Shadows Over Paradise (18 page)

“I’m sure Gill would do that. She lives in Rome. I’ll give you her contact details tomorrow.”

“I thought I’d also ask one or two of your friends.”

“Well, Jane of course,” Klara suggested. “Some things she
can
still recall, though I can never predict what. Her memories seem to wash in and out, like waves.”

“Does she live nearby?”

Klara nodded. “She’s in sheltered accommodation in Trelawn. I see her every week, so I could take you with me, or I could bring her here, or we could meet in St. Mawes.” We walked down the stairs into the yard; Klara unlocked the shop door, then turned to me. “Can I give you some bread, or a cake? Would you like some fruit? We’ve got lots of eggs, so do take a box.”

“I’m fine, thanks, Klara, I’ve still got plenty of food in the fridge, and I can buy anything I need in Trennick.”

“That’s true—the shop there’s open until nine, and the Boathouse does good fish and chips if you don’t want to cook. Or you could always have supper with us—just knock on the door.”

I hesitated. I didn’t want to appear ungrateful, but I didn’t think I could face another big family meal. “That’s very kind, Klara, but I think I’ll stay in.”

“I understand. So”—she smiled—“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

It was still light as I walked back to Lanhay. Klara’s story filled my thoughts: her mother hauling the furniture cart; Kate trying
to pickaxe the dusty ground; Greta and Marjolein being slapped and hit; hatless babies, crying in the sun. My own life, and my own problems, receded.

There was an email from Honor waiting for me when I got back to the cottage. I’d been trying to speak to her since the wedding but had kept on missing her. I emailed her back to say where I was and why. As the mobile signal was so poor, I gave her the number for the phone in the cottage. A minute later it rang.

“Jenni!”

“Honor!” I laughed. “That was quick.”

“I really wanted to talk to you. I’m sorry I haven’t called—I’ve been busy—but hey, what’s been happening with you? I turn my back for a second, and you disappear to the other end of the country!”

“Well, it all happened very quickly. And where are you?”

“In the studio, waiting to do an interview for Sunday’s show. So you’re in Cornwall—let me get this right—ghosting the memoirs of the mother of Nina’s godfather?”

“Correct.” I told her how the job had come about.

“I did notice that he was listening to you rather intently,” she said. “I know you can’t say much, because of confidentiality, but has she got a good story?”

I explained, in general terms, what it was.

“So these were concentration camps?”

“Yes, in which people were neglected, starved, and often brutalized.”

“My God—you’d carry that with you all through your life!”

“Klara has. This is the first time she’s talked about it.”

“So you sit with her and just listen?”

“I ask a few questions, but yes.”

“You must find it pretty harrowing.”

“I do, but it’s worse for Klara, having to talk about it when she still feels the pain of it so strongly. It’s as though it was yesterday for her.”

“Does she get upset?”

“Yes. Sometimes she cries.”

“So do you stop recording?”

“No. I just pass her a tissue and carry on. It may sound harsh, but her tears are an important part of the story.”

“I can understand that—it happens to me too, at times, when I’m interviewing people about something sad. And where in Cornwall does she live?”

“In the south, on the Roseland Peninsula.”

“Oh, I don’t know it; I’ve only ever been to the north. Anyway, I have some news.”

“Yes?”

“Nina’s back from her honeymoon.”

“Great. Did they have a good time in Provence?”

“Lovely, apparently; she said they wished they could’ve stayed longer. She
also
said that she’s—” There was a theatrical pause.

“What? Gone back to work?”

“No—or rather she has, but she’s … oh, can’t you guess, Jen?”

“Pregnant?” I murmured.

“
Yes!
Isn’t it fabulous?” To my surprise, I felt my eyes fill. “She’s
just
told me,” I heard Honor say. “She hadn’t dared breathe a word, even to us, until she was sure.”

“That’s understandable.”

“But she had her first scan this morning and everything’s fine. She tried to call you but couldn’t get through, so she gave me permission to tell you.”

“It’s wonderful.” I blinked back a tear, then began to work out the dates. “The first scan’s done at twelve weeks.”

“Is it?”

“Yes; which means that the baby will arrive in … early May.”

