What Have I Done? (10 page)

‘Time to get her back, she wants a nap.’

Simon the man-mountain scooped the little girl up into his arms.

‘Tell you what, Kate, you should come and see us. Jump in any taxi, ask for Dennery and you’ll find us when you get there.’

He turned without waiting for a reply, carrying the toddler on one arm like she was a bunch of feathers. Kate couldn’t decide if the warm glow that had spread through her body was a result of the sun-and-beer combination or something else entirely.

It took two more days of avoiding poolside interactions, kicking her heels and internal debate before she decided that maybe Simon wasn’t just being polite but had actually been sincere with his invite. There was only one way to know for sure.

The taxi snaked up steep mountain roads that dropped away in large craters without warning. Kate tried not to picture the vehicle tumbling down the side and bouncing off the giant ferns that would offer little resistance. Deep jungle on either side
was spiked by the bright blues and fiery reds of tropical plants. Without the cool breeze that wafted in from the ocean, the air was thick and the heat more intense. It was in this environment that St Lucia felt most foreign. She loved it.

The taxi driver dropped her, as instructed, in Dennery – she hadn’t wanted to be more specific about her destination in case she changed her mind. She figured that on this small island, the news would have reached the Reverend Dubois’s ears in a matter of hours. From what Kate could see, Dennery had no recognisable centre, but was a sprawling district, houses, farms and slant roofed shops all sat along tiny lanes like tributaries from the main winding road on which she now stood.

It was only once he had left that Kate realised she might still be very far from her destination. She walked along the road looking for a clue, but without really knowing what she was looking for. A small crowd of people were sheltering under an elaborate pyramid-shaped bus shelter with yellow walls and an ocean-blue roof. The hourly rain showers could be quite fierce and as the bus might come along in five minutes or forty-five, depending on the driver’s mood, the hazards he encountered en route and how many of his mates stopped him for a chat, these shelters were well used.

‘Excuse me?’ Kate spoke to no one in particular. ‘I’m looking for the Reverend Dubois, Simon and the youth mission. Am I heading in the right direction?’

Two women, one resplendent in a yellow floral headscarf and the other carrying an enormous purple plastic laundry basket, broke away from their conversation.

‘Whatya want with the Reverend? He a friend of yours?’

The two winked and laughed.

Kate laughed too; clearly she was not alone in her admiration of his beauty.

‘Not exactly, no, but he invited me over and I’m afraid I’m a bit lost.’

‘Y’aint lost girl, you need to keep goin’ and keep goin’ and y’ask again.’

‘Right. Thank you.’

Kate carried on up the hill, still none the wiser.

She followed the road’s twists and turns. Gigantic fern fronds and banana leaves brushed her face and legs. She peered once into the jungle, her stomach jumped at the knotted trunks and hanging vines, imagining each one to harbour faces and the lurking shadows of wild animals. Instead, she kept her eyes firmly on the road ahead, navigating the potholes and cracks, aware that she was climbing higher still. Her T-shirt stuck to her back and her hair lay flat against her head in spiky tendrils. She was beginning to wonder if this had been such a good idea, when a small white sign with black lettering caught her attention on the road ahead. It read ‘Prospect Place’ and beneath the words a child had painted a sun with a smiley face on it. Next to it was a quote: ‘Faith makes things possible, not easy’. This had been written by a more adult hand. Kate wondered not for the first time if this whole venture was a bit of a mistake.

She turned down the narrow lane and followed the tyre tracks until she reached a clearing. The view was magnificent. There were jungle-covered mountains on either side of the valley, with the azure ocean twinkling in the distance. It was breathtaking.

In the middle of the clearing sat a dilapidated building. It was single storey, wooden and had been painted bright green. The sun, however, had bleached it in places to a paler shade, and where the panels met windows and doors the paint was missing entirely, hanging in thin strips to reveal bare wood and knotty grains.

