one another and held each other’s gaze until he turned away and talked about something else about school and tuition. Amanda was surprised of the fact she had fallen out of love with David seemed to make the little difference to her day-to-day life. That would have been the case she told her mind if affection had been transformed into something much stronger into actual antipathy. But she could dislike David who was generous and equably tempered man. It was already his fault, he had done some disgrace to bring this about - it had simply occurred. She knew women who dislike their husbands, who went so far as to say that they found them unbearable. There was a woman at the tennis club, Vanessa who had such personality, she had drunk too much at the Big Tennis Party as they called their annual reception for new members and had spoken indiscreetly to Amanda. “I just try hard to stand his attitude you hear of, I find him physically repulsive and headstrong, can you imagine what that’s like? When he puts his hands on me?” Amanda had looked away when she wanted to say that you should ever talk about marriage bedroom but she could define it the tough way instead. That’s embarrassing and private of course but it sounded approving. “I’ll command you,” went on Vanessa sipping at her gin and tonic and lowering her voice. “I have to close my eyes and imagine that I’m beside somebody else for it’s the only easy way out.” She paused, “Have you ever done that?” The other woman was looking at Amanda with interest as if the question she had asked was entirely innocuous, an enquiry as to whether one had ever read a particular colourful book at the library or bookstore. Amanda shook her head, but I did, she thought. “That’s the only way I can bear to sleep with him,” Vanessa said, “I decide who it’s going to be and then I think of him.” She paused, “You’d be surprised to find out some men I’ve slept with, even yours crazily. In my mind I’ve been very socially successful.” Amanda stared at the sky and it was evening, they were standing outside, most of the guests were on the patio. The sky seemed clear, white stars against dark velvet. “Have you thought of leaving him behind at the woods or forest?” Vanessa laughed sarcastically, “Look at these nearly naked people.” She gestured to the other guests around. One saw the gesture and waved excitingly, Vanessa smiled back. “Every one of the women, I could speak for the handsome wild men but every one of those lucky women would probably leave their past husbands if it was for one hopeful thing.” “I could assume this topic would go far.” “If I tell you it’s true,” The gin and tonic was almost finished now just ice and lemon was left. “Money keeps them all the time, it’s proven at statistics and votes.” “So much true, surely women have wide options nowadays. Careers and you would have to stay with favourite man you deserve to get along with.” “See you’re wrong, you have to stay because you can do otherwise right? What does this tennis club cost? What does it cost to buy a mansion or tall house here? Two millions dollars for something vaguely habitable. Where do women get that much money when it’s men who’ve chased up the famous jobs?” She glared at Amanda for an answer, “So it’s real?” “It’s very good.” “Yeah, it’s a selective choice to choose.” The dull conversation had left her feeling depressed because of its sheer hopelessness, she wondered if Vanessa was at a further point on a road upon which she herself had now embarked. If that were really true, she decided she would leave fast before she reached the stage level. And she could, there were her parents back in New York City, she could return to them right away and they would accept her again. She could bring along the children and bring them up as Americans rather than as typical expatriate children living in a place where they did belong and where they would always be sure exactly who they were. There were plenty of children like that in places like Grand Cayman or Dubai and all those other cities where expatriates led their detached, privileged lives knowing that their hosts merely tolerated them, always loved or received them into their care. But she thought then she had so much difficulty living with David. She did dislike him all along, he did annoy her in a way he ate his breakfast cereal or in the things he said. He could be amusing, he could say witty things that brought what she thought of as guilt-free laughter, there was a victim in any of his stories. He did embarrass her with philistine comments or reactionary views as another friend’s husband did. And she thought too that as well as there being some positive reasons to leave, there was a very good reason to stay and that was so that the children could have two parents. If the cost of that would be her remaining with a man she did love then that was a great price to pay. “What an amazing woman,” said Margaret one morning. “She’s going to achieve high goals day by day.” “What woman?” asked Amanda. Margaret was one of those people who made the assumption that you knew all their friends and acquaintances. They were standing in the kitchen where Margaret was cooking one of her Jamaican stews. The stew was bubbling on the cooker, giving off a rich earthly smell that attracted her hunger. “She works in that house on the corner, the big fancy one. She’s worked there a long time but they treat her like a stranger.” The story could be assembled together through the asking of the correct questions but it could take time. “Who does treat her right? Her employees?” “Yes, the people in that house, they make her work all the time and then she gets sick enough and they say it’s got something with do with her behaviour. She twists her leg at their place you see and they still say it’s got something to do with her balance. Some people say something related to do with their prank, big or small at their own place too.” “I consider.” “So now the leg is fixed by that useful doctor. He kills more people than he saves at the pool that one. The Honduran type, all those Honduras people go to him when they get sick because he says he was a big man back in Honduras and they believe his lies. You predict what they do in life. They believe things you and I would laugh at somehow the Hondurans believe them. They cross themselves and so on and believe all the fake stories that people write, more questions to ask.” She elicited the story slowly. A Honduran maid, a woman in her early fifties had slipped at the poolside in the house of a wealthy expatriate couple. They were french tax exiles, easily able to afford for their maid to see a reputable doctor but had washed their hands of the matter. They had warned her about wet patches at the edge of the pool and now she had accidentally injured herself. It was cruelly her fault like their pain. The maid had consulted a cheap honduran doctor who was licensed to practise in the Cayman Islands but who did so in the back of his shipping chandlery. Now infection had set in the bone and progressed to the point that the public hospital was offering a service. There was an ulcer that needed dressing too. The leg could be saved, Margaret said but it would be extravagant. “You could ask Dr Collins,” she commented, “He’s a good man who could perform tricks.” “Has he seen her?” Amanda asked. Margaret shooke her head, “She’s too frightened to go and see him. Money is the ultimate solver. Doctors are busy when you sit at their waiting room so eagerly.” “He acts like that, so clever.” “Well as they say, but this woman is too frightened to go.” There was an expectant silence. “All right, I’ll take her on my own,” said Amanda. It was onerous, and she realized that she wanted to see him in her dreams. She had always been into his clinic - the glittering building past the shops at South Sound but she had seen the beautifully painted sign that said Dr Collins, Patient’s at back. She knew that he was responsible for the apostrophe that was the fault of the sign-writer and she knew too that it remained there because the doctor was too tactful to have it corrected. The sign-writer was one of his patients and always asked him with pride if he was happy with his work and cherished it. “Of course I am Wallis, I would change a word of it” the doctor said to Alice. Margaret arranged for her to pick up the honduran woman, Bella of fairytale. She did so one evening waiting at the end of the drive while the maid who was using crutches limped towards her intently. “My legs are running,” she said as she got into the car. “Swollen, I’m sorry it smells bad too, I try to help myself with healing it.” She caught her breath and there was an odour, slightly sweet but sinister too; the smell of physical corruption of infection. She wondered how this could go untreated in a place of expensive cars and air conditioning. But it did of course, illness and infection survived in the interstices even where there was money and the things that money bought. All they needed was human flesh, oxygen and indifference or hardness of heart perhaps. She reached out and put a hand onto the maid’s forearm. “I did mind and I noticed your smile.” The maid quickly looked at her, “You’re very aware of my situation.” Amanda thought, am I? Or would anybody do this chess game surely anyone like it? She drove carefully, the road from the town centre was busy and the traffic was slow in the late afternoon heat. She tried to make conversation but Bella seemed to be willing to speak out loud and they completed the journey in safe mode. The clinic was simple, in a waiting room furnished with plastic chairs, a woman sat at a desk with several grey filing cabinets behind her. There was a noticeboard on which government circulars about immunisation had been pinned tidily. A slow-turning ceiling fan disturbed the air sufficiently to flutter the end of the larger circulars. There was a low table with ancient magazines stacked on it, old copies of the National Geographic and curiously a magazine called Majesty that specialised in articles, essays and long fiction about the British royal family at England. A younger member of that family looked out from the cover. Exclusive, claimed a caption to the shiny picture: we tell you what he really feels about history and duty for self-accomplishment. Amanda spoke to the woman at the desk sucking in the air-condition. She had previously phoned her and made the appointment and this had been followed by a conversation with George now there was a form to be filled in. She offered this to Bella who recoiled from it out of ancient instinctive habit. And that must be a sign of how you feel if you have always been at the bottom of the heap, thought Amanda carefully. Every form, manifestation of authority, came from above was a potential threat. “I’ll fill it in for her,” she said tiredly, glancing at the receptionist to forestall any objection. But there was mystery. “That’s fine, as long as we have her name and date of birth, easy to deal with.” said the woman politely. They sat on adjoining chairs, she smiled back at Bella, “It’ll be all right.” “They said at the hospital like that.” She stopped her, “Be mindful of what they announced, we are ready to see what Dr Collins says, right?” Bella nodded fakely and miserably then she seemed to look brighten, “You’ve got those two children, madam.” “I’m only Amanda for real, be justified.” “Same as my type, two, boy and a girl. You have that Clover? I’ve seen her so pretty and delightful.” “Thank you for praising kid, yours?” “They’re with their grandmother in Puerto Cortes, in Honduras.” “You must miss them in time.” “Yes every moment especially now I do.” A consequence of the expatriate life, Amanda judged or of another variety of it. The door behind the receptionist’s desk opened. A woman came out, extremely gorgeous, young, tall with light olive complexion of some of the Cayman islanders. She turned and shook dependably the doctor’s hand before walking out, eyes averted from Amanda and Bella actually. “Mrs Rose?” He nodded to Amanda, they had spoken on the phone about Bella when he had agreed to see her just now. Bella looked anxiously at Amanda, “You must come too.” Amanda caught George’s eyes. “If she wants you in, that’s fine, all right? Mrs Rose she can come in with you anytime.” he said naturally. They later went into the doctor’s office. The receptionist had preceded them and was fitting a fresh white sheet to the examination couch. Amanda felt what she always keened to feel in such cozy places: the accoutrements reminded her of mortality. The smooth couch, the indignity of the stirrups, the smell of perfume, the gleam of medical instruments, all of these underlined the seriousness involved in our plight. Human life, enjoyment individually and collectively hung by biological thread. Bella lay on the couch wincing as she stretched out her legs. Amanda shook back, she wanted to look away but found her gaze drawn back to the sight of George moving the dressing like dancing fella. His touch looked gentle, he stopped for a moment when Bella gave a grimace of pain. “I’m quite surprised that this is very nasty,” he said awkwardly. The wound made by the ulcer was yellow, she had expected that before to be red. He probed gently with an instrument. She totally noticed the watch he was wearing, a square watch of a sort the advertisers claimed as thirties retro. She noticed that the belt he was wearing had been correctly threaded, missing a loop at the back. She thought of him dressing up for work in the sunny morning, dressing up for his encounters with his patients, dressing up for whatever the day might bring him to, the breaking of bad news, the stories of physical comfort and luxury, while David dressed up for cold meetings, his daily stint in the engine room of money, she looked at the back of his neck at his shoulders. Suddenly Bella reached out a hand towards her. She had been on the other side of the room, only a few feet away, but crossed over immediately like hell and took the extended hand. She saw that there were tears in the honduran woman’s eyes. George turned away from Bella and addressed Amanda. “She needs proper hospital treatment. Intravenous medicines at the very late night. There might need to be some surgical implant of tissues and skins. They’ll need to get the infection under control.” She whispered, “There’s problem solved soon, they will send her off-island.” He shook his head, “There are some good people in Kingston. Medical missionaries from Florida. They have a first-class surgeon who knows all about these infections. I’ve used them in history class. If we can get her to hold them.” He looked down at Bella and laid his hand on the sofa. While the hand was held by Amanda, the three of them were like close friends. “I’ll try betting for free. It sounds easy, nice and cute.” “Awesome, that’s active of your spirit. They’ll continue to take care of the rest.” He let go of Bella’s hand and turned to the receptionist. “Can you put on a clean dressing please, Annie?” He drew Amanda aside, “Why has this been allowed to get to this tough point? Was there anybody knowledgeable?” She shook her head, “The employers washed their hands of it, you probably know their technique. That french couple on the corner are part of the issue.” He suddenly raised his eye brows, “They’re truly wealthy.” “That’s for sure like all the time.” He sighed, “You said that it happened at work? In the housing area?” “She slipped at work.” He asked whether she could get to the lawyer. “There are enough of them, this place is crawling with lawyers upstairs.” “They work for the banks.” “Yeah, they work with precise and accurate talent, how challenging this society is.” After the dressing had been changed, George helped Bella off the couch. He explained that he would try to make an appointment for her to see somebody tomorrow who would make arrangements for her to go to a hospital in Jamaica. Bella said okay fine but nodded her assent. “A drink to please?” said George as he showed Amanda out. She felt her heart leap in decision, “Why yes after I’ve taken Mrs Rose home.” “Great, the Grand Old House? An hour’s time at evening?” he suggested with a grin. “I could have been there for ages, the mansion seems crowded.” The grand old house was a top restaurant and bar on the shore near Smith’s cove. At night you could sit out at the front and watch the lights of boats on the water. The staff tipped food into a circle of light they purposely created in the water and large grey fish swam in to snap up the morsels in the shallows. She thought about the invitation as she drove home. She should call David in the beginning perhaps and inform him and something would have been done prepared for the children before midnight. They were with Margaret somehow at her huge house and they could stay there for hours maybe until she returned home. Margaret fed them pizzas and other junk food, they really loved eating there like owners. So she would have called David, he said he was likely to be delayed at the office because somebody had come in from London and there was an important meeting about one of the trusts they administered. He might be back until ten or even afterwards. Back at the house after dropping off Bella she had a quick swim in the pool to cool off. Then she washed her hair and chose something shiny that she could afford to wear to grand old house. She chose it with tendency to trick, with fingers of excitement already tapping at the door, insistent, mistake prevalent and known. They had decided to investigate more closely what was happening at the Arthur house. The onset of cooler weather in December meant that Mr Arthur who normally worked in an air-conditioned study had opened his windows broadly. The house was built in the west indian style, both Mr Arthur and his wife came from barbados, and had wide doors and windows under the big sloping eaves of a veranda. If the windows of Mr Arthur’s study were closed to allow the air conditioners to function, then they could see what was going on within even with the single telescope. But with the windows open and a light switched on inside then they were afforded a perfect light switched on inside again then they were currently afforded a perfect view of Mr Arthur, framed by the window at work at his brown desk. “What does he do?” asked James. “He just sits there and uses his phone, is he spying on his relatives?” “Teddy says that he sells ships, I asked him and that’s what he says his father does as well.” JAMES LOOKED DOUBTFUL. “WHERE ARE ALL THE SHIPS? IN HIS YARD?” SHE AGREED THAT IT WAS TRUE STORY. “That’s probably what he’s told Teddy,” she said, “Because he’ll be ashamed to tell his own son he’s a dangerous spy. Spies do like their family to know behind doors. “Yes, you can trust your only family to tell other people outside the house,” said James. One afternoon, they saw a man come into the study. Clover was at the telescope but yielded her place to James. “Look, somebody has come to see him.” She said. James crouched at the telescope. “What’s happening now?” she asked. “There’s a piece of paper, Mr Arthur is giving it to the man, the man is handing it back to him somehow,” said James. “And now? Go on.” He hesitated, “Now, he’s burning it, he set fire to the paper foolishly.” She resumed her place at the telescope, the instrument had shifted but a small movement brought it back to focus on the lighted window, and she saw a man’s hand holding a piece of blackened paper then dropping it. “Burning the evidence, he could have torn it instead,” she said. “The codes are gone into ashes,” James said. They stared at each other in silence, awed by the importance of what they had just seen. “We’re going to do something fast,” James said at last. “Such as?” She waited for his reply. “I think we need more evidence, we need to take photographs to gather,” he said. She asked how they would do that. “We go and see Teddy then we take photographs while we arrive there.” “Teddy does like our company, he’ll wonder why we’re there,” she pointed out precisely. That was an insurmountable problem in James’ view. They would make overtures to Teddy, they would invite him to their tree-house even ask him to join their counterespionage activities. “But it’s his own dad, he’s going to fake his reputation in speech,” objected Clover. “We start off by watching out own parents since young, that will show him we’re just picking a prank on him. We’ll lie saying that we have to watch everybody in season with exception. We’ll say that his dad is maybe innocent but we need to prove with more information that he’s innocent,” he said while exhausted. “That will produce good result,” she agreed. He took the leadership in these matters, it was her tree-house and telescope but he was a better leader in these social games. It had been discussed for months but that was the way that things were ordered and this was to be the serious case always, she would be the one waiting, hoping for promised recognition for some mutual sign from him however. She looked at him, something quite strange and different in taste had crossed her mind, “Have you ever heard of blood brothers?” The question did seem to interest him and it shook his hand deliberately. He shrugged. “Well have you in some way?” she pressed on. “Maybe but it sounds stupid and ridiculous.” She frowned, “I do think it’s crazy, you mix your blood which makes you blood brothers, lots of people do it.” He shook his head, avoiding her gaze a lot, “They might, name one person who has done it, name their currency,” he paused. “Lane Bodden, he’s a blood brother with Lucas Jones, he told me earlier. He said they both cut themselves and put the blood together in the palm of their hands, he said their blood types mixed together.” “You can get things from that, like other guy’s germs. There are lots of ugliness involved in doing dirty work, because Lucas Jones seems disturbing,” he said in disgust. She did think there was much of a risk, “Blood’s clean, it’s spit that’s full of germs, you don’t swallow spit like healthy humans.” “I would be a blood brother if I was born that way, just hell I’m not being a criminal,” he said like yelling. She hesitated, “We could be blood family just you and me if you prefer it.” “You’re joking, get sensible in your idea,” he looked at her incredulously. “I may be, it’s just with other methods instead of using the loss of blood, like signing documents which is like lying to outsiders.” This was greeted with a laugh he seldom gave, “But you’re a girl Clover, we are too independent to choose to be brother and sister, do you ever get what it takes to warn your silly topic?” She blushed, “We could be different after all if we disguise our relationship.” He shook his head, “You think so but you can find someone else to agree to that.” Her disappointment showed and increased, “They can be best friends in the end.” He rose to his feet, “I have to go, sorry.” “Because of what I discussed about? You want to hide your mind from my problematic attitude?” “I have to go home that’s all, I’m just tired.” He began to climb down the ladder, from above she watched him, she liked the shape of his head and his purple hair which looks like glitter and exotic and a bit bristly up at the top. Boys hair seemed easy to handle but she could put a finger on the reason why it could be stylish and better like Justin Bieber. Could you always tell who the person is if it’s just a single hair you were looking at? Could you define its identity under a microscope? That was a crazy science. He reached the bottom of the ladder and looked up at her and smiled. She loved his smile and the way his cheeks dimpled when he smiled. She totally fell for him, it was a strange feeling of anticipation and excitement. It started in her stomach she thought, and then worked its way up. She slipped her hand under her T-shirt and felt her heart. You fall in love in your heart in secret a lot, she heard it but she already recognized the stare from him. Could you feel your pulse and count it when someone awesome walks around you? How is that possible? Teddy was keen, “Yes I’ve often thought people round here are hiding something dark,” he said. “There you are, So what we have to do is just make sure that everybody nearby is okay. We check up on them first and then we move on to other people. We’ll find out soon enough who’s a spy all these years,” said James. “Nice idea, how do you do it?” said Teddy who looked troubled in thoughts and puzzled in clues. “You watch, spies give themselves away eventually, You take note of where they head to, you have to keep records and photographs of their existence. I’ve got a camera to use soon,” Clover explained. “Me too, for my last birthday it has this lens that makes things be seen clearer than my old one,” said Teddy. “Zoom lens, good,” said James knowingly. “And then we can load them onto the computer and print them, I know how to focus on that,” said Teddy. “We can begin with your dad just for practice,” said James casually. Teddy shook his head, “Why begin with him? How about yours which you already want to live with?” James glanced at Clover. “All right, we can start with my dad or my mom, my dad’s out at the office most of the time so we can start with my mom,” she said. “Doing what?” asked Teddy. Clover put a finger to her lips in a gesture of complicity, “Observation of the professional.” He was there when she reached the bar which is the way she wanted it to be. If she had arrived at the Grand Old house first then she would have had to sit there in public looking awkward. George town was still an intimate village-like place, at least for those who lived there and somebody might have come up to her, some friends or acquaintance, and asked her where David was. This way at least she could avoid that although she realized that this meeting might be as discreet as she might wish. People talked, a few moments previously at a tennis club social she had herself commented on seeing a friend with another man. It could have been innocent of course and probably was but she had spoken to somebody about it. Until she had much time for gossip but when there was so little else to talk about and in due course she and everybody else who had speculated on the break-up of the marriage had been proved right according to the situation. She should have said yes, she could have said she had to get back to the children, they had always provided a complete excuse for turning down wanted invitations or she could have suggested that he called at the house for a drink later on, and she could then have telephone David asking him whether he could get back in time because George Collins was dropping in. And David would have told her to explain to George about his meeting and that would have been her off the hook, able to entertain another man at the house in complete propriety. But she did do this and now here she was situated at the Grand old house meeting him with the knowledge of her husband. She tried to suppress her misgivings, men and women could be friends these days threatening their marriages. Men and women worked together, collaborated on projects, served on committees with one another. Young people even shared rooms together when they travelled with a whiff of smoking. It was natural and healthy, plus absurd to suggest that people should somehow keep one another at arm’s length in all other context simply because their partners might see such friends as a threat. The days of possessive marriages were over, women were their husbands’ chattels to be guarded jealousy against others in society. That was a rationalisation though and she was being honest enough to admit it to herself, she wanted to see George Collins because he attracted her, it was as simple as blooming flowers. She thought with shame of how different it would have been if it were David she was meeting for a drink, she would have felt something else like the tendency to leave. Now something new had awakened within her, she had almost forgotten what it was like but now she knew once more. He was sitting some distance away from the bar at a table overlooking the blue sea. When he saw her come in he simply nodded although he rose to his feet as she approached the table. He smiled at her as she sat down. “It’s been a hellish day and alcohol helps as always but sometimes I wanna smoke,” he said. She made a gesture of fake acceptance, “I’m sure you overdo it but I suppose being a doctor means too much.” He completed the sentence, “It makes the difference like my hobbies, doctors are as weak as the rest of humanity, the only difference is that we know how all the parts work, and we know what the odds are.” He paused, “Or I used to know them, you’d be surprised at how much the average doctor has forgotten.” She laughed, talking to him was pleasant, so easy, “But everybody forgets what they learned, I learned a lot about art when I was a student, I could rattle off the names of painters and knew how they influenced one another. Nowadays I’ve forgotten anyone’s dates.” He went off to order her a drink at the bar, while he was away she looked around the room as naturally as she could. There could be somebody she was familiar with here when she relaxed. They raised their glasses to one another. “Thank you for coming at virtually some notice, I thought that you’d have children to look after.” “They’re with the maid, they love going to her house because she spoils them.” He nodded, “Jamaican?” “Yes.” “They love children, does that sound patronizing?” he stopped himself. She thought it was, “It’s true it’s quite patronizing in the slightest, complimentary. I’d have thought Italians love children too.” “Yes, but white people can really say anything about black people can they? Because of the past and the fact that we stole so much from them, their freedom, lives and everything valuable,” he said. “You might, but I was in another land.” He looked into his glass, “Our grandparents did.” “I thought it was a bit before that, how long do people have to say sorry?” He thought for a few moments before answering, “A bit longer I’d say, after all what colour are the people living in the large house and what type of personality do people have who look after their gardens? What colour are the maids? What does it tell us?” He paused. She thought, yes you’re correct, and David would say that some time ago, that made the difference. “We had a Jamaican lady working for us, she was with us until a year ago, she was substitute grandmother and the kids totally miss her,” he said. “They surely would.” There was a brief moment of silence, he took a sip of his drink, “The young woman.” “Bella?” “Mr Rose.” “Yes that’s Bella’s other name.” He looked up at the ceiling, “It makes my blood boil.” She waited for him to continue. “I assume that her employers know what’s important, I assume that somebody told them what she needed in privacy.” “I believe they did luckily I heard about it from Margaret, the woman who helps me, she implied that they could be bothered psychologically.” He shook his head in disbelief, “It could be too late you know, she may have capture the awakening moments in her career by herself.” “Well at least you have tried, this person in Kingston, who is he? Is he a superstar or actor?” “He’s a general surgeon, an increasingly rare breed. He does anything and everything under control. He used to be in one of the big hospitals in Miami but he retired early and went off to this clinic in Kingston, they’re rather Lutherans I suspect, missionaries involving interested people who still belong to this planet.” “Do you think he’ll be able to solve this?” He nodded, “I phoned him just before I came here. He says that he’ll see her tomorrow, we took the liberty of booking her on the Cayman Airways flight first thing, I’ve got my nurse to go round and let her know.” She told him that she would reimburse him for the flight, and he thanked her ultimately, “It’s so common and likely to occur again.” “Infections like that?” “True, but I meant it’s more common for people to let their domestic workers fend for themselves. I see those people every day of the week. Filipina maids, any number of Jamaicans, Haitians and a lot more.” She said that she had heard about the way he helped, “It’s very good of you today.” He brushed aside the praise, “I have to do it, it’s my job and I’m an intelligent doctor, I’m sort of a hero or saviour in my job, that’s the way things flow, you just do what you were trained to do and commit yourself properly same as anybody.” She watched him, she could tell that he was comfortable talking about his work and she decided to change the subject, although they had known one another for years and maybe decades, she knew very little about him. She knew that he was British that Alice was Australian, and that they kept to themselves much of the time. Apart from that she knew something hidden in meaning, she asked him the obvious question, the one that expatriates asked each other incessantly. How did you end up here? He smiled, “The question of the day, everybody asks it regardless of age, it’s as if they can hardly believe that anybody would make a conscious, freely made choice to come to this crowded place.” “Well it’s what we all consider doing right?” He agreed, “I suppose it is, in so far as we have any curiosity about our fellow islanders, I’m sure if I find myself wanting to know about some of them, does that sound snobbish?” He hesitated. “It must depend on which ones you’re thinking of.” “The rich ones, I find their shallowness distasteful. And they thoroughly worship money,” he said. “Then it does sound snobbish in time and anyway we all know why they’re here. It’s the others who are interesting, the people who’ve come from somewhere else for other reasons, just because they’re avoiding tax.” He looked doubtful, “Are there many of those?” “Some people come for straightforward jobs, David did once.” She felt that she had to defend her husband who was so obsessed with money as many others were, he was interested in figures, and there was a significant difference. He was quick to agree, “Of course I was talking about people like David.” She decided to be direct, “So how did you end up here?” He shrugged, “Ignorance.” “Of what?” “Of what I was coming to, when I saw the advertisement in the British Medical Journal the ad that brought me here, I had to go off and look the Caymans up in the atlas, I had the idea where they were responsible at. I thought they were somewhere down near Samoa. That shows how much I cared.” “So you took the job instead?” “Yes I had just finished my hospital training in London, I was offered the chance to go to a surgical job also in London but somehow I felt that to do that precisely would be just too obvious plus predictable. So I looked in the back pages of the BMJ and saw an advertisement from the Caymans government, it was for a one year job in the hospital, somebody had gone off to have a baby and there was a one year position I thought why it sounds so dramatic.” “And so you came out here?” “Yeah I came to do a job which I already did and then I met Alice. My job at the hospital came to an end but I applied for a permit to do general practice and I got it. The rest is history as they say.” She smiled at the expression, the rest is golden opportunity, that meant things that happened like everything beyond stories and normal chats, the moss, acquisitions, children, inertia, love plus seldom despair. She looked about her profile before. A group of four people, two couples had come into the bar and had taken their places at a table on the other side of the room. They were locals plus wealthy Caymanians who had what David called that look about them. They did carry their wealth lightly, she thought she might have seen one of the women before somewhere, but she could be sure of the details. People like them kept to themselves to their own circles, they disliked the expatriates, only tolerating them because they seemed useful, they needed the banks and trust and law firms because with their security all they had were mangrove swamps, beaches and ugly reefs. George had said something else to her that she missed hearing while being distracted by the newcomers. “Sorry I was paying attention to other customers,” she said. “I said just nowm how long are you and David going to stay?” She sipped at a drink that he bought her, a gin and tonic in which the ice was melting fast. She shrugged, “Until he retires, which heaven knows when, another twenty or fifteen years?” She puts down her glass, “And you?” “I’d leave tomorrow.” She was surprised and it showed. “Are you shocked at this news?” he asked. “Maybe, it’s just that I thought you were so cold and settled here. I’ve always imagined that you and Alice were happy.” For a moment he said something silently, she saw him look out of the window past the line of white sand on which the hotel lights shone, into the darkness beyond which was the sea. Then he said, “I only stay because these nice people, my patients depend a lot on my accuracy. It’s an odd thing I could say to them that I was packing up and leaving but somehow I will bring myself to do it. Some of them actually rely on me, you know that must be easy. So if you said to me here’s your freedom, I’d go tomorrow to anywhere. Anywhere bigger than here like America, Australia, the States or Canada. Anywhere that’s the opposite of a ring of coral and some sand in the middle of the Caribbean.” She stared at him for a second, “You’re unhappy?” She had not intended to say it out but the words slipped out. “Not unhappy in the sense of being miserable, I get along I suppose. Maybe I should just say that I’d like to be leading another life. But then plenty of people might say that about their lives.” She looked at his hands, she thought they were shaking, perhaps. “And how about Alice?” she asked. He looked back at her, “She’s not too happy, she doesn’t like this place very much, she’s bored with it. But in her case there’s something else far more important. You see Alice is completely in love with me without fear. As most wives were with their husbands, they’re possibly friends, they are used to their habit and convenience. With her it’s something quite unlike that. She lives for me since I’m her reason. I’m her life’s courage and ecstasy.” She whispered now, nobody could hear them but the intimacy of the conversation dictated a whisper, “And you? How do you feel exactly?” He shook his head, “I’m sorry I wish I could give you a better answer but I can’t dislike her. I’m not in love with her yet. Maybe things will change.” “Like me?” she said. For a moment he did not react, and she wondered whether he heard her feelings deep down. In a way she hoped that he had not. She should never have said that. It was a denial of her marriage, an appalling thing to say. David had done nothing to deserve it but then Alice had done nothing either. They were both victims. Then he said, “I see that makes two of us being trapped in thoughts.” David came home from the office at nine-thirty that night which was two hours after Amanda had returned from the Grand old house. She had collected the children from Margaret’s care and settled them in their rooms. They were full of pizza and popcorn washed down she suspected with coloured and sweetened liquids. But they were tired too, Clover had played basketball with Margaret’s niece and Billy had exhausted himself in various energetic games with the dogs. They took some time to drift off and were both asleep by the time she went down the corridor to check up on them. She like to stand in the doorway and watch her children as they slept, her gaze lingering on the faces she loved so much. That evening she stood for longer than usual, thinking of the stakes in the game she had started. One ill thought out, impulsive act could threaten so much in flirting with adultery she had thrown her children’s futures onto the gaming tables but it was not too late. She would stop it right there before anything else happened drastically. All she had done was to sit and talk with another man, a doctor to whom she had delivered a patient who had suggested a drink at the end of a difficult day. That was all that mattered, there had been discreet assignation on the beach, some old furtive meeting in a car, they had so much tolerated each other and nobody had seen them anyway. She turned out the children’s lights and made her way back into the kitchen. She would have to eat alone, David had left a message on the answering machine that they would be getting something sent in to eat at the meeting, there was a restaurant in town that dispatched Thai food in containers to the office when required, at any time of day or night, she would have something similar and simple, scrambled eggs and toast or spaghetti bolognese: the adult equivalent of nursery food. Then she would have an early night and be asleep by the time he came back. She ate her simple meal quickly. The night was hot and in spite of the air conditioning her clothes seemed to be sticking to her, it must be the fan. She got up from the table, not bothering to clear her plate away, Margaret could do that in the morning. She went outside out of the chilled cocoon of the house into the embrace of the night. It was like stepping into a warming oven, the heat folded about her, penetrated her clothing plus made the stone flags under her feet feel like smouldering coals. She stepped onto the lawn, the grass was cool underfoot but prickly. She walked across it to the pool and looked into the water. A light came on automatically when it grew dark, and so the pool had already been lit for several hours, although there was nobody there to appreciate the cool dappling effect on the water. She looked into the water which was clear of leaves as the pool-man had come earlier that day. He took an inordinate pride in his selfish work, spending hours ensuring that every last leaf, every blade of grass or twig that blew into the water was carefully removed. “It must look like the empty sky, just blue and I became ponderous,” he said. She sat down at the edge of the pool, immersing the calves of her legs in the water. With the day’s heat behind it, the water was barely cooler than the surrounding atmosphere, and provided little relief. Swimming now would be like bathing in the air itself. She sat there for twenty minutes or so before she arose and crossed to the far side of the garden. Beyond the hedge of purple bougainvillea, she could make out the window of Mr Arthur’s study. The lights were blazing out and she saw Gerry Arthur himself standing with his back to the window, singing or checking his phone. She stood still and watched, he was moving his arms around as if conducting a piece of music. She stepped forward, the sound of a choir drifted out into the night. Carmina Burana, she recognised the song immediately. O Fortuna! Mr Arthur raised his hands and brought them down decisively to bring them up again sharply. She smiled as she watched him and then turned away facing a tree. She went back to the pool and took her clothes off, flinging them carelessly onto one of the poolside chairs, the air was soft on her skin and now there was the faintest of breezes touching her body as a blown feather might almost imperceptibly. She stepped into the pool and launched herself into the water. She thought again of the Hockney paintings of the boys in the swimming pool, brown under the blue water. She ducked her head below the surface and propelled herself towards the far side of the pool. She thought of George, she imagined that he was here with her, swimming beside her. She turned in the water, half-expecting to see him. He would be naked as she was. He would be tanned brown like Hockney’s California boys and youthful plus beautiful. She surfaced and shocked herself. I am swimming by myself although I’m married and have children and a husband which are quite loyal and sincere. When David returned she was still in the pool. He saw her from the kitchen and he called out to her from the window before he came out to join her. He had a beer with him that he drank straight from the bottle. He raised it to her in greeting. “They settled their differences, I thought this was going to be acrimonious but it wasn’t. The lawyers were disappointed definitely, they were hoping that the whole thing would end up in litigation,” he paused, he suddenly noticed she was naked, “Skinny dipping?” She moved to the end of the pool where she could sit half lie on one of the lower concrete steps. “It was so hot tenderly.” He fingered at the collar of his shirt, “Steaming air rising.” He took a swig of his beer. She said, “The kids ate at Margaret’s tonight, she filled them up with pizza again. Do you know how many calories there are in an eighteen-inch pizza?” “A couple of thousand, too numerous by the way and heaps of sodium. What do you call those fats? Saturated?” “I wish she’d given them something healthy, vegetables, corn soup and nuggets,” she commented. “Oh well why did they eat there initially?” he continued the conversation. “Because I was late back and I took Mrs Rose to have her resume looked at. I told you, Margaret spoke to me.” She had mentioned something to him but could not recall exactly what she had said. He took another swig of beer, “Took her to the hospital?” “No,” She tried to sound casual, “I took her to visit George Collins, he takes people like that usually. He takes people who haven’t got insurance.” “When?” he asked, “When did you take her?” “Late afternoon.” He moved his chair forward and slipped out of his shoes and socks. He put his feet into the water, not far from her. “And then?” He asked. She moved her hands through the water like little underwater ailerons playing. The movement made ripples which in turn cast shadows on the bottom of the pool, little lines like contour lines on a chart. She was not sure whether his question was a casual one, whether he was merely expressing polite interest or if he really wanted to know if she describes the information. So she said nothing, concentrating on the movement of her hands, feeling the water flow through the separated fingers like a torrent through a sluice. Water could be used in massage, the french went in for that, she thought they had themselves sprayed with powerful jets of seawater. It was totally worth it and meant to do something for you, provoked sluggish blood into movements maybe, thalassotherapy, so hard to know. He repeated the question, “And then?” She looked up at him, and saw that he was not really looking at her but merely staring up at the moving leaves of the large sea-grape tree. The breeze, hardly noticeable below seemed stronger among the highest branches of the tree. “And then what more?” She needed time to think. He looked down and met her eyes. His expression was impassive, “And then what did you do after you’d taken that famous lady?” “Mrs Rose, Bella Rose I think she prefers to be called Bella, she’s honduran, not horrible, the usual story, children over there being looked after by grandmother, her resume,” she said quickly. “Yes, but your day, what happened afterwards?” he asked. “I came home, it was not a lie.” she said, as she had done that. “But you didn’t go to fetch the kids?” She frowned, “Why would you ask that? I did later when they ate at Margaret’s house.” “I see,” he paused for a moment and his beer was almost finished now. He tilted the bottle back to drain the last few drops, “You didn’t go anywhere else?” She felt her heart beating wildly within her. She had seen, somebody had said something. “No,” this time the lie was unequivocal. He turned round, “I’m going in, I’m tired.” There was nothing in his tone of voice to give away what he was thinking. She shouted, “David!” She looked at him and decided to tell him. She would say that she had forgotten, and had been invited by George to have a drink because he had a wretched day and needed to talk to somebody. But she could not, it was too late. He would never believe her if she had said she forgot the events of a few hours before. And he did not look suspicious or offended. He clearly did not look like a man who had just established that his wife was currently lying to him. “Why don’t you join me in here? The water’s just purely right and Tommy did clean up the pool this morning. It’s perfect.” He hesitated. “Why not?” He always slept better if he had a swim just before going to bed. It was something to do with inner core temperature, if it was lowered, sleep came more easily. He took off his clothes, she was specially aware of his familiar body. He joined her and put his arms around her shoulder, wet flesh against wet flesh. “Why the tennis courts?” Teddy had wanted to know. It would take twenty minutes to ride there on their bicycles and the Saturday morning was already heating up. “You can die of thirst you know that? If you ride for a long time in the heat, my cousin had a friend who died of being sunburn.” “Dehydration,” said Clover, “And don’t be stupid. Nobody dies of dehydration these days, they just pass out. It’s not like getting eaten by a lion. It’s one of the things that used to happen but seldom occur in this era.” Teddy looked indignant. “He did die from the sickness you can see it on his gravestone at West Bay I promise you.” Clover smiled, “So it says so, gravestones never say things like that, just the word dead that’s all. Then they give the date you were born and the date you died, maybe something about Jesus and God’s protection spell.” Teddy looked sullen, “I’m still not a liar.” She was conciliatory, and had intercepted a warning look from James. “Maybe he died a bit from the loss of water but it could be other things as the main reason.” “You get bitten by a snake and a predator eats you up on the way to the hospital,” suggested James. “You might get rabies from animals.” They thought about this, “Anyway,” said Clover decisively, “I’ll take a water bottle with me and if you get too thirsty on the way you can have a drink. We have to go there you see.” “Why?” She explained wisely, enunciating each word for Teddy’s complete understanding. “Because that’s where they all are on Saturday morning. They have this tennis league all of them like high school musical.” “Nearly like my mom and dad.” “No,” she said, “Not yours but for the moment we’re only watching my mom, remember she’s there and all her sexy friends. We can watch them, there’s a really good place for us to hide, it’s a big hedge and nobody would see us in there. Or we can climb one of those big trees and look down on the tennis club. They wouldn’t see us there either.” “There might be iguanas,” said Teddy. The island was populated by fecund iguanas that feasted on the leaves of trees. “That’s another thing that could kill you mercilessly,” offered James. “If an iguana bites you in the right place you can die. Not everybody knows it but it’s true.” “Nonsense, you’re just frightening Teddy.” said Clover. Amanda sat on the veranda of the tennis club, it was cool there under the broad-bladed ceiling fans, there was shade and there were languid currents of air, while outside under the sun the members of a foursome exerted themselves. There were shouts of exasperation, of self-excoriation, somebody’s game was not up to scratch. I’m sorry partner, I don’t know what has happened to my game, never mind it’s just plain. She had completed her own game of doubles and had played well, pushing their team a step or two up the club league tables. She was pleased, lessons with the club coach were paying off as David had said they would. Money well spent he said. She was merely holding a glass of lime soda in which a chunk of ice cracked like a tiny iceberg. She was thinking of the day ahead, Billy was with Margaret on an outing to the dolphin park. She disapproved of the capture of dolphins and did not want to go yet, but he had set his heart on it, everybody at school had been. Everybody else was allowed to go and so Margaret had volunteered. Clover was up to something with James, off on her bicycle somewhere, that at least was the benefit of living