Chasing Freedom Home (Malinding) (12 page)

27

Sirra and Binta and Rachel watched the sun set from the veranda of Binta's house. Binta was debating whether she should make another brew but the women had been busy and, as Sirra said

'Sometimes it is good just to sit.'

'Can I ask a question?' Rachel had been wondering about etiquette and polite behaviour in her new culture.

'Can I stop you? You already have the reputation of a determined mind!'

'Sirra, it is about this very matter I wish to speak. I don't fit in, do I? I was different in England and I'm different here. Help me. '

'I think you fit in very well; your husband sounds very pleased with you, and you with him!'  Binta laughed at the shocked expression which greeted her words. Rachel blushed as violently as a Victorian maiden.

'I can't help it. It's what he does to me, it's so lovely and exciting.'

'I think my son also finds it exciting. He has no complaints about your behaviour. You are not of our culture but that is no harm. Ed-Lamin's father, our late husband, belonged to your tribe too and he adapted very well to our way of life. You are expected to be different; you run every morning, you sometimes wear trousers, you have been seen driving one of my husband's cars; you are also seen to be willing to learn our language, you can cook Gambian food quite well, and you help the women to improve their spoken and written English. So why worry? I think that before the end of the year you will bring me the gift of a grandchild?' Rachel's face was red.

'You see, the song you sang as you loved my son was heard in heaven! I think all the women in the village heard you sing it and they are happy for you.'

'I haven't sung any s… Oh, no! You mean I was so loud that … I can never go out of this compound again. Every time one of the village ladies smiles at me I'll think she's remembering me making wild noises when we …'

'Rachel! We are teasing you! You could not be heard outside this compound. Honestly. I could barely hear you at all across the road in my husband's house. I doubt if more that a dozen women have heard you.'

'But remember, Sirra' said Binta with a grin 'those dozen women will have told all the others!'

'I bet the girls at my old school never thought I'd become a shameless hussy. For  years I never once thought I would enjoy sex, making love, so much. I have a good teacher; we can love and laugh at the same time. It isn't something dirty or something to snigger at. I love Ed-Lamin. I never thought he would even look at me but now ... did you know we're going to build a boat together?'

'Rachel' said Binta, 'please, never stop amazing us. We love you. Can we help you?'

'We can call it "Binta Boat" if we work together. I made my first boat when I was eleven. We'd just been on a holiday and I learned to sail. I built a Mirror dinghy and sailed it on the river. I was so proud of it. Then a man in the sailing club asked me to crew for him on his converted shrimp boat and I sailed it to Ireland in the summer holiday. Dad, Andrew, bought it for me a few years later and I used her for fishing. She's the boat I used for the underground railway - Ed-Lamin had a voyage in her - and she's the boat that brought all of us here. She's on the bottom of the River Gambia now after the ferry sank us. River Mersey to the River Gambia. Not a bad final voyage. She's staying here and I hope we are too.' A small lizard, soaking up the sun's last rays on top of the wall, cocked its head and listened to Rachel's words, still and solemn. Binta saw it and shuddered. It might be a descendent of the one that had witnessed her rape, all those years ago. How different her life had been, transformed in a matter of minutes from a happy teenager to a sinful woman whose future as a prostitute seemed certain. But Sirra had arranged everything; the child was given a home with a childless woman, and brought up by a refugee woman who had been a prostitute before she was able to escape with her own child to the village. Two boys, two women; together the children had been raised in love and security. Together they had been educated and now, together with their respective wives, they ran a very successful hotel catering almost exclusively for bird-watchers from Europe. Now she had children born from love and her first child was respected in the village and knew that she was his birth mother.

Sirra was recalling her life with Ed, father of Ed-Lamin. She had thought herself ugly, unlikely to ever marry, certain she would never be a mother. She had dedicated herself to becoming a teacher and it was because she was a teacher that she had met and married her man. True, he was from a different culture, had a different colour of skin and a different language but he had loved her, supported her and encouraged her to accept the position of Alkalo, village chief. Now, sadly, he had gone to whatever after-life white people enjoyed and to her surprise she had been invited to marry again, this time to a village man, her lovely Ebou. He too was gentle, a loving husband and a good friend. He had seemed surprised that she had accepted him; he was not educated, he had failed in several enterprises but Sirra saw that he was not greedy, not jealous. He was a gentleman in every sense and she was proud of his eventual success in a business founded on trust and reliability.