“That’s what Nina said. She’s hoping to have the christening on their first wedding anniversary—so we’re to save the date. What do you hope she’ll have—a girl or a boy?”

“A boy.”

“I’d like it to be a girl so that I can buy her some gorgeous dresses, but we’ll love it whatever.”

“Oh, we will.” I saw myself with Nina’s baby in my arms, its dimpled hand clutching my finger. “We’ll adore it …”

“And how’s Rick?” Honor prattled on happily.

“He’s fine …”

“Will he be coming down to Cornwall while you’re there?”

I hesitated. “I don’t think so.”

“But it would be a chance to have a few days together outside London—and isn’t half term coming up?”

“Yes, but—”

“You don’t have time? Too busy?”

“It’s not that. In fact Klara did suggest it, very kindly. But … things are a bit tricky between Rick and me at the moment.”

“Oh … I did think you seemed a bit subdued at the wedding.” Honor gave a frustrated sigh. “I wish you’d told me before, Jen—I blab away to you about everything in my life, but you always bottle things up. So … what’s happened?”

“Nothing dramatic. We’ve simply realized that we want … different things. But I’d rather not talk about it now, if that’s okay. I need to concentrate on getting the job done. One thing at a time.”

“Sure.” Honor knew better than to push me. “But call me at home if you want. I’ll be there later.”

“Thanks, Hons. I might. But, just quickly, have you heard from Al?”

She exhaled painfully. “No. I’m a bit upset about it, as we swapped cards. Al’s short for Alastair, by the way—not Alexander or Alan, in case you were wondering.”

“Ah. That question
was
keeping me awake at night, yes.”

“I did think that he’d phone,” Honor wailed. “We talked a
lot
at the wedding.”

“Why don’t you ring him?”

“
No
. Too pushy.”

“Not in this day and age. You could always pretend that you want to interview him about modern orthodontics.”

“Actually, that’s not such a bad idea. Did you know that kids with perfectly straight teeth are having braces put on because they think it gives them a geeky kind of chic—isn’t that weird? But I still can’t get over what Al said about my bite. No one, apart from my mother, has ever told me that
any
part of me was perfect. Though my gynecologist did once say that I have a
very
nice—ooh, my producer wants me; I’d better go. But call me anytime, Jen! I mean it. Bye.”

As I put the phone down, smiling, I wished that I could have told Honor what was happening with Rick. But it wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have over the phone. And I’d meant what
I said—I did need to concentrate on Klara’s story. I wanted to do it justice.

I sat at the kitchen table and began to transcribe the day’s material. As I typed out the part about the handkerchief, I wondered how many of those women had survived. I thought of Klara’s mother, stitching her son’s name onto it, unaware of the sorrow to come. Peter was so alive in Klara’s narrative. It was awful waiting for the tragedy—whatever it was—to unfold.

By seven thirty I’d finished the transcription and read through it twice. Feeling wrung out, I opened the wine and had a large glass. I made myself some pasta and drank two more glasses, after which all I wanted was an espresso, but there was no ground coffee left—I’d already finished it. But so strong was my craving that I decided to go and get some.

The car key was next to the phone. I picked it up; then I glanced at the half-empty bottle and set it down. What had I been thinking? I couldn’t possibly drive. Instead, emboldened by the wine, I slipped on my coat, grabbed the torch, and set off on foot.

The moon was low and large, bathing everything in a milky light. As I went down the lane I could hear an owl, then the faint roar of the sea, growing louder as I approached the beach. As I stepped onto the slipway the wind rushed up, slapping my cheeks and tugging at my hair. The sand was half exposed, the jagged rocks black against the moonlit sea.

The tide’s coming up
.

The time’s coming up?

The
tide,
silly …

We’ll have to be quick
.

I crossed the beach, inhaling the scent of the sea, then went up the granite steps onto the path, followed it round the cliff through a screen of wind-sculpted trees, then found myself on the edge of the village. The scent of wood smoke hung in the air. I remembered Trennick’s narrow streets and white-painted cottages, the Three Feathers pub, and the Boathouse café. I walked up to the square, where the light from the shop window cast a yellow rectangle onto the road. I bought the coffee, dropped it into my bag, then walked back the way I’d come.

