Songbirds(30)

‘Where are they?’ she asked.

‘I don’t have any right now. I just made a delivery.’

She nodded, and there was a look of disappointment on her face. But this feeling belonged only to her; she wasn’t willing to share it with me in words.

‘I don’t want to do it,’ I said, trying to make her understand. ‘Once you get into it, it’s hard to stop. It’s a bit like drug dealing – there’s a huge underground organisation, and they won’t let you go, it’s too risky for them.’ I didn’t tell her that the previous week a man I knew had handed in his notice, and that night his boat shed had mysteriously burnt to the ground.

‘Who are they?’ Nisha asked.

‘The men at the top.’

‘So, once you make a decent amount of money, you want out and you’re stuck?’

‘Yes.’

She closed the fridge door and brought her hand to her stomach, her eyes to the ground.

‘What I’m saying to you is that I’m going to find a way out of this. I will. But I have more than enough money to be able to support us until I find a different job. The recession has passed now. I have experience in finance. I know the way I made my money isn’t ideal, but we can be a family.’

‘Not ideal.’ She repeated faintly. She turned and walked out of the spare room, then headed for the back door. Her hand on the door knob, she turned back to me and said, ‘I’ll think about it,’ then disappeared down the stairs.

After that, she didn’t come to see me for several days. But about a week later, she turned up at my door – I remember it was a Friday morning and I was surprised to see her in the light of day. She looked so beautiful, in a vibrant orange dress that brought out the gold in her eyes. Her hair was tied up in a ponytail. Her lips glimmered with gloss. On her feet she still wore her practical, scuffed, high-impact walking sandals.

I wanted to reach out and hold her. ‘Come in,’ I said.

‘No. I’ve just come to tell you that I’m going to Limassol for the weekend, to stay with my cousin Chaturi. Do you remember when she came to visit me?’

‘Of course,’ I replied.

‘Well, she’s leaving to go back to Sri Lanka next week and I’m going to give her a few things to take to Galle.’

I nodded.

‘I need some time away from here so that I can think.’

I nodded again.

‘Don’t call me or try to contact me. It’s just for a few days.’

‘Don’t worry,’ I said, ‘I understand.’

Her lips broke into a small smile, but her eyes carried a lingering sadness. Then she walked down the stairs and I watched her as she went into her bedroom through the patio doors.

After the weekend passed, Nisha returned. Late on Monday night, I heard a knock at the door. She was standing there in a bright white nightdress, a pink cardigan draped over her shoulders. Her hair was loose, her face flushed like she’d been running.

‘I couldn’t wait to see you,’ she said.

She put her arms around me immediately and tucked her face into the crook of my neck; I felt the damp warmth of her body against mine, her breath against my skin. I was flooded with relief, joyful at her return, grateful to have her in my arms again.

‘I wanted to come last night, but Aliki was running a fever. I couldn’t leave her,’ she said.

We lay down on the bed. There was a soft summer breeze. She lay on her back, I on my side; I kissed her shoulder and stroked her hair, just as she liked. I almost couldn’t believe that she was there.

‘How is Chaturi?’ I asked.

‘Do you like my nightdress? She gave it to me as a gift. She made it herself. It’s beeralu lace.’

‘It’s beautiful,’ I said. And it was so beautiful. I ran my hand over the fine patterns of flowers. It was like a pure white garden.

‘She drew it on graph paper first, then attached it to the kotta boley with pins. She then took each thread around the pin. Can you imagine what a task it is?’

‘I can.’

‘Her employers were away this weekend, so we had the house to ourselves. I helped her with the chores, then we sat the rest of the time in the garden. We talked while she weaved. She was desperate to finish it before I left. She said she had a feeling she would not see me for a very long time.’

Over the years, Nisha had seen Chaturi every couple of months, usually when Chaturi came with her employers to Nicosia for a Sunday visit. They had family there and they would drop her off at Petra’s for the day, then collect her in the evening before heading back to Limassol. It was always a special occasion for Nisha. The two women would spend time making aluwa, a nutty sweetmeat with cashews, or my favourite, aasmi, made with coconut milk and the juice of cinnamon leaves. Chaturi would leave with a couple of Tupperware boxes filled with sweets. Nisha would always set aside a few slices in foil and bring them up for me later in the evening, telling me all about their conversations, Chaturi’s jokes, the news from home.

‘I hope she is wrong about that,’ she said. ‘That it will be a long time before she sees me again.’ She ran her fingers over the flowers of her nightgown.

‘I’m sure it won’t be too long’ I said, reassuring her.

She paused a moment, and then said: ‘I made an appointment at the clinic in Limassol to end the pregnancy, but I couldn’t do it.’ Her eyes were wide now, fearful. ‘This baby is going to start growing and I’m going to be left without a job and without a home. Do you know what happens to women like me who break the rules?’