The compound was dark; night had fallen as the three women sat, wrapped in their thoughts. Binta set about the task of brewing a final pot of Atayah. Each of them was anxious to be in bed with their respective men. Three respectable women, their past lives not quite forgotten but certainly not a source of ghosts to haunt their dreams.

28

Rachel lay in her lover's arms and smiled. Queen Victoria, she remembered reading, had enjoyed making love with her prince. She hadn't enjoyed giving birth to the resulting babies though. Rachel stroked her belly, slowly, gently. She was sure that a brand new person had taken up residence there; a new life was forming. Ed-Lamin would look after her. There was a good clinic in the village, and a new hospital was being built alongside the old Victoria |Teaching Hospital in Banjul. If only the Queen of England had been so fortunate. Her movement woke her man, who reached for her and kissed her on her neck. She nuzzled up to him, happy and warm.

'Perhaps I should leave you untouched until she's born? That might be the safe thing to do?'

'I'll be very sad if that happens. He wouldn't want me to be sad, would he?'  Ed lay silent, remembering the child Jane had carried. He didn't even know if it been a boy or girl.

'While you were on your way here, before your boat sank, before Jane died, did she ever talk to you? You don't have to say, if you don't want to. Sorry, I shouldn't have asked.' He drew away from her. He had done a stupid thing. Did he even want to know?

'Yes, of course we talked. She shared the night watches with me; she was going to make a great sailor. I loved her. Ed, what are you asking me?' Silence; then

'Did she ever talk about our baby?'

'Of course she did. How couldn't she? She gave birth to a lovely healthy baby boy. She only held him for a moment then he was snatched away from her and she never saw him again. She never found out what had happened to him. It drove her mad. They took her to another hospital. She had an operation to make her a virgin again. She was force-fed drugs. All the time she was determined to get back to you; she did, but she didn't have time enough to talk to you about how she managed it.'

'How did she? Did she tell you?' Rachel put her arms round him, her head on his chest. How could she tell him the truth?

'Rachel, I loved her. Please tell me. I don't want secrets between us, not now. Please?'  So, reluctantly, she told him. Jane had worked as a prostitute, a "comfort woman", in a detention centre. She had been regularly raped, by every member of the staff; her body had been the reward for assaulting, torturing, killing prisoners. He lay silent. What have I done? she thought. He cannot love me now. I've just told him the woman he loved before me was a whore … she rolled away from him.

'Stay, Rachel, please stay; hold me. Stay, don't leave me. I'm crying for Jane and our baby, of course I am, of course I will. She was so brave, so brave. No, stay; just hold me, if you can bear to, please. I love you.'

The night passed slowly; they made love, carefully, gently, as dawn broke. Again they lay, entwined, sleepy, relaxed.

'Rachel?'

'Nice. I like this too. I love the loving but I like the relaxing afterwards. I wonder if Queen Victoria liked it? Did Prince Albert lie with her afterwards? Did he, was he allowed to stroke her boobs like you do? I wish mine were bigger. Do you wish …?'

'Rachel.'

'What?'

'Shut up. You're perfect. If you had three heads and one boob I'd love you. Can I ask you something else?'

'Not if it's boob linked. Anything else is fine.'

'You want to build a boat?'

'Yes, of course. Boats are what I do.'  Why?'

'A boat nearly killed you. You were missing for a while and everybody was going frantic. How can you ever want to step into another boat?'

'It wasn't the boat that nearly drowned  me. Human error. I was so tired I wasn't keeping watch. It wasn't the ferryman's fault. He was busy leaving the dock and I was on his blind side. In a way, it did me a favour. I couldn't see it at first, but that's how it was.'

'How can you think that? You lost everything when your boat sank. You might have drowned.'

'That's the point. I arrived here like I was new born; I was naked and wet through. I'd stripped my clothes off to swim better and everything that tied me to my old life was at the bottom of the river. I washed up on the shore by Banjul market and the traders wrapped me up and took good care of me. I knew I was going to be O.K. Look at me now, starkers in your bed. Who needs things?'

'Can I take that as an instruction?'

  'I'll regret this. What instruction?'

'The "Look at me now, starkers" instruction.'