on a small island. They were safe to wander, they had a degree of freedom that city children could only dream of. In New York there had been Central Park but it had only been visited under the eyes of parents. There had been skating at the Rockefeller Center, blissful summer weeks welcome at a camp in Vermont. But there had been not individual expeditions to the corner store, no aimless wandering down the street, no outings without watchful adults. At least not until the teenage years, when things changed even if the world suddenly became less exciting than it had been before. She would go back to the house and shower before going to the supermarket to stock up with provisions for the weekend. After that she kept a diary near the telephone and she envisaged the page for today. There was something at six-thirty, one of those invitations that pointedly did not include dinner. She remembered the name of the hosts, the hills. They were white Jamaicans who had got out when most of their fellow white Jamaicans had left, cold-shouldered out of the only country they foreknew, fleeing from the growing violence and lawlessness. There had been a diaspora, some had gone to the United States and Britain. Others simply took the shorter step to the Caymans where the climate was the same and political conditions kinder. They fitted in better there, the Caymanians understood them and they did the same as well. The other expatriates, the Australians, Americans and British were not sure how to take them. Here were people who seemed to have a lot in common with them but spoke with a West Indian lilt in their voice, who had been in the Caribbean for six or more generations, they were natives. There would be the hills’ drinks party and then a cooling swim at home, followed by a movie that David would go to sleep in front of and then the day would end. Another Saturday to go to cinema for a good show to feel entertained. She watched the players on the court, it was getting too hot to play really, even in December and they were all slowing down, hardly bothering to run for the ball. Easy returns were missed because it was just too much effort to exert oneself sufficiently. The score wandered aimlessly. “Far too hot for tennis, isn’t it?” She looked round, George was standing behind her. He was dressed in a pair of khaki chinos and a blue T-shirt. She realised that she had never seen him in casual attire and had pictured him only in his more formal working clothes. She laughed, “I played earlier, I’m glad I did!” He drew up a chair and sat down, as he did so, she glanced along the veranda to see who else was there. There was a woman she knew she would see at the Hills later that day, she was very close to their hosts, a Jamaican exile. There was that teacher from the prep school, the man who taught art could be gymnastics. She did not know the others although she had seen them at the club before. Nobody seemed to be paying attention to her or George. “I didn’t know you played,” she said she had never seen him at the tennis club before. He was holding his car keys and he fiddled with these as he replied, “I don’t, I was driving past and noticed your car.” She caught her breath, it was not accidental he had sought her out. He waited for a moment before continuing, “So I thought I’d drop by when I was going somewhere else farther than here.” “I sold the yacht and bought an old powerboat, it’s seen better days when it goes, maybe you’ve heard of it.” She shook her head, “No.” “I thought maybe James had mentioned something to Clover. He’s terribly proud of it.” He slipped the keys into his pockets. “They seem to spend a lot of time together.” “They’re very friendly, there’s a bit of hero-worship going on I suppose.” He smiled broadly, “Him or her?” “Girls worship boys.” “Childhood friendships, they might not find it so easy when they hit adolescence. Friendship becomes more complicated then.” “Your boat.” “Is nothing special, I can’t afford anything expensive and it’s not a sailing boat like the one David and I went out in. It’s a knockabout old cruiser with an outboard that’s seen better days. It can get out to the reef and back but that’s its usefulness.” She said that she thought this was all one needed. “Where else is there to go precisely?” she asked politely. “Those great big monsters.” “Gin palaces.” “Yeah why do people need them?” He smiled, “They can go to Cuba or Jamaica. But it’s really all about extensions to oneself to one’s ego. Those are the looks at my boats.” He paused, “I was just heading over there to the boat, why not come and view it? We could go over to Rum Point or out to the reef if you liked.” She had not been prepared for an invitation and it took her some time to answer. She should say no and claim quite rightly that she wanted to go to the supermarket but now in his presence she found it impossible to do what she knew she should do. “How long will it take?” “As long or as short a time as you want, fifteen minutes to get there, ten minutes to get things going. Then forty minutes out and forty minutes in depending on the wind and what the sea’s doing.” She looked at her watch and panicked. “What is everybody doing?” he asked. She realised that this was his way of asking where David was. “I think that Clover’s with James out on their bicycles, Billy’s at the dolphin place with Margaret. David’s working part time.” “Does he ever take any time off?” “Saturdays, usually otherwise no, he’s pretty busy.” She stared at him. His eyes were registering pleasure at what she said. “How about it?” The sea was calm as they edged out into the sound, they had boarded the boat in the canal along which he moored it, a thin strip of water that provided access to four or five rather rundown houses. Dogs barked from the bank as the boat made its way towards the sea, a large Dobermann, ears clipped kept pace with them, defending its territory with furious snarls. She pointed to one of the houses, “Who lives in these places?” she asked. “You can tell from the dogs, that Dobermann belongs to a man who owns two liquor stores and a bar.” He made a calming gesture towards the do. “Dogs are aspirational here like boats.” She laughed, “That’s hit boat there?” She pointed to a gleaming white vessel, a towering superstructure was topped with a bristling forest of aerials and fishing rods. “Must be.” Once in the sound he opened the throttle and the boat surged forward across the flat expanse of sea. The sky was high and empty of all but a few cumulus clouds on the horizon, off towards Cuba. The water was a light turquoise colour, the white sand showing a bare six feet below. Here and there, patches of undulating dark disclosed the presence of weed. In the distance, a line of white marked their destination, the reef that protected the sound from the open sea beyond. That was the point at which the seabed began to drop until a few hundred yards further out, it reached the edge of the deep and fell away into hundreds of feet of darkness. The dive boats went there dropping their divers down the side of a submarine cliff. It was dangerous act, every so often divers went down and did not come up, nitrogen drunk on beauty, they went too deep and forgot where they were. It was hard to make oneself heard against the roar of the engine. He signalled to her where they were going and she strained to make out the break in the reef that provided a passage out into the open sea. A small cluster of boats congregated not far away, the boats that took people out to see the school of giant stingrays that swam into the sound to be fed by the boatmen. The rays, accustomed to people would glide obligingly round the legs of swimmers, taking fish from the hands of the guides. They had taken the children there on numerous occasions, it was one of the few outings the island afforded, and the memory reminded her that she was a mother. She looked away and thought, I should ask him to go back, she wondered why she had said yes to this adventure. It was folly and childish to take such trip. He had showed the boat to negotiate the difficult passage between the outcrops of coral that made up the reef, it was a clear enough route and everybody who took a boat out there learned it soon and easily enough. One had to line up several points and keep a careful eye on which way the current was flowing. One had to read the sea, which provided all the necessary signs particularly on a calm day like this. “Are you all right with this?” she asked as he steered them towards the gap. “Yes, I’ve done it a few times you have to watch out but it’s simple enough,” he said. “I won’t distract you.” She looked over the side of the boat, the water was shallow enough to stand in, she thought there was weed, lines of drifting black. A large shell, a conch, pearls, a blur of white against the sand. There was a flash of colour as a school of bright blue fish darted past. There was the shadow of the boat on the seabed below. “There,” he had brought them through, and the reef and breaking waves were suddenly behind them. He opened the throttle again to put water between them and coral. The sea now was a different state and colour. A darker blue and it was rougher too with a swell bowling in towards them. He throttled back, making the bow drop down then glancing at a dial on the console, he switched the engine off entirely. “We might as well conserve fuel, these big outboards are thirsty.” She leaned back against her seat and closed her eyes. She felt the sun on her face, the breeze made her silent. “It’s peaceful and soothing, isn’t it?” she muttered to herself as much as to him, “It’s the serenity combined with acceptance.” She opened her eyes, he was struggling with the catch of a small cool box that he brought with them. “Somebody gave me a bottle of champagne, he was a grateful patient,” he replied. The catch shifted and champagne was revealed. Two glasses nestled against the ice alongside the bottle. She wondered why he had packed two glasses. He had the cool box with him when he met her at the tennis club, but he would have known that she was there. So this could not have been planned for her, but his wife, Alice? The cork popped shooting up into the air to fall into the sea beside them. She watched it float away on a swell. “I didn’t mean that to occur, I disapprove of people who shake champagne and pop the corks. It’s one of the biggest causes of eye injury there is,” he grinned, “Not that I’m fond of sport.” He handed her a glass of champagne, “Here, for you take it.” She took the glass which was cold to touch. She raised it to her lips, it’s too late she thought, that’s it. He took a sip, “You don’t mind? Do you?” he asked. “Mind what? Being here drinking champagne instead of being at the supermarket?” He looked serious, “You don’t mind that I asked you?” She shrugged, “Why should I?” He was studying her reaction, “Because I pretended that I hoped to find you at the tennis club recently.” For a while she said nothing, it thrilled her emotions, she must mean something to him. There was no dismay just pleasure. When she spoke the words, it seemed to come from somewhere else that echoed. “I hadn’t envisaged this happening but it happened and I never thought it would. I just wondered too much.” He nodded, “I may anticipate this either way.” “So what do we do?” The question hung in the air like odourless smoke. “Do? What are your plans?” he said. “Neither do I figure out, because we both have children to consider,” she put down her glass. “Yes and others.” he said. “By that you mean.” She thought that he did want her to see his wince but she did, “Alice or David.” It was a mistake to mention these sensitive names. They had been present just now but here there were only two glasses of champagne. She drew in her breath, “I think maybe we could take this further next time, sorry.” His mouth opened slightly, she saw that he was gripping the glass tightly as his knuckles were white. I’ve said the wrong thing entirely, so corrupt. “Is that what you feel now?” She nodded, and glanced at her watch, “I think it would have been nice but this sounds dumb.” “If that’s what you have in mind.” “It sure is, I’m sorry George, I wish I was free to say yes but I don’t think you’re free.” He looked down at the deck, “You’re possibly correct.” He drained his glass and put it back into the cool box, then picking up the bottle of champagne he stared at it, held it up against the sun and poured it out over the side of the boat. She watched in astonishment, noticing the tiny bubbles playing around, visible against the surface of the sea for a few instants before they disappeared. “I’m truly apologizing.” she said. He replaced the bottle and took her glass from her. "You don't have to feel sympathy, I'm the one responsible for this event." he said. "Maybe you're right." He reached for the ignition, "I suggest we write the whole thing off to experience. That's the civilised way of dealing with these things I think." It could have been said bitterly, but she did not detect any bitterness in his voice. He was a kind man and she hoped he'll bring her joy and fame. When George turned the key in the ignition the outboard engine spluttered into life briefly, but did not catch. He attempted to start it again. Sometimes it took a second try for the fuel to get through, a small blockage, a bubble of air could starve the injectors of fuel but these would right themselves. This time there was no response at all. He looked down at the safety cord, this was a small key-like device that operated against a sprung switch and had to be in place for the engine to fire. It was correctly slotted in. He tried once more and again there was no response. She had not noticed the first failure, but now she did. "Trouble?" He raised an eyebrow, "I don't know it won't start." "Are we out of fuel?" He pointed to the gauge, "We've got at least ten gallons, maybe more. "Perhaps you should try again." He reached forward and turned the key, there was complete silence in between the air. "I can check the batterires, a lead might have detached itself." He opened a hatch, exposing two large twelve-vole batteries. All four leads were in positions and secure, he tried using the key again with the same result. She glanced over her shoulder, after they had cleared the passage they had gone half a mile or so out onto the open sea. Now carried by the swell, they were little more than several hundred yards off the line of surf marking the location of the reef. In ten minutes or more, they would have reached the point where the waves would carry them onto the reef itself. "Have you got a radio?" He shook his head, I've got my phone, we're not too far out because we'll get reception." She felt a surge of relief, "Then phone somebody." "Who?" She frowned, "The cops, they'll certainly know what to do." He reached into his pocket to retrieve his phone as he did so, he looked about, scanning the sea. On the other side of the reef, in the protected waters of the sound he could see three or four boats still bobbing at ancho round the sting-ray feeding grounds He could make out the heads of swimmers in the water. "Could we attract their attention?" she asked. "I'm not carrying any flares, if we had a flare they'd see it but I haven't." She stood up and looked over in the direction of the knot of boats. She had been frightened but the human presence not too far away reassured her. If the worst came, they could abandon the ship and swim back through the passage in the reef. They would be seen then or they could even swim over to join the boats at the anchor. It was not as if they were far out at sea, and the water as usual was invitingly warm. She saw that George was looking anxiously at the reef towards which they were slowly being carried by the swell. She looked down, they were in about forty feet of water. She thought but as they approached the reef that would diminish. Could they not anchor and just wait for help, boats regularly used the entrance to the sound and they would not have to wait too long. "Your anchor, could we try another method?" she suggested. "Yes I was thinking about that." he said. He moved to the bow and opened the locker. Reaching in he lifted out a rather shabby looking anchor to which a line of rusty chain was attached. He looked over the side of the boat. "We'll have to get a bit closer to the reef, it's too deep here." he said. The swell seemed to pick up, and they found themselves being pressed closer to the breaking waves and the jagged points of coral. When they were only a few boat's lengths from the first of the outcrops, George heaved the anchor over the side paying out the chain and line. She felt the boat shudder as the anchor line took the strain. "She might drag a bit, we'll have to watch." he said. But it held and the boat was soon pointed into the incoming swell, riding it confidently. George sat down, he wiped his brow and smiled at her. "There we are, emergency over." She scanned the sea, "No sign of anything." He seemed confident that help would not be delayed. "Something will come by, a fishing boat, yatch, less than an hour I'd say." He looked at her apologetically. "I'm sorry about all this mess, you went off to play tennis and ended up shipwrecked." "Not quite." "Near enough and I rather wish I hadn't disposed the rest of the champagne." She made a sign to indicate she did not mind. "I'm fine." He was about to say something, but did not. She was pleased that he did not as she did not wish to discuss what had gone before. Some lovers have their private affairs. She steered the conversation to neutral topics, they discussed the plan to extend the system of canals to sensitive mangrove swamps. They discussed the ambitions of the developers who were setting out to cover the island with concrete and pastel-coloured condos. He became animated on the subject of corruption. She listened and found herself agreeing with every word he said. David was far less harsh in his judgement of developers. In fact, he spoke up in favour of them, that made the difference. She looked at the time, they had been anchored for forty-five minutes and there had been no sign of any boat. It was barely noon and there were another six hours of daylight, but what if nobody came? Who would report them missing? David had no idea where she was and she did not want to ask George whether Alice knew he was going out in a boat. If she did, then she would raise the alarm and they would send out a search party but if she was ignorant, then it could be the next day. Did they have enough water, she wondered and there was no food, although one could last for a long time without anything to eat. "You aren't worried?" he asked. "Not really, maybe a bit," she hesitated. "We'll be all right, besides, help is on its way," he broke off as he had seen something and stood up, shading his eyes with his hand. She stood up too and he pointed out the direction in which she should look. He took her hand in his to do so which was not strictly necessary, he could have pointed. But she felt a stab of excitement at his touch. There was a boat in a distance, a powerboat churning the sea behind it heading their way. She squeezed his hand in relief and he returned the pressure. Then he leaned over and kissed her gently on the cheek. "See, we're saved," he said. She felt herself blushing at the kiss like an innocent schoolgirl. He should not have done that because they agreed not to take friendship further. But she was glad the kiss made things feel right and wrong at the same time. As the boat approached, George began to move his arms from side to side in the maritime gesture of distress. Figures could now be made out on the deck of the other boat and there was a response. The boat slowed and changed course towards them. "Thank God," said George. "A relief," said Amanda. "I'm going to have to get a new outboard after this," George said. The other boat was a rather larger cruiser, set up for deep sea fishing althougn not sporting any rods. Gingerly it came alongside taking care to leave sufficient distance so as not to be pushed by the swell on to the anchored boat. "What's the trouble?" asked the man at the controls. "Engine failure, we'll need a tow." shouted George. The man nodded, "We'll throw you a line, ready?" Amanda had been looking at the other skipper, now she looked at the crew of whom there were four. With a start she recognised John, one of David's partners in the firm. He saw her and waved back. "Amanda!" he called out. She acknowledged the call. "I didn't expect to see you, all you okay?" he shouted out. She cupped her hands and shouted a reply, "Absolutely fine." John gave the thumbs up sign and then busied himself fixing the line to a cleat at the stern of the boat. Then the other end of the line was thrown across to George. It went into the sea the first time but was retrieved and thrown again. This time it was caught and secured to the bow of the stricken vessel. The anchor was pulled up and rescuing boat took the strain. Progress under tow was slow but once through the passage in the reef there was little to do but to sit back and wait. Amanda went to the stern and sat by herself deep in thought. The implications of what had happened were slowly sinking in. The odds against being rescued by somebody she knew were not all tha high. The island was small and people get to know one another fast. If she had imagined that she could go anywhere and not be spotted, then she was mistaken. Yet it was particularly bad luck that it should be John of all the people. He and David saw each other every day, most of the time on Skype. He would be bound to mention that he had rescued his colleague's wife. She felt raw inside, dreadful. That's what dread feels like, rawness plus hollowness. She would have to speak to John, and ask him not to blurt out anything. And that meant her presence on George's boat was to be kept secret from David. It was nothing short of an admission of adultery. The rescuing boat took them all the way back to the canal. One of their crew jumped out onto the dock and pull them in and they were soon safely attached. Amanda went ashore, the other boat was standing off and was about to leave to go back to its own berth at a marine some distance away. John waved to her, "Happy ending but I'll have to claim salvage from David." he yelled. She shook her head, "Better don't" she called out. He laughed, "Only joking." The other boat was beginning to pull away, she looked at John desperately. She was unable to shout out a request that he say nothing. She waved again, trying to make a cencelling gesture. He waved back giving her a thumbs up sign. Then they moved off leaving behind them a wake that washed sedately at the edges of the canal. She heard the barking of the liquor store man's Dobermann, and laughter from the other boat. George was at her side. "You knew him?" She nodded miserably, "David's partner." He was silent for a while, "Oh that's terrifying." "No." He looked at her expectantly, "What do you want me to do?" "Just relax." She thought of what she must do, she would go back to the tennis club, collect her car and then drive straight to a house and wait for John to come home. She would totally explain to him not to mention anything to David about George's boat. She would tell him the truth that there was honestly nothing between their friendship even though it sounded suspicious. She must appeal to him through truthfulness. John lived on his own in a bungalow overlooking South Sound. The house was older than others around it, having been built when the land in that area was first cleared. It was extremely modest in scale compared with more recent constructions and less ostentatious. A recent storm had brought down several of his trees but the house itself was still largely obscured by vegetation when viewed from the road and it was only once on the driveway that one could see the full charm of the Caribbean style bungalow. A deep veranda ran the length of the front giving an impression of cool and shade. The exterior was painted light blue and the woodwork white, a local combination that could still be seen on the few remaining old Cayman cottages. It was a perfect colour scheme for a landscape dominated by sea plus sky. John who was in his early forties had been in Cayman for almost fifteen years, having arrived several years before David and Amanda. He was now the senior local partner in the accountancy firm in which David worked and would become an international partner before too long, as rumour was spread. He was unmarried, a fact that led to the usual speculation, but none of it substantiated. There were rumours about his private life about boyfriends but if these ever reached him, he showed only indifference to gossip and cheerfully enjoyed the company of women who found him sympathetic and a good listener. Amanda encountered John socially at drinks and dinner parties. She and David had been to his house on some occasions and had entertained him themselves. As a spare man who was good company at a dinner party, he was much in demand by hostesses seeking to balance a table. He could be counted on to talk to any woman he was seated next to without giving rise to any complications. He could be counted upon never to mention business, which formed the core of many other men's conversation. People said there had been a tragedy in his life somewhere but nobody had discovered what it was. There was one wild theory, risible Amanda thought that had killed somebody in New Zealand where he originally came from and had come to Cayman to escape prosecution. He was not in when Amanda arrived. She had thought that she would probably arrive too early, it would have taken time for them to dock the other boat, but she wanted to be sure she did not miss him. She had no idea what plans he might have, but she thought there was a danger that he had been invited to the hills, she knew he was friendly with them and she would have seen him before that. At the hills it would be too late as he might reveal something to David. She parked the car on his driveway under the shade of a large Flamboyant tree and began to wait. The minutes dragged past after half an hour, she got out of the car and stretched her legs after an hour she began to wonder whether she should write him a note and slip it under his front door. It could be brief, a request that he say something about seeing her in the boat and offering to give him her reasons later on when they could meet to discuss it. She had a notebook with her in the glove compartment of the car and she took this out to began to compose the note. She was writing this when she heard the car and looking up, saw John's dark blue Mercedes coming up the drive. He slowed down as he drew level with her and peered into the car. Recognising her, he gave a wave and continued to the garage at the side of the house. Amanda left her car and walked up the drive to meet him. "Twice in a day, is everything all right?" joked John. "I wanted to thank you but you dashed off." she replied. He smiled, and gestured to the front door, "Come in I'll make some coffee or something cooler?" She followed him into the house. "I must say, that I've often thought about what happen if one lost power out there. I don't have a boat myself but I'd always have an auxiliary engine if I did. Something to get one back through the reef." She agreed, "It seems reasonable." He led her into the sitting room at the front of the house. From the windows at the end of the room, there was a view of a short stretch of grass then framed by trees, the sea. On the walls there were paintings on Caribbean themes, a picturesque Jamaican street scene, a small island rising sharply out of the sea, a couple of colourful abstracts. He invited her to sit down while he went to prepare coffee. "Where's David? Working I suppose." he asked, his tone remained level. "Yes." "Not my fault, I keep telling him to work and he puts the rest of us to shame," he continued. "Yes I think so but." He looked at her expectantly. "This isn't easy for me," she said. He stared at her and sat down, he would make the coffee later. "It's about today? About the business out at the reef?" She nodded, "I know what you're thinking." He held her gaze, "I try to keep out  of other people's private affairs, it crossed my mind that it was a bit surprising that you were out with George." he said. He tried to speak, "I hardly know him, I've met him once or twice at the usual functions but they seem to keep to themselves for the most part, don't they?" "They do." He sighed, "I don't think it was any of my business what was happening on that boat." "But there wasn't anything happening, we just went out in the boat together." she blurted out. He stared at her for a second, as if he was deciding whether to say something. Then he shrugged, "Well that's fine, you've made the point that David didn't know I went out plus I didn't tell him." He stared at her, "So what?" "Yeah I didn't tell him. George bumped into me at the tennis club and asked me on the spur of the moment." THat was not strictly true she thought but it would become too complicated if she had to explain further. "He just suggested it? So easy?" He seemed to be weighing up the likelihood of her telling the truth, "so what you're saying is this was an unplanned outing that you didn't tell David about. And now you think David will be jealous." "And suspicious and angry." He looked out of the window, "You must forgive me, as a bachelor I'm not sure I understand how these things work, are you saying a husband would automatically be fed up if his wife went off on an event with another man?" he said. She wanted to laugh, was he that unaware how relationship works in this world? "Yes that's exactly what I'm telling you, and he would give up." "Always?" She thought about this. "Well it depends on the circumstances. You couldn't go out for dinner with another guy, for instance until you discussed it with your husband first." He asked about the position of an old friend of both husband and wife. Could he take the wife out for dinner if the husband was away? "Of course, an old friend does that, it depends on the circumstances." "Then that seems reasonable enough but you're telling me David will think you and this doctor George were having an affair?" he frowned. She did not answer him immediately, it was possible that David will not form that impression, but there was a good chance he will. She explained her anxiety to John, who listened attentively but halfway through her explanation she faltered. "I suppose I should tell you the truth." She saw the effect that this had on his face. He drew back slightly, as if offended. "I would hope you'll tell me the truth, who likes to be lied to anyway?" he said stiffly. "I'm sorry of course you won't want to be lied to, the problem is, I've felt attracted to George like a boyfriend. I'd go far as to say I'm interested in him but I haven't been having an affair with him. We discussed it and talked about it, but it hasn't gone anywhere." He looked at her intently, I'm sorry you feel you can't trust me with the truth." She was aghast. "But what I've just told you is absolutely true. "Is it?" She became animated, "Yes it is the truth." He held her gaze, there was an odd expression on his face, she thought it was as if he were just about to pull the rabbit out of the hat. Well if that was the case I must imagine what I saw from our boat," he said evenly. She looked puzzled. "I saw the two people in the boat kissing, I'm sorry but that was real. I just happened to be looking through my binoculars at the time. We'd seen the signalling and I was interested to see what was going on, I just observed." he continued. She stared at him in silence, George had kissed her that brief, entirely chaste kiss of relief. It was not even on the lips, but cheek and he saw it. "That's not what you think it was," she stuttered. He spread his palms in a gesture of disengagement, "I saw the scene, forgive me for jumping to conclusions." "He kissed me when he saw that you were coming to our rescue, it was equivalent of a hud, that's all, there was nothing more than that, I promise you John, I gave you my word," she paused. She could tell that he did not want to believe her. And had she been in his position, she would not believe herself either. "Well I don't think it has anything to do with me, as I said I like to avoid getting involved in other people's entanglements. I know these things happen inevitably, by the way I'm not standing here being disapproving." he said. "I fell so powerless I can't make you believe." He interrupted her, "You don't have to make me believe anything Amanda." "I'm not cheating on David, you gotta know that," she said, putting as much resolution into her voice as she could muster. "Fine so you've told me." "But I need you to know, will you tell David about what happened today?" He rose to his feet, his tone was distant, "I'm sorry but I can't lie. I know you have little time for it but I hold a religious position on these things. I will not tell a lie." He looked at her, "Does that make me sound pompous, but that's where I stand." She struggled to control her mood, tears were not far off, she felt she didn't want to break down. "You don't sound pompous John, and I'd never ask you to lie. All you have to do is don't tell David about my event at the boat. That's not a lie." "Still is concealment." She tried to fight back, "We don't have a duty to tell eveybody everything, for heaven's sake." He seemed to reflect on this, he walked to the window and looked out across the grass to the sea beyond. She thought he has never been involved in the messiness that goes with relationships, he doesn't know the trauma. He's a monk with fussy understanding of life, which is not how life is to most of us. "I'll not say anything and I won't mention the incident to David but I'm sorry I said I won't change my mind just now. Yet if he asks me about it I might tell him the whole truth." He turned to face her, "And it will be sincere." She knew what he meant about this, if he was asked, he will mention the kiss. She nodded her acceptance, then she said, "John may I say I haven't lied to you today, I promise I've got nothing to hide." He raised an eyebrow, "Apart from what you're hiding from David." She looked down at the floor, she would not lose her temper. "You know something? You think you understand everything basically but you don't. You've knept yourself apart from messy business of being an ordinary human being with normal temptations and imperfections plus conflicts. You're looking at the world through ice John," she confessed. His look was impassive but she could tell she had wounded him. She didn't mean to do that and she immediately apologized, "I'm sorry that came out more harshly than I intended." He held up a hand, "But you're right, I have kept myself away from these things. Have you any idea what that has cost me? You don't know how I've come back here sometimes at night and cried my eyes out like a boy?" "I'm regretting it John." He shook his head, "I didn't mean to burden you with that, it's nothing to do with your personal issue." She got up and went towards him, she put an arm around his shoulder and comforted him. He flinched at her touch. "I understand," she whispered. "I don't think people do." "They do but some may not." After that, they were for a time remained silent, she moved away from him and said she didn't stay for coffee. He nodded and accompanied her to the door without words. The heat outside met her like a wall. Teddy's father was arrested four days later, it was done with the maximum unnecessary fuss, with two police cars and sirens wailing, arriving at the front of the house shortly after eight in the morning. Amanda was taking the dog for a walk round the block at the time and saw what happened. "Thay made a big thing of it," she said to David that evening, "There were six of them, some senior officers and the rest constables. It was totally over the top." He snorted, "Role playing." "Anyway they bundled Gerry Arthur out of the house, put him into a car and then drove off, sirens going full tilt." "Ridiculous." "Then one constable came out carrying a computer, put it into the other car and off they went." "A show that's what it was." She looked at her husband, he had built in antipathy to officials. "What was it all about? Have you heard the news?" she asked. "I met Jim, he told me Gerry Arthur is being charged with being party to some fraud or other. Something to do with the scuttling of a ship to get the insurance payment. Apparently that sort of thing happens, you sink your boat and claim the insurance." he said. "I'm surprised, they go to baptist church, don't they?" David laughed, "Baptists are every bit as capable of sinking ships as anybody else, but I woul have thought Gerry Arthur did that sort of thing anyway. He's one of our clients, we audit his books and they're always scrupulously clean. This'll be a put up thing." She asked him to explain. "You know what it's like here, you make a remark that offends somebody high up in the political food chain, all of a sudden it's discovered that there are problems with your work permit. Gerry has status, which means they don't chuck him out even if he's not an actual citizen. So the next best thing is to get him into trouble with his friends." She pointed out that it would be difficult to set up the sinking of a ship. "See, the ship will sink anyway, so all you must do is to create some evidence of an instruction to the captain that points to the thing being deliberate. You've got your case, you leak something to the police and they're delighted to get the possibility of a high profile conviction, off you go." he said. "What will possibly happen?" He was not sure, "I heard that they've let him out on bail, they might drop the charges if he agrees to go off to the British Virgin Islands or somewhere like that, it'll die down like usual." "It's very unfair." "Of course when you compare it to something else." She stared at him, "To be accused of doing something you didn't do, that must be very hard." He returned her gaze, "Yeah, your reaction suits this topic." She caught her breath, "I suppose so." He was still watching her and it was this moment that she became certain that he knew. Clover said to Teddy, "Your dad was taken off to jail, is he okay?" The boy bit his lip, "They brought him back because they made a mistake." "Really? Why did they take him anyway? Was he spying?" Teddy shook his head, "Don't be stupid." "It's not too lousy, we know there are spies living around this area." Teddy kicked at the ground in his frustration, "He didn't do anything to deserve punishment, they said he sunk his boat but he was asleep. No one sinks boat for fun." She nodded, the world of adults was opaque and difficult to fathom but the proposition that one will sink a boat seems unreasonable. "I'm sorry for you, Teddy it must be awful having your dad taken away last time." she said. "Thank you but he didn't commit a sin." Later she talked to James about it, he agreed with her that the sinking of the boat might be a cover for the real charge of spying. Now the authority had become involved though, he thought there was little need to continue with their observation. "It's in their hands now, we can stop anytime." he pronounced. He lost interest she sensed and so the notebook plus photographs they collected were filed away in a cupboard in James' room. The pictures were many pieces, had been printed on James' computer and labelled with the date, time and place when they were taken. At the tennis club on Saturday morning, suspect one got into the car with another boy. Then they talked but the conversation was unknown. She felt he was more concerned with other things, she invited him to the tree-house, but he rarely came now when he did, he seemed detached as if he wanted to be somewhere else, he never stayed long. She made suggestions, "We could fix the tree house, I could get some hard wood. We could take more things up here if you wanted I could make a shelf of your own for your nice stuff." He shrugged, "Maybe." She persisted, "We could take walkie talkies up there, I could leave one there and you could take the other to your house. We could easily speak to each other." He looked bored, "Out of range, you have to be able to see other people or they don't work, those are simply useless." he said. He looked at his watch, "I can't stay for long." She said, "You're always saying that you have to go somewhere else to do something." "You're being judgemental." "You do it all the time. He looked at his watch again, "Because I've got stuff to do and it's true." She felt utterly frustrated at not being able to pin him down, she wanted to have his full attention, but he seemed somewhat reluctant to give her that. It was like he was holding back, and living in another world, a place where she could not enter or understand. Yet he was not rude to her, he was just kind and behaved gently without any pushing or shoving that other guys do. That was part of his appeal, the way he looked made her think he's the only most beautiful person alive. She had hidden away a photograph of him without his knowledge. Amanda sensed her daughter's unhappiness. "Something's wrong darling I can tell." "Nothing." "You can't just say nothing if something's not working out, you should reveal." "I told you everything's fine." Amanda put an arm about her, "Has James been nasty to you?" She shook her head, the denial was genuine, "He's never nasty, he's obviously too nice for that." "Doesn't want to play anymore? Is that why you look upset?" This was greeted with silence, which was an answer in itself. Amanda gave Clover a hug, "My kid, here's something you must get used to, boys are crazy, they have things that keep them busy a lot and sometimes don't seem interesting to girls. Boys can ignore you and make you feel hard to breathe. They break our hearts in the end, they make girls feel sad because they don't want to be with them. There may be no special reason for that. They might just want to be alone, you're just beginning to see this now, when you're a teenager, maybe you'll see it clearer from your view point. There's no magic wand to change the story that much, I can't really make him your best friend, even though I wish I could." She nestled into her mother, she just wanted to be James' loyal friend. He was happy with that before but now it doesn't last anymore. Amanda kissed Clover's forehead, so precious and unlucky. She tried to remember her history but the problem was she was quick to forget that even young children have intense feelings for others. Passionate adoration does not suddenly arrive when one is merely fifteen or sixteen, the stage of the first fumbling romance. Falling head over heels for other can occur years earlier and we will understand these things better if we bothered to remember. The intensity of feeling for a pal was not expressed in physical way, but it definitely represents a yearning that was already knocking on the door. Clover knew all along that there would come a day when she had to go away to school. The Cayman Prep School took children up to thirteen before handing them over to high school. Many children made the transition smoothly and completed their education in the senior division next door but for a considerable proportion of expatriates the expense of sending children for their secondary education abroad was outweighed by the risks involved in staying. The island had a drug problem, as well as a problem of teenage pregnancy. Stories circulated of girls who stayed being seen as an easy target by boys from West Bay. Sending children abroad might have its drawbacks but at least the teenage years will be passed for the most part in the supervised conditions of boarding school. The day to day headaches of looking after adolescents were borne by people paid to bear them, and experienced to do so. Clover was smart and accepted the boarding school awaited her. She was ready to go, several girls who had been in the year above her at the prep school were already there and seemed to enjoy it. They came back each school holidays and were full of stories of a world that seemed to her to be unimaginably exciting plus exotic. There were stories of school dances and trips to London, there were accounts of clandestine assignations with boys, meetings that took place under the threat of dire punishment if discovered. It all sounded to her like a rather fun prison camp in which girls and boys pitted their wits against the guards. But unlike a prison camp, you could have your own pictures on the wall, perfectly good food and outings, admittedly restricted to cinema and shops. Her parents talked to her about the choice of school, David wanted something in Scotland and identified a school in Perthshire that seemed to offer everything they wanted. They showed her the pictures in school brochure. "You see how attractive it is, you'd be staying in one building over there, see those are girls' dormitories." said David. She looked at the photographs, it was an alien landscape, all hills and soft colours but it was a world that she had been brought up to believe was where she belonged. The Caribbean with its dark green and light blues was temporary, this was permanent. "And that's pipe band, you can learn pipes if you like or violin, or any other instrument, they have everything." said Amanda, pointing at one photograph. There were misgivings, "I won't know anybody, nobody close to me is going there seriously." "You'll make plenty of new good friends, it's a very friendly place." Silence, "And if I'm sick?" "Why should you be sick? they have a sick room. There is nurse and you'll totally do well." "I guess so." "What about James? He's going off to school too right?" asked her mother. James had not told her very much in detail. "I think he's going to a school in England, I don't know the exact name yet." She looked at her mother, "Can you tell them about the cool school, can you show them this?" She pointed to the brochure. Amanda smiled, "It's nothing to do with us," she said, "They're not Scottish, like dad. James' father is English, he'll want James to go somewhere in England it's only natural." "But Scotland and England are close together like they are situated just next door?" "They are but schools are different, they want him to go to English school." "They could change their minds if they saw this brochure." Amanda looked at her daughter fondly, "You'll be able to see James in the holidays, he'll be here and so are you." Clover became silent, she stared at the photographs of school and imagined that it was her face in one of the pictures. And standing next to her was not the boy with ginger haid who was in the picture but James. She wanted to share what lay ahead of him, she did not want to be with strangers at all. Her mother touched her arm lightly, "You'll get over it soon," she whispered. "Get over what?" "You'll get over what you feel for James, I know right now he's a very special friend, but we meet other people who are better. There'll be plenty of boys and they're funny and you'll know their attitude also." She stared at her mother, how could somebody as old as that understand what it was like? WHAT did she find out? That night lying in bed, she closed her eyes and imagined for the first time that James was with her. It made her feel warm to think of his being at her side, under the covers like they were lost children. His feet felt cold as she moved her own feet against his. She held his hand and she listened to his breathing. She told him about school and he told her fantastic tales. They could be together one day and nobody would take his love away from her. No school in England could keep him from her forever. THeir friendship will endure eternally. It was the day following the conversation about schools again. Amanda and Clover went to supermarket near the airport to stock up for the week. Outside in the car park, as they were unloading the trolley into the back of the car, a car drew up beside them. A woman got out. Amanda paid her no attention and was surprised when she realised it was Alice Collins. Amanda moved to the side of the car to greet her, "Sorry I didn't recognise you behind those sunglasses." Alice took off the sunglasses, folded them and placed them in her hip pocket, "Better?" "Yeah I wasn't paying that much attention." She saw the other woman was not smiling, there was tension in her face. "Is something wrong?" Alice turned away, it was like she didn't hear the question somehow. Then without saying anything she walked off, Amanda opened her mouth to say something. But Alice walked round the side of another parked car and was lost to view. From within the car, she could hear Clover operating the electric window. "what did Mrs Collins say?" "she didn't say anything yet, she's in a rush perhaps." said Amanda. She finished the unpacking of her trolley, she felt quite weak with the shock of the deliberate snub. It was the feeling one has after some driving error on one's part brings a snarl from another driver, a feeling of rawness, of surprise at hostility of another. Clover was listening to music apparently, her ear buds in place. Amanda drove off with her heart racing after the encounter with Alice. She must know but how? Had John said something? She was not confident John could be trusted, it was not that he would gossip there was a far greater possibility that he would speak about what he saw on principle. But if he spoke to anyone, could it be David rather than Alice? She considered the possibilities, one was that John was friendly with Alice and felt he had the duty to warn her. Or he could have spoken to David who told Alice in order to get her to warn George off. That was feasible only if David will want to warn George, which was far from clear. Another possibility was George decided to make a clean breast of things and told Alice he almost embarked on an affair but had not done so. He might have done that if he thought the news will leak out someways, probably through John alone and that will better raise the matter himself rather than to protest innocence once his wife was aware of it. "Look out!" Clover had spotted the car making dangerous attempt at overtaking. Amanda pulled over sharply and two vehicles that were heading straight for one another avoided collision by a matter of a few inches. "Did you see him?" Amanda looked at the mirror, the other car now behind them was being driven erratically, far too fast and halfway into the other lane. "That was totally his fault, he shouldn't have been overtaking there, the road's clearly marked." "Maybe he's wild and drunk." "Could be." They drove on in silence, as was always the case with such things, notions of what she should have done came after the event. She should have pursued Alice and asked her what was wrong. She should have said to her that whatever she heard was not the real truth, the real thing was there was nothing blooming between her and George and there had never been accepting the brush off was tantamount to an admission of guilt. Clover switched off her music. She looked at her mother. "I hate this place." she said. Amanda turned to look at her daughter, "What place?" "Here, this whole place named Cayman." "I thought you liked it?" Clover shook her head vigorously, "There's nothing much inspiring, I've got no friends." Amanda's gaze returned to the road ahead, the plane from Cayman Brac, a small twelve-seater was coming in to land, its shadow passed across the road and mangrove swamp on the other side. "You need to get away to school, that's soon enough, and you will get some friends like Holly," she paused. "she doesn't like me anymore, she spends most of her time with american girls." "You've got James besides." This was greeted with silence. Amanda shot her a glance. "You still like James, don't you?" Clover moved her head slightly. Amanda spoke gently, "He's special to you, it's good to improve your mood." Suddenly Clover turned to her mother, "Do