The main structure had smaller wooden additions tacked on to its sides, forming an irregular shape that from space might have looked like a poorly drawn pentagon. For poor it was. The whole construction seemed to be listing to the right and most of the windows were without glass, but instead had fly screen tacked over the frames. Kate hadn’t known what to expect, but would have guessed at something solid, brick, possibly hospital-like. This was very different. Welcoming and bright, but without any of the grandeur or sturdiness that she had hoped to find.

‘There you are, Kate. You found us!’ Simon clapped his hands together as he appeared from the side of the building.

‘Only just, it was more luck than judgement!’

He took both her hands inside his own. ‘Welcome. And what perfect timing, you can join us for lunch!’

Kate smiled, that did indeed sound perfect. She noted his lack of surprise at her arrival, as though he had been expecting her at that precise moment.

Inside the main building was a large T-shape of tables covered with a peony-patterned oil cloth and encircled by thirty metal-legged chairs. They were the same chairs that you might find stacked in any English village hall or being scraped along tessellated wooden floors by a Brownie pack on a Thursday night.

The hubbub of conversation stopped rather abruptly as Kate walked into the room. Each seat was occupied by a child. First glance revealed their ages to be between two and fourteen. The girls had ribbons in their plaited hair and the boys were radiant in yellow-and-orange checked shirts.

‘Everybody! This is Kate. Would you like to say hello?’

Some waved, others smiled and a couple giggled into their palms at the sight of this strange lady standing in their dining hall.

‘Hi, hello everyone.’ Kate waved back.

‘Mind your backs!’

Simon and Kate swerved to the right as a short, fat man wearing a chef’s hat swung around them both to place large platters of chicken patties on each of the tables.

‘This is Fabian – the chef, as denoted by the hat. He is also the driver – he wears a cap for that – and when he’s the maintenance man…’

Fabian nodded at her as he made a return swoop in the direction of the kitchen.

‘A different hat?’

‘You got it!’

‘And again, folks! Hot food coming through!’ This time Fabian was loaded with a large bowl of rice and what smelt like hot bread rolls.

The children sat patiently, hands in laps, waiting. Kate compared the scene to the unruly bun fight that used to ensue each morning at Mountbriers as the pupils clamoured for French toast and bacon. The bigger boys would elbow the smaller ones out of the way and girls of all ages would moan about the lack of fat-free yoghurt and demand blueberries. This was much nicer.

‘Kate, please take a seat.’

Simon pulled out a chair between two younger children who found it hilarious that this stranger was to be seated between them and could barely contain their laughter. Kate shook hands with them both. The little boy to her right reached up and stroked the ends of her hair between his thumb and forefinger, before collapsing in giggles onto the table. She smiled, having never before considered her limp, mousy hair that funny.

Simon stood centrally, raising his palms towards the roof and bowing his head with his eyes tightly shut. His big voice filled the space.

‘Lord, we thank you for the gift of food that you have bestowed upon us on this day…’

There were a few impromptu shouts of ‘Praise be to the Lord’. Simon was not finished.

‘We give thanks for all your mighty gifts, not least the gift of forgiveness. We are thankful that when we need shelter, when we need escape, we can find refuge under your mighty wing.’

A large chorus of ‘Amen’ echoed around the ceiling and
then
the bun fight started.

Kate noticed that when Simon opened his eyes he was staring straight at her. It made her feel a little uncomfortable.

Lunch was boisterous and exciting. Kate had difficulty keeping up with the many strands of conversation that flew across the room; the speed of the kids’ speech and the heavy patois meant she could only participate with nods of encouragement and smiles of vague understanding. She threw Simon many a furtive glance and was fascinated to watch him engage with the children, clearly interested in their snippets of news and gossip.

When their tummies were full, the children went out to play cricket and Kate was given the top job of dishwashing.

‘Is this what they mean by no such thing as a free lunch?’

Simon laughed. ‘You got it!’

‘The atmosphere here is amazing, Simon. I expected the place to be a bit sad, lots of little children without parents, but this is anything but. It feels hopeful.’