'Of course you can. You can touch too, if you like. One thing, though. I've just realised a mistake. It's our bed, so lie back and I'll do the looking and touching, starting with this …'

29

Theresa drove north. She had been provided with a brand new Range Rover. She struggled at first with the automatic gearbox but quickly learned to leave the business of changing gears to the machine. There was little traffic to impede her; trade, as usual, was bad; there was no money to buy things so why bother to transporting them? She had been expecting to be provided with a driver-spy but she realised a better indication of her trustworthiness was to be left to her own devices; every inch of her journey would be observed and recorded. The Lord Protector would know immediately if she put a foot wrong. The car was probably wired to explode if she deviated from her task. "Find and destroy the child" was her instruction. After that she must engineer her escape, though God only knew if that was possible. Geoff Bibby would not want her to remain alive; she would truly know where the bodies were buried.

Her instructions directed her to a five star hotel in Knutsford, a stately home liberated from the now defunct National Trust and re-furbished to accommodate the top brass of the Peoples Purity Party and their orgies. She turned off the motorway and the sat-nav directed her through quiet Cheshire lanes to a gatehouse next to huge iron gates. The gates opened as she approached and she followed the drive as it progressed through deer-infested parkland. It was easily the most hazardous part of her journey.  She pulled up in the stable yard and a uniformed man bowed low, opened the car door and handed her down.

'I trust you had an easy journey, my lady? Your maid will escort you to your room.' Her maid curtseyed and led the way into the mansion. Theresa guessed that it was unnecessary to enquire about her baggage; that would be taken care of.

The room was large, overlooking the parkland. There was an en-suite bathroom the size of a tennis court, beyond which was a sitting room, beyond which she couldn't be bothered to investigate. Her maid had unpacked her belongings and tidied them away.

'Where will you take dinner, my lady? You have the choice of the state banqueting hall, or here, in your private dining room?' The lady thought she would dine in private. Private, apart from the bugs, of course.

'Dawson has drawn your bath, my lady. If you agree, dinner can be served in an hour's time?' The lady agreed.

Her 'phone bleeped. The clinic would be delighted to receive her at ten the following morning. Theresa climbed down from her cloud. Tomorrow she would have to return to type; just another of Lord Bibby's hired thugs. She stripped, bathed, dressed and waited to dine. The Watchers were most impressed.

Next morning her maid provided breakfast in bed. Her tea was the desired blend, her orange juice freshly squeezed, the scrambled eggs perfectly cooked. She re-read her briefing notes as she ate. She showered and dressed; fresh clothes exactly the right size were waiting. She glanced at her reflection; a perfectly suited company director stared stonily back at her out of the early Victorian cheval mirror.

The Rover was washed and waxed and re-fuelled. Three-quarters of an hour later she drove up to the magnificent sandstone portico of the clinic that killed babies. She marched into the office of the Director and, without waiting to be invited, seated herself in his comfortable chair. She waved the startled man to the plain wooden seat at the other side of the desk.

'Right; you're Doctor Autton? Sit down man, sit. Qualified, are you? Let's see your papers then. No? You are expecting me? Were you expecting a quiet little chat then, Doctor? Nice cup of Darjeeling and a few nice biscuits? Right, get your documents, a list of all the staff you've ever had here, similar list of patients and a very carefully complete list of every single child that's ever had the misfortune to be born here. Oh, and a list of where those children are now. Not prepared, Doctor? Half an hour then. You can send in the tea tray now. I'll just go through your desk, if that's OK. Nothing to hide, nothing to fear. Move, man, move!' She waited till he reached the door. 'Oh, Doctor; your documents had better match my documents. Can you imagine the trouble there will be if you miss out just one teeny tiny baby?'

Tea and biscuits arrived immediately, the documents followed shortly after.

'Right. So you are a proper Doctor after all. What's the saying? "Thou shalt not kill but needs not strive officiously to keep alive?" Let's check the records then. Let's compare all the records of people named, named, Charlesworthy. How many of them have you got? Better go through every page. Can you find any? No? That's good, there shouldn't be any. Don't want you inventing babies just to please me, doctor. Now, the Craigs. You should have two of them. Found them? Good, let's see. Right. Now let's try …' the morning wore on. The Doctor was completely bamboozled by Theresa's machinations. Finally, about three o'clock, without a break for lunch, she mentioned the name that mattered.

'Bibby: any one of that name?'  There was one, of course. As the tired and confused medic started to read out the record his brain kicked in.