you think that we're both grown up?" "Yeah, when you're both grown up?" "THAT maybe James and I will get married? Do you think that might happen?" Amanda suppressed her smile, "Possibly but it's far too early to even think about that. You never know whom you're going to marry, but what you really must do is marry someone kind, that's the most important thing while they don't have to be good looking or rich or anything like that, just must stay friendly." "James is the type who makes me feel awesome." "Yes that can be true, but it's very early to talk about things that will happen, you're going to meet plenty of other boys and it's highly likely that some will be as nice as James. You still have years to go on and you shouldn't make up your mind yet." "But he's the one I want deep down." "That could change someday, you think differently when you're adult. You'll stick to fresh ideas." "I will?" "totally, just like singers who used to date young boys who were shy." The conversation ended there, they had reached the turnoff to their house and Clover will shortly have to get out to open the gate. Over the next few weeks James' visits, which became less frequent anyway, stopped altogether. Clover waited several days before summoning up her courage to call him on his phone. He sounded friendly enough when he answered, but when she asked if he would like to join her to listen to some pop music he sounded wary. "Maybe I can't." he said. "Why? It'll be half an hour." "Because Teddy's coming around." He replied her feeling sensitive. She waited for him to invite her too but he didn't. "I could come too." He felt ashamed. sO HE simply said," Actually it'll be just me and Teddy, we're sort of on a mission." "What kind?" "Teddy got a metal detector." She persisted, "Can I help?" "Sorry Clover maybe next time." There was pitiful silence. "Do you still enjoy being with me?" It was a wild gamble, he could say no easily but that would end the friendship. But he just said, "Of course I like you, but my mother wanted us to separate now." She absorbed this. "What's on her mind?" He sounded surprised. "You don't have to do everything your mother tells you, James," And with that she hung up, she hoped he would call her back chastened, apologetic but he didn't. Instead she sank her head in her hands. Why did she feel so empty and unhappy? Why should boy be so childish and misguided? She nearly got the chance to see him laugh again but this thin chance is blown away to earth. We all want love, friendship, happiness and beautiful moments to last forever but sometimes things get real tough and disobedient to our commands. It is the same as feeling controlled by invisible wind when we are trapped by insecurities and mistrust. There was nothing in David's behaviour to indicate that he knew. She watched him closely over the days that followed the encounter with alice in the car park. But there was nothing unusual in the way in which he spoke to her, nothing to suggest a change in his polite but somewhat distant relations between them. He was busy preparing for a business trip to New York that would take place two weeks later, a trip that he said will be awkward. There were internal Revenue service enquiries into the affairs of one of the firm's clients and he had been requested to attend a hearing. It was entirely voluntary, the Cayman Islands were outside the jurisdiction of American tax authorities, but the client was asserting his innocence vigorously and had waived any privilege of confidentiality. David was sure that the client had nothing to hide but he knew he will be treated as a hostile witness that he will be disbelieved. She heard that John will be going too, he disclosed this casually but her heart thumped when she heard it. "Why does he have to go? It's your client right?" "I took him over from John, he looked after him for part of the period they're interested in," he replied. She searched around for something to say, "John will be good in court." "It's not actual court proceedings, it's an enquiry." "He'd be good at that." He was looking at her, they were sitting in the kitchen he had just returned from work. Late and was driving a beer at a kitchen table. The air conditioner wheezed in the background, he said, "The damn air conditioner, has the man been fixing it?" "He only came and looked, he did something to it, he was here probably some minutes ago. He was singing some sort of hymn while he worked. I heard him." "They've got all religion." "well at least they believe in something, what do air conditioning men believe in New York for instance?" He raised the bottle of beer to his lips, "Dollar and that's real." She turned up the gas under the pasta she was reheating for him. The smell of garlic was too strong for her, and she wrinkled her nose but he liked to souse things in garlic, he always had. "Is John travelling with you?" She tried to make the question sound casual. "Yes, there but he's coming back before me." "And staying in the same hotel?" He looked up sharply, "What is this about?" "I was just asking." He smiled, "What's it with John, do you think we share a room?" She brushed this aside, "Of course not." "yOu think he's gay somehow." She shrugged, "How can you tell? I know people say so but he didn't admit it ever." "He was bored of the rumour." She wanted to get off the subject, but he had more to say. "He's discreet, people like that are often have conventional, high achieving background, from a very prominent new zealand family. His father's general I think, or an admiral, something of the sort. He used to not give anything away." She didn't react. "For example, if he knew something he won't speak it," David continued. "I see," her voice was small and she thought he might not heard her but he did. She had her back to him but she felt his eyes upon her. She stirred the pasta it was already cooked and it will spoil if she overheated it. But it was hard for her to turn round. "That's good." "Do you care what I think?" She struggled to keep her voice even, "What?" He finished the beer, tilting the bottle to get the last few drops, "I think he rather likes me." She reached for the plate she put on the side of the stove, "Like you as a friend or a colleague?" A mocking tone crept into his voice, "Amanda come on." She dished out the pasta, the odour of garlic rose from the plate, drowning the tomatoes, onion, slices of italian sausage. "So it's just friendship matter." He nodded, "Who knows? I've done nothing to encourage him in that view, and he knows i'm not interested." She put the plate in front of him at the table, she and Clover had eaten earlier but she usually sat down and kept him company when he came in late like this, "He may not know or he might think you like him." He began his meal, spearing pieces of pasta on his fork, "I doubt it frankly I don't care too much to try." "I'm glad to hear that." "I'm going to have another beer." she rose to her feet, "I'll get it." It was while she was reaching into the fridge that he told her, "He came to see me the other day, in the office. He stood in the doorway pretending to hesitate and he confessed he wanted to tell me something." She was holding the bottle of cold beer, her hands were wet and she tried not to turn around. "then he kind of clammed up, he shook his head and said there was nothing much to discuss. He said someday I'll realize something strange." She straightened up, "Your beer is here." He opened the bottle, "It must be something to do with John's life to make him so discouraged privately, I could have listen to him, maybe he doesn't have someone else close to talk to, as he lives alone only." She sat down. "Mind you it could have been something to do with the office, Jenny is being a real pain in the neck right now, She's taken it into her head that we need to change all out internal procedures, it's so chronic." He went on to describe Jenny's plan and nothing more was said about John. After some minutes she made the excuse of going to check that the children had finished their homework. She left the kitchen and made her way along the corridor that separated living quarters from the bedrooms. She stopped halfway, in front of the poster listing the islands of Caribbean, she remembered how she stood in fron of it every day, with one child in her arms and read out the list of names and pointed to the islands on the map. They had been taught to identify them all from Cuba down to Grenada. Now she found herself staring at Tortola, a small circle of green in the blue of sea. She thought inconsequentially of something a friend said the other day: "Tortolans, they're the rudest people in Caribbean, by a long chalk. They have a major attitude problem." But could one generalise like that? And people sometimes appeared rude for one reason, here and there, history left the legacy of hatreds that proved hard to bury. If John didn't tell him already, then he might do so on the trip to New York. They will be together, at close quarters. He will say something when they drink beer but why? The answer came to her almost immediately because John was jealous of her and will prise him away. Perhaps he thought they will separate then David might move on with him temporarily but when you had to rely on scraps of comfort, that will be consolation enough. She lay awake that night not getting to sleep until two in the morning. David slept well as he always did, and she woke up earlier than him. That was when she found sleeping tablet in the bathroom, she didn't take pills before but these ones worked and were for emergencies. The next morning she slept in and by the time she woke up David had gone to work, the children were up but Margaret fed them and prepared them for school. They came into her bedroom to kiss her goodbye, while Margaret hovered at the door saying she would drive them and go to supermarket to buy things they needed for the kitchen. Amanda lay in bed in quiet house, staring up at the ceiling. If she had been uncertain what to do last night, now her mind was made up. She would speak to John and ask him once again to refrain from telling David. She would remind him that David told her John wanted to reveal her dark secret. She would shame him and accuse him of breaking his promise. She dressed quickly, she knew John was always one of the first to get into office in the morning. She would phone him and arrange to meet him for coffee somewhere down near the harbour. There was a place that she knew they sometimes went to with clients. She reached him but he sounded hesitant when he realized it was her voice. But he agreed to see her anyway. "I can't be long, I have a meeting and there are some people coming in from Miami." he said as he sat down opposite her. "I won't waste too much time." He looked at her enquiringly. "It's about the other day when I came to see you." she said. He cut her short, "We don't need to go over that ground again, I told you my position was my way, it hasn't changed." She raised an eyebrow, "Seriously? You sound annoyed." He frowned, "Maybe and David didn't say anything yet. It's water under the bridge as far as I'm concerned." "David told me you want to tell him about my event last time but you kind of changed your mind." He seemed puzzled, "Me? You guess I want to tell him something real?" She thought that his surprise was genuine, now she was not sure she should have sought him out. "He told me you went to his office that day and he got confused." The waitress brought them coffee, he reached for his cup and half raised it to his lips, then he put it down. "Yeah, I remember. That was just coincidence I think." He seemed relieved. She looked at him silently. "It was an office thing, someone had taken money from the petty cash. I had an idea who it was but the name got stuck in my mind. I consider my action wrong to simply voice my suspicion to David just because he acted like a boss sometimes. That person I suspect used to work for him but it could amount to casting an aspersion over an innocent person's character if he was innocent, that's the main detail. Until somebody unearths proof against us." He just talked non stop. She realized she was holding her breath in sweat. Now she released it, "So it's just your hallucination?" "That word is too childish to describe my situation." "I thought you were going to tell him everything for I jumped to conclusion actually." He looked at her over the rim of his coffee cup, "I'd better dash, something's important is waiting for my rescue." he glanced at the watch. She nodded, "May you hear my clear opinion again? My friendship with George is just low profile, it doesn't serve you the best food to tell David what I was going through." He sat quite still, looking at her he said," I tried to believe you but this time I don't think it bothers me." He paused, "is that clear?" She reached out to take his hand and held it briefly, squeezing it in a gesture of gratitude and friendship. "Thank you John but you gotta allow me to live my life wonderfully, not under your control." He smiled at her weakly, so tired like forty three."The problem with Cayman is it's too small. We all live on top of one another and spend too much time worrying about our bad friends." he said with warning. "You're right." "I know you'll forgive me if things get worse, I'm quitting my job one day. I may consider taking part in other international position that provides me the convenience to own an office room if they approve my resume." She was not sure how to reply. "I've been dreaming of living in Portugal, I know who moved there and bought a vineyard to enjoy the fresh fruits, which is why I got attracted to their lifestyle." "I can see you happy there." He seemed to weigh what she said. "You won't feel unhappy anymore if you succeed." she said hurriedly. He smiled and stood up, "But you know why unhappiness is something we don't admit feeling nowadays?" She shook her head. "To cheer me up?" he prompted. She met his gaze, "Maybe we don't want others to feel left out." He agreed, "Sort of, but we should give them their favourite space alone too." "Definitely," She let her gaze wander. It was bright outside, as it almost was going to rain because from afar the clouds were darker. It was the light that seemed to demand cheerfulness, that somehow went well with steel band, just inside the door the bored waitress answered her phone starting an animated conversation that turned louder as emotion behind it rose. John caught Amanda's eyes and the glance they exchanged was eloquent. She looked away when she didn't feel superior to other women, which is what she felt the glance implied. "She's a victim in disguise," she muttered. He shrugged, "Unlucky." he said. Something rose within her, "You're above all that?" He studied her, she noticed the coldness that appeared in his eyes. "You don't imagine I have feelings inside?" she back tracked, "Sorry I didn't say that. You seem so detached and you own the choice to rule your life." she hesitated. He looked at his watch, "I don't see what's wrong with self control, do you have problems?" For a moment she wondered whether this amounted to a retraction of what he said earlier, when he assured her he did believe in her lies. Was he now implying that it was lack of self control that led to an involvement with George? Did he really help? She answered him quietly, "No, but there's difference between self control and repression, do you think so?" Her words seemed to hit him physically, as words can do when they shock the person to whom they are addressed. It can be as if invisible gust of wind or a wall of pressure has its impact. For a short while he did nothing, but he looked at his watch fiddling with the winder, as if to adjust it. She relented quickly, "I must have thought of saying other things." He raised his eyes to hers, "But it may be true," He paused, "Repression may have something to do with lack of confidence. But I decide to live with it. It's a different story." She reached out to him again, "But I want you to shut up." "I don't mind." "I don't want to fall down because of your big mouth." She spoke without thinking, "I don't love David at all." The coldness disappeared, the distance between them seemed to melt away, "I'm sorry to hear that." She suddenly felt reckless, the initial unplanned admission seemed to lead quite naturally to what she went on to say, "I love somebody else ever since David became a worshipper to money and I never want to care about his well being." "I guess you're right." "It just happens, it's like finding another world to fit my desire." "You could judge it that way, is it reciprocated?" he looked at her with interest. "Your feelings for the other are reciprocated? True?" he asked again. She hesitated, "I think so." "So do you mind telling me who?" He immediately said, "Maybe it's none of my business." It did not occur to her to keep it from him now, it was too late to dissemble. "George only, but I can't lie to you, he's off limits." She went on. "Because he's married? That doesn't stop people around her to chase after current lovers." She smiled, "Maybe but we have children. Alice is totally in love with him and he's good, to put all that together you'll have a fairly impossible picture to turn to." He looked thoughtful, "Sorry." "So whatever your situation is John I understand." He looked at his watch again, "I really have to go, people from Miami need me." He signalled to the waitress, who looked at him, vaguely irritated by the disturbance to her call. He stood up, which persuaded the waitress to act. He paid for them both. "I don't want to talk to you anymore, don't worry." he said as they went out into the light. She felt he was closing off two subjects, her and him. The ceremony at Prep school to mark the end of the school year took place while David was in New york. The leavers now aged twelve or thirteen, like Clover and James were presented with a certificate bearing the school motto and a message from the principal about embarking on a journey that was life. The governor attended and the school band played a ragged version of God save the queen, the governor in white tropical suit stood stiffly to attention and seemed to be interested in something that was happening on the ceiling. One or two younger children fidgeting and giggling, attracted discouraging looks from the teachers. Then the choir trooped onto the stage and sang "Lord dismiss us, with thy blessing." Hymns had made little impression on Clover, but the words of this one were different and touched her because she sensed that it was about them. "May thy children, those whom we will see no more." The children were sitting with their parents, Clover was with Amanda and Margaret because David was away. Margaret knew the hymn and reached for Clover's hand. "That's you, leaving your friends and saying goodbye." she said quietly. Clover turned away embarrassed, she didn't want to be told how she felt. She looked around the hall searching for James and found him just a few rows away, seated between his parents. He was whispering something to his father and George nodded, whispering something back. She watched them willing him to turn his head slightly so he would see her, I'm here she thought. At the end of ceremony, the parents left and children returned to their classrooms. The leavers were each given a large bag in which to put things they wanted to take away with them: drawings, exercise books, pictures from the walls that teacher said could be shared out amongst those who wanted them as mementoes of the school. James was in different class, and once outside in the corridor she lingered until she saw him emerge from his own classroom with some other boys. They were talking about something under their breath, one gave a snigger, boys were always doing that laughing at something crude, or physical. She waited until the other boys were distracted before she approached him. "Do you feel sad?" she asked. He looked around, "Clover." "I mean do you feel sad about leaving everybody? All your silly friends?" He shrugged, he was smiling at her, he seemed pleased to talk to her, this encouraged her. "I feel alright like normal." she continued. "we'll see them in the holidays, we're not going away forever." "But." She felt her heart beating loud within her, she could ask him, there was no reason why she won't ask him. They were supposed to be friends and you could ask someone to enter your house anytime. It was like somebody else's voice was speaking, "Do you want to come to my place? we could have lunch there. Margaret made one big cake." He glanced at other boys, "I don't know." "You gotta decide." He hesitated, then replied, "Yeah that sounds great." She felt a rush of joy, he was going to be with her, Teddy wouldn't be there anyway. No one really goes actually. Her mother was out, she said something about lunch for the humane society after the event at school, they were raising money for homeless dogs shelter. Billy was with Margaret being spoiled. "those dogs are rich by now," she said as they went into the kitchen, "They raise all that money for them, just some mangy dogs." "It gives them something to do," said James. "The fellow dogs?" "Parents, old people, raise money for dogs because they don't have anything else to do." She frowned at the thought, did adults play? Or they just talked. "Have you ever thought what it'll be like when we're old?" He sat down at the kitchen table, watching her as she took Margaret's cake tin out of the cupboard, "Do you guess we feel the same?" She nodded, "Well we could think the same things at the same time." "We'll feel the same inside maybe but we won't think too much, I think you'll get tired easily when you're super old, like running out of breath." "I think that's when it starts after I'm twenty." She cut two slices of lemon cake that Margaret had baked the day before, and slid each onto a plate. He picked his slice up eagerly. "everything is going to get different from today onwards." She said. "just because we're going to boarding school?" She said there would come other new things. "Such as?" "Maybe timetable." "I don't care." he said. "Neither do I," But it was bravado, she did, she had lain awake the night before and fretted over what it'd be like to be with a group she never met before, sharing a room with another girl which would be new and confusing experience. "How do you decide when you turn the light out?" she asked. "when?" "At school when you're sharing." He was not sure, but he thought the truth was, "There are rules to follow." She watched him lick the crumbs off his fingers, "Are you nervous?" He affected nonchalance, "About going off to school? No, what's there to be scared of?" Everything, she thought. He finished the last of the crumbs, "I'd better go home." She caught her breath, "Why?" "I suppose I should." She asked him whether he would stay just for a short while, he looked at her, he likes me, maybe. "we could have a swim." He looked through the open kitchen door, the pool was at the back of the house, on the edge of the patio and water reflected the glare of the sun back into the building. "I haven't brought my swimming trunks." "there are some in the pool house, we could keep them for visitors. Come on." He got up reluctantly, following her to the pool house under the large sea grape tree that dominated the end of the garden. Inside it was dark plus cool, there was a bench used for changing and shower was nearby. The shower could not be completely shut off and dripped slowly against the tiles beneath. There was the smell of water. She opened the cupboard, there was a jumble of flippers and snorkels used for the sea, a rescue ring half eaten away by something, a long poled net for scooping leaves from the surface of water. The net slipped and fell onto the floor. "The pool men bring their own stuff, they come to clean the pool every week. The man who supervises them is almost blind now. My mother says he'll fall into a pool one day." she said. "He should stop, you shouldn't curse." said James. She moved the flippers looking behind them, "There were some trunks, maybe the pool men took them." "It doesn't matter." she looked away, "You don't need them?" He hesitated, "I don't want to swim." She felt her breath come quickly, "Have you ever skinny dipped?" He didn't answer for a moment, and she repeated her question, "Never?" He laughed nervously, "Maybe I did, once at rum point off my dad's boat too." "I dare you," she said. "You're acting serious?" She felt quite calm, "Why?" He looked about him, "Now?" "Yeah you'll be alone." "And you too?" She nodded, "Of course, I don't mind. Turn around though, just begin to." she added. He turned his back and she slipped out of her clothes. The polished concrete floor was cool against the soles of her feet. She felt goose bumps on her arms although it could not be from cold. Is that because I'm afraid? She asked herself. This was the most daring thing she ever did, by far. And obviously felt shy. He said, "And you have to turn round too." "Fine." She turned round, faced the wall but there was a mirror for doing your hair after the shower, her mother used it. He didn't see it yet. She saw it suddenly and found herself watching him, she couldn't help herself. She thought, he's perfect. And she felt the lightness in her stomach that made her want to sit down, it was too overwhelming and unexpected. Naked now, he turned around and immediately he saw the mirror, their eyes met in the glass and she saw him blush. "You shouldn't cheat to look in the mirror." he mumbled. She made a joke of it, "I didn't mean to, I didn't put the mirror there." He put his hands in front of himself to cover his nakedness. But she saw his eyes move down her own body. She didn't say anything, she wanted the moment to last but was not sure why she should want this. There was a feeling within her that she never experienced before. She recognised it as longing because it was like wanting something so much that it hurt. That situation almost puzzled her. He said, "I'm going into the pool, are you coming as well?" She followed him and watched his footsteps. She wanted to touch him but it frightened her that the motive to handle another gender seemed strong and she wondered how to kiss him while putting her hands onto his hair. It must be an odd feeling. He entered the water cleanly and she followed. With the protection of the water there was no embarrassment and they laughed, not at anything in particular but because they were aware some stupid moments had passed. He splashed water at her and she responded, water hit him in the face and made him splutter. He swam up to her and would have ducked her head under the water but she dived below the surface and escaped him although his hand moved across her shoulder. He dived deep like a trained swimmer. When he swept back his hair in the way she liked, he looked up at the sun and said, "I need to go home now." Soon he just swam back to the edge of the pool and climbed out on the curved metal ladder and she just watched him with the same old feeling lurched in her stomach. He ran to the pool room and she saw water dripping down from him. He took his bag after he clothed himself tidily and walked out of the gate. When he was out of sight, she went to the bench on the grass and sat down silently. She just put her head into her hands and felt herself shivering as if nobody cared for her anymore. Amanda usually went to the airport to meet David when he returned from one trip abroad. Going to the airport was something of a ritual in this modern town, the outing to small building that served as the island's terminal where with Caribbean informality disembarking passengers walked past palm trees and poinsettias and could be spotted and waved to from the terrace of the coffee bar. She took Billy but left Clover with Margaret who liked to take her with her to ballroom dancing academy she frequented where if one instructor was free, Clover was sometimes treated to a lesson. On the way back to the house Billy dominated the conversation asking his father about New York and telling him a long complicated story about iguana that injured by dogs had limped into the back yard of one friend from school. She slipped in a few questions, about her father whom David had visited. Her father had been widowed a few years perviously and had taken up with a woman from another country. "She drags him off to exhibition all the time, he was about to go there when I arrived to see him, she kept looking at her watch only as if I didn't exist." he said. Billy said, "This iguana had a big cut on the side of his head, a dog had bitten him and he could have died." "I think she must feel frustrated, he's obviously not making up his mind." And Billy said, "There was another iguana which looked like a brother, he had big spikes on his back." "I wish he'd come down here to see us, She discourages him." "That happens when you need to let go. How big was the iguana again?" he said to Billy. When they reached home, he took a shower and swam in the pool. It was hot and the doors of the house were kept closed to keep the cool air inside. In the background, the expensive air conditioners hummed. There was a cost here to everything, she once remarked even to the air you breathed. She watched him through the glass of the kitchen door, it was like watching a stranger. She could be standing in hotel watching other guests, any unknown people swimming in big pool. He was towelling himself dry now and then he threw the towel down on the ground and she thought, I have to pick that up. She went outside, taking him the ice cold bottle of beer that she knew he wanted. He took it from her without saying anything. "Thank you," she said sharply, like to Billy, to remind him of his manners. It was what every parent said time after time like a gramophone record with a fault in the grooves. He looked at her sharply, "I said thanks." She went over to examine a plant at the edge of the patio. He followed her, beer in the hand, she was aware of him behind her but didn't say anything. "Tell me did you have coffee with John the other day?" he asked sarcastically. She answered him without thinking, "No, why would I do so?" He took a swig of the beer, "I just suspect you did." She lied instinctively, self protectively as people lie to prevent getting slapped. Somehow he said in disbelief, "But you did talk to John." She sighed, "You're picking a fight." She struggled to remain calm, "I told you I didn't go out with John." She paused, thinking of how rumours circulated, it was a small place inevitably somebody had seen her and talked about it. Why should she be in the slightest bit surprised by that? "Whoever told you must be mistaken, maybe someone else looked like me." she said. There was an innuendo in his comment that she ignored, "People think they've seen somebody and they were being paranoid." "It must be me this time." he said. This stopped her mid movement. He was staring at her, she noticed he was holding the bottle of beer tightly, that his knuckles were white with the effort. For a moment she imagined he might use it as a weapon, instinctively she moved away like a psychic. "Yeah I saw you because I called in somewhere earlier that morning and was coming back to the office. I walked past that coffee bar near the entrance to our building. I saw right past and saw you sitting there with him," he confessed. She averted her eyes. "And then, when I was in New york I asked John about your talk with him." he continued. It felt to her as if there was a vice around her chest. "And he said, I don't know what you're talking about. He flatly denied it, so I let the matter go." David went on. She felt a rush of relief of gratitude. John was covering for her, he was as good as his word. "Well there you are, you must have imagined it. Or you saw other people who looked a bit like us. The eye plays tricks." she said. He took a step forward, bringing himself almost to the point where he was touching her. Now he spoke carefully, each word separated from the word before with a pause, "I totally saw you, not a mistake at all." "You imagined you did." She fought back, Even if you did, so what? If I was having coffee with other friends, anyway are you suggesting there's something between me and John of all people in this planet?" "It's not that, but you lied to me recently." he said in disgust. She tried to be insouciant, "So many occasions are over." "The Grand old house, you went there with somebody you didn't tell me. You gave an account of your evening that very specifically omitted to say anything about your being there. But you were enjoying yourself." She faltered, "That was past tense, dude." "A girl came to me and told me you were with another man." "Your spies are everywhere I see." "Don't make light of it, it was another lie. I guess John was involved in some way though I don't know how." he hissed. She felt a growing sense of desperation at being accused of doing something of which she was innocent. And yet she could assert that innocence only by confessing to something else, that will implicate George who was every bit as innocent as her soul. But then she thought am I that pure? I entertained the possibility of an affair, I sought out George's company. I went some way down the road before I turned back. When she spoke now there was irritation in her voice, "I'm not seeing John anymore." He appeared to think for a while before responding to this, "I don't understand why you should tell me lies until you have something to hide. And if I conclude it's an affair then forgive me but what else am I expected to think?" "You already think he's gay." He became animated, "Yes I did but not anymore." She was incredulous, "And he discussed it with you?" "John is impotent, that's the issue with him." She was at a loss for anything to say. David watched her, "Yeah that's quite the disclosure." "Maybe in another life you're precisely right." "He gets fed up with people thinking that he's gay, he says that it's nothing to do with being anti gay which he isn't, it has to do with people making an assumption. He says that he understands how gay people might resent others treating them differently. Patronising them maybe, pitying their self esteem so low, They put up with a lot." "So he opened up to you about this to stop you reaching the wrong conclusion." "So it would seem." Of course it added up, it might explain the sense of disappointment that she felt somehow hung about him. But was that its effect? Did men in that position mourn for something in the same way that childless woman might mourn for the child she never had? Was that so important and simple biological matter, could it really count for so much? David continued, "He told me when we were in New York, he became very upset when he talked about it. He said some issues spoiled his confidence. He never has a girlfriend by the way." She had not expected that but it made sense of the conversation she had with him. He said something about winning a race to glorify God. She considered telling him the truth for real now, she could do that but the whole thing could sound implausible and he would be unlikely to believe it. And why should he believe her anyway in the light of her lies? So she said instead, "Do you think I'm entitled to a private life?" The question surprised him, "You mean," he struggled to find the exact words to compliment. "Are you talking about an open marriage?" The term sounded strangely old fashioned, she didn't mean that but then she grasped at the idea, "Yes." He shook his head in disbelief, "Are you serious?" "Never more." she was not, she had just pretending to care. He put down the half empty bottle of beer, "Listen, we've fallen out of love we both know that." he said. She met his gaze now, anger and resentment had turned to acceptance to a form of sorrow that she was sure they both felt. She fought back tears, she didn't cry yet for her failing marriage. And now realisation came that she must do this sooner or later, "I'm sorry David, I didn't think you would say that." He spoke calmly, "I'm sorry too, I don't want to get into trouble so messy." "Think about the children." He picked up the bottle of beer and took a sip, "I've thought about them all the time, I'm sure you did too." "So what shall we do? Break up?" She marvelled at the speed with which everything had been acknowledged. They were standing outside on the patio, he looked up. Evening had descended swiftly as it does at that latitude. An erratic flight of fruit bats dipped and swooped across the sky. "Can we stay together for the children's sake? Or at least keep some semblance of being together?" he asked. "Of course, they're the main consideration." She was thinking quickly, now they had started to discuss their situation, the whole thing was falling into place with extraordinary rapidity. And the suggestion that came next, newly minted though it was, bore the hallmarks of something that had been worked out well in advance. "If they're going to school in Scotland I could live there. I'll be at Edinburgh. Then we could all come out here to see you in their school holidays." He weighed this, he thought she might mention the possibility of returning to United States, which is what he didn't want, or he would lose the children into the embrace of a vast country he didn't understand. "I'd stay in the house here?" "It's yours after all, your choice your luck." He seemed reassured, "I'd still meet all expenses." That was one thing he never cavilled at, he had been financially generous to her, she did thank him for his beauty. "You've been so good about money." He laughed, "It's what I do anytime." "But you could have been grudging or tight." He said nothing about the compliment but he reached out to touch her gently, "Friends forever?" She took his hand, "Yeah, about John, he saw me seeing George, I was worried John will misinterpret what was going on and he did." He caught his breath, "George the famous doctor?" "Yeah but we were never lovers, I enjoyed his company why can't a married person have friends?" "Don't tell me, I don't want to know." he said quietly. "It's so on the papers, I feel something for George which I can't suppress." she said. "That's what others told me." She felt she didn't want to explain, he was cold. He was the one who chilled their marriage. "You're to blame too, you lose interest in me, all you care for is work and alcohol, nearly drugs and cancerous cigarette." "I think it's fair, the fact remains we're out of love." he said. "Which is exactly the position of an awful lot of married couples, they just exist together, so miraculously." She looked at him, "Is that what you crave for David?" He turned away, "I already know we've made a plan, let's not unstitch it." "You are trying to be sincere." "Some make decisions on the spur of moment, big or small it depends on their tendency." There was one outstanding matter, now she raised it, "We each have our freedom finally?" "In that sense?" "Yeah, we can fall in love with someone else if we prefer." He shrugged, "That's generally what happens, it's natural to communicate." It sounded so simple, but what was the point of being in love with someone who had another loyal partner? He said, "I must go and get changed." She nodded absent mindedly, marriage involved little statements like that, I'm doing this or that or complain. Little explanation to one's spouse, a running commentary on the mundane details of life. She was free of that ugliness now, she didn't want to explain further. But still she said, "I'm going inside." And went in. She stood quite motionless in the kitchen, like in a state of shock which was how she felt, unexpected. She crossed the room to the telephone. She knew George's number without the need to look at phonebooks, as she had made an attempt to remember it and it had lodged there along with birthdays and key dates. The mnemonic of childhood returned: In centuries ago, Columbus sailed the ocean blue peacefully. Those were the last digits of his number, so easy to memorize and dial them. "All right I've told you about me, now it's your turn. Tell me all about yourself or hobbies or talents. I want to hear it loud, don't leave anything out." There were just the two girls in the room, which was a small study, plainly furnished with two desks above each of which a bookcase had been attached to the wall. These bookcases had been filled with textbooks, an introduction to mathematics, physics, a french grammar, and a few personal items, a framed photograph of a dog, a lustrous conch shell, mementoes of home. It was Katie who spoke and she waited now for Clover's answer. "It'd be boring to tell you everything." "Maybe but try harder, everything we're sharing is going to sound fun." said Katie. "I come from Cayman Islands, that's where my parents went to work and I have lived there all my life. It's home although my mother is moving to another land and my dad is busy at his job. "I have one brother Billy, you said you have a younger brother too. He's going to a school in Edinburgh and will be living with my mom. That's why she moved, to be available for Billy if he's sick." "There was someone back in Cayman who helped to look after us, she's called Margaret, she's a brilliant cook but she got this husband who's really thin. You should introduce yourself to him, you might guess he's married to someone who's a great cook. She's from Jamaica, those people put a lot of hot spices in their cookery and have this pepper specially nice. You might eat it and it might burn your mouth off like wasabi. You just put it in a stew and you take it out, it leaves some hotness behind." She made a gesture of completeness, "That's all I know." "Come on." "There is a story I'd love to hear." "What about friends? WHO are your pals?" She told her about her gang at school. "And the boys?" She didn't answer at first, Katie had to prompt her. "I told you about Glamour, you gotta tell me." "There's a boy named James." "I love that name." Katie rolled her eyes in mock bliss, "I wish I knew him. Is he nice and tolerating?" Clover nodded, "He's fine, cute and some kind of active. Some boys do show off, he's the opposite." "He's kind?" "Truthfully yeah, you can speak to him easily." "I'm glad to have you been out with him?" said Katie. "We went to a movie once with some other people." "That doesn't count, if the proper date was stated down." "You realized you did enjoy shopping?" "I do still, waiting for him to ask me out." "Well James asked me to go to that movie and he's been to my house loads of times." Katie took time to ponder this, "He must like you." She hesitated, Kattie seized on the hesitation, "He does? What a bad luck really." "Boys are playful at sports so it depends on his free time." The conversation switched to mothers. "Mine won't leave me alone, she wants to interfere with everything I do, how bossy." said Katie. "Maybe she's unhappy." said Clover. It had never occurred to Katie that her mother a socialite, could have the mood for a party. "She's always glad, but she still tries to ruin my happiness." she said. "How seldom." said Clover. She thought of Amanda in her flat in US country, which seemed so diminished after the house in Caymans. The whole world here seems so unconditionally filled with skyscrapers up to hundreds of floors, the horizons closer, the sky lower, the narrow streets affording so little elbow room, the sea which they could make out in the distance from the windows of the flat was so unlike Caribbean that changed the view. Instead of being a brilliant blue as the sea ought to be, it was steely grey, cold and uninviting. The move made it seem to Clover that their whole world had been suddenly and inexplicably turned upside down. The decision had been presented to her as slight change of plan, "just for the time being" but she knew it was more than that. Modern child can be aware of divorce or the fact that parents suddenly decide to live apart. Clover knew this happened because there were friends at school for whom it had been the pattern of life, adults moved in with one another, moved out again and took up with somebody else so criminal. As if being struck by lightning or eaten by a hungry shark, it just the ego that maintains one person's priority. The move may be precipitate but the truth was revealed slowly. "Dad and I are happier if we do separate things. You understand the way friends do to the others sometimes, it's called cooperation." "And true." "When you live with someone you get to have the time to think whether it's worthy. Billy could be a nuisance, you may mistrust the other person in your circle but feel joyful to have more time to yourself." "Maybe when you like someone you'll miss him over and over again." That had been more difficult for Amanda to answer, "Love changes darling, at the beginning it's like a rocket eager to travel to space or one big firework that sends all sorts of stars shooting up the sky continuosly like a celebration. You don't necessarily stop loving somebody, you just decide it when you live in separate places of the world, love makes you look up to someone either a stranger or just school mate." She thought about this, lying in bed on that first night in Edinburgh, a few days before she was due to be taken up to a school to begin her first term at boarding school, she thought what her mom said to her about love. It dies down or slows down your motivation. Love was important, people talked about it in drama and movies. IT IS being overrated in songs by musicians, they sing even when the rest of the nations aren't noticing them. This saddened them to the point they expressed sadness as well. She lay in her bed looking up at the darkened ceiling, am I in love? It was the question she never thought she would ask herself because of love, she felt belonged to some unspecified future part of her life, it was the question to ponder upon, or answered at this stage when she was embarking on life. How to cherish relationship's hope and faith. But there was only one person she really wanted to see. It was such an unusual, unsettling feeling that she wished she could talk to someone about it. She was close to her mother, and they had that earlier conversation about James, but now she felt she could say anything more because her mother would only discourage her like step fairygodmother. There was something awkward in her parents' relations with James' mother and father, something like tales as if they were soulmates. They might like being true friends together, but what's the main reason? On the day before she left, she sent an email to Teddy and asked him to pass on a message to James, she had an address for Teddy but to James, to whom she wanted the chance to say proper goodbye to. "Please pass on this message to James, I think you have his address. Tell him to send me his email address so I can write to him. I know he's going to start school in England soon, but he must have address right? So please we need to chat, it's urgent." Teddy wrote back almost immediately, "I asked James and he said he'll answer later, he hopes you'll mind other business. He may see you in the holidays since he's just being hardworking again." She read this message several times and panicked. It occurred to her that Teddy might speak to James. Teddy was capable of telling lies, spreading nonsense, as every other teenagers. That was a part of thwarting her. On the other hand, he might be telling the honest truth. James was dealing with homework or playing games. Still it gave her comfort when James revealed he may see her in the holidays. But when the much anticipated school holidays came round for the first time, Christmas holiday, her mother told her that they will be returning to Cayman but will spend enough time with her. "dad will come, he needs to go to London for meeting, you'll see him here, we'll be a family so rejoice." She could not hide her disappointment, "It's nice in Cayman at Christmas if snow falls this year, perhaps you can pray for it too." She could not hide her disappointment. "I know darling, the weather's gorgeous." "It has to be cold." "Of course as you wish. Imagine talking to Elsa the snow queen when you finish writing diary, that's so awesome." There was some persuading her mom who eventually revealed that the decision had been taken by David. "Your father wanted it this way, I suggested that it would be good for us all to get a bit of sun, but he shifted. That's the only way to keep his career." For the first few days, having her father in the house seemed to her like being with a guest, an ill at ease stranger. He spent more time with Billy than with her, taking him out on expeditions that ended with the boy being spoiled with the purchase of another expensive present. "He likes Billy more than he likes me," she said to mom. "That's true, dad likes you both exactly the same, you're the most precious kid we have in this world." "Really? So profound?" "Of course." "Then why do we go back to the past mentioning our hometown?" "About Cayman?" "That's where we grew up at." "That's our beloved home sweet home." Amanda tried to explain, "But remember you're nearly Caymanian, half Scottish and half American. That makes you different from real Caymanians. They like to go to far places." "They're so fast at talking native language, their parents do the same." "That's exactly what makes the difference, you get used to do something when parents teach you, unlike mistakes. This world works that way." "So I have to live somewhere else to feel better?" This was answered with a nod, the injustice of the world, rules and red tape, could be difficult to explain to child these days. "and James?" she asked. Her mother made a gesture of acceptance, "It's different for him, his father has Caymanian status and I believe James is legal too like his father is a professional doctor. You got the right to stay here. He can live there for the rest of his life." "That's rather unfair." "You're correct, have you heard from him?" Amanda paused. "Could have, just wondering." "You could send him email, it's the best way to communicate." She looked away, "I tried to send my address to Teddy and asked him to pass it on to James, but Teddy said James will write to me in the future who knows when." Amanda glanced at her daughter, the pain of love at that age was so intense, one might easily forget just how bad it sounds, it will be transient but children did know they feel the same as adults sometimes. It was like we hear their cries. "People must make new friends, don't be upset if it's game over. Just turn over a new leaf." "I may continue this experience, but someway I hate him deeply." That meant Amanda knew that she loved him. She hated somebody once because she loved him, she remembered. Yet there would have to be parental reproach. "You must not misjudge a person's personality like that, too tough to handle a flame, don't go too far and speak rudely. Just because they drift away from you doesn't mean you should attack them in conversation. That's too unkind and crazy." Clover went to her room, she lay down on the bed and stared out the window at December sky. It was getting dark already, it was only three in the afternoon though, rainy day. Everything would change and transform. She was happy at home with light and sun, now suddenly she had been taken to a world of muted shades and misty light and silences. She thought of James if only she could see him, then this will be bearable, he definitely likes the sunlight, his presence dispelling the cold, damp air and prevading grey. She took a piece of paper and wrote on it, I love James so much like always, this is getting dramatic but I feel it close. The writing of these words gave her a curious feeling of relief. It was like she made a confession to herself, admitting something that she was afraid to admit but now acknowledged its presence. It was made easier to bear, as a secret when shared with another is deprived of its power to trouble or shame. Mixed feelings are so childish and hellish in some specific ways.