‘You are exactly right, it is hopeful. That’s why it’s called Prospect Place. Most people think “Prospect” refers to the spectacular view, but it’s the dictionary definition that best defines us: the “possibility of something happening soon, a chance or the likelihood that something will happen in the near future, especially something desirable”. These kids have
had enough sadness in their short lives and it stops when they arrive here. Each has his or her own story, but they are not all without parents. Some have one or both still living on the island, but they are maybe not in a position to look after their kids right now.’

‘Why?’

‘Oh, many reasons. Addiction, poverty – the two are often closely linked, and there are no social services here like there are in the UK. If your parents are living hand to mouth on the street, then so are you.’

Kate pictured her English class at Marlham. Addiction and poverty: she knew how that story ended.

‘I feel foolish, Simon. If I think of the Caribbean, I picture yachts, private jets and large cocktails being sipped through straws. I’ve only ever associated St Lucia and islands like it with luxury and wealth.’

‘And you are right; you will find both here in abundance. But sometimes, Kate, this comes at a cost. This afternoon I will take you on a little trip, I want to show you something.’

‘How lovely! We could go a lot quicker if you had a dishwasher!’

Simon laughed as they transferred the scrubbed crockery covered in suds to a waiting bucket full of clean water for rinsing.

‘Oh, Kate, there are many, many things we need before we have the spare cash for a luxury like that! Regular, reliable hot water, a decent bathroom, computers and a playroom for when it’s rainy outside. The list is long and ever growing.’

‘How is the place funded, if you don’t mind me asking?’

‘I don’t mind at all. And the simple answer is it isn’t, not with any regularity. My adoptive parents back in Canada very generously send us a cheque when they can; they hold
fundraisers in their church and at the university where my dad taught, but it’s often hard for them, they are not getting any younger. We sell any surplus produce that Fabian “the farmer” grows on our plot. We barter a lot, and people are very kind. The community here is small and when word gets out that we might need another room, a truck with some lumber will show up. It’s a small miracle every time!’

‘It’s a big responsibility for you, Simon. It must be hard with so many people relying on you and no guarantee for the future.’

‘I guess that would be difficult for some, but not for me. My load is light. The kids are my purpose and I feel it was why I was brought here. If I thought about the cost and what we don’t have, it would feel like a burden, so I don’t dwell on that. I concentrate on what we do have, which is an awful lot.’

‘Do you see your father… real father – your dad – here at all?’

Kate blushed as she tried to make the distinction between the man that had fathered him, his adoptive dad and Jesus.

‘Oh, Kate, that is a very long and complicated story. I did see him for a while and then he died. We were never really reconciled. It was as if when I was in England and Canada I felt quite alien in those environments and longed to be here and when here, the exact opposite. Oddly, the older I get and the less time I have left on the planet the more I gain a sense of belonging right here.’

‘I get that. Age crystallises things in a way that’s hard to explain to anyone that hasn’t experienced it.’

Simon laughed. ‘That’s because old age is what happens to other people! I know I don’t see myself how I used to view people of my age when I was young; goodness no. Anyone over fifty was ANCIENT!’

‘I feel old sometimes, Simon. Like I’m slowing down and everything I do takes slightly longer. The speed at which I take
the stairs and even chew a biscuit is now sluggish, slightly laboured. I’m worried that one day soon I might come to a complete halt!’

‘You don’t look like a woman that is coming to a halt, Kate; you look to me like a woman that is on the edge, about to dive in, about to start over.’

‘Ooh, I like that. I like the idea of starting over and having new adventures before slipping gently into old age. Much better than suddenly hitting a geriatric wall and having the bricks rush up to meet me with such ferocity that I just want to shout stop!’

‘It won’t happen like that; you won’t have to shout stop!’

‘I hope not. What about you, Reverend Dubois, what does your old age hold?’

‘Oh that is definitely a topic for another day, over a cold beer.’

‘You drink then?’

‘Girl, you are so out of touch! I’m a preacher not a martyr! Everything in moderation, Kate, everything in moderation.’

‘You are an incredible man, Simon. The children are lucky to have you.’

He ignored the compliment.

‘Ah, Matilda!’

Kate turned from the sink to see her little friend hovering in the doorway.