'Sorry, your ladyship. My mistake. That's a Butterworth, not a Bibby.' He hurriedly tried to bury the incriminating record beneath a mass of other paperwork. Theresa saved him the bother. The record was in her hands. She read it aloud.

'Jane Bibby, daughter of Senior Watchman and Mrs Bibby. Delivered of a half-caste boy, weighing three point 4 kilograms at 16.00 hours on the afternoon of …'

'I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Yes, there was such a child. It was all most distressing. Watchman Bibby was most specific in his direction. Mrs Bibby was in total agreement. The child was removed immediately. The mother barely laid eyes on it. Most distressing. Miss Jane was immediately allocated a bed in a psychiatric unit and received treatment, most caring treatment, to, to…'

'To wipe her memory clean? To bury the memory? Oh, and where is the child buried? I'm sure you have a cope of the disposal order? Of course you have, yes?'

'I'm sorry. I'm sorry, your Ladyship. There seems to be a slight problem. The disposal order seems to be missing. I'm sure we can find it, if only you…'

'If only I let you go and play with your computer? No, doctor. You like your job here? You like having fresh air to breathe? Well, let's try something new. Tell me the truth about baby Bibby. You really want to do that, don't you, doctor? It's a nice afternoon. We can go for a little walk. You have a couple of children of your own, don't you, Doctor Autton.  How are they?'  She held the door of the office open for him.

She waited till they were out of earshot of the building.

'Now, you want to show me where the children are buried. Of course you do. Then we want to analyse a sample of the soil from the grave of baby Bibby. Just show me where that grave might be. Dr Autton stared at her. She was smiling and nodding at him.

'Just over there, between the path and those rose bushes. That looks like a nice place to bury a baby, don't you agree Doctor?' The woman's mad, he thought. She's raving. She was still smiling and nodding. Humour her.

'My lady, the child was buried exactly where you thought. Just a little to the right of that bush.'

'Thank you. At last. Just hold this evidence bag while I scrape some soil into it. Good, that's enough. Oh, look, there's some human hair. Amazing after this length of time. She added a few hairs from her purse. I'm sure your laboratory will be able to match this sample with The Lord Protector's family DNA. If it does, all your troubles will be over. I expect you can look forward to a nice promotion. If you can make the match, of course. Set the beloved leader's mind at rest? A proper death certificate? Good man. Now, tell me what you really did with the child. Just for my ears, Doctor. I've a good idea but you'd better confirm it. Start walking and talking.

'
I can't. There are others involved. Please, you've got your evidence. Just go.'

'Sorry, doc. We both know the child's alive. Just tell, there's a good chap. You're worried I might get to your girlfriend? Lovely Rosie? Yep, I know all about her. Who would think a grubby little paedophile like you would have a girl friend who was a proper grown-up? Yes, we know all about Rosie, and we know your wife doesn't. Not yet, anyway. Now, be a good chap. Where is the boy? Last chance.' Long silence, then

'America. He's in …' Her stiletto heel impaled his foot. His scream hurt her ears. He collapsed as she wriggled her shoe free.

'So sorry. Next time it might be your throat. Your foot's bleeding, you want to get that attended to, and you are a diabetic, aren't you? Now, one last try. Get it right and we can all be friends again. Where's the boy?'

'He's in Dakar. That's Senegal. West Africa. There's an escape route. He was in America, honestly. He travelled from here to Ireland, then to Norway and onto America. There were a dozen babies. They got adopted in America and their new parents just took them home. He's in Africa. His dad's impotent and he had to adopt abroad and return with a new born son.'

'You got a good price for him?'

'Yes. Yes, we did. It was the last time we could do that sort of deal. All the later babies were killed. There are no more now. England's a pure white nation now, thanks to Lord Protector Bibby.'

'Thank you. Let's get some treatment for your poorly foot. We don't want it rotting and falling off. Upsy-daisy. Be a man, for God's sake. Here, lean on me. Back to the nice clinic now for a lovely cuppa. Be a brave boy and you can have two biccies. We'll just get your confession down on paper and signed and I'll be out of your life for good.' Not that there'll be much of your life left she thought but left the words unsaid. If this guy was bright enough to be a doctor he'd be bright enough to work that out. Geoff would do his own nasty bit to change history. Job done. Theresa drove back to the hotel through the leafy Cheshire lanes.  She stripped off all her clothes, showered, and then took a nice hot bath. She had already planned her escape.