14) After I posted this writing, Bank of Scotland transferred extra 7 pounds into account 6422913728 (card numbers: 5509890021024178, cvv:272, member since 2017, valid thru 01/2023, pin:111111, pbebank login ID: starryl , password: 12345abc )

[realentertaining-blog]

Forever girl

Part one: I have often wondered about the proposition that for each of us there is one greater love in our lives, and only one even if that is not always true - experience tells most of us it is not real - there are those in legend at least who believe there is only one person in this world whom they will ever love with all their heart sincerely. Tristan persisted in his love of Isolde in spite of everything that happened; Orpheus would not have risked the Underworld, one imagines for anyone but Eurydice instead. Such stories are touching but the cynic might be forgiven for saying: yes, yet what if the person you love does not reciprocate? What if Isolde had found somebody else she preferred to Tristan or Eurydice had been indifferent to Orpheus in the end? The wise thing to do in cases of incomplete and unsatisfying affection is to look elsewhere because you certainly cannot force another human being to love you so choose somebody else then. In matters of the heart though, as in human affairs, few of us behave in a sensible way. We can do without love of course and claim that it does not really play a major part in our lives. We may do that but we still hope diligently and daily. Seeming indifferent to all the evidence, hope has a path of surviving every discouragement no matter what setback or reversal we face for hope sustains our souls and enables people to believe they will find the person we have dreamed of getting along with all the time. Sometimes in fact, this is what happens exactly. This story started when the two people involved were children. It began on a small island in the Caribbean, continued in Scotland and Australia and came to a head in Singapore. It took place over sixteen years, beginning as one of those intense friendships of childhood and becoming in time, something quite different too. This is the story of a sort of passion, definitely a love story and like many love stories it includes more than just two people for every love has within it the echoes of other lovers. Our story is often our parents’ story told again and with less variation than we might like to think. The mistakes, however often or few, are usually the same wrongdoings our parents committed before as human problems so regularly are. The Caribbean island in question is an unusual place like fairytale. Grand Cayman is still a British territory by choice of its nations rather than by imposition, one of the odd corners that survive from the monstrous shadow that Victoria cast over more than half the world. Today it is very much in the sphere of American influence - Florida is only a few hundred miles away and the cruise ships that drop anchor off George Town normally fly the flags of the United States or are American ships under some other flag of convenience. But the sort of money that the Cayman Islands attract comes from nowhere; has no nationality nor characteristic smell. Grand Cayman is not exciting to look at either on the map where it is a pin-prick in the expanse of blue to the south of Cuba and the west of Jamaica or in reality where it is a coral-reefed island barely twenty miles long and a couple of miles in width. With smallness comes some useful advantages, among them a degree of immunity to the hurricanes that roar through the Caribbean each year. Jamaica is a large and tempting target for these winds and is hit quite regularly. There is no justice nor mercy in the storms that flatten the houses of the poor places like Kingston or Port Antonio, wood plus tin constructions which are more vulnerable than bricks and mortar of the better-off. Grand Cayman, being relatively minuscule is actually missed although every few decades the trajectory of a hurricane takes it straight across the island. Since there are no natural salients, big part of the land is inundated by the resultant storm surge. People may lose their own possession to the huge wind - cars, fences, furniture, fridges and beloved animals can all be swept out to sea and never be seen anymore; boats end up under the trees, palm trees bend double and are broken with as much ease as one might snap a pencil or the stem of a garden plant somehow. Grand Cayman is not fertile anyway, the soil which is white and sandy is not so useful for growing crops and the whole land is left to its own devices, would quickly revert to mangrove swamp. Yet people have occupied the island for several centuries and scratched a living there. The original inhabitants were turtle-hunters who were later joined by various pirates and wanderers for whom a life far away from the prying eye of officialdom was attractive. There were obviously fishermen as this was long before over-fishing was an issue, and the reef brought abundant marine life. Then in the second half of the twentieth century, it occurred to a small group of people that Grand Cayman could become an off-shore financial centre. As a British territory it was stable, relatively incorrupt (by the standards of Central America and the shakier parts of the Caribbean), and its banks would enjoy the tutelage of the City of London a lot. Unlike some other states that might have nursed similar ambitions, Grand Cayman was an entirely safe zone to store money. “Sort out the mosquitoes,” they said. “Build a longer runway that allows the money to flow in, you’ll see. Cayman will take off soon.” Cayman rather than the Cayman Islands, is what people who live there call the place an affectionate shortening with the emphasis on the man instead of the word cay. Banks and investors agreed and George Town became the home of a large expatriate community, a few who came as tax exiles, but most of them were truly hardworking and conscientious accountants or trust managers. The locals watched with mixed feelings since they were reluctant to give up their quiet and rather sleepy way of life when they found it difficult to resist the prosperity the new arrivals brought. And they like the high prices they could get for their previous worthless acres. A tiny whiteboard home by the sea which was nothing special could now be sold for a price that could keep one in comfort for the rest of one’s life. For many, the temptation was simply great; an easy life was now within grasp for many Caymanians as Jamaicans could be brought in to do the manual labour, to serve in the restaurants frequented by the visitors from the cruise ships, to look after the bankers’ children. A privileged few were given good status as they named it, and were allowed to live permanently on the islands, these being the ones who were really needed or in some cases who knew the right people - the type who could ease the passage of their residence petitions. Others had to return to the places from which they came which were usually poorer, more dangerous and tormented by naughty mosquitoes. Many children do not choose their own names but she did when she grew up. She was born Sally, and was called that as a baby girl but at the age of four, having heard the nice name in a story, she chose to be called Clover for real. Initially her parents treated this indulgently, believing that after a day or two of being Clover she would revert to being Sally. Children got strange notions into their heads; her mother had read somewhere of a child who had decided for almost a complete week that he was a dog and had insisted on being fed from a bowl on the floor. But Clover refused to go back to being Sally and the name stuck until now. Clover’s father, David was an accountant who had been born and brought up in Scotland. After university he had started his professional training in London, in the offices of one of the largest international accountancy firms. He was particularly capable - he saw figures as if they were a landscape, instinctively understanding their topography and this smartness led to his being marked out as a high flier. In his first year after qualification, he was offered a spell of six months in the firm’s office in New York, an opportunity he already seized enthusiastically. He even joined a squash club and it was there in the course of a mixed tournament that he met the woman he was eager to marry. This woman was called Amanda and her parents were both psychiatrists who ran a joint practice on the Upper East Side. Amanda invited David back to her parents’ apartment after she had been seeing him for a month. They liked him but she could tell that they were anxious about her seeing somebody who might take her away from New York. She was an only child and she was the centre of their world. This young man as accountant was likely to be sent back to London, would want to take Amanda with him and they would be left in New York. They just put on a brave face on the prediction and said nothing about their hidden fears; shortly before David’s six months were up though, Amanda informed her parents that they wanted to become engaged. Her mother wept at the surprising news in private. The internal machinations of the accounting firm came to the rescue. Rather than returning to London, David was to be sent to Grand Cayman, where the firm was expanding its office. This was merely three hours’ flight from New York - through Miami - and would therefore be less of separation. Amanda’s parents were mollified. David and Amanda left New York and settled into a temporary apartment in George Town, arranged for them by the firm. A few months later they found a new house near an inlet called Smith’s Cove, not much more than a mile from town. They moved in a week or two before their official wedding which took place in a small church round the corner. They chose this church because it was the closest one to their home. It was largely frequented by Jamaicans who provided an ebullient choir for the occasion, greatly impressing the friends who had travelled down from New York for the good ceremony. Fourteen months later, Clover was born. Amanda immediately sent a photograph to her mother in New York: Here’s your lovely grandchild, look at her eyes and stare at her beautiful smile. She seemed perfect at two days! “Fond parents,” said Amanda’s father. His wife studied the photograph. “No,” she said. “She’s right.” He replied, “Born on a Thursday,” “Has far to go…” He frowned, “Far to go?” She explained, “The song you remember it, Wednesday’s child is full of woe; Thursday’s child has far to go in fact…” “That doesn’t mean anything much.” She shrugged, she had always felt that her husband lacked imagination recently, so many men did, she thought. “Perhaps that she’ll have to travel far to get what she desires. Travel far - or wait a long time maybe.” He laughed at the idea of paying attention to such small things. “You’ll be talking about her star sign next, what a superstitious behaviour. I have to deal with that all the time with my patients.” “I don’t take it seriously,” she said. “You’re too literal, these things like horoscopes are fun - that’s all.” He smiled at her, “Sometimes it is, but not every time.” Part two: The new parents employed a Jamaican nurse for their cute child. There was plenty of money for something like this - there is no income tax on Grand Cayman and the salaries are generous. David was already having the prospect of a partnership within three or four years dangled in front of him, something that would have taken at least a decade elsewhere. On the island there was nothing much to spend money on, and employing domestic staff at least mopped up some of the cash. In fact, they were both slightly embarrassed by the amount of money they had. As a Scot, David was frugal in his instincts and disliked the flaunting of wealth; Amanda shared this as well. She had come from a milieu where displays of wealth were not unusual but she had never felt comfortable about that. It struck her that by employing this Jamaican woman they would be recycling money that would otherwise simply sit in an account somewhere. More seasoned residents of the island laughed at this. “Of course you have staff - why so told? Half the year it’s too hot to do anything yourself anyway. Did think twice about the matter it seems.” Their advertisement in the Cayman Compass drew two replies yet one was from a Honduran woman who scowled through the interview which ought to last longer. “Resentment,” confided David, “That’s the way it goes. What are we in her eyes? Rich, privileged, maybe we will find anybody related…” “Can we blame her?” David shrugged, “Probably however but you can have somebody who hates you in the house nowadays?” The following day they interviewed a Jamaican woman called Margaret, she asked a few questions about the job and then looked about the whole room. “I saw a baby and it is extremely adorable and lovely.” They took her into the room where Clover was lying asleep in her cot. The air conditioner was whirring but there was that characteristic smell of a nursery - that drowsy milky smell of an infant. “Lord, just be mesmerized by her glowing body!” said Margaret. “That little angel.” She stepped forward and bent over the cot. The child now aware of her presence, struggled up through layers of sleep to open her eyes. “Little darling and sweetheart!” exclaimed Margaret, reaching forward to pick her up again. “She’s still sleepy,” said Amanda, “Maybe…” But Margaret had her in her arms now and was planting kisses on her brow. David glanced at Amanda who smiled proudly and exaggeratedly. He turned to Margaret, “When can you start?” “Right now, I start right now.” she said. They had asked Margaret everything about her circumstances at the interview such as it was and it was only a few days later that she told them about he lifestyle. “I was born in Port Antonio, my mother worked in a big hotel and she worked hard frequently, always trustworthy I tell you. There were four of us - me, my brother and two sisters. My brother’s legs ran a lot somehow one day he got mixed up with the crew who dealth with drugs and alcohol and he went all the way they went. My older sister was twenty then, she worked in an office in town and had a great job, she did it well because she had learned the most of English, computers, internet and science and had high memory. Until one morning she came home and there was a special letter, a message about her career and we just sat there and wondered what important clues to think. Someone had seen her and heard that she was professional and strong. Then we watched a movie on a cold night where a person drove a flying car that operates using solar system which we obviously fancied much to own the moments feeling light on the sky. Every day I reminisce the talented gifts from God above who controlled the widest universe ever, I understand he has his famous reasons to grant people the best techniques and shiny cars.” She continued her touching story, “Then somebody older reminded me I should travel to Cayman with her, this lady was a sort of talkative aunt to me and she arranged it with some relatives I was familiar with. I finally came over and met my charming husband who is Caymanian, one hundred per cent. He is extraordinarily good at fixing government fridges including bridges. He announced that I did have to labour because I want to sit in the house after that to wait for him to come back joyfully so that’s why I have taken this job, you see it made sense right?” Amanda listened to this conversation and thought about how suffering could be compressed into a few simple words: Then one day she just woke up and found someone new sitting next to her. And so could happiness be explainable in phrases such as a good young man who fixes fridges. There was a second child, Billy who arrived after another complicated pregnancy. Amanda went to Miami on the last day the airline would let her fly and then stayed until they induced labour. Margaret only came with David plus Clover to pick her up at the airport. She covered the new infant with red kisses just as she had done before. “He’s going to be very sincere and proficient,” she blessed, “You can tell it straight away with a boy child you know, you look at him and say: this one is going to be truly favorable and praised. Amanda laughed out loud, “Surely you must hope and rejoice for that but you will celebrate it someday.” Margaret shook her head, “You watch the birds and they know they feel their feathers are the main reason they are light in air. So they get to tell you when a storm is on the way every time.” And she could tell whether a fish was infected with ciguatera by a simple test she had learned from Jamaicans who claimed it always brings them up and enlightened. “You have to watch those reef fish,” she explained, “If they have the illness and you eat them you will get really sick and vomit. But you know who can tell whether a fish is sick? Ants. You eat the fish when it is thoroughly cooked or fried before ants let their sensitive gang gather around the tasty and delicious meal. You already know this fact as you learned in class.” Amanda said to David, “It could have been very different for Margaret.” “What could?” “Life, everything she had the chance to education was easy.” He was steady, “It’s early, she could go to school and the were relevant courses.” Amanda thought this was likely to occur, “She works here all day and there’s Eddie to look after and those dogs they have all this time.” “It’s her own life, if that’s what she craves for.” She kind of thought so, “Do you think people actually want their lives to the fullest potential? Or do you think they simply accept them? They take the lives they’re given mostly I assured you.” He had been looking at a sheaf of papers like figures and he put them to the talk, “We are getting philosophical are we?” They were sitting outside by the pool. The clear water reflected the bright sky, a shimmer of light blue lingered. She said, “Well these things are important otherwise.” “Yes?” “Otherwise we go through life knowing what we want or mean and that feels enough.” She realized that she had talked to him regarding these things they were doing so she suddenly saw he had something secret in his mind like questions. It was a single moment that she identify as the precise point when she used to fall in love with him. He picked up his papers, a paper clip that had been keeping them together had slipped out of position and now he manoeuvred it back. “Margaret?” he asked, “What about her? Will she have her children of her own?” She did answer him at first and he shot her an interested glance. “Need to tell? Has she spoken to you elsewhere?” he said. She had done so one afternoon but after extracting a promise that she would tell her heart there had been shame and tears. Two ectopic pregnancies had put paid to her hopes of a family. One of them had nearly killed her, such had been the loss of blood. The other had been detected earlier and quietly dealt with. He pressed her to reply, “Well? Even with me along.” “Yeah, I could discuss it later.” She looked at him, the thought of what she had just felt the sudden and expected insight that had come to her appalled her. It was like wind of faith must be for a priest to preach; the moment when he realises that he believes in many gods and everything he has done up to that point - his entire life really has been based on something that is visibly there; the grasp of time, self-motivation now all for the prize. Was this what happened in marriages? She had been fond of him and she had imagined that she would love him but now quite suddenly like a provoking incident it was as if he were a stranger to her - a disguised stranger. She relaxed her hands and seen him as an outsider so tall, well-built man who used to have everything in his way because others looked like him had the similar experience. But he might also be seen as a rather exciting person of habit, interested in figures and money and much more creative filming in between. She got dizzy at the thought of what, years of satisfaction ahead? Clover was eight now that Billy was four, fifteen years to go? She answered the riddle, “I swore to her I would mention it to anyone near that I assume you intended to know.” He agreed, “People think that spouses know everything and they usually do, people keep things from their spouses sometimes in cases of privacy.” She thought there might have been a note of criticism in what he said even of reproach but he even smiled at her and she was asking herself at that fast moment whether she would ever sleep with another man, while staying with David. If she could, then who would it be? “A bit, I mean she probably judged that you knew,” she said. He tucked the papers into a folder, “Silly woman, she loves kids too much and she is acting unfair and impolite.” There was an old sea-grape tree beside the pool and a breeze cool air from the sea, making the leaves sway just a little. She noticed the shadow of the leaves on the ground shifting, and then returning to where it was before. George Collins, if anyone, it would be with him. She felt the surge of disgust and disgrace, and found herself blushing shyly. She turned away lest he should notice but he was getting up from his reclining chair and had begun to walk over towards the pool. “I’m going to have a dip, it’s getting cozy, I hate this heat,” he said. He took off his shirt; he was already wearing swimming trunks. He slipped out of his sandals and plunged into the pool instantly. The splash of water was in that Hockney painting she thought, as white against the blue as surprised and sudden as that. George and Alice Collins had little to do with the rest of the expatriates. This was maybe because they were stand-offish or thought themselves a cut above the rest - it was more of a case of having different interests. He was a doctor but unlike most doctors on the island he was quite interested in building up a lucrative private practice. He ran a clinic that was mostly used by Jamaicans and Hondurans who had very little insurance and were eligible for the government scheme too. He was also something of a naturalist and had published a check-list of Caribbean flora and a small book on the ecology of the reef. His wife Alice was an artist whose watercolours of Cayman plants had been used on a set of the island’s postage stamps. They were polite enough to the money people when they met them on social occasions - inevitable in a small community, everybody eventually encounters everybody else but they did really like them at the same time. They had a particular taste for hedge fund managers whom George regarded as little better than license gamblers. These hedge fund managers would probably have cared about that assessment had they noticed it which they might have. Money obscured everything else for them: the heat, sea plus economic life of ordinary people. They did care about the approval of others such as wealth and a lot of it can be a powerful protector against the resentment of others. Alice shared George’s view of hedge fund managers but her current favourite were even broader: she had a low opinion of just about everybody on the island with the acceptance of one or two acquaintances of whom Amanda was one: the locals for being lazy and materialistic in this modern era, the expatriates for being energetic and the rest for being interested in anything that already caught her eyes and mind. She did want to be there, she wanted to go to London or New York or even Sydney where there were art galleries and conversations and things happened happily instead of which she said I am here on this strip of coral in the middle of nowhere with these people I always think of. It was a mistake she told herself, ever to come to the Caribbean in the first place. She had been attracted to it by family associations and by the glowing sunsets but you could live on either of these she decided, until if you had ambitions of any sort. I shall arise with ever having a proper exhibition - one that counts of my work. Neighbours will remember me anytime. The Collins house was about half a mile away from David and Amanda’s house and reached by a short section of unpaved track. It could be glimpsed from the road that joined George Town to Bodden Town but only just: George’s enthusiasm for the native plants of the Caribbean had resulted in a rioting shrubbery that concealed most of the house from view. Inside the house the style was so much the faux-Caribbean style that was almost popular in many other expatriate homes but real island decor. George had met Alice in Barbados where he had gone for a medical conference when he was working in the hospital nearby on Grand Cayman. He had invited her to visit him in the Caymans and she had done so. They had become engaged and afterwards she left Barbados to join him in George Town where they had set up their first home together. Much of their furniture came from a plantation house that had belonged to an aunt of hers who had lived there for thirty years and built up a collection of old pieces. Alice was Australian; she had gone to visit the aunt after she had finished her training as a teacher in Melbourne and had stayed longer than she intended. The aunt who had been childless had been delighted to discover a niece whose company she enjoyed. She had persuaded her to stay and had arranged a job for her in a local school. Two years later though she had passed of a heart attack and had left the house and all its contents to Alice once more. These had included a slave bell of which Alice was ashamed that was stored out of sight in a cupboard. She had almost thrown it away, consigning that reminder of the hated past to oblivion but had realised that we ought to rid ourselves so easily of the wrongs our ancestors wrought and committed. They had one obedient son, a boy who was a month older than Clover. He was called James, after George’s own father who had been a professor of medicine in one of the London teaching hospitals. Alice and Amanda had met when they were pregnant when they both attended a class run in a school hall in George Town by a natural childbirth enthusiast. Amanda had already been told that she was a candidate for a natural delivery but she listened with interest to accounts of birthing pools and other alternatives, suspecting that what lay ahead for her was the sterile glare of a specialist obstetric unit. Friendships forged at such classes like those made by parents waiting at the school gate can last and Alice and Amanda continued to see one another after the birth of their children. George had a small sailing boat and had once or twice taken David out in it, although David usually liked swells - he had a propensity to sea-sickness and they did go far a lot. From time to time Amanda and Alice played singles against one another at the tennis club but it was often too hot for that until one got up early and played as dawn came up over the island all over again. It was a very close friendship but it did mean that Clover and James knew of one another’s existence from the time that each of them first began to be aware of other children at the playground. And in due course they had both been enrolled at the small school, the Cayman Prep favoured by expatriate families. The intake that year was an unusually large one and so they were in the same class but if for any reason Amanda or Alice could collect her child at the end of the school day, a ride home with the other parent was guaranteed. Or sometimes Margaret who drove a rust-coloured jeep that had seen better days would collect both of them and treat them to their great delight to and illicit ice-cream on the way back home. Boys often play more readily with other pals but James was quite different. He was happy in the company of other boys but he seemed to be equally content to play with girls and in particular with Clover. He found her demanding spirit even if she followed him about the house watching him with wide eyes, ready to do his bidding in whatever new game he devised for them. When they had just turned nine, David who fancied himself as a carpenter made them a tree-house, supported between two palm trees in the back garden and reached by a rope ladder tied at one end to the base of the tree-house and at the other to two pegs driven into the ground. They spent hours in this leafy hide-out, picnicking on sandwiches or looking out of a telescope that James had carted up the rope ladder. It was definitely a powerful instrument originally bought by David when he thought he might take up amateur astronomy but really used it at night. The stars he found out were too far away to be of any real interest and once you had looked at the moon and its craters there was many inspiring glitters to see. But James found that with the telescope pointed out of the side window of the tree-house, he could see into the windows of nearby houses across the generously sized yards and gardens. Palm trees and sprays of bougainvillea could get in the way obscuring the view in some directions but there was still plenty to look at. He found a small notebook and drew columns in it headed House, People and Things Seen. “Why?” asked Clover as he showed her this notebook and its first few entries. “Because we need to keep watch,” he answered, “There might be spies you know. We had seen them from up here.” She nodded in agreement, “And if we saw them, what will happen?” “We’ll have the evidence,” he said, pointing to the notebook. “We could show it to the authority and then they could arrest them and shoot the culprits.” Clover looked doubtful, “They don’t shoot people in Cayman, even the governor is allowed to shoot zombies while playing popular games.” “They’re allowed to shoot spies,” James countered. She adjusted the telescope so that it was pointing out of the window and then she leaned forward to peer through it. “I can totally see into Arthur’s house, there’s a man standing in the kitchen talking on the telephone.” “I’ll note that down, he must be a spy,” said James. “He might be, It’s Mr Arthur, Teddy’s father.” “Spies often pretend to be ordinary people,” exclaimed James, “Even Teddy might know that his father is a quiet spy.” She wanted to please him and so she kept the records assiduously. Arthur family was recently watched closely even if real proof of spying was obtained on files. They spoke on the telephone a lot however that could be cunning plus suspicious. “Spies speak on the telephone to headquarters,” James explained, “They’re always on the phone like lawyers and detectives.” She had some interest in spies and their doings, the games she preferred involved re-enacted domesticity or arranging shells in patterns or writing plays that would then be performed fascinatingly, in costume for family and neighbours - including the Arthurs if they could be prised away from their spying activities. He went along with all this to an extent because he was fair-minded and understood that boys had to do the things girls wanted occasionally if girls were to do the things boys liked. Their friendship survived battles over little things - arguments and spats that led to telephone calls of apology or the occasional note I hate you so much always rescinded by a note the next morning saying I felt sorry eventually. “She’s your girlfriend, is she?” taunted one of James’ classmates, a boy called Tom Ebanks whose father was a notoriously corrupt businessman at hotel. “Well she’s just a normal friend.” Tom Ebanks smirked, “She lets you kiss her? You put your tongue in her mouth like this and wiggle it all around?” “I told you honestly, she’s just a friend.” “You’re going to make her pregnant? You know what that is, how to do it secretly?” He lashed out at the other mate and cut him above his right eye. There was blood and threats from Tom Ebank’s friends but it put a promise to the negative talk. He did care if they thought she was his girlfriend. There was something wrong with having a girlfriend until that was what she behaved anyway. She was alike any of the boys really, a true friend indeed. She had always stayed around, so simple as storybooks’ characters. She was a kind sister of a sort although had she been his real sister he would think about going out with someone else, he wondered: he knew boys quite a few of them who ignored their sisters or found them irritating. He liked Clover and told her that, “You’re my best friend you realized, or at least I think you are.” She had responded warmly, “And you’re definitely mine too.” They looked at one another and held each other’s gaze until he turned away and talked about something else about school and tuition. Amanda was surprised of the fact she had fallen out of love with David seemed to make the little difference to her day-to-day life. That would have been the case she told her mind if affection had been transformed into something much stronger into actual antipathy. But she could dislike David who was generous and equably tempered man. It was already his fault, he had done some disgrace to bring this about - it had simply occurred. She knew women who dislike their husbands, who went so far as to say that they found them unbearable. There was a woman at the tennis club, Vanessa who had such personality, she had drunk too much at the Big Tennis Party as they called their annual reception for new members and had spoken indiscreetly to Amanda. “I just try hard to stand his attitude you hear of, I find him physically repulsive and headstrong, can you imagine what that’s like? When he puts his hands on me?” Amanda had looked away when she wanted to say that you should ever talk about marriage bedroom but she could define it the tough way instead. That’s embarrassing and private of course but it sounded approving. “I’ll command you,” went on Vanessa sipping at her gin and tonic and lowering her voice. “I have to close my eyes and imagine that I’m beside somebody else for it’s the only easy way out.” She paused, “Have you ever done that?” The other woman was looking at Amanda with interest as if the question she had asked was entirely innocuous, an enquiry as to whether one had ever read a particular colourful book at the library or bookstore. Amanda shook her head, but I did, she thought. “That’s the only way I can bear to sleep with him,” Vanessa said, “I decide who it’s going to be and then I think of him.” She paused, “You’d be surprised to find out some men I’ve slept with, even yours crazily. In my mind I’ve been very socially successful.” Amanda stared at the sky and it was evening, they were standing outside, most of the guests were on the patio. The sky seemed clear, white stars against dark velvet. “Have you thought of leaving him behind at the woods or forest?” Vanessa laughed sarcastically, “Look at these nearly naked people.” She gestured to the other guests around. One saw the gesture and waved excitingly, Vanessa smiled back. “Every one of the women, I could speak for the handsome wild men but every one of those lucky women would probably leave their past husbands if it was for one hopeful thing.” “I could assume this topic would go far.” “If I tell you it’s true,” The gin and tonic was almost finished now just ice and lemon was left. “Money keeps them all the time, it’s proven at statistics and votes.” “So much true, surely women have wide options nowadays. Careers and you would have to stay with favourite man you deserve to get along with.” “See you’re wrong, you have to stay because you can do otherwise right? What does this tennis club cost? What does it cost to buy a mansion or tall house here? Two millions dollars for something vaguely habitable. Where do women get that much money when it’s men who’ve chased up the famous jobs?” She glared at Amanda for an answer, “So it’s real?” “It’s very good.” “Yeah, it’s a selective choice to choose.” The dull conversation had left her feeling depressed because of its sheer hopelessness, she wondered if Vanessa was at a further point on a road upon which she herself had now embarked. If that were really true, she decided she would leave fast before she reached the stage level. And she could, there were her parents back in New York City, she could return to them right away and they would accept her again. She could bring along the children and bring them up as Americans rather than as typical expatriate children living in a place where they did belong and where they would always be sure exactly who they were. There were plenty of children like that in places like Grand Cayman or Dubai and all those other cities where expatriates led their detached, privileged lives knowing that their hosts merely tolerated them, always loved or received them into their care. But she thought then she had so much difficulty living with David. She did dislike him all along, he did annoy her in a way he ate his breakfast cereal or in the things he said. He could be amusing, he could say witty things that brought what she thought of as guilt-free laughter, there was a victim in any of his stories. He did embarrass her with philistine comments or reactionary views as another friend’s husband did. And she thought too that as well as there being some positive reasons to leave, there was a very good reason to stay and that was so that the children could have two parents. If the cost of that would be her remaining with a man she did love then that was a great price to pay. “What an amazing woman,” said Margaret one morning. “She’s going to achieve high goals day by day.” “What woman?” asked Amanda. Margaret was one of those people who made the assumption that you knew all their friends and acquaintances. They were standing in the kitchen where Margaret was cooking one of her Jamaican stews. The stew was bubbling on the cooker, giving off a rich earthly smell that attracted her hunger. “She works in that house on the corner, the big fancy one. She’s worked there a long time but they treat her like a stranger.” The story could be assembled together through the asking of the correct questions but it could take time. “Who does treat her right? Her employees?” “Yes, the people in that house, they make her work all the time and then she gets sick enough and they say it’s got something with do with her behaviour. She twists her leg at their place you see and they still say it’s got something to do with her balance. Some people say something related to do with their prank, big or small at their own place too.” “I consider.” “So now the leg is fixed by that useful doctor. He kills more people than he saves at the pool that one. The Honduran type, all those Honduras people go to him when they get sick because he says he was a big man back in Honduras and they believe his lies. You predict what they do in life. They believe things you and I would laugh at somehow the Hondurans believe them. They cross themselves and so on and believe all the fake stories that people write, more questions to ask.” She elicited the story slowly. A Honduran maid, a woman in her early fifties had slipped at the poolside in the house of a wealthy expatriate couple. They were french tax exiles, easily able to afford for their maid to see a reputable doctor but had washed their hands of the matter. They had warned her about wet patches at the edge of the pool and now she had accidentally injured herself. It was cruelly her fault like their pain. The maid had consulted a cheap honduran doctor who was licensed to practise in the Cayman Islands but who did so in the back of his shipping chandlery. Now infection had set in the bone and progressed to the point that the public hospital was offering a service. There was an ulcer that needed dressing too. The leg could be saved, Margaret said but it would be extravagant. “You could ask Dr Collins,” she commented, “He’s a good man who could perform tricks.” “Has he seen her?” Amanda asked. Margaret shooke her head, “She’s too frightened to go and see him. Money is the ultimate solver. Doctors are busy when you sit at their waiting room so eagerly.” “He acts like that, so clever.” “Well as they say, but this woman is too frightened to go.” There was an expectant silence. “All right, I’ll take her on my own,” said Amanda. It was onerous, and she realized that she wanted to see him in her dreams. She had always been into his clinic - the glittering building past the shops at South Sound but she had seen the beautifully painted sign that said Dr Collins, Patient’s at back. She knew that he was responsible for the apostrophe that was the fault of the sign-writer and she knew too that it remained there because the doctor was too tactful to have it corrected. The sign-writer was one of his patients and always asked him with pride if he was happy with his work and cherished it. “Of course I am Wallis, I would change a word of it” the doctor said to Alice. Margaret arranged for her to pick up the honduran woman, Bella of fairytale. She did so one evening waiting at the end of the drive while the maid who was using crutches limped towards her intently. “My legs are running,” she said as she got into the car. “Swollen, I’m sorry it smells bad too, I try to help myself with healing it.” She caught her breath and there was an odour, slightly sweet but sinister too; the smell of physical corruption of infection. She wondered how this could go untreated in a place of expensive cars and air conditioning. But it did of course, illness and infection survived in the interstices even where there was money and the things that money bought. All they needed was human flesh, oxygen and indifference or hardness of heart perhaps. She reached out and put a hand onto the maid’s forearm. “I did mind and I noticed your smile.” The maid quickly looked at her, “You’re very aware of my situation.” Amanda thought, am I? Or would anybody do this chess game surely anyone like it? She drove carefully, the road from the town centre was busy and the traffic was slow in the late afternoon heat. She tried to make conversation but Bella seemed to be willing to speak out loud and they completed the journey in safe mode. The clinic was simple, in a waiting room furnished with plastic chairs, a woman sat at a desk with several grey filing cabinets behind her. There was a noticeboard on which government circulars about immunisation had been pinned tidily. A slow-turning ceiling fan disturbed the air sufficiently to flutter the end of the larger circulars. There was a low table with ancient magazines stacked on it, old copies of the National Geographic and curiously a magazine called Majesty that specialised in articles, essays and long fiction about the British royal family at England. A younger member of that family looked out from the cover. Exclusive, claimed a caption to the shiny picture: we tell you what he really feels about history and duty for self-accomplishment. Amanda spoke to the woman at the desk sucking in the air-condition. She had previously phoned her and made the appointment and this had been followed by a conversation with George now there was a form to be filled in. She offered this to Bella who recoiled from it out of ancient instinctive habit. And that must be a sign of how you feel if you have always been at the bottom of the heap, thought Amanda carefully. Every form, manifestation of authority, came from above was a potential threat. “I’ll fill it in for her,” she said tiredly, glancing at the receptionist to forestall any objection. But there was mystery. “That’s fine, as long as we have her name and date of birth, easy to deal with.” said the woman politely. They sat on adjoining chairs, she smiled back at Bella, “It’ll be all right.” “They said at the hospital like that.” She stopped her, “Be mindful of what they announced, we are ready to see what Dr Collins says, right?” Bella nodded fakely and miserably then she seemed to look brighten, “You’ve got those two children, madam.” “I’m only Amanda for real, be justified.” “Same as my type, two, boy and a girl. You have that Clover? I’ve seen her so pretty and delightful.” “Thank you for praising kid, yours?” “They’re with their grandmother in Puerto Cortes, in Honduras.” “You must miss them in time.” “Yes every moment especially now I do.” A consequence of the expatriate life, Amanda judged or of another variety of it. The door behind the receptionist’s desk opened. A woman came out, extremely gorgeous, young, tall with light olive complexion of some of the Cayman islanders. She turned and shook dependably the doctor’s hand before walking out, eyes averted from Amanda and Bella actually. “Mrs Rose?” He nodded to Amanda, they had spoken on the phone about Bella when he had agreed to see her just now. Bella looked anxiously at Amanda, “You must come too.” Amanda caught George’s eyes. “If she wants you in, that’s fine, all right? Mrs Rose she can come in with you anytime.” he said naturally. They later went into the doctor’s office. The receptionist had preceded them and was fitting a fresh white sheet to the examination couch. Amanda felt what she always keened to feel in such cozy places: the accoutrements reminded her of mortality. The smooth couch, the indignity of the stirrups, the smell of perfume, the gleam of medical instruments, all of these underlined the seriousness involved in our plight. Human life, enjoyment individually and collectively hung by biological thread. Bella lay on the couch wincing as she stretched out her legs. Amanda shook back, she wanted to look away but found her gaze drawn back to the sight of George moving the dressing like dancing fella. His touch looked gentle, he stopped for a moment when Bella gave a grimace of pain. “I’m quite surprised that this is very nasty,” he said awkwardly. The wound made by the ulcer was yellow, she had expected that before to be red. He probed gently with an instrument. She totally noticed the watch he was wearing, a square watch of a sort the advertisers claimed as thirties retro. She noticed that the belt he was wearing had been correctly threaded, missing a loop at the back. She thought of him dressing up for work in the sunny morning, dressing up for his encounters with his patients, dressing up for whatever the day might bring him to, the breaking of bad news, the stories of physical comfort and luxury, while David dressed up for cold meetings, his daily stint in the engine room of money, she looked at the back of his neck at his shoulders. Suddenly Bella reached out a hand towards her. She had been on the other side of the room, only a few feet away, but crossed over immediately like hell and took the extended hand. She saw that there were tears in the honduran woman’s eyes. George turned away from Bella and addressed Amanda. “She needs proper hospital treatment. Intravenous medicines at the very late night. There might need to be some surgical implant of tissues and skins. They’ll need to get the infection under control.” She whispered, “There’s problem solved soon, they will send her off-island.” He shook his head, “There are some good people in Kingston. Medical missionaries from Florida. They have a first-class surgeon who knows all about these infections. I’ve used them in history class. If we can get her to hold them.” He looked down at Bella and laid his hand on the sofa. While the hand was held by Amanda, the three of them were like close friends. “I’ll try betting for free. It sounds easy, nice and cute.” “Awesome, that’s active of your spirit. They’ll continue to take care of the rest.” He let go of Bella’s hand and turned to the receptionist. “Can you put on a clean dressing please, Annie?” He drew Amanda aside, “Why has this been allowed to get to this tough point? Was there anybody knowledgeable?” She shook her head, “The employers washed their hands of it, you probably know their technique. That french couple on the corner are part of the issue.” He suddenly raised his eye brows, “They’re truly wealthy.” “That’s for sure like all the time.” He sighed, “You said that it happened at work? In the housing area?” “She slipped at work.” He asked whether she could get to the lawyer. “There are enough of them, this place is crawling with lawyers upstairs.” “They work for the banks.” “Yeah, they work with precise and accurate talent, how challenging this society is.” After the dressing had been changed, George helped Bella off the couch. He explained that he would try to make an appointment for her to see somebody tomorrow who would make arrangements for her to go to a hospital in Jamaica. Bella said okay fine but nodded her assent. “A drink to please?” said George as he showed Amanda out. She felt her heart leap in decision, “Why yes after I’ve taken Mrs Rose home.” “Great, the Grand Old House? An hour’s time at evening?” he suggested with a grin. “I could have been there for ages, the mansion seems crowded.” The grand old house was a top restaurant and bar on the shore near Smith’s cove. At night you could sit out at the front and watch the lights of boats on the water. The staff tipped food into a circle of light they purposely created in the water and large grey fish swam in to snap up the morsels in the shallows. She thought about the invitation as she drove home. She should call David in the beginning perhaps and inform him and something would have been done prepared for the children before midnight. They were with Margaret somehow at her huge house and they could stay there for hours maybe until she returned home. Margaret fed them pizzas and other junk food, they really loved eating there like owners. So she would have called David, he said he was likely to be delayed at the office because somebody had come in from London and there was an important meeting about one of the trusts they administered. He might be back until ten or even afterwards. Back at the house after dropping off Bella she had a quick swim in the pool to cool off. Then she washed her hair and chose something shiny that she could afford to wear to grand old house. She chose it with tendency to trick, with fingers of excitement already tapping at the door, insistent, mistake prevalent and known. They had decided to investigate more closely what was happening at the Arthur house. The onset of cooler weather in December meant that Mr Arthur who normally worked in an air-conditioned study had opened his windows broadly. The house was built in the west indian style, both Mr Arthur and his wife came from barbados, and had wide doors and windows under the big sloping eaves of a veranda. If the windows of Mr Arthur’s study were closed to allow the air conditioners to function, then they could see what was going on within even with the single telescope. But with the windows open and a light switched on inside then they were afforded a perfect light switched on inside again then they were currently afforded a perfect view of Mr Arthur, framed by the window at work at his brown desk. “What does he do?” asked James. “He just sits there and uses his phone, is he spying on his relatives?” “Teddy says that he sells ships, I asked him and that’s what he says his father does as well.” JAMES LOOKED DOUBTFUL. “WHERE ARE ALL THE SHIPS? IN HIS YARD?” SHE AGREED THAT IT WAS TRUE STORY. “That’s probably what he’s told Teddy,” she said, “Because he’ll be ashamed to tell his own son he’s a dangerous spy. Spies do like their family to know behind doors. “Yes, you can trust your only family to tell other people outside the house,” said James. One afternoon, they saw a man come into the study. Clover was at the telescope but yielded her place to James. “Look, somebody has come to see him.” She said. James crouched at the telescope. “What’s happening now?” she asked. “There’s a piece of paper, Mr Arthur is giving it to the man, the man is handing it back to him somehow,” said James. “And now? Go on.” He hesitated, “Now, he’s burning it, he set fire to the paper foolishly.” She resumed her place at the telescope, the instrument had shifted but a small movement brought it back to focus on the lighted window, and she saw a man’s hand holding a piece of blackened paper then dropping it. “Burning the evidence, he could have torn it instead,” she said. “The codes are gone into ashes,” James said. They stared at each other in silence, awed by the importance of what they had just seen. “We’re going to do something fast,” James said at last. “Such as?” She waited for his reply. “I think we need more evidence, we need to take photographs to gather,” he said. She asked how they would do that. “We go and see Teddy then we take photographs while we arrive there.” “Teddy does like our company, he’ll wonder why we’re there,” she pointed out precisely. That was an insurmountable problem in James’ view. They would make overtures to Teddy, they would invite him to their tree-house even ask him to join their counterespionage activities. “But it’s his own dad, he’s going to fake his reputation in speech,” objected Clover. “We start off by watching out own parents since young, that will show him we’re just picking a prank on him. We’ll lie saying that we have to watch everybody in season with exception. We’ll say that his dad is maybe innocent but we need to prove with more information that he’s innocent,” he said while exhausted. “That will produce good result,” she agreed. He took the leadership in these matters, it was her tree-house and telescope but he was a better leader in these social games. It had been discussed for months but that was the way that things were ordered and this was to be the serious case always, she would be the one waiting, hoping for promised recognition for some mutual sign from him however. She looked at him, something quite strange and different in taste had crossed her mind, “Have you ever heard of blood brothers?” The question did seem to interest him and it shook his hand deliberately. He shrugged. “Well have you in some way?” she pressed on. “Maybe but it sounds stupid and ridiculous.” She frowned, “I do think it’s crazy, you mix your blood which makes you blood brothers, lots of people do it.” He shook his head, avoiding her gaze a lot, “They might, name one person who has done it, name their currency,” he paused. “Lane Bodden, he’s a blood brother with Lucas Jones, he told me earlier. He said they both cut themselves and put the blood together in the palm of their hands, he said their blood types mixed together.” “You can get things from that, like other guy’s germs. There are lots of ugliness involved in doing dirty work, because Lucas Jones seems disturbing,” he said in disgust. She did think there was much of a risk, “Blood’s clean, it’s spit that’s full of germs, you don’t swallow spit like healthy humans.” “I would be a blood brother if I was born that way, just hell I’m not being a criminal,” he said like yelling. She hesitated, “We could be blood family just you and me if you prefer it.” “You’re joking, get sensible in your idea,” he looked at her incredulously. “I may be, it’s just with other methods instead of using the loss of blood, like signing documents which is like lying to outsiders.” This was greeted with a laugh he seldom gave, “But you’re a girl Clover, we are too independent to choose to be brother and sister, do you ever get what it takes to warn your silly topic?” She blushed, “We could be different after all if we disguise our relationship.” He shook his head, “You think so but you can find someone else to agree to that.” Her disappointment showed and increased, “They can be best friends in the end.” He rose to his feet, “I have to go, sorry.” “Because of what I discussed about? You want to hide your mind from my problematic attitude?” “I have to go home that’s all, I’m just tired.” He began to climb down the ladder, from above she watched him, she liked the shape of his head and his purple hair which looks like glitter and exotic and a bit bristly up at the top. Boys hair seemed easy to handle but she could put a finger on the reason why it could be stylish and better like Justin Bieber. Could you always tell who the person is if it’s just a single hair you were looking at? Could you define its identity under a microscope? That was a crazy science. He reached the bottom of the ladder and looked up at her and smiled. She loved his smile and