I stood on the cliff for a few moments and looked out; the moonlight had pooled on the sea, like a slick of molten silver. I went down the steps, then instead of crossing the beach, I walked to the water’s edge. I stood there, watching the waves curl over the sand, listening to the gentle scrape and rattle of the pebbles. I turned to go, started walking, then suddenly stopped, my pulse racing. I’d heard a cry.

Evie … Evie … Wait …

Klara

On the day of our move we piled our mattresses in front of the house ready for a truck to pick up, then we walked to the gate with our
barang
. Our packing had been quick. After a year in Bloemencamp we possessed only a fraction of what we’d arrived with. Ina had just one small bag, and so she carried one of the twins, Sofie, while Corrie carried Saskia. Kate strapped on her rucksack and picked up their bags, and we all walked together to the gate.

There were already hundreds of women in the queue, many of them wearing several layers of clothing, surrounded by their suitcases, trunks, baskets, bags, and impromptu sacks made of knotted sheets. Most had saucepans strapped to their rucksacks,
as well as kettles, potties, feather dusters, enamel buckets, and even folding chairs.

“How can they possibly carry all that stuff?” I asked Kirsten.

“Because they know they don’t have far to take it,” she answered. “I just heard someone say that Tjihapit is only across the street.”

“Really?” said my mother.

Kirsten nodded. “Seems it’s just another part of northern Bandung.”

We moved forward with painful slowness; this was because, far ahead of us, we could see that the soldiers were inspecting every piece of luggage, unfolding clothes, checking pockets, shaking things out, their fingers probing for any forbidden items.

By now the sun was high. A woman standing near us fainted and had to be revived. All around us children were crying. Sofie began screaming; I remember wanting to scream too. Suddenly she was sick on Ina’s shoulder.

“Never mind, darling,” Ina crooned. “Let’s clean you up.” She took the water flask that Kate passed her and wiped Sofie’s little mouth with a rag, then dabbed at her front, and at her own dress. “We’ll soon be there, poppet, and then Mummy will make you feel better. That’s what mummies—”

We heard shouting, then gasps. A rumor rippled back to us that a woman had been caught trying to smuggle in forbidden items—an atlas, it was said, and a ten-guilder note. As we got closer, we saw her standing to one side, her arms stretched above her head. She was no more than fifteen. There was a red welt on her cheek; one eye was swollen shut. Her clothes were streaked with dust where she’d been hit to the ground.

“Now you understand why I wouldn’t let you bring the chess set,” my mother whispered to Peter. He nodded miserably.

“Poor girl,” Kate whispered. “They’ll make her stand there all day—that’s what the bastards do.” Two hours later, as we reached the head of the queue, the girl
was
still there, her hands still raised, her head drooping onto her chest, whether from exhaustion or a desire not to be stared at, I didn’t know.

The soldiers looked through Ina’s bag, then searched her jacket pockets. I was terrified that they’d find the Bible pages, but they didn’t, and we all got through the inspection unscathed.

Tjihapit seemed much bigger than Bloemencamp and was far busier. The streets thronged with newcomers carrying or dragging their possessions as they looked for their accommodation. There were also women and teenagers walking to and from work, or fetching cans of food from the
dapur
. There were furniture ladies pushing carts loaded with chests of drawers, tables and chairs—even pianos. Children played in the street with improvised toys; some clattered along on stilts made of tin cans with string threaded through them; others had a bicycle wheel and a stick. Many were so thin and listless that they simply sat on the curb, pretend-playing with their hands.

“Nice houses,” said Kirsten with a sour smile.

Front gardens, festooned with lines of washing, grew wild; broken windows resembled missing teeth; shutters were askew, like drooping eyelids; paint peeled and lifted, like diseased skin.

Kate, her girls, and Ina were to be in the same house, on Riowstraat, while Kirsten and my family were very close by on Houtmanstraat.

I felt a wave of relief as we looked at the house—it was twice as big as the one on Orchideelaan. But as we went inside, my
heart sank. There were already at least fifty women and children living in it. The utility room that we’d been assigned overlooked a scrubby backyard, beyond which rose the
gedék
, crowned with barbed wire.