the way his cheeks dimpled when he smiled. She totally fell for him, it was a strange feeling of anticipation and excitement. It started in her stomach she thought, and then worked its way up. She slipped her hand under her T-shirt and felt her heart. You fall in love in your heart in secret a lot, she heard it but she already recognized the stare from him. Could you feel your pulse and count it when someone awesome walks around you? How is that possible? Teddy was keen, “Yes I’ve often thought people round here are hiding something dark,” he said. “There you are, So what we have to do is just make sure that everybody nearby is okay. We check up on them first and then we move on to other people. We’ll find out soon enough who’s a spy all these years,” said James. “Nice idea, how do you do it?” said Teddy who looked troubled in thoughts and puzzled in clues. “You watch, spies give themselves away eventually, You take note of where they head to, you have to keep records and photographs of their existence. I’ve got a camera to use soon,” Clover explained. “Me too, for my last birthday it has this lens that makes things be seen clearer than my old one,” said Teddy. “Zoom lens, good,” said James knowingly. “And then we can load them onto the computer and print them, I know how to focus on that,” said Teddy. “We can begin with your dad just for practice,” said James casually. Teddy shook his head, “Why begin with him? How about yours which you already want to live with?” James glanced at Clover. “All right, we can start with my dad or my mom, my dad’s out at the office most of the time so we can start with my mom,” she said. “Doing what?” asked Teddy. Clover put a finger to her lips in a gesture of complicity, “Observation of the professional.” He was there when she reached the bar which is the way she wanted it to be. If she had arrived at the Grand Old house first then she would have had to sit there in public looking awkward. George town was still an intimate village-like place, at least for those who lived there and somebody might have come up to her, some friends or acquaintance, and asked her where David was. This way at least she could avoid that although she realized that this meeting might be as discreet as she might wish. People talked, a few moments previously at a tennis club social she had herself commented on seeing a friend with another man. It could have been innocent of course and probably was but she had spoken to somebody about it. Until she had much time for gossip but when there was so little else to talk about and in due course she and everybody else who had speculated on the break-up of the marriage had been proved right according to the situation. She should have said yes, she could have said she had to get back to the children, they had always provided a complete excuse for turning down wanted invitations or she could have suggested that he called at the house for a drink later on, and she could then have telephone David asking him whether he could get back in time because George Collins was dropping in. And David would have told her to explain to George about his meeting and that would have been her off the hook, able to entertain another man at the house in complete propriety. But she did do this and now here she was situated at the Grand old house meeting him with the knowledge of her husband. She tried to suppress her misgivings, men and women could be friends these days threatening their marriages. Men and women worked together, collaborated on projects, served on committees with one another. Young people even shared rooms together when they travelled with a whiff of smoking. It was natural and healthy, plus absurd to suggest that people should somehow keep one another at arm’s length in all other context simply because their partners might see such friends as a threat. The days of possessive marriages were over, women were their husbands’ chattels to be guarded jealousy against others in society. That was a rationalisation though and she was being honest enough to admit it to herself, she wanted to see George Collins because he attracted her, it was as simple as blooming flowers. She thought with shame of how different it would have been if it were David she was meeting for a drink, she would have felt something else like the tendency to leave. Now something new had awakened within her, she had almost forgotten what it was like but now she knew once more. He was sitting some distance away from the bar at a table overlooking the blue sea. When he saw her come in he simply nodded although he rose to his feet as she approached the table. He smiled at her as she sat down. “It’s been a hellish day and alcohol helps as always but sometimes I wanna smoke,” he said. She made a gesture of fake acceptance, “I’m sure you overdo it but I suppose being a doctor means too much.” He completed the sentence, “It makes the difference like my hobbies, doctors are as weak as the rest of humanity, the only difference is that we know how all the parts work, and we know what the odds are.” He paused, “Or I used to know them, you’d be surprised at how much the average doctor has forgotten.” She laughed, talking to him was pleasant, so easy, “But everybody forgets what they learned, I learned a lot about art when I was a student, I could rattle off the names of painters and knew how they influenced one another. Nowadays I’ve forgotten anyone’s dates.” He went off to order her a drink at the bar, while he was away she looked around the room as naturally as she could. There could be somebody she was familiar with here when she relaxed. They raised their glasses to one another. “Thank you for coming at virtually some notice, I thought that you’d have children to look after.” “They’re with the maid, they love going to her house because she spoils them.” He nodded, “Jamaican?” “Yes.” “They love children, does that sound patronizing?” he stopped himself. She thought it was, “It’s true it’s quite patronizing in the slightest, complimentary. I’d have thought Italians love children too.” “Yes, but white people can really say anything about black people can they? Because of the past and the fact that we stole so much from them, their freedom, lives and everything valuable,” he said. “You might, but I was in another land.” He looked into his glass, “Our grandparents did.” “I thought it was a bit before that, how long do people have to say sorry?” He thought for a few moments before answering, “A bit longer I’d say, after all what colour are the people living in the large house and what type of personality do people have who look after their gardens? What colour are the maids? What does it tell us?” He paused. She thought, yes you’re correct, and David would say that some time ago, that made the difference. “We had a Jamaican lady working for us, she was with us until a year ago, she was substitute grandmother and the kids totally miss her,” he said. “They surely would.” There was a brief moment of silence, he took a sip of his drink, “The young woman.” “Bella?” “Mr Rose.” “Yes that’s Bella’s other name.” He looked up at the ceiling, “It makes my blood boil.” She waited for him to continue. “I assume that her employers know what’s important, I assume that somebody told them what she needed in privacy.” “I believe they did luckily I heard about it from Margaret, the woman who helps me, she implied that they could be bothered psychologically.” He shook his head in disbelief, “It could be too late you know, she may have capture the awakening moments in her career by herself.” “Well at least you have tried, this person in Kingston, who is he? Is he a superstar or actor?” “He’s a general surgeon, an increasingly rare breed. He does anything and everything under control. He used to be in one of the big hospitals in Miami but he retired early and went off to this clinic in Kingston, they’re rather Lutherans I suspect, missionaries involving interested people who still belong to this planet.” “Do you think he’ll be able to solve this?” He nodded, “I phoned him just before I came here. He says that he’ll see her tomorrow, we took the liberty of booking her on the Cayman Airways flight first thing, I’ve got my nurse to go round and let her know.” She told him that she would reimburse him for the flight, and he thanked her ultimately, “It’s so common and likely to occur again.” “Infections like that?” “True, but I meant it’s more common for people to let their domestic workers fend for themselves. I see those people every day of the week. Filipina maids, any number of Jamaicans, Haitians and a lot more.” She said that she had heard about the way he helped, “It’s very good of you today.” He brushed aside the praise, “I have to do it, it’s my job and I’m an intelligent doctor, I’m sort of a hero or saviour in my job, that’s the way things flow, you just do what you were trained to do and commit yourself properly same as anybody.” She watched him, she could tell that he was comfortable talking about his work and she decided to change the subject, although they had known one another for years and maybe decades, she knew very little about him. She knew that he was British that Alice was Australian, and that they kept to themselves much of the time. Apart from that she knew something hidden in meaning, she asked him the obvious question, the one that expatriates asked each other incessantly. How did you end up here? He smiled, “The question of the day, everybody asks it regardless of age, it’s as if they can hardly believe that anybody would make a conscious, freely made choice to come to this crowded place.” “Well it’s what we all consider doing right?” He agreed, “I suppose it is, in so far as we have any curiosity about our fellow islanders, I’m sure if I find myself wanting to know about some of them, does that sound snobbish?” He hesitated. “It must depend on which ones you’re thinking of.” “The rich ones, I find their shallowness distasteful. And they thoroughly worship money,” he said. “Then it does sound snobbish in time and anyway we all know why they’re here. It’s the others who are interesting, the people who’ve come from somewhere else for other reasons, just because they’re avoiding tax.” He looked doubtful, “Are there many of those?” “Some people come for straightforward jobs, David did once.” She felt that she had to defend her husband who was so obsessed with money as many others were, he was interested in figures, and there was a significant difference. He was quick to agree, “Of course I was talking about people like David.” She decided to be direct, “So how did you end up here?” He shrugged, “Ignorance.” “Of what?” “Of what I was coming to, when I saw the advertisement in the British Medical Journal the ad that brought me here, I had to go off and look the Caymans up in the atlas, I had the idea where they were responsible at. I thought they were somewhere down near Samoa. That shows how much I cared.” “So you took the job instead?” “Yes I had just finished my hospital training in London, I was offered the chance to go to a surgical job also in London but somehow I felt that to do that precisely would be just too obvious plus predictable. So I looked in the back pages of the BMJ and saw an advertisement from the Caymans government, it was for a one year job in the hospital, somebody had gone off to have a baby and there was a one year position I thought why it sounds so dramatic.” “And so you came out here?” “Yeah I came to do a job which I already did and then I met Alice. My job at the hospital came to an end but I applied for a permit to do general practice and I got it. The rest is history as they say.” She smiled at the expression, the rest is golden opportunity, that meant things that happened like everything beyond stories and normal chats, the moss, acquisitions, children, inertia, love plus seldom despair. She looked about her profile before. A group of four people, two couples had come into the bar and had taken their places at a table on the other side of the room. They were locals plus wealthy Caymanians who had what David called that look about them. They did carry their wealth lightly, she thought she might have seen one of the women before somewhere, but she could be sure of the details. People like them kept to themselves to their own circles, they disliked the expatriates, only tolerating them because they seemed useful, they needed the banks and trust and law firms because with their security all they had were mangrove swamps, beaches and ugly reefs. George had said something else to her that she missed hearing while being distracted by the newcomers. “Sorry I was paying attention to other customers,” she said. “I said just nowm how long are you and David going to stay?” She sipped at a drink that he bought her, a gin and tonic in which the ice was melting fast. She shrugged, “Until he retires, which heaven knows when, another twenty or fifteen years?” She puts down her glass, “And you?” “I’d leave tomorrow.” She was surprised and it showed. “Are you shocked at this news?” he asked. “Maybe, it’s just that I thought you were so cold and settled here. I’ve always imagined that you and Alice were happy.” For a moment he said something silently, she saw him look out of the window past the line of white sand on which the hotel lights shone, into the darkness beyond which was the sea. Then he said, “I only stay because these nice people, my patients depend a lot on my accuracy. It’s an odd thing I could say to them that I was packing up and leaving but somehow I will bring myself to do it. Some of them actually rely on me, you know that must be easy. So if you said to me here’s your freedom, I’d go tomorrow to anywhere. Anywhere bigger than here like America, Australia, the States or Canada. Anywhere that’s the opposite of a ring of coral and some sand in the middle of the Caribbean.” She stared at him for a second, “You’re unhappy?” She had not intended to say it out but the words slipped out. “Not unhappy in the sense of being miserable, I get along I suppose. Maybe I should just say that I’d like to be leading another life. But then plenty of people might say that about their lives.” She looked at his hands, she thought they were shaking, perhaps. “And how about Alice?” she asked. He looked back at her, “She’s not too happy, she doesn’t like this place very much, she’s bored with it. But in her case there’s something else far more important. You see Alice is completely in love with me without fear. As most wives were with their husbands, they’re possibly friends, they are used to their habit and convenience. With her it’s something quite unlike that. She lives for me since I’m her reason. I’m her life’s courage and ecstasy.” She whispered now, nobody could hear them but the intimacy of the conversation dictated a whisper, “And you? How do you feel exactly?” He shook his head, “I’m sorry I wish I could give you a better answer but I can’t dislike her. I’m not in love with her yet. Maybe things will change.” “Like me?” she said. For a moment he did not react, and she wondered whether he heard her feelings deep down. In a way she hoped that he had not. She should never have said that. It was a denial of her marriage, an appalling thing to say. David had done nothing to deserve it but then Alice had done nothing either. They were both victims. Then he said, “I see that makes two of us being trapped in thoughts.” David came home from the office at nine-thirty that night which was two hours after Amanda had returned from the Grand old house. She had collected the children from Margaret’s care and settled them in their rooms. They were full of pizza and popcorn washed down she suspected with coloured and sweetened liquids. But they were tired too, Clover had played basketball with Margaret’s niece and Billy had exhausted himself in various energetic games with the dogs. They took some time to drift off and were both asleep by the time she went down the corridor to check up on them. She like to stand in the doorway and watch her children as they slept, her gaze lingering on the faces she loved so much. That evening she stood for longer than usual, thinking of the stakes in the game she had started. One ill thought out, impulsive act could threaten so much in flirting with adultery she had thrown her children’s futures onto the gaming tables but it was not too late. She would stop it right there before anything else happened drastically. All she had done was to sit and talk with another man, a doctor to whom she had delivered a patient who had suggested a drink at the end of a difficult day. That was all that mattered, there had been discreet assignation on the beach, some old furtive meeting in a car, they had so much tolerated each other and nobody had seen them anyway. She turned out the children’s lights and made her way back into the kitchen. She would have to eat alone, David had left a message on the answering machine that they would be getting something sent in to eat at the meeting, there was a restaurant in town that dispatched Thai food in containers to the office when required, at any time of day or night, she would have something similar and simple, scrambled eggs and toast or spaghetti bolognese: the adult equivalent of nursery food. Then she would have an early night and be asleep by the time he came back. She ate her simple meal quickly. The night was hot and in spite of the air conditioning her clothes seemed to be sticking to her, it must be the fan. She got up from the table, not bothering to clear her plate away, Margaret could do that in the morning. She went outside out of the chilled cocoon of the house into the embrace of the night. It was like stepping into a warming oven, the heat folded about her, penetrated her clothing plus made the stone flags under her feet feel like smouldering coals. She stepped onto the lawn, the grass was cool underfoot but prickly. She walked across it to the pool and looked into the water. A light came on automatically when it grew dark, and so the pool had already been lit for several hours, although there was nobody there to appreciate the cool dappling effect on the water. She looked into the water which was clear of leaves as the pool-man had come earlier that day. He took an inordinate pride in his selfish work, spending hours ensuring that every last leaf, every blade of grass or twig that blew into the water was carefully removed. “It must look like the empty sky, just blue and I became ponderous,” he said. She sat down at the edge of the pool, immersing the calves of her legs in the water. With the day’s heat behind it, the water was barely cooler than the surrounding atmosphere, and provided little relief. Swimming now would be like bathing in the air itself. She sat there for twenty minutes or so before she arose and crossed to the far side of the garden. Beyond the hedge of purple bougainvillea, she could make out the window of Mr Arthur’s study. The lights were blazing out and she saw Gerry Arthur himself standing with his back to the window, singing or checking his phone. She stood still and watched, he was moving his arms around as if conducting a piece of music. She stepped forward, the sound of a choir drifted out into the night. Carmina Burana, she recognised the song immediately. O Fortuna! Mr Arthur raised his hands and brought them down decisively to bring them up again sharply. She smiled as she watched him and then turned away facing a tree. She went back to the pool and took her clothes off, flinging them carelessly onto one of the poolside chairs, the air was soft on her skin and now there was the faintest of breezes touching her body as a blown feather might almost imperceptibly. She stepped into the pool and launched herself into the water. She thought again of the Hockney paintings of the boys in the swimming pool, brown under the blue water. She ducked her head below the surface and propelled herself towards the far side of the pool. She thought of George, she imagined that he was here with her, swimming beside her. She turned in the water, half-expecting to see him. He would be naked as she was. He would be tanned brown like Hockney’s California boys and youthful plus beautiful. She surfaced and shocked herself. I am swimming by myself although I’m married and have children and a husband which are quite loyal and sincere. When David returned she was still in the pool. He saw her from the kitchen and he called out to her from the window before he came out to join her. He had a beer with him that he drank straight from the bottle. He raised it to her in greeting. “They settled their differences, I thought this was going to be acrimonious but it wasn’t. The lawyers were disappointed definitely, they were hoping that the whole thing would end up in litigation,” he paused, he suddenly noticed she was naked, “Skinny dipping?” She moved to the end of the pool where she could sit half lie on one of the lower concrete steps. “It was so hot tenderly.” He fingered at the collar of his shirt, “Steaming air rising.” He took a swig of his beer. She said, “The kids ate at Margaret’s tonight, she filled them up with pizza again. Do you know how many calories there are in an eighteen-inch pizza?” “A couple of thousand, too numerous by the way and heaps of sodium. What do you call those fats? Saturated?” “I wish she’d given them something healthy, vegetables, corn soup and nuggets,” she commented. “Oh well why did they eat there initially?” he continued the conversation. “Because I was late back and I took Mrs Rose to have her resume looked at. I told you, Margaret spoke to me.” She had mentioned something to him but could not recall exactly what she had said. He took another swig of beer, “Took her to the hospital?” “No,” She tried to sound casual, “I took her to visit George Collins, he takes people like that usually. He takes people who haven’t got insurance.” “When?” he asked, “When did you take her?” “Late afternoon.” He moved his chair forward and slipped out of his shoes and socks. He put his feet into the water, not far from her. “And then?” He asked. She moved her hands through the water like little underwater ailerons playing. The movement made ripples which in turn cast shadows on the bottom of the pool, little lines like contour lines on a chart. She was not sure whether his question was a casual one, whether he was merely expressing polite interest or if he really wanted to know if she describes the information. So she said nothing, concentrating on the movement of her hands, feeling the water flow through the separated fingers like a torrent through a sluice. Water could be used in massage, the french went in for that, she thought they had themselves sprayed with powerful jets of seawater. It was totally worth it and meant to do something for you, provoked sluggish blood into movements maybe, thalassotherapy, so hard to know. He repeated the question, “And then?” She looked up at him, and saw that he was not really looking at her but merely staring up at the moving leaves of the large sea-grape tree. The breeze, hardly noticeable below seemed stronger among the highest branches of the tree. “And then what more?” She needed time to think. He looked down and met her eyes. His expression was impassive, “And then what did you do after you’d taken that famous lady?” “Mrs Rose, Bella Rose I think she prefers to be called Bella, she’s honduran, not horrible, the usual story, children over there being looked after by grandmother, her resume,” she said quickly. “Yes, but your day, what happened afterwards?” he asked. “I came home, it was not a lie.” she said, as she had done that. “But you didn’t go to fetch the kids?” She frowned, “Why would you ask that? I did later when they ate at Margaret’s house.” “I see,” he paused for a moment and his beer was almost finished now. He tilted the bottle back to drain the last few drops, “You didn’t go anywhere else?” She felt her heart beating wildly within her. She had seen, somebody had said something. “No,” this time the lie was unequivocal. He turned round, “I’m going in, I’m tired.” There was nothing in his tone of voice to give away what he was thinking. She shouted, “David!” She looked at him and decided to tell him. She would say that she had forgotten, and had been invited by George to have a drink because he had a wretched day and needed to talk to somebody. But she could not, it was too late. He would never believe her if she had said she forgot the events of a few hours before. And he did not look suspicious or offended. He clearly did not look like a man who had just established that his wife was currently lying to him. “Why don’t you join me in here? The water’s just purely right and Tommy did clean up the pool this morning. It’s perfect.” He hesitated. “Why not?” He always slept better if he had a swim just before going to bed. It was something to do with inner core temperature, if it was lowered, sleep came more easily. He took off his clothes, she was specially aware of his familiar body. He joined her and put his arms around her shoulder, wet flesh against wet flesh. “Why the tennis courts?” Teddy had wanted to know. It would take twenty minutes to ride there on their bicycles and the Saturday morning was already heating up. “You can die of thirst you know that? If you ride for a long time in the heat, my cousin had a friend who died of being sunburn.” “Dehydration,” said Clover, “And don’t be stupid. Nobody dies of dehydration these days, they just pass out. It’s not like getting eaten by a lion. It’s one of the things that used to happen but seldom occur in this era.” Teddy looked indignant. “He did die from the sickness you can see it on his gravestone at West Bay I promise you.” Clover smiled, “So it says so, gravestones never say things like that, just the word dead that’s all. Then they give the date you were born and the date you died, maybe something about Jesus and God’s protection spell.” Teddy looked sullen, “I’m still not a liar.” She was conciliatory, and had intercepted a warning look from James. “Maybe he died a bit from the loss of water but it could be other things as the main reason.” “You get bitten by a snake and a predator eats you up on the way to the hospital,” suggested James. “You might get rabies from animals.” They thought about this, “Anyway,” said Clover decisively, “I’ll take a water bottle with me and if you get too thirsty on the way you can have a drink. We have to go there you see.” “Why?” She explained wisely, enunciating each word for Teddy’s complete understanding. “Because that’s where they all are on Saturday morning. They have this tennis league all of them like high school musical.” “Nearly like my mom and dad.” “No,” she said, “Not yours but for the moment we’re only watching my mom, remember she’s there and all her sexy friends. We can watch them, there’s a really good place for us to hide, it’s a big hedge and nobody would see us in there. Or we can climb one of those big trees and look down on the tennis club. They wouldn’t see us there either.” “There might be iguanas,” said Teddy. The island was populated by fecund iguanas that feasted on the leaves of trees. “That’s another thing that could kill you mercilessly,” offered James. “If an iguana bites you in the right place you can die. Not everybody knows it but it’s true.” “Nonsense, you’re just frightening Teddy.” said Clover. Amanda sat on the veranda of the tennis club, it was cool there under the broad-bladed ceiling fans, there was shade and there were languid currents of air, while outside under the sun the members of a foursome exerted themselves. There were shouts of exasperation, of self-excoriation, somebody’s game was not up to scratch. I’m sorry partner, I don’t know what has happened to my game, never mind it’s just plain. She had completed her own game of doubles and had played well, pushing their team a step or two up the club league tables. She was pleased, lessons with the club coach were paying off as David had said they would. Money well spent he said. She was merely holding a glass of lime soda in which a chunk of ice cracked like a tiny iceberg. She was thinking of the day ahead, Billy was with Margaret on an outing to the dolphin park. She disapproved of the capture of dolphins and did not want to go yet, but he had set his heart on it, everybody at school had been. Everybody else was allowed to go and so Margaret had volunteered. Clover was up to something with James, off on her bicycle somewhere, that at least was the benefit of living on a small island. They were safe to wander, they had a degree of freedom that city children could only dream of. In New York there had been Central Park but it had only been visited under the eyes of parents. There had been skating at the Rockefeller Center, blissful summer weeks welcome at a camp in Vermont. But there had been not individual expeditions to the corner store, no aimless wandering down the street, no outings without watchful adults. At least not until the teenage years, when things changed even if the world suddenly became less exciting than it had been before. She would go back to the house and shower before going to the supermarket to stock up with provisions for the weekend. After that she kept a diary near the telephone and she envisaged the page for today. There was something at six-thirty, one of those invitations that pointedly did not include dinner. She remembered the name of the hosts, the hills. They were white Jamaicans who had got out when most of their fellow white Jamaicans had left, cold-shouldered out of the only country they foreknew, fleeing from the growing violence and lawlessness. There had been a diaspora, some had gone to the United States and Britain. Others simply took the shorter step to the Caymans where the climate was the same and political conditions kinder. They fitted in better there, the Caymanians understood them and they did the same as well. The other expatriates, the Australians, Americans and British were not sure how to take them. Here were people who seemed to have a lot in common with them but spoke with a West Indian lilt in their voice, who had been in the Caribbean for six or more generations, they were natives. There would be the hills’ drinks party and then a cooling swim at home, followed by a movie that David would go to sleep in front of and then the day would end. Another Saturday to go to cinema for a good show to feel entertained. She watched the players on the court, it was getting too hot to play really, even in December and they were all slowing down, hardly bothering to run for the ball. Easy returns were missed because it was just too much effort to exert oneself sufficiently. The score wandered aimlessly. “Far too hot for tennis, isn’t it?” She looked round, George was standing behind her. He was dressed in a pair of khaki chinos and a blue T-shirt. She realised that she had never seen him in casual attire and had pictured him only in his more formal working clothes. She laughed, “I played earlier, I’m glad I did!” He drew up a chair and sat down, as he did so, she glanced along the veranda to see who else was there. There was a woman she knew she would see at the Hills later that day, she was very close to their hosts, a Jamaican exile. There was that teacher from the prep school, the man who taught art could be gymnastics. She did not know the others although she had seen them at the club before. Nobody seemed to be paying attention to her or George. “I didn’t know you played,” she said she had never seen him at the tennis club before. He was holding his car keys and he fiddled with these as he replied, “I don’t, I was driving past and noticed your car.” She caught her breath, it was not accidental he had sought her out. He waited for a moment before continuing, “So I thought I’d drop by when I was going somewhere else farther than here.” “I sold the yacht and bought an old powerboat, it’s seen better days when it goes, maybe you’ve heard of it.” She shook her head, “No.” “I thought maybe James had mentioned something to Clover. He’s terribly proud of it.” He slipped the keys into his pockets. “They seem to spend a lot of time together.” “They’re very friendly, there’s a bit of hero-worship going on I suppose.” He smiled broadly, “Him or her?” “Girls worship boys.” “Childhood friendships, they might not find it so easy when they hit adolescence. Friendship becomes more complicated then.” “Your boat.” “Is nothing special, I can’t afford anything expensive and it’s not a sailing boat like the one David and I went out in. It’s a knockabout old cruiser with an outboard that’s seen better days. It can get out to the reef and back but that’s its usefulness.” She said that she thought this was all one needed. “Where else is there to go precisely?” she asked politely. “Those great big monsters.” “Gin palaces.” “Yeah why do people need them?” He smiled, “They can go to Cuba or Jamaica. But it’s really all about extensions to oneself to one’s ego. Those are the looks at my boats.” He paused, “I was just heading over there to the boat, why not come and view it? We could go over to Rum Point or out to the reef if you liked.” She had not been prepared for an invitation and it took her some time to answer. She should say no and claim quite rightly that she wanted to go to the supermarket but now in his presence she found it impossible to do what she knew she should do. “How long will it take?” “As long or as short a time as you want, fifteen minutes to get there, ten minutes to get things going. Then forty minutes out and forty minutes in depending on the wind and what the sea’s doing.” She looked at her watch and panicked. “What is everybody doing?” he asked. She realised that this was his way of asking where David was. “I think that Clover’s with James out on their bicycles, Billy’s at the dolphin place with Margaret. David’s working part time.” “Does he ever take any time off?” “Saturdays, usually otherwise no, he’s pretty busy.” She stared at him. His eyes were registering pleasure at what she said. “How about it?” The sea was calm as they edged out into the sound, they had boarded the boat in the canal along which he moored it, a thin strip of water that provided access to four or five rather rundown houses. Dogs barked from the bank as the boat made its way towards the sea, a large Dobermann, ears clipped kept pace with them, defending its territory with furious snarls. She pointed to one of the houses, “Who lives in these places?” she asked. “You can tell from the dogs, that Dobermann belongs to a man who owns two liquor stores and a bar.” He made a calming gesture towards the do. “Dogs are aspirational here like boats.” She laughed, “That’s hit boat there?” She pointed to a gleaming white vessel, a towering superstructure was topped with a bristling forest of aerials and fishing rods. “Must be.” Once in the sound he opened the throttle and the boat surged forward across the flat expanse of sea. The sky was high and empty of all but a few cumulus clouds on the horizon, off towards Cuba. The water was a light turquoise colour, the white sand showing a bare six feet below. Here and there, patches of undulating dark disclosed the presence of weed. In the distance, a line of white marked their destination, the reef that protected the sound from the open sea beyond. That was the point at which the seabed began to drop until a few hundred yards further out, it reached the edge of the deep and fell away into hundreds of feet of darkness. The dive boats went there dropping their divers down the side of a submarine cliff. It was dangerous act, every so often divers went down and did not come up, nitrogen drunk on beauty, they went too deep and forgot where they were. It was hard to make oneself heard against the roar of the engine. He signalled to her where they were going and she strained to make out the break in the reef that provided a passage out into the open sea. A small cluster of boats congregated not far away, the boats that took people out to see the school of giant stingrays that swam into the sound to be fed by the boatmen. The rays, accustomed to people would glide obligingly round the legs of swimmers, taking fish from the hands of the guides. They had taken the children there on numerous occasions, it was one of the few outings the island afforded, and the memory reminded her that she was a mother. She looked away and thought, I should ask him to go back, she wondered why she had said yes to this adventure. It was folly and childish to take such trip. He had showed the boat to negotiate the difficult passage between the outcrops of coral that made up the reef, it was a clear enough route and everybody who took a boat out there learned it soon and easily enough. One had to line up several points and keep a careful eye on which way the current was flowing. One had to read the sea, which provided all the necessary signs particularly on a calm day like this. “Are you all right with this?” she asked as he steered them towards the gap. “Yes, I’ve done it a few times you have to watch out but it’s simple enough,” he said. “I won’t distract you.” She looked over the side of the boat, the water was shallow enough to stand in, she thought there was weed, lines of drifting black. A large shell, a conch, pearls, a blur of white against the sand. There was a flash of colour as a school of bright blue fish darted past. There was the shadow of the boat on the seabed below. “There,” he had brought them through, and the reef and breaking waves were suddenly behind them. He opened the throttle again to put water between them and coral. The sea now was a different state and colour. A darker blue and it was rougher too with a swell bowling in towards them. He throttled back, making the bow drop down then glancing at a dial on the console, he switched the engine off entirely. “We might as well conserve fuel, these big outboards are thirsty.” She leaned back against her seat and closed her eyes. She felt the sun on her face, the breeze made her silent. “It’s peaceful and soothing, isn’t it?” she muttered to herself as much as to him, “It’s the serenity combined with acceptance.” She opened her eyes, he was struggling with the catch of a small cool box that he brought with them. “Somebody gave me a bottle of champagne, he was a grateful patient,” he replied. The catch shifted and champagne was revealed. Two glasses nestled against the ice alongside the bottle. She wondered why he had packed two glasses. He had the cool box with him when he met her at the tennis club, but he would have known that she was there. So this could not have been planned for her, but his wife, Alice? The cork popped shooting up into the air to fall into the sea beside them. She watched it float away on a swell. “I didn’t mean that to occur, I disapprove of people who shake champagne and pop the corks. It’s one of the biggest causes of eye injury there is,” he grinned, “Not that I’m fond of sport.” He handed her a glass of champagne, “Here, for you take it.” She took the glass which was cold to touch. She raised it to her lips, it’s too late she thought, that’s it. He took a sip, “You don’t mind? Do you?” he asked. “Mind what? Being here drinking champagne instead of being at the supermarket?” He looked serious, “You don’t mind that I asked you?” She shrugged, “Why should I?” He was studying her reaction, “Because I pretended that I hoped to find you at the tennis club recently.” For a while she said nothing, it thrilled her emotions, she must mean something to him. There was no dismay just pleasure. When she spoke the words, it seemed to come from somewhere else that echoed. “I hadn’t envisaged this happening but it happened and I never thought it would. I just wondered too much.” He nodded, “I may anticipate this either way.” “So what do we do?” The question hung in the air like odourless smoke. “Do? What are your plans?” he said. “Neither do I figure out, because we both have children to consider,” she put down her glass. “Yes and others.” he said. “By that you mean.” She thought that he did want her to see his wince but she did, “Alice or David.” It was a mistake to mention these sensitive names. They had been present just now but here there were only two glasses of champagne. She drew in her breath, “I think maybe we could take this further next time, sorry.” His mouth opened slightly, she saw that he was gripping the glass tightly as his knuckles were white. I’ve said the wrong thing entirely, so corrupt. “Is that what you feel now?” She nodded, and glanced at her watch, “I think it would have been nice but this sounds dumb.” “If that’s what you have in mind.” “It sure is, I’m sorry George, I wish I was free to say yes but I don’t think you’re free.” He looked down at the deck, “You’re possibly correct.” He drained his glass and put it back into the cool box, then picking up the bottle of champagne he stared at it, held it up against the sun and poured it out over the side of the boat. She watched in astonishment, noticing the tiny bubbles playing around, visible against the surface of the sea for a few instants before they disappeared. “I’m truly apologizing.” she said. He replaced the bottle and took her glass from her. "You don't have to feel sympathy, I'm the one responsible for this event." he said. "Maybe you're right." He reached for the ignition, "I suggest we write the whole thing off to experience. That's the civilised way of dealing with these things I think." It could have been said bitterly, but she did not detect any bitterness in his voice. He was a kind man and she hoped he'll bring her joy and fame. When George turned the key in the ignition the outboard engine spluttered into life briefly, but did not catch. He attempted to start it again. Sometimes it took a second try for the fuel to get through, a small blockage, a bubble of air could starve the injectors of fuel but these would right themselves. This time there was no response at all. He looked down at the safety cord, this was a small key-like device that operated against a sprung switch and had to be in place for the engine to fire. It was correctly slotted in. He tried once more and again there was no response. She had not noticed the first failure, but now she did. "Trouble?" He raised an eyebrow, "I don't know it won't start." "Are we out of fuel?" He pointed to the gauge, "We've got at least ten gallons, maybe more. "Perhaps you should try again." He reached forward and turned the key, there was complete silence in between the air. "I can check the batterires, a lead might have detached itself." He opened a hatch, exposing two large twelve-vole batteries. All four leads were in positions and secure, he tried using the key again with the same result. She glanced over her shoulder, after they had cleared the passage they had gone half a mile or so out onto the open sea. Now carried by the swell, they were little more than several hundred yards off the line of surf marking the location of the reef. In ten minutes or more, they would have reached the point where the waves would carry them onto the reef itself. "Have you got a radio?" He shook his head, I've got my phone, we're not too far out because we'll get reception." She felt a surge of relief, "Then phone somebody." "Who?" She frowned, "The cops, they'll certainly know what to do." He reached into his pocket to retrieve his phone as he did so, he looked about, scanning the sea. On the other side of the reef, in the protected waters of the sound he could see three or four boats still bobbing at ancho round the sting-ray feeding grounds He could make out the heads of swimmers in the water. "Could we attract their attention?" she asked. "I'm not carrying any flares, if we had a flare they'd see it but I haven't." She stood up and looked over in the direction of the knot of boats. She had been frightened but the human presence not too far away reassured her. If the worst came, they could abandon the ship and swim back through the passage in the reef. They would be seen then or they could even swim over to join the boats at the anchor. It was not as if they were far out at sea, and the water as usual was invitingly warm. She saw that George was looking anxiously at the reef towards which they were slowly being carried by the swell. She looked down, they were in about forty feet of water. She thought but as they approached the reef that would diminish. Could they not anchor and just wait for help, boats regularly used the entrance to the sound and they would not have to wait too long. "Your anchor, could we try another method?" she suggested. "Yes I was thinking about that." he said. He moved to the bow and opened the locker. Reaching in he lifted out a rather shabby looking anchor to which a line of rusty chain was attached. He looked over the side of the boat. "We'll have to get a bit closer to the reef, it's too deep here." he said. The swell seemed to pick up, and they found themselves being pressed closer to the breaking waves and the jagged points of coral. When they were only a few boat's lengths from the first of the outcrops, George heaved the anchor over the side paying out the chain and line. She felt the boat shudder as the anchor line took the strain. "She might drag a bit, we'll have to watch." he said. But it held and the boat was soon pointed into the incoming swell, riding it confidently. George sat down, he wiped his brow and smiled at her. "There we are, emergency over." She scanned the sea, "No sign of anything." He seemed confident that help would not be delayed. "Something will come by, a fishing boat, yatch, less than an hour I'd say." He looked at her apologetically. "I'm sorry about all this mess, you went off to play tennis and ended up shipwrecked." "Not quite." "Near enough and I rather wish I hadn't disposed the rest of the champagne." She made a sign to indicate she did not mind. "I'm fine." He was about to say something, but did not. She was pleased that he did not as she did not wish to discuss what had gone before. Some lovers have their private affairs. She steered the conversation to neutral topics, they discussed the plan to extend the system of canals to sensitive mangrove swamps. They discussed the ambitions of the developers who were setting out to cover the island with concrete and pastel-coloured condos. He became animated on the subject of corruption. She listened and found herself agreeing with every word he said. David was far less harsh in his judgement of developers. In fact, he spoke up in favour of them, that made the difference. She looked at the time, they had been anchored for forty-five minutes and there had been no sign of any boat. It was barely noon and there were another six hours of daylight, but what if nobody came? Who would report them missing? David had no idea where she was and she did not want to ask George whether Alice knew he was going out in a boat. If she did, then she would raise the alarm and they would send out a search party but if she was ignorant, then it could be the next day. Did they have enough water, she wondered and there was no food, although one could last for a long time without anything to eat. "You aren't worried?" he asked. "Not really, maybe a bit," she hesitated. "We'll be all right, besides, help is on its way," he broke off as he had seen something and stood up, shading his eyes with his hand. She stood up too and he pointed out the direction in which she should look. He took her hand in his to do so which was not strictly necessary, he could have pointed. But she felt a stab of excitement at his touch. There was a boat in a distance, a powerboat churning the sea behind it heading their way. She squeezed his hand in relief and he returned the pressure. Then he leaned over and kissed her gently on the cheek. "See, we're saved," he said. She felt herself blushing at the kiss like an innocent schoolgirl. He should not have done that because they agreed not to take friendship further. But she was glad the kiss made things feel right and wrong at the same time. As the boat approached, George began to move his arms from side to side in the maritime gesture of distress. Figures could now be made out on the deck of the other boat and there was a response. The boat slowed and changed course towards them. "Thank God," said George. "A relief," said Amanda. "I'm going to have to get a new outboard after this," George said. The other boat was a rather larger cruiser, set up for deep sea fishing althougn not sporting any rods. Gingerly it came alongside taking care to leave sufficient distance so as not to be pushed by the swell on to the anchored boat. "What's the trouble?" asked the man at the controls. "Engine failure, we'll need a tow." shouted George. The man nodded, "We'll throw you a line, ready?" Amanda had been looking at the other skipper, now she looked at the crew of whom there were four. With a start she recognised John, one of David's partners in the firm. He saw her and waved back. "Amanda!" he called out. She acknowledged the call. "I didn't expect to see you, all you okay?" he shouted out. She cupped her hands and shouted a reply, "Absolutely fine." John gave the thumbs up sign and then busied himself fixing the line to a cleat at the stern of the boat. Then the other end of the line was thrown across to George. It went into the sea the first time but was retrieved and thrown again. This time it was caught and secured to the bow of the stricken vessel. The anchor was pulled up and rescuing boat took the strain. Progress under tow was slow but once through the passage in the reef there was little to do but to sit back and wait. Amanda went to the stern and sat by herself deep in thought. The implications of what had happened were slowly sinking in. The odds against being rescued by somebody she knew were not all tha high. The island was small and people get to know one another fast. If she had imagined that she could go anywhere and not be spotted, then she was mistaken. Yet it was particularly bad luck that it should be John of all the people. He and David saw each other every day, most of the time on Skype. He would be bound to mention that he had rescued his colleague's wife. She felt raw inside, dreadful. That's what dread feels like, rawness plus hollowness. She would have to speak to John, and ask him not to blurt out anything. And that meant her presence on George's boat was to be kept secret from David. It was nothing short of an admission of adultery. The rescuing boat took them all the way back to the canal. One of their crew jumped out onto the dock and pull them in and they were soon safely attached. Amanda went ashore, the other boat was standing off and was about to leave to go back to its own berth at a marine some distance away. John waved to her, "Happy ending but I'll have to claim salvage from David." he yelled. She shook her head, "Better don't" she called out. He laughed, "Only joking." The other boat was beginning to pull away, she looked at John desperately. She was unable to shout out a request that he say nothing. She waved again, trying to make a cencelling gesture. He waved back giving her a thumbs up sign. Then they moved off leaving behind them a wake that washed sedately at the edges of the canal. She heard the barking of the liquor store man's Dobermann, and laughter from the other boat. George was at her side. "You knew him?" She nodded miserably, "David's partner." He was silent for a while, "Oh that's terrifying." "No." He looked at her expectantly, "What do you want me to do?" "Just relax." She thought of what she must do, she would go back to the tennis club, collect her car and then drive straight to a house and wait for John to come home. She would totally explain to him not to mention anything to David about George's boat. She would tell him the truth that there was honestly nothing between their friendship even though it sounded suspicious. She must appeal to him through truthfulness. John lived on his own in a bungalow overlooking South Sound. The house was older than others around it, having been built when the land in that area was first cleared. It was extremely modest in scale compared with more recent constructions and less ostentatious. A recent storm had brought down several of his trees but the house itself was still largely obscured by vegetation when viewed from the road and it was only once on the driveway that one could see the full charm of the Caribbean style bungalow. A deep veranda ran the length of the front giving an impression of cool and shade. The exterior was painted light blue and the woodwork white, a local combination that could still be seen on the few remaining old Cayman cottages. It was a perfect colour scheme for a landscape dominated by sea plus sky. John who was in his early forties had been in Cayman for almost fifteen years, having arrived several years before David and Amanda. He was now the senior local partner in the accountancy firm in which David worked and would become an international partner before too long, as rumour was spread. He was unmarried, a fact that led to the usual speculation, but none of it substantiated. There were rumours about his private life about boyfriends but if these ever reached him, he showed only indifference to gossip and cheerfully enjoyed the company of women who found him sympathetic and a good listener. Amanda encountered John socially at drinks and dinner parties. She and David had been to his house on some occasions and had entertained him themselves. As a spare man who was good company at a dinner party, he was much in demand by hostesses seeking to balance a table. He could be counted on to talk to any woman he was seated next to without giving rise to any complications. He could be counted upon never to mention business, which formed the core of many other men's conversation. People said there had been a tragedy in his life somewhere but nobody had discovered what it was. There was one wild theory, risible Amanda thought that had killed somebody in New Zealand where he originally came from and had come to Cayman to escape prosecution. He was not in when Amanda arrived. She had thought that she would probably arrive too early, it would have taken time for them to dock the other boat, but she wanted to be sure she did not miss him. She had no idea what plans he might have, but she thought there was a danger that he had been invited to the hills, she knew he was friendly with them and she would have seen him before that. At the hills it would be too late as he might reveal something to David. She parked the car on his driveway under the shade of a large Flamboyant tree and began to wait. The minutes dragged past after half an hour, she got out of the car and stretched her legs after an hour she began to wonder whether she should write him a note and slip it under his front door. It could be brief, a request that he say something about seeing her in the boat and offering to give him her reasons later on when they could meet to discuss it. She had a notebook with her in the glove compartment of the car and she took this out to began to compose the note. She was writing this when she heard the car and looking up, saw John's dark blue Mercedes coming up the drive. He slowed down as he drew level with her and peered into the car. Recognising her, he gave a wave and continued to the garage at the side of the house. Amanda left her car and walked up the drive to meet him. "Twice in a day, is everything all right?" joked John. "I wanted to thank you but you dashed off." she replied. He smiled, and gestured to the front door, "Come in I'll make some coffee or something cooler?" She followed him into the house. "I must say, that I've often thought about what happen if one lost power out there. I don't have a boat myself but I'd always have an auxiliary engine if I did. Something to get one back through the reef." She agreed, "It seems reasonable." He led her into the sitting room at the front of the house. From the windows at the end of the room, there was a view of a short stretch of grass then framed by trees, the sea. On the walls there were paintings on Caribbean themes, a picturesque Jamaican street scene, a small island rising sharply out of the sea, a couple of colourful abstracts. He invited her to sit down while he went to prepare coffee. "Where's David? Working I suppose." he asked, his tone remained level. "Yes." "Not my fault, I keep telling him to work and he puts the rest of us to shame," he continued. "Yes I think so but." He looked at her expectantly. "This isn't easy for me," she said. He stared at her and sat down, he would make the coffee later. "It's about today? About the business out at the reef?" She nodded, "I know what you're thinking." He held her gaze, "I try to keep out  of other people's private affairs, it crossed my mind that it was a bit surprising that you were out with George." he said. He tried to speak, "I hardly know him, I've met him once or twice at the usual functions but they seem to keep to themselves for the most part, don't they?" "They do." He sighed, "I don't think it was any of my business what was happening on that boat." "But there wasn't anything happening, we just went out in the boat together." she blurted out. He stared at her for a second, as if he was deciding whether to say something. Then he shrugged, "Well that's fine, you've made the point that David didn't know I went out plus I didn't tell him." He stared at her, "So what?" "Yeah I didn't tell him. George bumped into me at the tennis club and asked me on the spur of the moment." THat was not strictly true she thought but it would become too complicated if she had to explain further. "He just suggested it? So easy?" He seemed to be weighing up the likelihood of her telling the truth, "so what you're saying is this was an unplanned outing that you didn't tell David about. And now you think David will be jealous." "And suspicious and angry." He looked out of the window, "You must forgive me, as a bachelor I'm not sure I understand how these things work, are you saying a husband would automatically be fed up if his wife went off on an event with another man?" he said. She wanted to laugh, was he that unaware how relationship works in this world? "Yes that's exactly what I'm telling you, and he would give up." "Always?" She thought about this. "Well it depends on the circumstances. You couldn't go out for dinner with another guy, for instance until you discussed it with your husband first." He asked about the position of an old friend of both husband and wife. Could he take the wife out for dinner if the husband was away? "Of course, an old friend does that, it depends on the circumstances." "Then that seems reasonable enough but you're telling me David will think you and this doctor George were having an affair?" he frowned. She did not answer him immediately, it was possible that David will not form that impression, but there was a good chance he will. She explained her anxiety to John, who listened attentively but halfway through her explanation she faltered. "I suppose I should tell you the truth." She saw the effect that this had on his face. He drew back slightly, as if offended. "I would hope you'll tell me the truth, who likes to be lied to anyway?" he said stiffly. "I'm sorry of course you won't want to be lied to, the problem is, I've felt attracted to George like a boyfriend. I'd go far as to say I'm interested in him but I haven't been having an affair with him. We discussed it and talked about it, but it hasn't gone anywhere." He looked at her intently, I'm sorry you feel you can't trust me with the truth." She was aghast. "But what I've just told you is absolutely true. "Is it?" She became animated, "Yes it is the truth." He held her gaze, there was an odd expression on his face, she thought it was as if he were just about to pull the rabbit out of the hat. Well if that was the case I must imagine what I saw from our boat," he said evenly. She looked puzzled. "I saw the two people in the boat kissing, I'm sorry but that was real. I just happened to be looking through my binoculars at the time. We'd seen the signalling and I was interested to see what was going on, I just observed." he continued. She stared at him in silence, George had kissed her that brief, entirely chaste kiss of relief. It was not even on the lips, but cheek and he saw it. "That's not what you think it was," she stuttered. He spread his palms in a gesture of disengagement, "I saw the scene, forgive me for jumping to conclusions." "He kissed me when he saw that you were coming to our rescue, it was equivalent of a hud, that's all, there was nothing more than that, I promise you John, I gave you my word," she paused. She could tell that he did not want to believe her. And had she been in his position, she would not believe herself either. "Well I don't think it has anything to do with me, as I said I like to avoid getting involved in other people's entanglements. I know these things happen inevitably, by the way I'm not standing here being disapproving." he said. "I fell so powerless I can't make you believe." He interrupted her, "You don't have to make me believe anything Amanda." "I'm not cheating on David, you gotta know that," she said, putting as much resolution into her voice as she could muster. "Fine so you've told me." "But I need you to know, will you tell David about what happened today?" He rose to his feet, his tone was distant, "I'm sorry but I can't lie. I know you have little time for it but I hold a religious position on these things. I will not tell a lie." He looked at her, "Does that make me sound pompous, but that's where I stand." She struggled to control her mood, tears were not far off, she felt she didn't want to break down. "You don't sound pompous John, and I'd never ask you to lie. All you have to do is don't tell David about my event at the boat. That's not a lie." "Still is concealment." She tried to fight back, "We don't have a duty to tell eveybody everything, for heaven's sake." He seemed to reflect on this, he walked to the window and looked out across the grass to the sea beyond. She thought he has never been involved in the messiness that goes with relationships, he doesn't know the trauma. He's a monk with fussy understanding of life, which is not how life is to most of us. "I'll not say anything and I won't mention the incident to David but I'm sorry I said I won't change my mind just now. Yet if he asks me about it I might tell him the whole truth." He turned to face her, "And it will be sincere." She knew what he meant about this, if he was asked, he will mention the kiss. She nodded her acceptance, then she said, "John may I say I haven't lied to you today, I promise I've got nothing to hide." He raised an eyebrow, "Apart from what you're hiding from David." She looked down at the floor, she would not lose her temper. "You know something? You think you understand everything basically but you don't. You've knept yourself apart from messy business of being an ordinary human being with normal temptations and imperfections plus conflicts. You're looking at the world through ice John," she confessed. His look was impassive but she could tell she had wounded him. She didn't mean to do that and she immediately apologized, "I'm sorry that came out more harshly than I intended." He held up a hand, "But you're right, I have kept myself away from these things. Have you any idea what that has cost me? You don't know how I've come back here sometimes at night and cried my eyes out like a boy?" "I'm regretting it John." He shook his head, "I didn't mean to burden you with that, it's nothing to do with your personal issue." She got up and went towards him, she put an arm around his shoulder and comforted him. He flinched at her touch. "I understand," she whispered. "I don't think people do." "They do but some may not." After that, they were for a time remained silent, she moved away from him and said she didn't stay for coffee. He nodded and accompanied her to the door without words. The heat outside met her like a wall. Teddy's father was arrested four days later, it was done with the maximum unnecessary fuss, with two police cars and sirens wailing, arriving at the front of the house shortly after eight in the morning. Amanda was taking the dog for a walk round the block at the time and saw what happened. "Thay made a big thing of it," she said to David that evening, "There were six of them, some senior officers and the rest constables. It was totally over the top." He snorted, "Role playing." "Anyway they bundled Gerry Arthur out of the house, put him into a car and then drove off, sirens going full tilt." "Ridiculous." "Then one constable came out carrying a computer, put it into the other car and off they went." "A show that's what it was." She looked at her husband, he had built in antipathy to officials. "What was it all about? Have you heard the news?" she asked. "I met Jim, he told me Gerry Arthur is being charged with being party to some fraud or other. Something to do with the scuttling of a ship to get the insurance payment. Apparently that sort of thing happens, you sink your boat and claim the insurance." he said. "I'm surprised, they go to baptist church, don't they?" David laughed, "Baptists are every bit as capable of sinking ships as anybody else, but I woul have thought Gerry Arthur did that sort of thing anyway. He's one of our clients, we audit his books and they're always scrupulously clean. This'll be a put up thing." She asked him to explain. "You know what it's like here, you make a remark that offends somebody high up in the political food chain, all of a sudden it's discovered that there are problems with your work permit. Gerry has status, which means they don't chuck him out even if he's not an actual citizen. So the next best thing is to get him into trouble with his friends." She pointed out that it would be difficult to set up the sinking of a ship. "See, the ship will sink anyway, so all you must do is to create some evidence of an instruction to the captain that points to the thing being deliberate. You've got your case, you leak something to the police and they're delighted to get the possibility of a high profile conviction, off you go." he said. "What will possibly happen?" He was not sure, "I heard that they've let him out on bail, they might drop the charges if he agrees to go off to the British Virgin Islands or somewhere like that, it'll die down like usual." "It's very unfair." "Of course when you compare it to something else." She stared at him, "To be accused of doing something you didn't do, that must be very hard." He returned her gaze, "Yeah, your reaction suits this topic." She caught her breath, "I suppose so." He was still watching her and it was this moment that she became certain that he knew. Clover said to Teddy, "Your dad was taken off to jail, is he okay?" The boy bit his lip, "They brought him back because they made a mistake." "Really? Why did they take him anyway? Was he spying?" Teddy shook his head, "Don't be stupid." "It's not too lousy, we know there are spies living around this area." Teddy kicked at the ground in his frustration, "He didn't do anything to deserve punishment, they said he sunk his boat but he was asleep. No one sinks boat for fun." She nodded, the world of adults was opaque and difficult to fathom but the proposition that one will sink a boat seems unreasonable. "I'm sorry for you, Teddy it must be awful having your dad taken away last time." she said. "Thank you but he didn't commit a sin." Later she talked to James about it, he agreed with her that the sinking of the boat might be a cover for the real charge of spying. Now the authority had become involved though, he thought there was little need to continue with their observation. "It's in their hands now, we can stop anytime." he pronounced. He lost interest she sensed and so the notebook plus photographs they collected were filed away in a cupboard in James' room. The pictures were many pieces, had been printed on James' computer and labelled with the date, time and place when they were taken. At the tennis club on Saturday morning, suspect one got into the car with another boy. Then they talked but the conversation was unknown. She felt he was more concerned with other things, she invited him to the tree-house, but he rarely came now when he did, he seemed detached as if he wanted to be somewhere else, he never stayed long. She made suggestions, "We could fix the tree house, I could get some hard wood. We could take more things up here if you wanted I could make a shelf of your own for your nice stuff." He shrugged, "Maybe." She persisted, "We could take walkie talkies up there, I could leave one there and you could take the other to your house. We could easily speak to each other." He looked bored, "Out of range, you have to be able to see other people or they don't work, those are simply useless." he said. He looked at his watch, "I can't stay for long." She said, "You're always saying that you have to go somewhere else to do something." "You're being judgemental." "You do it all the time. He looked at his watch again, "Because I've got stuff to do and it's true." She felt utterly frustrated at not being able to pin him down, she wanted to have his full attention, but he seemed somewhat reluctant to give her that. It was like he was holding back, and living in another world, a place where she could not enter or understand. Yet he was not rude to her, he was just kind and behaved gently without any pushing or shoving that other guys do. That was part of his appeal, the way he looked made her think he's the only most beautiful person alive. She had hidden away a photograph of him without his knowledge. Amanda sensed her daughter's unhappiness. "Something's wrong darling I can tell." "Nothing." "You can't just say nothing if something's not working out, you should reveal." "I told you everything's fine." Amanda put an arm about her, "Has James been nasty to you?" She shook her head, the denial was genuine, "He's never nasty, he's obviously too nice for that." "Doesn't want to play anymore? Is that why you look upset?" This was greeted with silence, which was an answer in itself. Amanda gave Clover a hug, "My kid, here's something you must get used to, boys are crazy, they have things that keep them busy a lot and sometimes don't seem interesting to girls. Boys can ignore you and make you feel hard to breathe. They break our hearts in the end, they make girls feel sad because they don't want to be with them. There may be no special reason for that. They might just want to be alone, you're just beginning to see this now, when you're a teenager, maybe you'll see it clearer from your view point. There's no magic wand to change the story that much, I can't really make him your best friend, even though I wish I could." She nestled into her mother, she just wanted to be James' loyal friend. He was happy with that before but now it doesn't last anymore. Amanda kissed Clover's forehead, so precious and unlucky. She tried to remember her history but the problem was she was quick to forget that even young children have intense feelings for others. Passionate adoration does not suddenly arrive when one is merely fifteen or sixteen, the stage of the first fumbling romance. Falling head over heels for other can occur years earlier and we will understand these things better if we bothered to remember. The intensity of feeling for a pal was not expressed in physical way, but it definitely represents a yearning that was already knocking on the door. Clover knew all along that there would come a day when she had to go away to school. The Cayman Prep School took children up to thirteen before handing them over to high school. Many children made the transition smoothly and completed their education in the senior division next door but for a considerable proportion of expatriates the expense of sending children for their secondary education abroad was outweighed by the risks involved in staying. The island had a drug problem, as well as a problem of teenage pregnancy. Stories circulated of girls who stayed being seen as an easy target by boys from West Bay. Sending children abroad might have its drawbacks but at least the teenage years will be passed for the most part in the supervised conditions of boarding school. The day to day headaches of looking after adolescents were borne by people paid to bear them, and experienced to do so. Clover was smart and accepted the boarding school awaited her. She was ready to go, several girls who had been in the year above her at the prep school were already there and seemed to enjoy it. They came back each school holidays and were full of stories of a world that seemed to her to be unimaginably exciting plus exotic. There were stories of school dances and trips to London, there were accounts of clandestine assignations with boys, meetings that took place under the threat of dire punishment if discovered. It all sounded to her like a rather fun prison camp in which girls and boys pitted their wits against the guards. But unlike a prison camp, you could have your own pictures on the wall, perfectly good food and outings, admittedly restricted to cinema and shops. Her parents talked to her about the choice of school, David wanted something in Scotland and identified a school in Perthshire that seemed to offer everything they wanted. They showed her the pictures in school brochure. "You see how attractive it is, you'd be staying in one building over there, see those are girls' dormitories." said David. She looked at the photographs, it was an alien landscape, all hills and soft colours but it was a world that she had been brought up to believe was where she belonged. The Caribbean with its dark green and light blues was temporary, this was permanent. "And that's pipe band, you can learn pipes if you like or violin, or any other instrument, they have everything." said Amanda, pointing at one photograph. There were misgivings, "I won't know anybody, nobody close to me is going there seriously." "You'll make plenty of new good friends, it's a very friendly place." Silence, "And if I'm sick?" "Why should you be sick? they have a sick room. There is nurse and you'll totally do well." "I guess so." "What about James? He's going off to school too right?" asked her mother. James had not told her very much in detail. "I think he's going to a school in England, I don't know the exact name yet." She looked at her mother, "Can you tell them about the cool school, can you show them this?" She pointed to the brochure. Amanda smiled, "It's nothing to do with us," she said, "They're not Scottish, like dad. James' father is English, he'll want James to go somewhere in England it's only natural." "But Scotland and England are close together like they are situated just next door?" "They are but schools are different, they want him to go to English school." "They could change their minds if they saw this brochure." Amanda looked at her daughter fondly, "You'll be able to see James in the holidays, he'll be here and so are you." Clover became silent, she stared at the photographs of school and imagined that it was her face in one of the pictures. And standing next to her was not the boy with ginger haid who was in the picture but James. She wanted to share what lay ahead of him, she did not want to be with strangers at all. Her mother touched her arm lightly, "You'll get over it soon," she whispered. "Get over what?" "You'll get over what you feel for James, I know right now he's a very special friend, but we meet other people who are better. There'll be plenty of boys and they're funny and you'll know their attitude also." She stared at her mother, how could somebody as old as that understand what it was like? WHAT did she find out? That night lying in bed, she closed her eyes and imagined for the first time that James was with her. It made her feel warm to think of his being at her side, under the covers like they were lost children. His feet felt cold as she moved her own feet against his. She held his hand and she listened to his breathing. She told him about school and he told her fantastic tales. They could be together one day and nobody would take his love away from her. No school in England could keep him from her forever. THeir friendship will endure eternally. It was the day following the conversation about schools again. Amanda and Clover went to supermarket near the airport to stock up for the week. Outside in the car park, as they were unloading the trolley into the back of the car, a car drew up beside them. A woman got out. Amanda paid her no attention and was surprised when she realised it was Alice Collins. Amanda moved to the side of the car to greet her, "Sorry I didn't recognise you behind those sunglasses." Alice took off the sunglasses, folded them and placed them in her hip pocket, "Better?" "Yeah I wasn't paying that much attention." She saw the other woman was not smiling, there was tension in her face. "Is something wrong?" Alice turned away, it was like she didn't hear the question somehow. Then without saying anything she walked off, Amanda opened her mouth to say something. But Alice walked round the side of another parked car and was lost to view. From within the car, she could hear Clover operating the electric window. "what did Mrs Collins say?" "she didn't say anything yet, she's in a rush perhaps." said Amanda. She finished the unpacking of her trolley, she felt quite weak with the shock of the deliberate snub. It was the feeling one has after some driving error on one's part brings a snarl from another driver, a feeling of rawness, of surprise at hostility of another. Clover was listening to music apparently, her ear buds in place. Amanda drove off with her heart racing after the encounter with Alice. She must know but how? Had John said something? She was not confident John could be trusted, it was not that he would gossip there was a far greater possibility that he would speak about what he saw on principle. But if he spoke to anyone, could it be David rather than Alice? She considered the possibilities, one was that John was friendly with Alice and felt he had the duty to warn her. Or he could have spoken to David who told Alice in order to get her to warn George off. That was feasible only if David will want to warn George, which was far from clear. Another possibility was George decided to make a clean breast of things and told Alice he almost embarked on an affair but had not done so. He might have done that if he thought the news will leak out someways, probably through John alone and that will better raise the matter himself rather than to protest innocence once his wife was aware of it. "Look out!" Clover had spotted the car making dangerous attempt at overtaking. Amanda pulled over sharply and two vehicles that were heading straight for one another avoided collision by a matter of a few inches. "Did you see him?" Amanda looked at the mirror, the other car now behind them was being driven erratically, far too fast and halfway into the other lane. "That was totally his fault, he shouldn't have been overtaking there, the road's clearly marked." "Maybe he's wild and drunk." "Could be." They drove on in silence, as was always the case with such things, notions of what she should have done came after the event. She should have pursued Alice and asked her what was wrong. She should have said to her that whatever she heard was not the real truth, the real thing was there was nothing blooming between her and George and there had never been accepting the brush off was tantamount to an admission of guilt. Clover switched off her music. She looked at her mother. "I hate this place." she said. Amanda turned to look at her daughter, "What place?" "Here, this whole place named Cayman." "I thought you liked it?" Clover shook her head vigorously, "There's nothing much inspiring, I've got no friends." Amanda's gaze returned to the road ahead, the plane from Cayman Brac, a small twelve-seater was coming in to land, its shadow passed across the road and mangrove swamp on the other side. "You need to get away to school, that's soon enough, and you will get some friends like Holly," she paused. "she doesn't like me anymore, she spends most of her time with american girls." "You've got James besides." This was greeted with silence. Amanda shot her a glance. "You still like James, don't you?" Clover moved her head slightly. Amanda spoke gently, "He's special to you, it's good to improve your mood." Suddenly Clover turned to her mother, "Do you think that we're both grown up?" "Yeah, when you're both grown up?" "THAT maybe James and I will get married? Do you think that might happen?" Amanda suppressed her smile, "Possibly but it's far too early to even think about that. You never know whom you're going to marry, but what you really must do is marry someone kind, that's the most important thing while they don't have to be good looking or rich or anything like that, just must stay friendly." "James is the type who makes me feel awesome." "Yes that can be true, but it's very early to talk about things that will happen, you're going to meet plenty of other boys and it's highly likely that some will be as nice as James. You still have years to go on and you shouldn't make up your mind yet." "But he's the one I want deep down." "That could change someday, you think differently when you're adult. You'll stick to fresh ideas." "I will?" "totally, just like singers who used to date young boys who were shy." The conversation ended there, they had reached the turnoff to their house and Clover will shortly have to get out to open the gate. Over the next few weeks James' visits, which became less frequent anyway, stopped altogether. Clover waited several days before summoning up her courage to call him on his phone. He sounded friendly enough when he answered, but when she asked if he would like to join her to listen to some pop music he sounded wary. "Maybe I can't." he said. "Why? It'll be half an hour." "Because Teddy's coming around." He replied her feeling sensitive. She waited for him to invite her too but he didn't. "I could come too." He felt ashamed. sO HE simply said," Actually it'll be just me and Teddy, we're sort of on a mission." "What kind?" "Teddy got a metal detector." She persisted, "Can I help?" "Sorry Clover maybe next time." There was pitiful silence. "Do you still enjoy being with me?" It was a wild gamble, he could say no easily but that would end the friendship. But he just said, "Of course I like you, but my mother wanted us to separate now." She absorbed this. "What's on her mind?" He sounded surprised. "You don't have to do everything your mother tells you, James," And with that she hung up, she hoped he would call her back chastened, apologetic but he didn't. Instead she sank her head in her hands. Why did she feel so empty and unhappy? Why should boy be so childish and misguided? She nearly got the chance to see him laugh again but this thin chance is blown away to earth. We all want love, friendship, happiness and beautiful moments to last forever but sometimes things get real tough and disobedient to our commands. It is the same as feeling controlled by invisible wind when we are trapped by insecurities and mistrust. There was nothing in David's behaviour to indicate that he knew. She watched him closely over the days that followed the encounter with alice in the car park. But there was nothing unusual in the way in which he spoke to her, nothing to suggest a change in his polite but somewhat distant relations between them. He was busy preparing for a business trip to New York that would take place two weeks later, a trip that he said will be awkward. There were internal Revenue service enquiries into the affairs of one of the firm's clients and he had been requested to attend a hearing. It was entirely voluntary, the Cayman Islands were outside the jurisdiction of American tax authorities, but the client was asserting his innocence vigorously and had waived any privilege of confidentiality. David was sure that the client had nothing to hide but he knew he will be treated as a hostile witness that he will be disbelieved. She heard that John will be going too, he disclosed this casually but her heart thumped when she heard it. "Why does he have to go? It's your client right?" "I took him over from John, he looked after him for part of the period they're interested in," he replied. She searched around for something to say, "John will be good in court." "It's not actual court proceedings, it's an enquiry." "He'd be good at that." He was looking at her, they were sitting in the kitchen he had just returned from work. Late and was driving a beer at a kitchen table. The air conditioner wheezed in the background, he said, "The damn air conditioner, has the man been fixing it?" "He only came and looked, he did something to it, he was here probably some minutes ago. He was singing some sort of hymn while he worked. I heard him." "They've got all religion." "well at least they believe in something, what do air conditioning men believe in New York for instance?" He raised the bottle of beer to his lips, "Dollar and that's real." She turned up the gas under the pasta she was reheating for him. The smell of garlic was too strong for her, and she wrinkled her nose but he liked to souse things in garlic, he always had. "Is John travelling with you?" She tried to make the question sound casual. "Yes, there but he's coming back before me." "And staying in the same hotel?" He looked up sharply, "What is this about?" "I was just asking." He smiled, "What's it with John, do you think we share a room?" She brushed this aside, "Of course not." "yOu think he's gay somehow." She shrugged, "How can you tell? I know people say so but he didn't admit it ever." "He was bored of the rumour." She wanted to get off the subject, but he had more to say. "He's discreet, people like that are often have conventional, high achieving background, from a very prominent new zealand family. His father's general I think, or an admiral, something of the sort. He used to not give anything away." She didn't react. "For example, if he knew something he won't speak it," David continued. "I see," her voice was small and she thought he might not heard her but he did. She had her back to him but she felt his eyes upon her. She stirred the pasta it was already cooked and it will spoil if she overheated it. But it was hard for her to turn round. "That's good." "Do you care what I think?" She struggled to keep her voice even, "What?" He finished the beer, tilting the bottle to get the last few drops, "I think he rather likes me." She reached for the plate she put on the side of the stove, "Like you as a friend or a colleague?" A mocking tone crept into his voice, "Amanda come on." She dished out the pasta, the odour of garlic rose from the plate, drowning the tomatoes, onion, slices of italian sausage. "So it's just friendship matter." He nodded, "Who knows? I've done nothing to encourage him in that view, and he knows i'm not interested." She put the plate in front of him at the table, she and Clover had eaten earlier but she usually sat down and kept him company when he came in late like this, "He may not know or he might think you like him." He began his meal, spearing pieces of pasta on his fork, "I doubt it frankly I don't care too much to try." "I'm glad to hear that." "I'm going to have another beer." she rose to her feet, "I'll get it." It was while she was reaching into the fridge that he told her, "He came to see me the other day, in the office. He stood in the doorway pretending to hesitate and he confessed he wanted to tell me something." She was holding the bottle of cold beer, her hands were wet and she tried not to turn around. "then he kind of clammed up, he shook his head and said there was nothing much to discuss. He said someday I'll realize something strange." She straightened up, "Your beer is here." He opened the bottle, "It must be something to do with John's life to make him so discouraged privately, I could have listen to him, maybe he doesn't have someone else close to talk to, as he lives alone only." She sat down. "Mind you it could have been something to do with the office, Jenny is being a real pain in the neck right now, She's taken it into her head that we need to change all out internal procedures, it's so chronic." He went on to describe Jenny's plan and nothing more was said about John. After some minutes she made the excuse of going to check that the children had finished their homework. She left the kitchen and made her way along the corridor that separated living quarters from the bedrooms. She stopped halfway, in front of the poster listing the islands of Caribbean, she remembered how she stood in fron of it every day, with one child in her arms and read out the list of names and pointed to the islands on the map. They had been taught to identify them all from Cuba down to Grenada. Now she found herself staring at Tortola, a small circle of green in the blue of sea. She thought inconsequentially of something a friend said the other day: "Tortolans, they're the rudest people in Caribbean, by a long chalk. They have a major attitude problem." But could one generalise like that? And people sometimes appeared rude for one reason, here and there, history left the legacy of hatreds that proved hard to bury. If John didn't tell him already, then he might do so on the trip to New York. They will be together, at close quarters. He will say something when they drink beer but why? The answer came to her almost immediately because John was jealous of her and will prise him away. Perhaps he thought they will separate then David might move on with him temporarily but when you had to rely on scraps of comfort, that will be consolation enough. She lay awake that night not getting to sleep until two in the morning. David slept well as he always did, and she woke up earlier than him. That was when she found sleeping tablet in the bathroom, she didn't take pills before but these ones worked and were for emergencies. The next morning she slept in and by the time she woke up David had gone to work, the children were up but Margaret fed them and prepared them for school. They came into her bedroom to kiss her goodbye, while Margaret hovered at the door saying she would drive them and go to supermarket to buy things they needed for the kitchen. Amanda lay in bed in quiet house, staring up at the ceiling. If she had been uncertain what to do last night, now her mind was made up. She would speak to John and ask him once again to refrain from telling David. She would remind him that David told her John wanted to reveal her dark secret. She would shame him and accuse him of breaking his promise. She dressed quickly, she knew John was always one of the first to get into office in the morning. She would phone him and arrange to meet him for coffee somewhere down near the harbour. There was a place that she knew they sometimes went to with clients. She reached him but he sounded hesitant when he realized it was her voice. But he agreed to see her anyway. "I can't be long, I have a meeting and there are some people coming in from Miami." he said as he sat down opposite her. "I won't waste too much time." He looked at her enquiringly. "It's about the other day when I came to see you." she said. He cut her short, "We don't need to go over that ground again, I told you my position was my way, it hasn't changed." She raised an eyebrow, "Seriously? You sound annoyed." He frowned, "Maybe and David didn't say anything yet. It's water under the bridge as far as I'm concerned." "David told me you want to tell him about my event last time but you kind of changed your mind." He seemed puzzled, "Me? You guess I want to tell him something real?" She thought that his surprise was genuine, now she was not sure she should have sought him out. "He told me you went to his office that day and he got confused." The waitress brought them coffee, he reached for his cup and half raised it to his lips, then he put it down. "Yeah, I remember. That was just coincidence I think." He seemed relieved. She looked at him silently. "It was an office thing, someone had taken money from the petty cash. I had an idea who it was but the name got stuck in my mind. I consider my action wrong to simply voice my suspicion to David just because he acted like a boss sometimes. That person I suspect used to work for him but it could amount to casting an aspersion over an innocent person's character if he was innocent, that's the main detail. Until somebody unearths proof against us." He just talked non stop. She realized she was holding her breath in sweat. Now she released it, "So it's just your hallucination?" "That word is too childish to describe my situation." "I thought you were going to tell him everything for I jumped to conclusion actually." He looked at her over the rim of his coffee cup, "I'd better dash, something's important is waiting for my rescue." he glanced at the watch. She nodded, "May you hear my clear opinion again? My friendship with George is just low profile, it doesn't serve you the best food to tell David what I was going through." He sat quite still, looking at her he said," I tried to believe you but this time I don't think it bothers me." He paused, "is that clear?" She reached out to take his hand and held it briefly, squeezing it in a gesture of gratitude and friendship. "Thank you John but you gotta allow me to live my life wonderfully, not under your control." He smiled at her weakly, so tired like forty three."The problem with Cayman is it's too small. We all live on top of one another and spend too much time worrying about our bad friends." he said with warning. "You're right." "I know you'll forgive me if things get worse, I'm quitting my job one day. I may consider taking part in other international position that provides me the convenience to own an office room if they approve my resume." She was not sure how to reply. "I've been dreaming of living in Portugal, I know who moved there and bought a vineyard to enjoy the fresh fruits, which is why I got attracted to their lifestyle." "I can see you happy there." He seemed to weigh what she said. "You won't feel unhappy anymore if you succeed." she said hurriedly. He smiled and stood up, "But you know why unhappiness is something we don't admit feeling nowadays?" She shook her head. "To cheer me up?" he prompted. She met his gaze, "Maybe we don't want others to feel left out." He agreed, "Sort of, but we should give them their favourite space alone too." "Definitely," She let her gaze wander. It was bright outside, as it almost was going to rain because from afar the clouds were darker. It was the light that seemed to demand cheerfulness, that somehow went well with steel band, just inside the door the bored waitress answered her phone starting an animated conversation that turned louder as emotion behind it rose. John caught Amanda's eyes and the glance they exchanged was eloquent. She looked away when she didn't feel superior to other women, which is what she felt the glance implied. "She's a victim in disguise," she muttered. He shrugged, "Unlucky." he said. Something rose within her, "You're above all that?" He studied her, she noticed the coldness that appeared in his eyes. "You don't imagine I have feelings inside?" she back tracked, "Sorry I didn't say that. You seem so detached and you own the choice to rule your life." she hesitated. He looked at his watch, "I don't see what's wrong with self control, do you have problems?" For a moment she wondered whether this amounted to a retraction of what he said earlier, when he assured her he did believe in her lies. Was he now implying that it was lack of self control that led to an involvement with George? Did he really help? She answered him quietly, "No, but there's difference between self control and repression, do you think so?" Her words seemed to hit him physically, as words can do when they shock the person to whom they are addressed. It can be as if invisible gust of wind or a wall of pressure has its impact. For a short while he did nothing, but he looked at his watch fiddling with the winder, as if to adjust it. She relented quickly, "I must have thought of saying other things." He raised his eyes to hers, "But it may be true," He paused, "Repression may have something to do with lack of confidence. But I decide to live with it. It's a different story." She reached out to him again, "But I want you to shut up." "I don't mind." "I don't want to fall down because of your big mouth." She spoke without thinking, "I don't love David at all." The coldness disappeared, the distance between them seemed to melt away, "I'm sorry to hear that." She suddenly felt reckless, the initial unplanned admission seemed to lead quite naturally to what she went on to say, "I love somebody else ever since David became a worshipper to money and I never want to care about his well being." "I guess you're right." "It just happens, it's like finding another world to fit my desire." "You could judge it that way, is it reciprocated?" he looked at her with interest. "Your feelings for the other are reciprocated? True?" he asked again. She hesitated, "I think so." "So do you mind telling me who?" He immediately said, "Maybe it's none of my business." It did not occur to her to keep it from him now, it was too late to dissemble. "George only, but I can't lie to you, he's off limits." She went on. "Because he's married? That doesn't stop people around her to chase after current lovers." She smiled, "Maybe but we have children. Alice is totally in love with him and he's good, to put all that together you'll have a fairly impossible picture to turn to." He looked thoughtful, "Sorry." "So whatever your situation is John I understand." He looked at his watch again, "I really have to go, people from Miami need me." He signalled to the waitress, who looked at him, vaguely irritated by the disturbance to her call. He stood up, which persuaded the waitress to act. He paid for them both. "I don't want to talk to you anymore, don't worry." he said as they went out into the light. She felt he was closing off two subjects, her and him. The ceremony at Prep school to mark the end of the school year took place while David was in New york. The leavers now aged twelve or thirteen, like Clover and James were presented with a certificate bearing the school motto and a message from the principal about embarking on a journey that was life. The governor attended and the school band played a ragged version of God save the queen, the governor in white tropical suit stood stiffly to attention and seemed to be interested in something that was happening on the ceiling. One or two younger children fidgeting and giggling, attracted discouraging looks from the teachers. Then the choir trooped onto the stage and sang "Lord dismiss us, with thy blessing." Hymns had made little impression on Clover, but the words of this one were different and touched her because she sensed that it was about them. "May thy children, those whom we will see no more." The children were sitting with their parents, Clover was with Amanda and Margaret because David was away. Margaret knew the hymn and reached for Clover's hand. "That's you, leaving your friends and saying goodbye." she said quietly. Clover turned away embarrassed, she didn't want to be told how she felt. She looked around the hall searching for James and found him just a few rows away, seated between his parents. He was whispering something to his father and George nodded, whispering something back. She watched them willing him to turn his head slightly so he would see her, I'm here she thought. At the end of ceremony, the parents left and children returned to their classrooms. The leavers were each given a large bag in which to put things they wanted to take away with them: drawings, exercise books, pictures from the walls that teacher said could be shared out amongst those who wanted them as mementoes of the school. James was in different class, and once outside in the corridor she lingered until she saw him emerge from his own classroom with some other boys. They were talking about something under their breath, one gave a snigger, boys were always doing that laughing at something crude, or physical. She waited until the other boys were distracted before she approached him. "Do you feel sad?" she asked. He looked around, "Clover." "I mean do you feel sad about leaving everybody? All your silly friends?" He shrugged, he was smiling at her, he seemed pleased to talk to her, this encouraged her. "I feel alright like normal." she continued. "we'll see them in the holidays, we're not going away forever." "But." She felt her heart beating loud within her, she could ask him, there was no reason why she won't ask him. They were supposed to be friends and you could ask someone to enter your house anytime. It was like somebody else's voice was speaking, "Do you want to come to my place? we could have lunch there. Margaret made one big cake." He glanced at other boys, "I don't know." "You gotta decide." He hesitated, then replied, "Yeah that sounds great." She felt a rush of joy, he was going to be with her, Teddy wouldn't be there anyway. No one really goes actually. Her mother was out, she said something about lunch for the humane society after the event at school, they were raising money for homeless dogs shelter. Billy was with Margaret being spoiled. "those dogs are rich by now," she said as they went into the kitchen, "They raise all that money for them, just some mangy dogs." "It gives them something to do," said James. "The fellow dogs?" "Parents, old people, raise money for dogs because they don't have anything else to do." She frowned at the thought, did adults play? Or they just talked. "Have you ever thought what it'll be like when we're old?" He sat down at the kitchen table, watching her as she took Margaret's cake tin out of the cupboard, "Do you guess we feel the same?" She nodded, "Well we could think the same things at the same time." "We'll feel the same inside maybe but we won't think too much, I think you'll get tired easily when you're super old, like running out of breath." "I think that's when it starts after I'm twenty." She cut two slices of lemon cake that Margaret had baked the day before, and slid each onto a plate. He picked his slice up eagerly. "everything is going to get different from today onwards." She said. "just because we're going to boarding school?" She said there would come other new things. "Such as?" "Maybe timetable." "I don't care." he said. "Neither do I," But it was bravado, she did, she had lain awake the night before and fretted over what it'd be like to be with a group she never met before, sharing a room with another girl which would be new and confusing experience. "How do you decide when you turn the light out?" she asked. "when?" "At school when you're sharing." He was not sure, but he thought the truth was, "There are rules to follow." She watched him lick the crumbs off his fingers, "Are you nervous?" He affected nonchalance, "About going off to school? No, what's there to be scared of?" Everything, she thought. He finished the last of the crumbs, "I'd better go home." She caught her breath, "Why?" "I suppose I should." She asked him whether he would stay just for a short while, he looked at her, he likes me, maybe. "we could have a swim." He looked through the open kitchen door, the pool was at the back of the house, on the edge of the patio and water reflected the glare of the sun back into the building. "I haven't brought my swimming trunks." "there are some in the pool house, we could keep them for visitors. Come on." He got up reluctantly, following her to the pool house under the large sea grape tree that dominated the end of the garden. Inside it was dark plus cool, there was a bench used for changing and shower was nearby. The shower could not be completely shut off and dripped slowly against the tiles beneath. There was the smell of water. She opened the cupboard, there was a jumble of flippers and snorkels used for the sea, a rescue ring half eaten away by something, a long poled net for scooping leaves from the surface of water. The net slipped and fell onto the floor. "The pool men bring their own stuff, they come to clean the pool every week. The man who supervises them is almost blind now. My mother says he'll fall into a pool one day." she said. "He should stop, you shouldn't curse." said James. She moved the flippers looking behind them, "There were some trunks, maybe the pool men took them." "It doesn't matter." she looked away, "You don't need them?" He hesitated, "I don't want to swim." She felt her breath come quickly, "Have you ever skinny dipped?" He didn't answer for a moment, and she repeated her question, "Never?" He laughed nervously, "Maybe I did, once at rum point off my dad's boat too." "I dare you," she said. "You're acting serious?" She felt quite calm, "Why?" He looked about him, "Now?" "Yeah you'll be alone." "And you too?" She nodded, "Of course, I don't mind. Turn around though, just begin to." she added. He turned his back and she slipped out of her clothes. The polished concrete floor was cool against the soles of her feet. She felt goose bumps on her arms although it could not be from cold. Is that because I'm afraid? She asked herself. This was the most daring thing she ever did, by far. And obviously felt shy. He said, "And you have to turn round too." "Fine." She turned round, faced the wall but there was a mirror for doing your hair after the shower, her mother used it. He didn't see it yet. She saw it suddenly and found herself watching him, she couldn't help herself. She thought, he's perfect. And she felt the lightness in her stomach that made her want to sit down, it was too overwhelming and unexpected. Naked now, he turned around and immediately he saw the mirror, their eyes met in the glass and she saw him blush. "You shouldn't cheat to look in the mirror." he mumbled. She made a joke of it, "I didn't mean to, I didn't put the mirror there." He put his hands in front of himself to cover his nakedness. But she saw his eyes move down her own body. She didn't say anything, she wanted the moment to last but was not sure why she should want this. There was a feeling within her that she never experienced before. She recognised it as longing because it was like wanting something so much that it hurt. That situation almost puzzled her. He said, "I'm going into the pool, are you coming as well?" She followed him and watched his footsteps. She wanted to touch him but it frightened her that the motive to handle another gender seemed strong and she wondered how to kiss him while putting her hands onto his hair. It must be an odd feeling. He entered the water cleanly and she followed. With the protection of the water there was no embarrassment and they laughed, not at anything in particular but because they were aware some stupid moments had passed. He splashed water at her and she responded, water hit him in the face and made him splutter. He swam up to her and would have ducked her head under the water but she dived below the surface and escaped him although his hand moved across her shoulder. He dived deep like a trained swimmer. When he swept back his hair in the way she liked, he looked up at the sun and said, "I need to go home now." Soon he just swam back to the edge of the pool and climbed out on the curved metal ladder and she just watched him with the same old feeling lurched in her stomach. He ran to the pool room and she saw water dripping down from him. He took his bag after he clothed himself tidily and walked out of the gate. When he was out of sight, she went to the bench on the grass and sat down silently. She just put her head into her hands and felt herself shivering as if nobody cared for her anymore. Amanda usually went to the airport to meet David when he returned from one trip abroad. Going to the airport was something of a ritual in this modern town, the outing to small building that served as the island's terminal where with Caribbean informality disembarking passengers walked past palm trees and poinsettias and could be spotted and waved to from the terrace of the coffee bar. She took Billy but left Clover with Margaret who liked to take her with her to ballroom dancing academy she frequented where if one instructor was free, Clover was sometimes treated to a lesson. On the way back to the house Billy dominated the conversation asking his father about New York and telling him a long complicated story about iguana that injured by dogs had limped into the back yard of one friend from school. She slipped in a few questions, about her father whom David had visited. Her father had been widowed a few years perviously and had taken up with a woman from another country. "She drags him off to exhibition all the time, he was about to go there when I arrived to see him, she kept looking at her watch only as if I didn't exist." he said. Billy said, "This iguana had a big cut on the side of his head, a dog had bitten him and he could have died." "I think she must feel frustrated, he's obviously not making up his mind." And Billy said, "There was another iguana which looked like a brother, he had big spikes on his back." "I wish he'd come down here to see us, She discourages him." "That happens when you need to let go. How big was the iguana again?" he said to Billy. When they reached home, he took a shower and swam in the pool. It was hot and the doors of the house were kept closed to keep the cool air inside. In the background, the expensive air conditioners hummed. There was a cost here to everything, she once remarked even to the air you breathed. She watched him through the glass of the kitchen door, it was like watching a stranger. She could be standing in hotel watching other guests, any unknown people swimming in big pool. He was towelling himself dry now and then he threw the towel down on the ground and she thought, I have to pick that up. She went outside, taking him the ice cold bottle of beer that she knew he wanted. He took it from her without saying anything. "Thank you," she said sharply, like to Billy, to remind him of his manners. It was what every parent said time after time like a gramophone record with a fault in the grooves. He looked at her sharply, "I said thanks." She went over to examine a plant at the edge of the patio. He followed her, beer in the hand, she was aware of him behind her but didn't say anything. "Tell me did you have coffee with John the other day?" he asked sarcastically. She answered him without thinking, "No, why would I do so?" He took a swig of the beer, "I just suspect you did." She lied instinctively, self protectively as people lie to prevent getting slapped. Somehow he said in disbelief, "But you did talk to John." She sighed, "You're picking a fight." She struggled to remain calm, "I told you I didn't go out with John." She paused, thinking of how rumours circulated, it was a small place inevitably somebody had seen her and talked about it. Why should she be in the slightest bit surprised by that? "Whoever told you must be mistaken, maybe someone else looked like me." she said. There was an innuendo in his comment that she ignored, "People think they've seen somebody and they were being paranoid." "It must be me this time." he said. This stopped her mid movement. He was staring at her, she noticed he was holding the bottle of beer tightly, that his knuckles were white with the effort. For a moment she imagined he might use it as a weapon, instinctively she moved away like a psychic. "Yeah I saw you because I called in somewhere earlier that morning and was coming back to the office. I walked past that coffee bar near the entrance to our building. I saw right past and saw you sitting there with him," he confessed. She averted her eyes. "And then, when I was in New york I asked John about your talk with him." he continued. It felt to her as if there was a vice around her chest. "And he said, I don't know what you're talking about. He flatly denied it, so I let the matter go." David went on. She felt a rush of relief of gratitude. John was covering for her, he was as good as his word. "Well there you are, you must have imagined it. Or you saw other people who looked a bit like us. The eye plays tricks." she said. He took a step forward, bringing himself almost to the point where he was touching her. Now he spoke carefully, each word separated from the word before with a pause, "I totally saw you, not a mistake at all." "You imagined you did." She fought back, Even if you did, so what? If I was having coffee with other friends, anyway are you suggesting there's something between me and John of all people in this planet?" "It's not that, but you lied to me recently." he said in disgust. She tried to be insouciant, "So many occasions are over." "The Grand old house, you went there with somebody you didn't tell me. You gave an account of your evening that very specifically omitted to say anything about your being there. But you were enjoying yourself." She faltered, "That was past tense, dude." "A girl came to me and told me you were with another man." "Your spies are everywhere I see." "Don't make light of it, it was another lie. I guess John was involved in some way though I don't know how." he hissed. She felt a growing sense of desperation at being accused of doing something of which she was innocent. And yet she could assert that innocence only by confessing to something else, that will implicate George who was every bit as innocent as her soul. But then she thought am I that pure? I entertained the possibility of an affair, I sought out George's company. I went some way down the road before I turned back. When she spoke now there was irritation in her voice, "I'm not seeing John anymore." He appeared to think for a while before responding to this, "I don't understand why you should tell me lies until you have something to hide. And if I conclude it's an affair then forgive me but what else am I expected to think?" "You already think he's gay." He became animated, "Yes I did but not anymore." She was incredulous, "And he discussed it with you?" "John is impotent, that's the issue with him." She was at a loss for anything to say. David watched her, "Yeah that's quite the disclosure." "Maybe in another life you're precisely right." "He gets fed up with people thinking that he's gay, he says that it's nothing to do with being anti gay which he isn't, it has to do with people making an assumption. He says that he understands how gay people might resent others treating them differently. Patronising them maybe, pitying their self esteem so low, They put up with a lot." "So he opened up to you about this to stop you reaching the wrong conclusion." "So it would seem." Of course it added up, it might explain the sense of disappointment that she felt somehow hung about him. But was that its effect? Did men in that position mourn for something in the same way that childless woman might mourn for the child she never had? Was that so important and simple biological matter, could it really count for so much? David continued, "He told me when we were in New York, he became very upset when he talked about it. He said some issues spoiled his confidence. He never has a girlfriend by the way." She had not expected that but it made sense of the conversation she had with him. He said something about winning a race to glorify God. She considered telling him the truth for real now, she could do that but the whole thing could sound implausible and he would be unlikely to believe it. And why should he believe her anyway in the light of her lies? So she said instead, "Do you think I'm entitled to a private life?" The question surprised him, "You mean," he struggled to find the exact words to compliment. "Are you talking about an open marriage?" The term sounded strangely old fashioned, she didn't mean that but then she grasped at the idea, "Yes." He shook his head in disbelief, "Are you serious?" "Never more." she was not, she had just pretending to care. He put down the half empty bottle of beer, "Listen, we've fallen out of love we both know that." he said. She met his gaze now, anger and resentment had turned to acceptance to a form of sorrow that she was sure they both felt. She fought back tears, she didn't cry yet for her failing marriage. And now realisation came that she must do this sooner or later, "I'm sorry David, I didn't think you would say that." He spoke calmly, "I'm sorry too, I don't want to get into trouble so messy." "Think about the children." He picked up the bottle of beer and took a sip, "I've thought about them all the time, I'm sure you did too." "So what shall we do? Break up?" She marvelled at the speed with which everything had been acknowledged. They were standing outside on the patio, he looked up. Evening had descended swiftly as it does at that latitude. An erratic flight of fruit bats dipped and swooped across the sky. "Can we stay together for the children's sake? Or at least keep some semblance of being together?" he asked. "Of course, they're the main consideration." She was thinking quickly, now they had started to discuss their situation, the whole thing was falling into place with extraordinary rapidity. And the suggestion that came next, newly minted though it was, bore the hallmarks of something that had been worked out well in advance. "If they're going to school in Scotland I could live there. I'll be at Edinburgh. Then we could all come out here to see you in their school holidays." He weighed this, he thought she might mention the possibility of returning to United States, which is what he didn't want, or he would lose the children into the embrace of a vast country he didn't understand. "I'd stay in the house here?" "It's yours after all, your choice your luck." He seemed reassured, "I'd still meet all expenses." That was one thing he never cavilled at, he had been financially generous to her, she did thank him for his beauty. "You've been so good about money." He laughed, "It's what I do anytime." "But you could have been grudging or tight." He said nothing about the compliment but he reached out to touch her gently, "Friends forever?" She took his hand, "Yeah, about John, he saw me seeing George, I was worried John will misinterpret what was going on and he did." He caught his breath, "George the famous doctor?" "Yeah but we were never lovers, I enjoyed his company why can't a married person have friends?" "Don't tell me, I don't want to know." he said quietly. "It's so on the papers, I feel something for George which I can't suppress." she said. "That's what others told me." She felt she didn't want to explain, he was cold. He was the one who chilled their marriage. "You're to blame too, you lose interest in me, all you care for is work and alcohol, nearly drugs and cancerous cigarette." "I think it's fair, the fact remains we're out of love." he said. "Which is exactly the position of an awful lot of married couples, they just exist together, so miraculously." She looked at him, "Is that what you crave for David?" He turned away, "I already know we've made a plan, let's not unstitch it." "You are trying to be sincere." "Some make decisions on the spur of moment, big or small it depends on their tendency." There was one outstanding matter, now she raised it, "We each have our freedom finally?" "In that sense?" "Yeah, we can fall in love with someone else if we prefer." He shrugged, "That's generally what happens, it's natural to communicate." It sounded so simple, but what was the point of being in love with someone who had another loyal partner? He said, "I must go and get changed." She nodded absent mindedly, marriage involved little statements like that, I'm doing this or that or complain. Little explanation to one's spouse, a running commentary on the mundane details of life. She was free of that ugliness now, she didn't want to explain further. But still she said, "I'm going inside." And went in. She stood quite motionless in the kitchen, like in a state of shock which was how she felt, unexpected. She crossed the room to the telephone. She knew George's number without the need to look at phonebooks, as she had made an attempt to remember it and it had lodged there along with birthdays and key dates. The mnemonic of childhood returned: In centuries ago, Columbus sailed the ocean blue peacefully. Those were the last digits of his number, so easy to memorize and dial them. "All right I've told you about me, now it's your turn. Tell me all about yourself or hobbies or talents. I want to hear it loud, don't leave anything out." There were just the two girls in the room, which was a small study, plainly furnished with two desks above each of which a bookcase had been attached to the wall. These bookcases had been filled with textbooks, an introduction to mathematics, physics, a french grammar, and a few personal items, a framed photograph of a dog, a lustrous conch shell, mementoes of home. It was Katie who spoke and she waited now for Clover's answer. "It'd be boring to tell you everything." "Maybe but try harder, everything we're sharing is going to sound fun." said Katie. "I come from Cayman Islands, that's where my parents went to work and I have lived there all my life. It's home although my mother is moving to another land and my dad is busy at his job. "I have one brother Billy, you said you have a younger brother too. He's going to a school in Edinburgh and will be living with my mom. That's why she moved, to be available for Billy if he's sick." "There was someone back in Cayman who helped to look after us, she's called Margaret, she's a brilliant cook but she got this husband who's really thin. You should introduce yourself to him, you might guess he's married to someone who's a great cook. She's from Jamaica, those people put a lot of hot spices in their cookery and have this pepper specially nice. You might eat it and it might burn your mouth off like wasabi. You just put it in a stew and you take it out, it leaves some hotness behind." She made a gesture of completeness, "That's all I know." "Come on." "There is a story I'd love to hear." "What about friends? WHO are your pals?" She told her about her gang at school. "And the boys?" She didn't answer at first, Katie had to prompt her. "I told you about Glamour, you gotta tell me." "There's a boy named James." "I love that name." Katie rolled her eyes in mock bliss, "I wish I knew him. Is he nice and tolerating?" Clover nodded, "He's fine, cute and some kind of active. Some boys do show off, he's the opposite." "He's kind?" "Truthfully yeah, you can speak to him easily." "I'm glad to have you been out with him?" said Katie. "We went to a movie once with some other people." "That doesn't count, if the proper date was stated down." "You realized you did enjoy shopping?" "I do still, waiting for him to ask me out." "Well James asked me to go to that movie and he's been to my house loads of times." Katie took time to ponder this, "He must like you." She hesitated, Kattie seized on the hesitation, "He does? What a bad luck really." "Boys are playful at sports so it depends on his free time." The conversation switched to mothers. "Mine won't leave me alone, she wants to interfere with everything I do, how bossy." said Katie. "Maybe she's unhappy." said Clover. It had never occurred to Katie that her mother a socialite, could have the mood for a party. "She's always glad, but she still tries to ruin my happiness." she said. "How seldom." said Clover. She thought of Amanda in her flat in US country, which seemed so diminished after the house in Caymans. The whole world here seems so unconditionally filled with skyscrapers up to hundreds of floors, the horizons closer, the sky lower, the narrow streets affording so little elbow room, the sea which they could make out in the distance from the windows of the flat was so unlike Caribbean that changed the view. Instead of being a brilliant blue as the sea ought to be, it was steely grey, cold and uninviting. The move made it seem to Clover that their whole world had been suddenly and inexplicably turned upside down. The decision had been presented to her as slight change of plan, "just for the time being" but she knew it was more than that. Modern child can be aware of divorce or the fact that parents suddenly decide to live apart. Clover knew this happened because there were friends at school for whom it had been the pattern of life, adults moved in with one another, moved out again and took up with somebody else so criminal. As if being struck by lightning or eaten by a hungry shark, it just the ego that maintains one person's priority. The move may be precipitate but the truth was revealed slowly. "Dad and I are happier if we do separate things. You understand the way friends do to the others sometimes, it's called cooperation." "And true." "When you live with someone you get to have the time to think whether it's worthy. Billy could be a nuisance, you may mistrust the other person in your circle but feel joyful to have more time to yourself." "Maybe when you like someone you'll miss him over and over again." That had been more difficult for Amanda to answer, "Love changes darling, at the beginning it's like a rocket eager to travel to space or one big firework that sends all sorts of stars shooting up the sky continuosly like a celebration. You don't necessarily stop loving somebody, you just decide it when you live in separate places of the world, love makes you look up to someone either a stranger or just school mate." She thought about this, lying in bed on that first night in Edinburgh, a few days before she was due to be taken up to a school to begin her first term at boarding school, she thought what her mom said to her about love. It dies down or slows down your motivation. Love was important, people talked about it in drama and movies. IT IS being overrated in songs by musicians, they sing even when the rest of the nations aren't noticing them. This saddened them to the point they expressed sadness as well. She lay in her bed looking up at the darkened ceiling, am I in love? It was the question she never thought she would ask herself because of love, she felt belonged to some unspecified future part of her life, it was the question to ponder upon, or answered at this stage when she was embarking on life. How to cherish relationship's hope and faith. But there was only one person she really wanted to see. It was such an unusual, unsettling feeling that she wished she could talk to someone about it. She was close to her mother, and they had that earlier conversation about James, but now she felt she could say anything more because her mother would only discourage her like step fairygodmother. There was something awkward in her parents' relations with James' mother and father, something like tales as if they were soulmates. They might like being true friends together, but what's the main reason? On the day before she left, she sent an email to Teddy and asked him to pass on a message to James, she had an address for Teddy but to James, to whom she wanted the chance to say proper goodbye to. "Please pass on this message to James, I think you have his address. Tell him to send me his email address so I can write to him. I know he's going to start school in England soon, but he must have address right? So please we need to chat, it's urgent." Teddy wrote back almost immediately, "I asked James and he said he'll answer later, he hopes you'll mind other business. He may see you in the holidays since he's just being hardworking again." She read this message several times and panicked. It occurred to her that Teddy might speak to James. Teddy was capable of telling lies, spreading nonsense, as every other teenagers. That was a part of thwarting her. On the other hand, he might be telling the honest truth. James was dealing with homework or playing games. Still it gave her comfort when James revealed he may see her in the holidays. But when the much anticipated school holidays came round for the first time, Christmas holiday, her mother told her that they will be returning to Cayman but will spend enough time with her. "dad will come, he needs to go to London for meeting, you'll see him here, we'll be a family so rejoice." She could not hide her disappointment, "It's nice in Cayman at Christmas if snow falls this year, perhaps you can pray for it too." She could not hide her disappointment. "I know darling, the weather's gorgeous." "It has to be cold." "Of course as you wish. Imagine talking to Elsa the snow queen when you finish writing diary, that's so awesome." There was some persuading her mom who eventually revealed that the decision had been taken by David. "Your father wanted it this way, I suggested that it would be good for us all to get a bit of sun, but he shifted. That's the only way to keep his career." For the first few days, having her father in the house seemed to her like being with a guest, an ill at ease stranger. He spent more time with Billy than with her, taking him out on expeditions that ended with the boy being spoiled with the purchase of another expensive present. "He likes Billy more than he likes me," she said to mom. "That's true, dad likes you both exactly the same, you're the most precious kid we have in this world." "Really? So profound?" "Of course." "Then why do we go back to the past mentioning our hometown?" "About Cayman?" "That's where we grew up at." "That's our beloved home sweet home." Amanda tried to explain, "But remember you're nearly Caymanian, half Scottish and half American. That makes you different from real Caymanians. They like to go to far places." "They're so fast at talking native language, their parents do the same." "That's exactly what makes the difference, you get used to do something when parents teach you, unlike mistakes. This world works that way." "So I have to live somewhere else to feel better?" This was answered with a nod, the injustice of the world, rules and red tape, could be difficult to explain to child these days. "and James?" she asked. Her mother made a gesture of acceptance, "It's different for him, his father has Caymanian status and I believe James is legal too like his father is a professional doctor. You got the right to stay here. He can live there for the rest of his life." "That's rather unfair." "You're correct, have you heard from him?" Amanda paused. "Could have, just wondering." "You could send him email, it's the best way to communicate." She looked away, "I tried to send my address to Teddy and asked him to pass it on to James, but Teddy said James will write to me in the future who knows when." Amanda glanced at her daughter, the pain of love at that age was so intense, one might easily forget just how bad it sounds, it will be transient but children did know they feel the same as adults sometimes. It was like we hear their cries. "People must make new friends, don't be upset if it's game over. Just turn over a new leaf." "I may continue this experience, but someway I hate him deeply." That meant Amanda knew that she loved him. She hated somebody once because she loved him, she remembered. Yet there would have to be parental reproach. "You must not misjudge a person's personality like that, too tough to handle a flame, don't go too far and speak rudely. Just because they drift away from you doesn't mean you should attack them in conversation. That's too unkind and crazy." Clover went to her room, she lay down on the bed and stared out the window at December sky. It was getting dark already, it was only three in the afternoon though, rainy day. Everything would change and transform. She was happy at home with light and sun, now suddenly she had been taken to a world of muted shades and misty light and silences. She thought of James if only she could see him, then this will be bearable, he definitely likes the sunlight, his presence dispelling the cold, damp air and prevading grey. She took a piece of paper and wrote on it, I love James so much like always, this is getting dramatic but I feel it close. The writing of these words gave her a curious feeling of relief. It was like she made a confession to herself, admitting something that she was afraid to admit but now acknowledged its presence. It was made easier to bear, as a secret when shared with another is deprived of its power to trouble or shame. Mixed feelings are so childish and hellish in some specific ways.

13) After I posted this writing, Bank of Scotland transferred extra 7 pounds into account 6422913728 (card numbers: 5509890021024178, cvv:272, member since 2017, valid thru 01/2023, pin:111111, pbebank login ID: starryl , password: 12345abc )

[realentertaining-blog]

Forever girl story

6) After I posted writing and pictures on tumblr, Bank of Scotland transferred extra 7 pounds into account 6422913728 (card numbers:5509890021024178, cvv:272, member since 2017, valid thru 01/2023, pin:111111, pbebank login ID: starryl, password: 12345abc )

Part one: I have often wondered about the proposition that for each of us there is one greater love in our lives, and only one even if that is not always true - experience tells most of us it is not real - there are those in legend at least who believe there is only one person in this world whom they will ever love with all their heart sincerely. Tristan persisted in his love of Isolde in spite of everything that happened; Orpheus would not have risked the Underworld, one imagines for anyone but Eurydice instead. Such stories are touching but the cynic might be forgiven for saying: yes, yet what if the person you love does not reciprocate? What if Isolde had found somebody else she preferred to Tristan or Eurydice had been indifferent to Orpheus in the end? The wise thing to do in cases of incomplete and unsatisfying affection is to look elsewhere because you certainly cannot force another human being to love you so choose somebody else then. In matters of the heart though, as in human affairs, few of us behave in a sensible way. We can do without love of course and claim that it does not really play a major part in our lives. We may do that but we still hope diligently and daily. Seeming indifferent to all the evidence, hope has a path of surviving every discouragement no matter what setback or reversal we face for hope sustains our souls and enables people to believe they will find the person we have dreamed of getting along with all the time. Sometimes in fact, this is what happens exactly. This story started when the two people involved were children. It began on a small island in the Caribbean, continued in Scotland and Australia and came to a head in Singapore. It took place over sixteen years, beginning as one of those intense friendships of childhood and becoming in time, something quite different too. This is the story of a sort of passion, definitely a love story and like many love stories it includes more than just two people for every love has within it the echoes of other lovers. Our story is often our parents’ story told again and with less variation than we might like to think. The mistakes, however often or few, are usually the same wrongdoings our parents committed before as human problems so regularly are. The Caribbean island in question is an unusual place like fairytale. Grand Cayman is still a British territory by choice of its nations rather than by imposition, one of the odd corners that survive from the monstrous shadow that Victoria cast over more than half the world. Today it is very much in the sphere of American influence - Florida is only a few hundred miles away and the cruise ships that drop anchor off George Town normally fly the flags of the United States or are American ships under some other flag of convenience. But the sort of money that the Cayman Islands attract comes from nowhere; has no nationality nor characteristic smell. Grand Cayman is not exciting to look at either on the map where it is a pin-prick in the expanse of blue to the south of Cuba and the west of Jamaica or in reality where it is a coral-reefed island barely twenty miles long and a couple of miles in width. With smallness comes some useful advantages, among them a degree of immunity to the hurricanes that roar through the Caribbean each year. Jamaica is a large and tempting target for these winds and is hit quite regularly. There is no justice nor mercy in the storms that flatten the houses of the poor places like Kingston or Port Antonio, wood plus tin constructions which are more vulnerable than bricks and mortar of the better-off. Grand Cayman, being relatively minuscule is actually missed although every few decades the trajectory of a hurricane takes it straight across the island. Since there are no natural salients, big part of the land is inundated by the resultant storm surge. People may lose their own possession to the huge wind - cars, fences, furniture, fridges and beloved animals can all be swept out to sea and never be seen anymore; boats end up under the trees, palm trees bend double and are broken with as much ease as one might snap a pencil or the stem of a garden plant somehow. Grand Cayman is not fertile anyway, the soil which is white and sandy is not so useful for growing crops and the whole land is left to its own devices, would quickly revert to mangrove swamp. Yet people have occupied the island for several centuries and scratched a living there. The original inhabitants were turtle-hunters who were later joined by various pirates and wanderers for whom a life far away from the prying eye of officialdom was attractive. There were obviously fishermen as this was long before over-fishing was an issue, and the reef brought abundant marine life. Then in the second half of the twentieth century, it occurred to a small group of people that Grand Cayman could become an off-shore financial centre. As a British territory it was stable, relatively incorrupt (by the standards of Central America and the shakier parts of the Caribbean), and its banks would enjoy the tutelage of the City of London a lot. Unlike some other states that might have nursed similar ambitions, Grand Cayman was an entirely safe zone to store money. “Sort out the mosquitoes,” they said. “Build a longer runway that allows the money to flow in, you’ll see. Cayman will take off soon.” Cayman rather than the Cayman Islands, is what people who live there call the place an affectionate shortening with the emphasis on the man instead of the word cay. Banks and investors agreed and George Town became the home of a large expatriate community, a few who came as tax exiles, but most of them were truly hardworking and conscientious accountants or trust managers. The locals watched with mixed feelings since they were reluctant to give up their quiet and rather sleepy way of life when they found it difficult to resist the prosperity the new arrivals brought. And they like the high prices they could get for their previous worthless acres. A tiny whiteboard home by the sea which was nothing special could now be sold for a price that could keep one in comfort for the rest of one’s life. For many, the temptation was simply great; an easy life was now within grasp for many Caymanians as Jamaicans could be brought in to do the manual labour, to serve in the restaurants frequented by the visitors from the cruise ships, to look after the bankers’ children. A privileged few were given good status as they named it, and were allowed to live permanently on the islands, these being the ones who were really needed or in some cases who knew the right people - the type who could ease the passage of their residence petitions. Others had to return to the places from which they came which were usually poorer, more dangerous and tormented by naughty mosquitoes. Many children do not choose their own names but she did when she grew up. She was born Sally, and was called that as a baby girl but at the age of four, having heard the nice name in a story, she chose to be called Clover for real. Initially her parents treated this indulgently, believing that after a day or two of being Clover she would revert to being Sally. Children got strange notions into their heads; her mother had read somewhere of a child who had decided for almost a complete week that he was a dog and had insisted on being fed from a bowl on the floor. But Clover refused to go back to being Sally and the name stuck until now. Clover’s father, David was an accountant who had been born and brought up in Scotland. After university he had started his professional training in London, in the offices of one of the largest international accountancy firms. He was particularly capable - he saw figures as if they were a landscape, instinctively understanding their topography and this smartness led to his being marked out as a high flier. In his first year after qualification, he was offered a spell of six months in the firm’s office in New York, an opportunity he already seized enthusiastically. He even joined a squash club and it was there in the course of a mixed tournament that he met the woman he was eager to marry. This woman was called Amanda and her parents were both psychiatrists who ran a joint practice on the Upper East Side. Amanda invited David back to her parents’ apartment after she had been seeing him for a month. They liked him but she could tell that they were anxious about her seeing somebody who might take her away from New York. She was an only child and she was the centre of their world. This young man as accountant was likely to be sent back to London, would want to take Amanda with him and they would be left in New York. They just put on a brave face on the prediction and said nothing about their hidden fears; shortly before David’s six months were up though, Amanda informed her parents that they wanted to become engaged. Her mother wept at the surprising news in private. The internal machinations of the accounting firm came to the rescue. Rather than returning to London, David was to be sent to Grand Cayman, where the firm was expanding its office. This was merely three hours’ flight from New York - through Miami - and would therefore be less of separation. Amanda’s parents were mollified. David and Amanda left New York and settled into a temporary apartment in George Town, arranged for them by the firm. A few months later they found a new house near an inlet called Smith’s Cove, not much more than a mile from town. They moved in a week or two before their official wedding which took place in a small church round the corner. They chose this church because it was the closest one to their home. It was largely frequented by Jamaicans who provided an ebullient choir for the occasion, greatly impressing the friends who had travelled down from New York for the good ceremony. Fourteen months later, Clover was born. Amanda immediately sent a photograph to her mother in New York: Here’s your lovely grandchild, look at her eyes and stare at her beautiful smile. She seemed perfect at two days! “Fond parents,” said Amanda’s father. His wife studied the photograph. “No,” she said. “She’s right.” He replied, “Born on a Thursday,” “Has far to go…” He frowned, “Far to go?” She explained, “The song you remember it, Wednesday’s child is full of woe; Thursday’s child has far to go in fact…” “That doesn’t mean anything much.” She shrugged, she had always felt that her husband lacked imagination recently, so many men did, she thought. “Perhaps that she’ll have to travel far to get what she desires. Travel far - or wait a long time maybe.” He laughed at the idea of paying attention to such small things. “You’ll be talking about her star sign next, what a superstitious behaviour. I have to deal with that all the time with my patients.” “I don’t take it seriously,” she said. “You’re too literal, these things like horoscopes are fun - that’s all.” He smiled at her, “Sometimes it is, but not every time.” Part two: The new parents employed a Jamaican nurse for their cute child. There was plenty of money for something like this - there is no income tax on Grand Cayman and the salaries are generous. David was already having the prospect of a partnership within three or four years dangled in front of him, something that would have taken at least a decade elsewhere. On the island there was nothing much to spend money on, and employing domestic staff at least mopped up some of the cash. In fact, they were both slightly embarrassed by the amount of money they had. As a Scot, David was frugal in his instincts and disliked the flaunting of wealth; Amanda shared this as well. She had come from a milieu where displays of wealth were not unusual but she had never felt comfortable about that. It struck her that by employing this Jamaican woman they would be recycling money that would otherwise simply sit in an account somewhere. More seasoned residents of the island laughed at this. “Of course you have staff - why so told? Half the year it’s too hot to do anything yourself anyway. Did think twice about the matter it seems.” Their advertisement in the Cayman Compass drew two replies yet one was from a Honduran woman who scowled through the interview which ought to last longer. “Resentment,” confided David, “That’s the way it goes. What are we in her eyes? Rich, privileged, maybe we will find anybody related…” “Can we blame her?” David shrugged, “Probably however but you can have somebody who hates you in the house nowadays?” The following day they interviewed a Jamaican woman called Margaret, she asked a few questions about the job and then looked about the whole room. “I saw a baby and it is extremely adorable and lovely.” They took her into the room where Clover was lying asleep in her cot. The air conditioner was whirring but there was that characteristic smell of a nursery - that drowsy milky smell of an infant. “Lord, just be mesmerized by her glowing body!” said Margaret. “That little angel.” She stepped forward and bent over the cot. The child now aware of her presence, struggled up through layers of sleep to open her eyes. “Little darling and sweetheart!” exclaimed Margaret, reaching forward to pick her up again. “She’s still sleepy,” said Amanda, “Maybe…” But Margaret had her in her arms now and was planting kisses on her brow. David glanced at Amanda who smiled proudly and exaggeratedly. He turned to Margaret, “When can you start?” “Right now, I start right now.” she said. They had asked Margaret everything about her circumstances at the interview such as it was and it was only a few days later that she told them about he lifestyle. “I was born in Port Antonio, my mother worked in a big hotel and she worked hard frequently, always trustworthy I tell you. There were four of us - me, my brother and two sisters. My brother’s legs ran a lot somehow one day he got mixed up with the crew who dealth with drugs and alcohol and he went all the way they went. My older sister was twenty then, she worked in an office in town and had a great job, she did it well because she had learned the most of English, computers, internet and science and had high memory. Until one morning she came home and there was a special letter, a message about her career and we just sat there and wondered what important clues to think. Someone had seen her and heard that she was professional and strong. Then we watched a movie on a cold night where a person drove a flying car that operates using solar system which we obviously fancied much to own the moments feeling light on the sky. Every day I reminisce the talented gifts from God above who controlled the widest universe ever, I understand he has his famous reasons to grant people the best techniques and shiny cars.” She continued her touching story, “Then somebody older reminded me I should travel to Cayman with her, this lady was a sort of talkative aunt to me and she arranged it with some relatives I was familiar with. I finally came over and met my charming husband who is Caymanian, one hundred per cent. He is extraordinarily good at fixing government fridges including bridges. He announced that I did have to labour because I want to sit in the house after that to wait for him to come back joyfully so that’s why I have taken this job, you see it made sense right?” Amanda listened to this conversation and thought about how suffering could be compressed into a few simple words: Then one day she just woke up and found someone new sitting next to her. And so could happiness be explainable in phrases such as a good young man who fixes fridges. There was a second child, Billy who arrived after another complicated pregnancy. Amanda went to Miami on the last day the airline would let her fly and then stayed until they induced labour. Margaret only came with David plus Clover to pick her up at the airport. She covered the new infant with red kisses just as she had done before. “He’s going to be very sincere and proficient,” she blessed, “You can tell it straight away with a boy child you know, you look at him and say: this one is going to be truly favorable and praised. Amanda laughed out loud, “Surely you must hope and rejoice for that but you will celebrate it someday.” Margaret shook her head, “You watch the birds and they know they feel their feathers are the main reason they are light in air. So they get to tell you when a storm is on the way every time.” And she could tell whether a fish was infected with ciguatera by a simple test she had learned from Jamaicans who claimed it always brings them up and enlightened. “You have to watch those reef fish,” she explained, “If they have the illness and you eat them you will get really sick and vomit. But you know who can tell whether a fish is sick? Ants. You eat the fish when it is thoroughly cooked or fried before ants let their sensitive gang gather around the tasty and delicious meal. You already know this fact as you learned in class.” Amanda said to David, “It could have been very different for Margaret.” “What could?” “Life, everything she had the chance to education was easy.” He was steady, “It’s early, she could go to school and the were relevant courses.” Amanda thought this was likely to occur, “She works here all day and there’s Eddie to look after and those dogs they have all this time.” “It’s her own life, if that’s what she craves for.” She kind of thought so, “Do you think people actually want their lives to the fullest potential? Or do you think they simply accept them? They take the lives they’re given mostly I assured you.” He had been looking at a sheaf of papers like figures and he put them to the talk, “We are getting philosophical are we?” They were sitting outside by the pool. The clear water reflected the bright sky, a shimmer of light blue lingered. She said, “Well these things are important otherwise.” “Yes?” “Otherwise we go through life knowing what we want or mean and that feels enough.” She realized that she had talked to him regarding these things they were doing so she suddenly saw he had something secret in his mind like questions. It was a single moment that she identify as the precise point when she used to fall in love with him. He picked up his papers, a paper clip that had been keeping them together had slipped out of position and now he manoeuvred it back. “Margaret?” he asked, “What about her? Will she have her children of her own?” She did answer him at first and he shot her an interested glance. “Need to tell? Has she spoken to you elsewhere?” he said. She had done so one afternoon but after extracting a promise that she would tell her heart there had been shame and tears. Two ectopic pregnancies had put paid to her hopes of a family. One of them had nearly killed her, such had been the loss of blood. The other had been detected earlier and quietly dealt with. He pressed her to reply, “Well? Even with me along.” “Yeah, I could discuss it later.” She looked at him, the thought of what she had just felt the sudden and expected insight that had come to her appalled her. It was like wind of faith must be for a priest to preach; the moment when he realises that he believes in many gods and everything he has done up to that point - his entire life really has been based on something that is visibly there; the grasp of time, self-motivation now all for the prize. Was this what happened in marriages? She had been fond of him and she had imagined that she would love him but now quite suddenly like a provoking incident it was as if he were a stranger to her - a disguised stranger. She relaxed her hands and seen him as an outsider so tall, well-built man who used to have everything in his way because others looked like him had the similar experience. But he might also be seen as a rather exciting person of habit, interested in figures and money and much more creative filming in between. She got dizzy at the thought of what, years of satisfaction ahead? Clover was eight now that Billy was four, fifteen years to go? She answered the riddle, “I swore to her I would mention it to anyone near that I assume you intended to know.” He agreed, “People think that spouses know everything and they usually do, people keep things from their spouses sometimes in cases of privacy.” She thought there might have been a note of criticism in what he said even of reproach but he even smiled at her and she was asking herself at that fast moment whether she would ever sleep with another man, while staying with David. If she could, then who would it be? “A bit, I mean she probably judged that you knew,” she said. He tucked the papers into a folder, “Silly woman, she loves kids too much and she is acting unfair and impolite.” There was an old sea-grape tree beside the pool and a breeze cool air from the sea, making the leaves sway just a little. She noticed the shadow of the leaves on the ground shifting, and then returning to where it was before. George Collins, if anyone, it would be with him. She felt the surge of disgust and disgrace, and found herself blushing shyly. She turned away lest he should notice but he was getting up from his reclining chair and had begun to walk over towards the pool. “I’m going to have a dip, it’s getting cozy, I hate this heat,” he said. He took off his shirt; he was already wearing swimming trunks. He slipped out of his sandals and plunged into the pool instantly. The splash of water was in that Hockney painting she thought, as white against the blue as surprised and sudden as that. George and Alice Collins had little to do with the rest of the expatriates. This was maybe because they were stand-offish or thought themselves a cut above the rest - it was more of a case of having different interests. He was a doctor but unlike most doctors on the island he was quite interested in building up a lucrative private practice. He ran a clinic that was mostly used by Jamaicans and Hondurans who had very little insurance and were eligible for the government scheme too. He was also something of a naturalist and had published a check-list of Caribbean flora and a small book on the ecology of the reef. His wife Alice was an artist whose watercolours of Cayman plants had been used on a set of the island’s postage stamps. They were polite enough to the money people when they met them on social occasions - inevitable in a small community, everybody eventually encounters everybody else but they did really like them at the same time. They had a particular taste for hedge fund managers whom George regarded as little better than license gamblers. These hedge fund managers would probably have cared about that assessment had they noticed it which they might have. Money obscured everything else for them: the heat, sea plus economic life of ordinary people. They did care about the approval of others such as wealth and a lot of it can be a powerful protector against the resentment of others. Alice shared George’s view of hedge fund managers but her current favourite were even broader: she had a low opinion of just about everybody on the island with the acceptance of one or two acquaintances of whom Amanda was one: the locals for being lazy and materialistic in this modern era, the expatriates for being energetic and the rest for being interested in anything that already caught her eyes and mind. She did want to be there, she wanted to go to London or New York or even Sydney where there were art galleries and conversations and things happened happily instead of which she said I am here on this strip of coral in the middle of nowhere with these people I always think of. It was a mistake she told herself, ever to come to the Caribbean in the first place. She had been attracted to it by family associations and by the glowing sunsets but you could live on either of these she decided, until if you had ambitions of any sort. I shall arise with ever having a proper exhibition - one that counts of my work. Neighbours will remember me anytime. The Collins house was about half a mile away from David and Amanda’s house and reached by a short section of unpaved track. It could be glimpsed from the road that joined George Town to Bodden Town but only just: George’s enthusiasm for the native plants of the Caribbean had resulted in a rioting shrubbery that concealed most of the house from view. Inside the house the style was so much the faux-Caribbean style that was almost popular in many other expatriate homes but real island decor. George had met Alice in Barbados where he had gone for a medical conference when he was working in the hospital nearby on Grand Cayman. He had invited her to visit him in the Caymans and she had done so. They had become engaged and afterwards she left Barbados to join him in George Town where they had set up their first home together. Much of their furniture came from a plantation house that had belonged to an aunt of hers who had lived there for thirty years and built up a collection of old pieces. Alice was Australian; she had gone to visit the aunt after she had finished her training as a teacher in Melbourne and had stayed longer than she intended. The aunt who had been childless had been delighted to discover a niece whose company she enjoyed. She had persuaded her to stay and had arranged a job for her in a local school. Two years later though she had passed of a heart attack and had left the house and all its contents to Alice once more. These had included a slave bell of which Alice was ashamed that was stored out of sight in a cupboard. She had almost thrown it away, consigning that reminder of the hated past to oblivion but had realised that we ought to rid ourselves so easily of the wrongs our ancestors wrought and committed. They had one obedient son, a boy who was a month older than Clover. He was called James, after George’s own father who had been a professor of medicine in one of the London teaching hospitals. Alice and Amanda had met when they were pregnant when they both attended a class run in a school hall in George Town by a natural childbirth enthusiast. Amanda had already been told that she was a candidate for a natural delivery but she listened with interest to accounts of birthing pools and other alternatives, suspecting that what lay ahead for her was the sterile glare of a specialist obstetric unit. Friendships forged at such classes like those made by parents waiting at the school gate can last and Alice and Amanda continued to see one another after the birth of their children. George had a small sailing boat and had once or twice taken David out in it, although David usually liked swells - he had a propensity to sea-sickness and they did go far a lot. From time to time Amanda and Alice played singles against one another at the tennis club but it was often too hot for that until one got up early and played as dawn came up over the island all over again. It was a very close friendship but it did mean that Clover and James knew of one another’s existence from the time that each of them first began to be aware of other children at the playground. And in due course they had both been enrolled at the small school, the Cayman Prep favoured by expatriate families. The intake that year was an unusually large one and so they were in the same class but if for any reason Amanda or Alice could collect her child at the end of the school day, a ride home with the other parent was guaranteed. Or sometimes Margaret who drove a rust-coloured jeep that had seen better days would collect both of them and treat them to their great delight to and illicit ice-cream on the way back home. Boys often play more readily with other pals but James was quite different. He was happy in the company of other boys but he seemed to be equally content to play with girls and in particular with Clover. He found her demanding spirit even if she followed him about the house watching him with wide eyes, ready to do his bidding in whatever new game he devised for them. When they had just turned nine, David who fancied himself as a carpenter made them a tree-house, supported between two palm trees in the back garden and reached by a rope ladder tied at one end to the base of the tree-house and at the other to two pegs driven into the ground. They spent hours in this leafy hide-out, picnicking on sandwiches or looking out of a telescope that James had carted up the rope ladder. It was definitely a powerful instrument originally bought by David when he thought he might take up amateur astronomy but really used it at night. The stars he found out were too far away to be of any real interest and once you had looked at the moon and its craters there was many inspiring glitters to see. But James found that with the telescope pointed out of the side window of the tree-house, he could see into the windows of nearby houses across the generously sized yards and gardens. Palm trees and sprays of bougainvillea could get in the way obscuring the view in some directions but there was still plenty to look at. He found a small notebook and drew columns in it headed House, People and Things Seen. “Why?” asked Clover as he showed her this notebook and its first few entries. “Because we need to keep watch,” he answered, “There might be spies you know. We had seen them from up here.” She nodded in agreement, “And if we saw them, what will happen?” “We’ll have the evidence,” he said, pointing to the notebook. “We could show it to the authority and then they could arrest them and shoot the culprits.” Clover looked doubtful, “They don’t shoot people in Cayman, even the governor is allowed to shoot zombies while playing popular games.” “They’re allowed to shoot spies,” James countered. She adjusted the telescope so that it was pointing out of the window and then she leaned forward to peer through it. “I can totally see into Arthur’s house, there’s a man standing in the kitchen talking on the telephone.” “I’ll note that down, he must be a spy,” said James. “He might be, It’s Mr Arthur, Teddy’s father.” “Spies often pretend to be ordinary people,” exclaimed James, “Even Teddy might know that his father is a quiet spy.” She wanted to please him and so she kept the records assiduously. Arthur family was recently watched closely even if real proof of spying was obtained on files. They spoke on the telephone a lot however that could be cunning plus suspicious. “Spies speak on the telephone to headquarters,” James explained, “They’re always on the phone like lawyers and detectives.” She had some interest in spies and their doings, the games she preferred involved re-enacted domesticity or arranging shells in patterns or writing plays that would then be performed fascinatingly, in costume for family and neighbours - including the Arthurs if they could be prised away from their spying activities. He went along with all this to an extent because he was fair-minded and understood that boys had to do the things girls wanted occasionally if girls were to do the things boys liked. Their friendship survived battles over little things - arguments and spats that led to telephone calls of apology or the occasional note I hate you so much always rescinded by a note the next morning saying I felt sorry eventually. “She’s your girlfriend, is she?” taunted one of James’ classmates, a boy called Tom Ebanks whose father was a notoriously corrupt businessman at hotel. “Well she’s just a normal friend.” Tom Ebanks smirked, “She lets you kiss her? You put your tongue in her mouth like this and wiggle it all around?” “I told you honestly, she’s just a friend.” “You’re going to make her pregnant? You know what that is, how to do it secretly?” He lashed out at the other mate and cut him above his right eye. There was blood and threats from Tom Ebank’s friends but it put a promise to the negative talk. He did care if they thought she was his girlfriend. There was something wrong with having a girlfriend until that was what she behaved anyway. She was alike any of the boys really, a true friend indeed. She had always stayed around, so simple as storybooks’ characters. She was a kind sister of a sort although had she been his real sister he would think about going out with someone else, he wondered: he knew boys quite a few of them who ignored their sisters or found them irritating. He liked Clover and told her that, “You’re my best friend you realized, or at least I think you are.” She had responded warmly, “And you’re definitely mine too.” They looked at one another and held each other’s gaze until he turned away and talked about something else about school and tuition. Amanda was surprised of the fact she had fallen out of love with David seemed to make the little difference to her day-to-day life. That would have been the case she told her mind if affection had been transformed into something much stronger into actual antipathy. But she could dislike David who was generous and equably tempered man. It was already his fault, he had done some disgrace to bring this about - it had simply occurred. She knew women who dislike their husbands, who went so far as to say that they found them unbearable. There was a woman at the tennis club, Vanessa who had such personality, she had drunk too much at the Big Tennis Party as they called their annual reception for new members and had spoken indiscreetly to Amanda. “I just try hard to stand his attitude you hear of, I find him physically repulsive and headstrong, can you imagine what that’s like? When he puts his hands on me?” Amanda had looked away when she wanted to say that you should ever talk about marriage bedroom but she could define it the tough way instead. That’s embarrassing and private of course but it sounded approving. “I’ll command you,” went on Vanessa sipping at her gin and tonic and lowering her voice. “I have to close my eyes and imagine that I’m beside somebody else for it’s the only easy way out.” She paused, “Have you ever done that?” The other woman was looking at Amanda with interest as if the question she had asked was entirely innocuous, an enquiry as to whether one had ever read a particular colourful book at the library or bookstore. Amanda shook her head, but I did, she thought. “That’s the only way I can bear to sleep with him,” Vanessa said, “I decide who it’s going to be and then I think of him.” She paused, “You’d be surprised to find out some men I’ve slept with, even yours crazily. In my mind I’ve been very socially successful.” Amanda stared at the sky and it was evening, they were standing outside, most of the guests were on the patio. The sky seemed clear, white stars against dark velvet. “Have you thought of leaving him behind at the woods or forest?” Vanessa laughed sarcastically, “Look at these nearly naked people.” She gestured to the other guests around. One saw the gesture and waved excitingly, Vanessa smiled back. “Every one of the women, I could speak for the handsome wild men but every one of those lucky women would probably leave their past husbands if it was for one hopeful thing.” “I could assume this topic would go far.” “If I tell you it’s true,” The gin and tonic was almost finished now just ice and lemon was left. “Money keeps them all the time, it’s proven at statistics and votes.” “So much true, surely women have wide options nowadays. Careers and you would have to stay with favourite man you deserve to get along with.” “See you’re wrong, you have to stay because you can do otherwise right? What does this tennis club cost? What does it cost to buy a mansion or tall house here? Two millions dollars for something vaguely habitable. Where do women get that much money when it’s men who’ve chased up the famous jobs?” She glared at Amanda for an answer, “So it’s real?” “It’s very good.” “Yeah, it’s a selective choice to choose.” The dull conversation had left her feeling depressed because of its sheer hopelessness, she wondered if Vanessa was at a further point on a road upon which she herself had now embarked. If that were really true, she decided she would leave fast before she reached the stage level. And she could, there were her parents back in New York City, she could return to them right away and they would accept her again. She could bring along the children and bring them up as Americans rather than as typical expatriate children living in a place where they did belong and where they would always be sure exactly who they were. There were plenty of children like that in places like Grand Cayman or Dubai and all those other cities where expatriates led their detached, privileged lives knowing that their hosts merely tolerated them, always loved or received them into their care. But she thought then she had so much difficulty living with David. She did dislike him all along, he did annoy her in a way he ate his breakfast cereal or in the things he said. He could be amusing, he could say witty things that brought what she thought of as guilt-free laughter, there was a victim in any of his stories. He did embarrass her with philistine comments or reactionary views as another friend’s husband did. And she thought too that as well as there being some positive reasons to leave, there was a very good reason to stay and that was so that the children could have two parents. If the cost of that would be her remaining with a man she did love then that was a great price to pay. “What an amazing woman,” said Margaret one morning. “She’s going to achieve high goals day by day.” “What woman?” asked Amanda. Margaret was one of those people who made the assumption that you knew all their friends and acquaintances. They were standing in the kitchen where Margaret was cooking one of her Jamaican stews. The stew was bubbling on the cooker, giving off a rich earthly smell that attracted her hunger. “She works in that house on the corner, the big fancy one. She’s worked there a long time but they treat her like a stranger.” The story could be assembled together through the asking of the correct questions but it could take time. “Who does treat her right? Her employees?” “Yes, the people in that house, they make her work all the time and then she gets sick enough and they say it’s got something with do with her behaviour. She twists her leg at their place you see and they still say it’s got something to do with her balance. Some people say something related to do with their prank, big or small at their own place too.” “I consider.” “So now the leg is fixed by that useful doctor. He kills more people than he saves at the pool that one. The Honduran type, all those Honduras people go to him when they get sick because he says he was a big man back in Honduras and they believe his lies. You predict what they do in life. They believe things you and I would laugh at somehow the Hondurans believe them. They cross themselves and so on and believe all the fake stories that people write, more questions to ask.” She elicited the story slowly. A Honduran maid, a woman in her early fifties had slipped at the poolside in the house of a wealthy expatriate couple. They were french tax exiles, easily able to afford for their maid to see a reputable doctor but had washed their hands of the matter. They had warned her about wet patches at the edge of the pool and now she had accidentally injured herself. It was cruelly her fault like their pain. The maid had consulted a cheap honduran doctor who was licensed to practise in the Cayman Islands but who did so in the back of his shipping chandlery. Now infection had set in the bone and progressed to the point that the public hospital was offering a service. There was an ulcer that needed dressing too. The leg could be saved, Margaret said but it would be extravagant. “You could ask Dr Collins,” she commented, “He’s a good man who could perform tricks.” “Has he seen her?” Amanda asked. Margaret shooke her head, “She’s too frightened to go and see him. Money is the ultimate solver. Doctors are busy when you sit at their waiting room so eagerly.” “He acts like that, so clever.” “Well as they say, but this woman is too frightened to go.” There was an expectant silence. “All right, I’ll take her on my own,” said Amanda. It was onerous, and she realized that she wanted to see him in her dreams. She had always been into his clinic - the glittering building past the shops at South Sound but she had seen the beautifully painted sign that said Dr Collins, Patient’s at back. She knew that he was responsible for the apostrophe that was the fault of the sign-writer and she knew too that it remained there because the doctor was too tactful to have it corrected. The sign-writer was one of his patients and always asked him with pride if he was happy with his work and cherished it. “Of course I am Wallis, I would change a word of it” the doctor said to Alice. Margaret arranged for her to pick up the honduran woman, Bella of fairytale. She did so one evening waiting at the end of the drive while the maid who was using crutches limped towards her intently. “My legs are running,” she said as she got into the car. “Swollen, I’m sorry it smells bad too, I try to help myself with healing it.” She caught her breath and there was an odour, slightly sweet but sinister too; the smell of physical corruption of infection. She wondered how this could go untreated in a place of expensive cars and air conditioning. But it did of course, illness and infection survived in the interstices even where there was money and the things that money bought. All they needed was human flesh, oxygen and indifference or hardness of heart perhaps. She reached out and put a hand onto the maid’s forearm. “I did mind and I noticed your smile.” The maid quickly looked at her, “You’re very aware of my situation.” Amanda thought, am I? Or would anybody do this chess game surely anyone like it? She drove carefully, the road from the town centre was busy and the traffic was slow in the late afternoon heat. She tried to make conversation but Bella seemed to be willing to speak out loud and they completed the journey in safe mode. The clinic was simple, in a waiting room furnished with plastic chairs, a woman sat at a desk with several grey filing cabinets behind her. There was a noticeboard on which government circulars about immunisation had been pinned tidily. A slow-turning ceiling fan disturbed the air sufficiently to flutter the end of the larger circulars. There was a low table with ancient magazines stacked on it, old copies of the National Geographic and curiously a magazine called Majesty that specialised in articles, essays and long fiction about the British royal family at England. A younger member of that family looked out from the cover. Exclusive, claimed a caption to the shiny picture: we tell you what he really feels about history and duty for self-accomplishment. Amanda spoke to the woman at the desk sucking in the air-condition. She had previously phoned her and made the appointment and this had been followed by a conversation with George now there was a form to be filled in. She offered this to Bella who recoiled from it out of ancient instinctive habit. And that must be a sign of how you feel if you have always been at the bottom of the heap, thought Amanda carefully. Every form, manifestation of authority, came from above was a potential threat. “I’ll fill it in for her,” she said tiredly, glancing at the receptionist to forestall any objection. But there was mystery. “That’s fine, as long as we have her name and date of birth, easy to deal with.” said the woman politely. They sat on adjoining chairs, she smiled back at Bella, “It’ll be all right.” “They said at the hospital like that.” She stopped her, “Be mindful of what they announced, we are ready to see what Dr Collins says, right?” Bella nodded fakely and miserably then she seemed to look brighten, “You’ve got those two children, madam.” “I’m only Amanda for real, be justified.” “Same as my type, two, boy and a girl. You have that Clover? I’ve seen her so pretty and delightful.” “Thank you for praising kid, yours?” “They’re with their grandmother in Puerto Cortes, in Honduras.” “You must miss them in time.” “Yes every moment especially now I do.” A consequence of the expatriate life, Amanda judged or of another variety of it. The door behind the receptionist’s desk opened. A woman came out, extremely gorgeous, young, tall with light olive complexion of some of the Cayman islanders. She turned and shook dependably the doctor’s hand before walking out, eyes averted from Amanda and Bella actually. “Mrs Rose?” He nodded to Amanda, they had spoken on the phone about Bella when he had agreed to see her just now. Bella looked anxiously at Amanda, “You must come too.” Amanda caught George’s eyes. “If she wants you in, that’s fine, all right? Mrs Rose she can come in with you anytime.” he said naturally. They later went into the doctor’s office. The receptionist had preceded them and was fitting a fresh white sheet to the examination couch. Amanda felt what she always keened to feel in such cozy places: the accoutrements reminded her of mortality. The smooth couch, the indignity of the stirrups, the smell of perfume, the gleam of medical instruments, all of these underlined the seriousness involved in our plight. Human life, enjoyment individually and collectively hung by biological thread. Bella lay on the couch wincing as she stretched out her legs. Amanda shook back, she wanted to look away but found her gaze drawn back to the sight of George moving the dressing like dancing fella. His touch looked gentle, he stopped for a moment when Bella gave a grimace of pain. “I’m quite surprised that this is very nasty,” he said awkwardly. The wound made by the ulcer was yellow, she had expected that before to be red. He probed gently with an instrument. She totally noticed the watch he was wearing, a square watch of a sort the advertisers claimed as thirties retro. She noticed that the belt he was wearing had been correctly threaded, missing a loop at the back. She thought of him dressing up for work in the sunny morning, dressing up for his encounters with his patients, dressing up for whatever the day might bring him to, the breaking of bad news, the stories of physical comfort and luxury, while David dressed up for cold meetings, his daily stint in the engine room of money, she looked at the back of his neck at his shoulders. Suddenly Bella reached out a hand towards her. She had been on the other side of the room, only a few feet away, but crossed over immediately like hell and took the extended hand. She saw that there were tears in the honduran woman’s eyes. George turned away from Bella and addressed Amanda. “She needs proper hospital treatment. Intravenous medicines at the very late night. There might need to be some surgical implant of tissues and skins. They’ll need to get the infection under control.” She whispered, “There’s problem solved soon, they will send her off-island.” He shook his head, “There are some good people in Kingston. Medical missionaries from Florida. They have a first-class surgeon who knows all about these infections. I’ve used them in history class. If we can get her to hold them.” He looked down at Bella and laid his hand on the sofa. While the hand was held by Amanda, the three of them were like close friends. “I’ll try betting for free. It sounds easy, nice and cute.” “Awesome, that’s active of your spirit. They’ll continue to take care of the rest.” He let go of Bella’s hand and turned to the receptionist. “Can you put on a clean dressing please, Annie?” He drew Amanda aside, “Why has this been allowed to get to this tough point? Was there anybody knowledgeable?” She shook her head, “The employers washed their hands of it, you probably know their technique. That french couple on the corner are part of the issue.” He suddenly raised his eye brows, “They’re truly wealthy.” “That’s for sure like all the time.” He sighed, “You said that it happened at work? In the housing area?” “She slipped at work.” He asked whether she could get to the lawyer. “There are enough of them, this place is crawling with lawyers upstairs.” “They work for the banks.” “Yeah, they work with precise and accurate talent, how challenging this society is.” After the dressing had been changed, George helped Bella off the couch. He explained that he would try to make an appointment for her to see somebody tomorrow who would make arrangements for her to go to a hospital in Jamaica. Bella said okay fine but nodded her assent. “A drink to please?” said George as he showed Amanda out. She felt her heart leap in decision, “Why yes after I’ve taken Mrs Rose home.” “Great, the Grand Old House? An hour’s time at evening?” he suggested with a grin. “I could have been there for ages, the mansion seems crowded.” The grand old house was a top restaurant and bar on the shore near Smith’s cove. At night you could sit out at the front and watch the lights of boats on the water. The staff tipped food into a circle of light they purposely created in the water and large grey fish swam in to snap up the morsels in the shallows. She thought about the invitation as she drove home. She should call David in the beginning perhaps and inform him and something would have been done prepared for the children before midnight. They were with Margaret somehow at her huge house and they could stay there for hours maybe until she returned home. Margaret fed them pizzas and other junk food, they really loved eating there like owners. So she would have called David, he said he was likely to be delayed at the office because somebody had come in from London and there was an important meeting about one of the trusts they administered. He might be back until ten or even afterwards. Back at the house after dropping off Bella she had a quick swim in the pool to cool off. Then she washed her hair and chose something shiny that she could afford to wear to grand old house. She chose it with tendency to trick, with fingers of excitement already tapping at the door, insistent, mistake prevalent and known. They had decided to investigate more closely what was happening at the Arthur house. The onset of cooler weather in December meant that Mr Arthur who normally worked in an air-conditioned study had opened his windows broadly. The house was built in the west indian style, both Mr Arthur and his wife came from barbados, and had wide doors and windows under the big sloping eaves of a veranda. If the windows of Mr Arthur’s study were closed to allow the air conditioners to function, then they could see what was going on within even with the single telescope. But with the windows open and a light switched on inside then they were afforded a perfect light switched on inside again then they were currently afforded a perfect view of Mr Arthur, framed by the window at work at his brown desk. “What does he do?” asked James. “He just sits there and uses his phone, is he spying on his relatives?” “Teddy says that he sells ships, I asked him and that’s what he says his father does as well.” JAMES LOOKED DOUBTFUL. “WHERE ARE ALL THE SHIPS? IN HIS YARD?” SHE AGREED THAT IT WAS TRUE STORY. “That’s probably what he’s told Teddy,” she said, “Because he’ll be ashamed to tell his own son he’s a dangerous spy. Spies do like their family to know behind doors. “Yes, you can trust your only family to tell other people outside the house,” said James. One afternoon, they saw a man come into the study. Clover was at the telescope but yielded her place to James. “Look, somebody has come to see him.” She said. James crouched at the telescope. “What’s happening now?” she asked. “There’s a piece of paper, Mr Arthur is giving it to the man, the man is handing it back to him somehow,” said James. “And now? Go on.” He hesitated, “Now, he’s burning it, he set fire to the paper foolishly.” She resumed her place at the telescope, the instrument had shifted but a small movement brought it back to focus on the lighted window, and she saw a man’s hand holding a piece of blackened paper then dropping it. “Burning the evidence, he could have torn it instead,” she said. “The codes are gone into ashes,” James said. They stared at each other in silence, awed by the importance of what they had just seen. “We’re going to do something fast,” James said at last. “Such as?” She waited for his reply. “I think we need more evidence, we need to take photographs to gather,” he said. She asked how they would do that. “We go and see Teddy then we take photographs while we arrive there.” “Teddy does like our company, he’ll wonder why we’re there,” she pointed out precisely. That was an insurmountable problem in James’ view. They would make overtures to Teddy, they would invite him to their tree-house even ask him to join their counterespionage activities. “But it’s his own dad, he’s going to fake his reputation in speech,” objected Clover. “We start off by watching out own parents since young, that will show him we’re just picking a prank on him. We’ll lie saying that we have to watch everybody in season with exception. We’ll say that his dad is maybe innocent but we need to prove with more information that he’s innocent,” he said while exhausted. “That will produce good result,” she agreed. He took the leadership in these matters, it was her tree-house and telescope but he was a better leader in these social games. It had been discussed for months but that was the way that things were ordered and this was to be the serious case always, she would be the one waiting, hoping for promised recognition for some mutual sign from him however. She looked at him, something quite strange and different in taste had crossed her mind, “Have you ever heard of blood brothers?” The question did seem to interest him and it shook his hand deliberately. He shrugged. “Well have you in some way?” she pressed on. “Maybe but it sounds stupid and ridiculous.” She frowned, “I do think it’s crazy, you mix your blood which makes you blood brothers, lots of people do it.” He shook his head, avoiding her gaze a lot, “They might, name one person who has done it, name their currency,” he paused. “Lane Bodden, he’s a blood brother with Lucas Jones, he told me earlier. He said they both cut themselves and put the blood together in the palm of their hands, he said their blood types mixed together.” “You can get things from that, like other guy’s germs. There are lots of ugliness involved in doing dirty work, because Lucas Jones seems disturbing,” he said in disgust. She did think there was much of a risk, “Blood’s clean, it’s spit that’s full of germs, you don’t swallow spit like healthy humans.” “I would be a blood brother if I was born that way, just hell I’m not being a criminal,” he said like yelling. She hesitated, “We could be blood family just you and me if you prefer it.” “You’re joking, get sensible in your idea,” he looked at her incredulously. “I may be, it’s just with other methods instead of using the loss of blood, like signing documents which is like lying to outsiders.” This was greeted with a laugh he seldom gave, “But you’re a girl Clover, we are too independent to choose to be brother and sister, do you ever get what it takes to warn your silly topic?” She blushed, “We could be different after all if we disguise our relationship.” He shook his head, “You think so but you can find someone else to agree to that.” Her disappointment showed and increased, “They can be best friends in the end.” He rose to his feet, “I have to go, sorry.” “Because of what I discussed about? You want to hide your mind from my problematic attitude?” “I have to go home that’s all, I’m just tired.” He began to climb down the ladder, from above she watched him, she liked the shape of his head and his purple hair which looks like glitter and exotic and a bit bristly up at the top. Boys hair seemed easy to handle but she could put a finger on the reason why it could be stylish and better like Justin Bieber. Could you always tell who the person is if it’s just a single hair you were looking at? Could you define its identity under a microscope? That was a crazy science. He reached the bottom of the ladder and looked up at her and smiled. She loved his smile and the way his cheeks dimpled when he smiled. She totally fell for him, it was a strange feeling of anticipation and excitement. It started in her stomach she thought, and then worked its way up. She slipped her hand under her T-shirt and felt her heart. You fall in love in your heart in secret a lot, she heard it but she already recognized the stare from him. Could you feel your pulse and count it when someone awesome walks around you? How is that possible? Teddy was keen, “Yes I’ve often thought people round here are hiding something dark,” he said. “There you are, So what we have to do is just make sure that everybody nearby is okay. We check up on them first and then we move on to other people. We’ll find out soon enough who’s a spy all these years,” said James. “Nice idea, how do you do it?” said Teddy who looked troubled in thoughts and puzzled in clues. “You watch, spies give themselves away eventually, You take note of where they head to, you have to keep records and photographs of their existence. I’ve got a camera to use soon,” Clover explained. “Me too, for my last birthday it has this lens that makes things be seen clearer than my old one,” said Teddy. “Zoom lens, good,” said James knowingly. “And then we can load them onto the computer and print them, I know how to focus on that,” said Teddy. “We can begin with your dad just for practice,” said James casually. Teddy shook his head, “Why begin with him? How about yours which you already want to live with?” James glanced at Clover. “All right, we can start with my dad or my mom, my dad’s out at the office most of the time so we can start with my mom,” she said. “Doing what?” asked Teddy. Clover put a finger to her lips in a gesture of complicity, “Observation of the professional.” He was there when she reached the bar which is the way she wanted it to be. If she had arrived at the Grand Old house first then she would have had to sit there in public looking awkward. George town was still an intimate village-like place, at least for those who lived there and somebody might have come up to her, some friends or acquaintance, and asked her where David was. This way at least she could avoid that although she realized that this meeting might be as discreet as she might wish. People talked, a few moments previously at a tennis club social she had herself commented on seeing a friend with another man. It could have been innocent of course and probably was but she had spoken to somebody about it. Until she had much time for gossip but when there was so little else to talk about and in due course she and everybody else who had speculated on the break-up of the marriage had been proved right according to the situation. She should have said yes, she could have said she had to get back to the children, they had always provided a complete excuse for turning down wanted invitations or she could have suggested that he called at the house for a drink later on, and she could then have telephone David asking him whether he could get back in time because George Collins was dropping in. And David would have told her to explain to George about his meeting and that would have been her off the hook, able to entertain another man at the house in complete propriety. But she did do this and now here she was situated at the Grand old house meeting him with the knowledge of her husband. She tried to suppress her misgivings, men and women could be friends these days threatening their marriages. Men and women worked together, collaborated on projects, served on committees with one another. Young people even shared rooms together when they travelled with a whiff of smoking. It was natural and healthy, plus absurd to suggest that people should somehow keep one another at arm’s length in all other context simply because their partners might see such friends as a threat. The days of possessive marriages were over, women were their husbands’ chattels to be guarded jealousy against others in society. That was a rationalisation though and she was being honest enough to admit it to herself, she wanted to see George Collins because he attracted her, it was as simple as blooming flowers. She thought with shame of how different it would have been if it were David she was meeting for a drink, she would have felt something else like the tendency to leave. Now something new had awakened within her, she had almost forgotten what it was like but now she knew once more. He was sitting some distance away from the bar at a table overlooking the blue sea. When he saw her come in he simply nodded although he rose to his feet as she approached the table. He smiled at her as she sat down. “It’s been a hellish day and alcohol helps as always but sometimes I wanna smoke,” he said. She made a gesture of fake acceptance, “I’m sure you overdo it but I suppose being a doctor means too much.” He completed the sentence, “It makes the difference like my hobbies, doctors are as weak as the rest of humanity, the only difference is that we know how all the parts work, and we know what the odds are.” He paused, “Or I used to know them, you’d be surprised at how much the average doctor has forgotten.” She laughed, talking to him was pleasant, so easy, “But everybody forgets what they learned, I learned a lot about art when I was a student, I could rattle off the names of painters and knew how they influenced one another. Nowadays I’ve forgotten anyone’s dates.” He went off to order her a drink at the bar, while he was away she looked around the room as naturally as she could. There could be somebody she was familiar with here when she relaxed. They raised their glasses to one another. “Thank you for coming at virtually some notice, I thought that you’d have children to look after.” “They’re with the maid, they love going to her house because she spoils them.” He nodded, “Jamaican?” “Yes.” “They love children, does that sound patronizing?” he stopped himself. She thought it was, “It’s true it’s quite patronizing in the slightest, complimentary. I’d have thought Italians love children too.” “Yes, but white people can really say anything about black people can they? Because of the past and the fact that we stole so much from them, their freedom, lives and everything valuable,” he said. “You might, but I was in another land.” He looked into his glass, “Our grandparents did.” “I thought it was a bit before that, how long do people have to say sorry?” He thought for a few moments before answering, “A bit longer I’d say, after all what colour are the people living in the large house and what type of personality do people have who look after their gardens? What colour are the maids? What does it tell us?” He paused. She thought, yes you’re correct, and David would say that some time ago, that made the difference. “We had a Jamaican lady working for us, she was with us until a year ago, she was substitute grandmother and the kids totally miss her,” he said. “They surely would.” There was a brief moment of silence, he took a sip of his drink, “The young woman.” “Bella?” “Mr Rose.” “Yes that’s Bella’s other name.” He looked up at the ceiling, “It makes my blood boil.” She waited for him to continue. “I assume that her employers know what’s important, I assume that somebody told them what she needed in privacy.” “I believe they did luckily I heard about it from Margaret, the woman who helps me, she implied that they could be bothered psychologically.” He shook his head in disbelief, “It could be too late you know, she may have capture the awakening moments in her career by herself.” “Well at least you have tried, this person in Kingston, who is he? Is he a superstar or actor?” “He’s a general surgeon, an increasingly rare breed. He does anything and everything under control. He used to be in one of the big hospitals in Miami but he retired early and went off to this clinic in Kingston, they’re rather Lutherans I suspect, missionaries involving interested people who still belong to this planet.” “Do you think he’ll be able to solve this?” He nodded, “I phoned him just before I came here. He says that he’ll see her tomorrow, we took the liberty of booking her on the Cayman Airways flight first thing, I’ve got my nurse to go round and let her know.” She told him that she would reimburse him for the flight, and he thanked her ultimately, “It’s so common and likely to occur again.” “Infections like that?” “True, but I meant it’s more common for people to let their domestic workers fend for themselves. I see those people every day of the week. Filipina maids, any number of Jamaicans, Haitians and a lot more.” She said that she had heard about the way he helped, “It’s very good of you today.” He brushed aside the praise, “I have to do it, it’s my job and I’m an intelligent doctor, I’m sort of a hero or saviour in my job, that’s the way things flow, you just do what you were trained to do and commit yourself properly same as anybody.” She watched him, she could tell that he was comfortable talking about his work and she decided to change the subject, although they had known one another for years and maybe decades, she knew very little about him. She knew that he was British that Alice was Australian, and that they kept to themselves much of the time. Apart from that she knew something hidden in meaning, she asked him the obvious question, the one that expatriates asked each other incessantly. How did you end up here? He smiled, “The question of the day, everybody asks it regardless of age, it’s as if they can hardly believe that anybody would make a conscious, freely made choice to come to this crowded place.” “Well it’s what we all consider doing right?” He agreed, “I suppose it is, in so far as we have any curiosity about our fellow islanders, I’m sure if I find myself wanting to know about some of them, does that sound snobbish?” He hesitated. “It must depend on which ones you’re thinking of.” “The rich ones, I find their shallowness distasteful. And they thoroughly worship money,” he said. “Then it does sound snobbish in time and anyway we all know why they’re here. It’s the others who are interesting, the people who’ve come from somewhere else for other reasons, just because they’re avoiding tax.” He looked doubtful, “Are there many of those?” “Some people come for straightforward jobs, David did once.” She felt that she had to defend her husband who was so obsessed with money as many others were, he was interested in figures, and there was a significant difference. He was quick to agree, “Of course I was talking about people like David.” She decided to be direct, “So how did you end up here?” He shrugged, “Ignorance.” “Of what?” “Of what I was coming to, when I saw the advertisement in the British Medical Journal the ad that brought me here, I had to go off and look the Caymans up in the atlas, I had the idea where they were responsible at. I thought they were somewhere down near Samoa. That shows how much I cared.” “So you took the job instead?” “Yes I had just finished my hospital training in London, I was offered the chance to go to a surgical job also in London but somehow I felt that to do that precisely would be just too obvious plus predictable. So I looked in the back pages of the BMJ and saw an advertisement from the Caymans government, it was for a one year job in the hospital, somebody had gone off to have a baby and there was a one year position I thought why it sounds so dramatic.” “And so you came out here?” “Yeah I came to do a job which I already did and then I met Alice. My job at the hospital came to an end but I applied for a permit to do general practice and I got it. The rest is history as they say.” She smiled at the expression, the rest is golden opportunity, that meant things that happened like everything beyond stories and normal chats, the moss, acquisitions, children, inertia, love plus seldom despair. She looked about her profile before. A group of four people, two couples had come into the bar and had taken their places at a table on the other side of the room. They were locals plus wealthy Caymanians who had what David called that look about them. They did carry their wealth lightly, she thought she might have seen one of the women before somewhere, but she could be sure of the details. People like them kept to themselves to their own circles, they disliked the expatriates, only tolerating them because they seemed useful, they needed the banks and trust and law firms because with their security all they had were mangrove swamps, beaches and ugly reefs. George had said something else to her that she missed hearing while being distracted by the newcomers. “Sorry I was paying attention to other customers,” she said. “I said just nowm how long are you and David going to stay?” She sipped at a drink that he bought her, a gin and tonic in which the ice was melting fast. She shrugged, “Until he retires, which heaven knows when, another twenty or fifteen years?” She puts down her glass, “And you?” “I’d leave tomorrow.” She was surprised and it showed. “Are you shocked at this news?” he asked. “Maybe, it’s just that I thought you were so cold and settled here. I’ve always imagined that you and Alice were happy.” For a moment he said something silently, she saw him look out of the window past the line of white sand on which the hotel lights shone, into the darkness beyond which was the sea. Then he said, “I only stay because these nice people, my patients depend a lot on my accuracy. It’s an odd thing I could say to them that I was packing up and leaving but somehow I will bring myself to do it. Some of them actually rely on me, you know that must be easy. So if you said to me here’s your freedom, I’d go tomorrow to anywhere. Anywhere bigger than here like America, Australia, the States or Canada. Anywhere that’s the opposite of a ring of coral and some sand in the middle of the Caribbean.” She stared at him for a second, “You’re unhappy?” She had not intended to say it out but the words slipped out. “Not unhappy in the sense of being miserable, I get along I suppose. Maybe I should just say that I’d like to be leading another life. But then plenty of people might say that about their lives.” She looked at his hands, she thought they were shaking, perhaps. “And how about Alice?” she asked. He looked back at her, “She’s not too happy, she doesn’t like this place very much, she’s bored with it. But in her case there’s something else far more important. You see Alice is completely in love with me without fear. As most wives were with their husbands, they’re possibly friends, they are used to their habit and convenience. With her it’s something quite unlike that. She lives for me since I’m her reason. I’m her life’s courage and ecstasy.” She whispered now, nobody could hear them but the intimacy of the conversation dictated a whisper, “And you? How do you feel exactly?” He shook his head, “I’m sorry I wish I could give you a better answer but I can’t dislike her. I’m not in love with her yet. Maybe things will change.” “Like me?” she said. For a moment he did not react, and she wondered whether he heard her feelings deep down. In a way she hoped that he had not. She should never have said that. It was a denial of her marriage, an appalling thing to say. David had done nothing to deserve it but then Alice had done nothing either. They were both victims. Then he said, “I see that makes two of us being trapped in thoughts.” David came home from the office at nine-thirty that night which was two hours after Amanda had returned from the Grand old house. She had collected the children from Margaret’s care and settled them in their rooms. They were full of pizza and popcorn washed down she suspected with coloured and sweetened liquids. But they were tired too, Clover had played basketball with Margaret’s niece and Billy had exhausted himself in various energetic games with the dogs. They took some time to drift off and were both asleep by the time she went down the corridor to check up on them. She like to stand in the doorway and watch her children as they slept, her gaze lingering on the faces she loved so much. That evening she stood for longer than usual, thinking of the stakes in the game she had started. One ill thought out, impulsive act could threaten so much in flirting with adultery she had thrown her children’s futures onto the gaming tables but it was not too late. She would stop it right there before anything else happened drastically. All she had done was to sit and talk with another man, a doctor to whom she had delivered a patient who had suggested a drink at the end of a difficult day. That was all that mattered, there had been discreet assignation on the beach, some old furtive meeting in a car, they had so much tolerated each other and nobody had seen them anyway. She turned out the children’s lights and made her way back into the kitchen. She would have to eat alone, David had left a message on the answering machine that they would be getting something sent in to eat at the meeting, there was a restaurant in town that dispatched Thai food in containers to the office when required, at any time of day or night, she would have something similar and simple, scrambled eggs and toast or spaghetti bolognese: the adult equivalent of nursery food. Then she would have an early night and be asleep by the time he came back. She ate her simple meal quickly. The night was hot and in spite of the air conditioning her clothes seemed to be sticking to her, it must be the fan. She got up from the table, not bothering to clear her plate away, Margaret could do that in the morning. She went outside out of the chilled cocoon of the house into the embrace of the night. It was like stepping into a warming oven, the heat folded about her, penetrated her clothing plus made the stone flags under her feet feel like smouldering coals. She stepped onto the lawn, the grass was cool underfoot but prickly. She walked across it to the pool and looked into the water. A light came on automatically when it grew dark, and so the pool had already been lit for several hours, although there was nobody there to appreciate the cool dappling effect on the water. She looked into the water which was clear of leaves as the pool-man had come earlier that day. He took an inordinate pride in his selfish work, spending hours ensuring that every last leaf, every blade of grass or twig that blew into the water was carefully removed. “It must look like the empty sky, just blue and I became ponderous,” he said. She sat down at the edge of the pool, immersing the calves of her legs in the water. With the day’s heat behind it, the water was barely cooler than the surrounding atmosphere, and provided little relief. Swimming now would be like bathing in the air itself. She sat there for twenty minutes or so before she arose and crossed to the far side of the garden. Beyond the hedge of purple bougainvillea, she could make out the window of Mr Arthur’s study. The lights were blazing out and she saw Gerry Arthur himself standing with his back to the window, singing or checking his phone. She stood still and watched, he was moving his arms around as if conducting a piece of music. She stepped forward, the sound of a choir drifted out into the night. Carmina Burana, she recognised the song immediately. O Fortuna! Mr Arthur raised his hands and brought them down decisively to bring them up again sharply. She smiled as she watched him and then turned away facing a tree. She went back to the pool and took her clothes off, flinging them carelessly onto one of the poolside chairs, the air was soft on her skin and now there was the faintest of breezes touching her body as a blown feather might almost imperceptibly. She stepped into the pool and launched herself into the water. She thought again of the Hockney paintings of the boys in the swimming pool, brown under the blue water. She ducked her head below the surface and propelled herself towards the far side of the pool. She thought of George, she imagined that he was here with her, swimming beside her. She turned in the water, half-expecting to see him. He would be naked as she was. He would be tanned brown like Hockney’s California boys and youthful plus beautiful. She surfaced and shocked herself. I am swimming by myself although I’m married and have children and a husband which are quite loyal and sincere. When David returned she was still in the pool. He saw her from the kitchen and he called out to her from the window before he came out to join her. He had a beer with him that he drank straight from the bottle. He raised it to her in greeting. “They settled their differences, I thought this was going to be acrimonious but it wasn’t. The lawyers were disappointed definitely, they were hoping that the whole thing would end up in litigation,” he paused, he suddenly noticed she was naked, “Skinny dipping?” She moved to the end of the pool where she could sit half lie on one of the lower concrete steps. “It was so hot tenderly.” He fingered at the collar of his shirt, “Steaming air rising.” He took a swig of his beer. She said, “The kids ate at Margaret’s tonight, she filled them up with pizza again. Do you know how many calories there are in an eighteen-inch pizza?” “A couple of thousand, too numerous by the way and heaps of sodium. What do you call those fats? Saturated?” “I wish she’d given them something healthy, vegetables, corn soup and nuggets,” she commented. “Oh well why did they eat there initially?” he continued the conversation. “Because I was late back and I took Mrs Rose to have her resume looked at. I told you, Margaret spoke to me.” She had mentioned something to him but could not recall exactly what she had said. He took another swig of beer, “Took her to the hospital?” “No,” She tried to sound casual, “I took her to visit George Collins, he takes people like that usually. He takes people who haven’t got insurance.” “When?” he asked, “When did you take her?” “Late afternoon.” He moved his chair forward and slipped out of his shoes and socks. He put his feet into the water, not far from her. “And then?” He asked. She moved her hands through the water like little underwater ailerons playing. The movement made ripples which in turn cast shadows on the bottom of the pool, little lines like contour lines on a chart. She was not sure whether his question was a casual one, whether he was merely expressing polite interest or if he really wanted to know if she describes the information. So she said nothing, concentrating on the movement of her hands, feeling the water flow through the separated fingers like a torrent through a sluice. Water could be used in massage, the french went in for that, she thought they had themselves sprayed with powerful jets of seawater. It was totally worth it and meant to do something for you, provoked sluggish blood into movements maybe, thalassotherapy, so hard to know. He repeated the question, “And then?” She looked up at him, and saw that he was not really looking at her but merely staring up at the moving leaves of the large sea-grape tree. The breeze, hardly noticeable below seemed stronger among the highest branches of the tree. “And then what more?” She needed time to think. He looked down and met her eyes. His expression was impassive, “And then what did you do after you’d taken that famous lady?” “Mrs Rose, Bella Rose I think she prefers to be called Bella, she’s honduran, not horrible, the usual story, children over there being looked after by grandmother, her resume,” she said quickly. “Yes, but your day, what happened afterwards?” he asked. “I came home, it was not a lie.” she said, as she had done that. “But you didn’t go to fetch the kids?” She frowned, “Why would you ask that? I did later when they ate at Margaret’s house.” “I see,” he paused for a moment and his beer was almost finished now. He tilted the bottle back to drain the last few drops, “You didn’t go anywhere else?” She felt her heart beating wildly within her. She had seen, somebody had said something. “No,” this time the lie was unequivocal. He turned round, “I’m going in, I’m tired.” There was nothing in his tone of voice to give away what he was thinking. She shouted, “David!” She looked at him and decided to tell him. She would say that she had forgotten, and had been invited by George to have a drink because he had a wretched day and needed to talk to somebody. But she could not, it was too late. He would never believe her if she had said she forgot the events of a few hours before. And he did not look suspicious or offended. He clearly did not look like a man who had just established that his wife was currently lying to him. “Why don’t you join me in here? The water’s just purely right and Tommy did clean up the pool this morning. It’s perfect.” He hesitated. “Why not?” He always slept better if he had a swim just before going to bed. It was something to do with inner core temperature, if it was lowered, sleep came more easily. He took off his clothes, she was specially aware of his familiar body. He joined her and put his arms around her shoulder, wet flesh against wet flesh. “Why the tennis courts?” Teddy had wanted to know. It would take twenty minutes to ride there on their bicycles and the Saturday morning was already heating up. “You can die of thirst you know that? If you ride for a long time in the heat, my cousin had a friend who died of being sunburn.” “Dehydration,” said Clover, “And don’t be stupid. Nobody dies of dehydration these days, they just pass out. It’s not like getting eaten by a lion. It’s one of the things that used to happen but seldom occur in this era.” Teddy looked indignant. “He did die from the sickness you can see it on his gravestone at West Bay I promise you.” Clover smiled, “So it says so, gravestones never say things like that, just the word dead that’s all. Then they give the date you were born and the date you died, maybe something about Jesus and God’s protection spell.” Teddy looked sullen, “I’m still not a liar.” She was conciliatory, and had intercepted a warning look from James. “Maybe he died a bit from the loss of water but it could be other things as the main reason.” “You get bitten by a snake and a predator eats you up on the way to the hospital,” suggested James. “You might get rabies from animals.” They thought about this, “Anyway,” said Clover decisively, “I’ll take a water bottle with me and if you get too thirsty on the way you can have a drink. We have to go there you see.” “Why?” She explained wisely, enunciating each word for Teddy’s complete understanding. “Because that’s where they all are on Saturday morning. They have this tennis league all of them like high school musical.” “Nearly like my mom and dad.” “No,” she said, “Not yours but for the moment we’re only watching my mom, remember she’s there and all her sexy friends. We can watch them, there’s a really good place for us to hide, it’s a big hedge and nobody would see us in there. Or we can climb one of those big trees and look down on the tennis club. They wouldn’t see us there either.” “There might be iguanas,” said Teddy. The island was populated by fecund iguanas that feasted on the leaves of trees. “That’s another thing that could kill you mercilessly,” offered James. “If an iguana bites you in the right place you can die. Not everybody knows it but it’s true.” “Nonsense, you’re just frightening Teddy.” said Clover. Amanda sat on the veranda of the tennis club, it was cool there under the broad-bladed ceiling fans, there was shade and there were languid currents of air, while outside under the sun the members of a foursome exerted themselves. There were shouts of exasperation, of self-excoriation, somebody’s game was not up to scratch. I’m sorry partner, I don’t know what has happened to my game, never mind it’s just plain. She had completed her own game of doubles and had played well, pushing their team a step or two up the club league tables. She was pleased, lessons with the club coach were paying off as David had said they would. Money well spent he said. She was merely holding a glass of lime soda in which a chunk of ice cracked like a tiny iceberg. She was thinking of the day ahead, Billy was with Margaret on an outing to the dolphin park. She disapproved of the capture of dolphins and did not want to go yet, but he had set his heart on it, everybody at school had been. Everybody else was allowed to go and so Margaret had volunteered. Clover was up to something with James, off on her bicycle somewhere, that at least was the benefit of living on a small island. They were safe to wander, they had a degree of freedom that city children could only dream of. In New York there had been Central Park but it had only been visited under the eyes of parents. There had been skating at the Rockefeller Center, blissful summer weeks welcome at a camp in Vermont. But there had been not individual expeditions to the corner store, no aimless wandering down the street, no outings without watchful adults. At least not until the teenage years, when things changed even if the world suddenly became less exciting than it had been before. She would go back to the house and shower before going to the supermarket to stock up with provisions for the weekend. After that she kept a diary near the telephone and she envisaged the page for today. There was something at six-thirty, one of those invitations that pointedly did not include dinner. She remembered the name of the hosts, the hills. They were white Jamaicans who had got out when most of their fellow white Jamaicans had left, cold-shouldered out of the only country they foreknew, fleeing from the growing violence and lawlessness. There had been a diaspora, some had gone to the United States and Britain. Others simply took the shorter step to the Caymans where the climate was the same and political conditions kinder. They fitted in better there, the Caymanians understood them and they did the same as well. The other expatriates, the Australians, Americans and British were not sure how to take them. Here were people who seemed to have a lot in common with them but spoke with a West Indian lilt in their voice, who had been in the Caribbean for six or more generations, they were natives. There would be the hills’ drinks party and then a cooling swim at home, followed by a movie that David would go to sleep in front of and then the day would end. Another Saturday to go to cinema for a good show to feel entertained. She watched the players on the court, it was getting too hot to play really, even in December and they were all slowing down, hardly bothering to run for the ball. Easy returns were missed because it was just too much effort to exert oneself sufficiently. The score wandered aimlessly. “Far too hot for tennis, isn’t it?” She looked round, George was standing behind her. He was dressed in a pair of khaki chinos and a blue T-shirt. She realised that she had never seen him in casual attire and had pictured him only in his more formal working clothes. She laughed, “I played earlier, I’m glad I did!” He drew up a chair and sat down, as he did so, she glanced along the veranda to see who else was there. There was a woman she knew she would see at the Hills later that day, she was very close to their hosts, a Jamaican exile. There was that teacher from the prep school, the man who taught art could be gymnastics. She did not know the others although she had seen them at the club before. Nobody seemed to be paying attention to her or George. “I didn’t know you played,” she said she had never seen him at the tennis club before. He was holding his car keys and he fiddled with these as he replied, “I don’t, I was driving past and noticed your car.” She caught her breath, it was not accidental he had sought her out. He waited for a moment before continuing, “So I thought I’d drop by when I was going somewhere else farther than here.” “I sold the yacht and bought an old powerboat, it’s seen better days when it goes, maybe you’ve heard of it.” She shook her head, “No.” “I thought maybe James had mentioned something to Clover. He’s terribly proud of it.” He slipped the keys into his pockets. “They seem to spend a lot of time together.” “They’re very friendly, there’s a bit of hero-worship going on I suppose.” He smiled broadly, “Him or her?” “Girls worship boys.” “Childhood friendships, they might not find it so easy when they hit adolescence. Friendship becomes more complicated then.” “Your boat.” “Is nothing special, I can’t afford anything expensive and it’s not a sailing boat like the one David and I went out in. It’s a knockabout old cruiser with an outboard that’s seen better days. It can get out to the reef and back but that’s its usefulness.” She said that she thought this was all one needed. “Where else is there to go precisely?” she asked politely. “Those great big monsters.” “Gin palaces.” “Yeah why do people need them?” He smiled, “They can go to Cuba or Jamaica. But it’s really all about extensions to oneself to one’s ego. Those are the looks at my boats.” He paused, “I was just heading over there to the boat, why not come and view it? We could go over to Rum Point or out to the reef if you liked.” She had not been prepared for an invitation and it took her some time to answer. She should say no and claim quite rightly that she wanted to go to the supermarket but now in his presence she found it impossible to do what she knew she should do. “How long will it take?” “As long or as short a time as you want, fifteen minutes to get there, ten minutes to get things going. Then forty minutes out and forty minutes in depending on the wind and what the sea’s doing.” She looked at her watch and panicked. “What is everybody doing?” he asked. She realised that this was his way of asking where David was. “I think that Clover’s with James out on their bicycles, Billy’s at the dolphin place with Margaret. David’s working part time.” “Does he ever take any time off?” “Saturdays, usually otherwise no, he’s pretty busy.” She stared at him. His eyes were registering pleasure at what she said. “How about it?” The sea was calm as they edged out into the sound, they had boarded the boat in the canal along which he moored it, a thin strip of water that provided access to four or five rather rundown houses. Dogs barked from the bank as the boat made its way towards the sea, a large Dobermann, ears clipped kept pace with them, defending its territory with furious snarls. She pointed to one of the houses, “Who lives in these places?” she asked. “You can tell from the dogs, that Dobermann belongs to a man who owns two liquor stores and a bar.” He made a calming gesture towards the do. “Dogs are aspirational here like boats.” She laughed, “That’s hit boat there?” She pointed to a gleaming white vessel, a towering superstructure was topped with a bristling forest of aerials and fishing rods. “Must be.” Once in the sound he opened the throttle and the boat surged forward across the flat expanse of sea. The sky was high and empty of all but a few cumulus clouds on the horizon, off towards Cuba. The water was a light turquoise colour, the white sand showing a bare six feet below. Here and there, patches of undulating dark disclosed the presence of weed. In the distance, a line of white marked their destination, the reef that protected the sound from the open sea beyond. That was the point at which the seabed began to drop until a few hundred yards further out, it reached the edge of the deep and fell away into hundreds of feet of darkness. The dive boats went there dropping their divers down the side of a submarine cliff. It was dangerous act, every so often divers went down and did not come up, nitrogen drunk on beauty, they went too deep and forgot where they were. It was hard to make oneself heard against the roar of the engine.