And then he charges back upstairs, thunderous, a weight that will surely break the stair-treads, leaving his meat to go cold on the table.
Vanessa sits stunned. Mary wipes the stain, then thinks, I will not do this again. I have not come here to wipe the table. She wishes she could say Mpa ku ssente. Give me some money, you miserable woman.
Perhaps Mary looks discontented, for Vanessa reaches out one thin white hand. It shines like a hen’s claw in the sharp glassy light. “Oh Mary, so sorry, are you all right? What a dreadful way to welcome you. Now, I daresay you are tired from your journey. I don’t suppose there’s anything I can get you…?” As she says it, she gets up and walks away.
Mary is surprised to find herself saying, “Miss Henman, I will need some money,” and after a brief pause, the other woman says, “Yes.”
13
Mary Tendo
A hundred and twenty-one pounds and thirty-seven pence. £121.37.
I have been in London for seven days, and earned the advance that she gave on my wages. Of course I have spent a little money. I bought some postcards and some postage stamps so I could write to my friend the accountant. Soon I will buy a mobile phone, but fifty pounds is a lot of money when you think about it in Ugandan shillings. One hundred and fifty thousand shillings. Next week, when I have earned more, I will do it, and send some money to my sister in Luweero.
I also put three pounds in the church collection. The English church seems to have grown more friendly, though it has changed, American style, and we are supposed to call the vicar ‘Andy’. It is strange for me not to respect the pastor. And most of the black people there are old. I must find a church where Ugandans go. It was always a problem when I was with Omar, because he did not like me going to church, but now I am free, and go where I like.
What else did I spend my money on? Ah yes, I bought some sanitary towels. Although the travelling has upset my body, which has often happened to me before. It used to happen when I travelled with Omar — my period would come when I least expected it. I suppose Miss Henman no longer has periods.
It is too late for Justin to have a brother, though he used to pray for one every day. When I told this to Miss Henman, many years ago, because I thought she would like to know, she was angry, which was a surprise to me. “And who will the father of this child be?” I did not see what was wrong with Trevor, although she laughed at him and called him Tigger, which is a childish way of saying Tiger.
(In many ways, English people are like children. The Henman still has a toy bear on her bed. Though I once heard an elderly, shrivelled muzungu sitting in the bar at the Nile Hotel say exactly the same thing about Ugandans: “The African, you see, is like a child.” I wanted to tell him he was like a tortoise, with his wrinkly neck sticking out under his shell.)
My own Jamie also wanted a brother. Instead he had a hamster, then a kitten, then a puppy, though at first Omar said all dogs were dirty, and tried to stop Jamil having one. It is one of the things I like about UK, the way the people love animals. The English buy their dogs from a pet shop, where they are kept in bright clean boxes. In Uganda, dog-owners like their dogs, but we don’t cuddle them like babies. I always enjoyed taking Jamie to pet shops. In the end Omar came to look at the puppy, and after he had seen him, he could not refuse. Jamie loved the small white and black dog like a brother, and he called it ‘Liquorice’, like his favourite sweet. It was very funny: it jumped up and down, and licked Jamie’s face, and liked television, barking at other dogs in the dog-food advertisements. I wanted to take Justin to see Liquorice, but Miss Henman always said ‘Another time, Mary’, and somehow the other time never came.
I shall not think about Jamie today.
On the whole, everything is excellent. I am doing well in Miss Henman’s house, though I must remember to call her Vanessa. I am finding my feet and beginning to save money.
The truth is, I am here as a detective. I thought they wanted me as a nurse, but I cannot nurse an unknown illness. In fact, I do not believe Justin is ill. He is certainly not ill as people are in Uganda, with TB or AIDS or malaria. He is not unwell like he was as a boy, the only time I remember him ill, his cheeks as fat as a football with mumps. His skin is clear and his eyes are white, and so his illness is a mystery.
Frankly I think he is ill in the head. But this is harder for me to judge, for in some ways, all the English seem ill in the head, as I found out when I lived here before. They stand in queues, frowning and worrying, touching all their bags to be sure they are still there, and when they talk, it is almost a whisper. They keep saying ‘Sorry’ or ‘Excuse me’, and if you look at them, their eyes dart away. And they usually look sad, or in a hurry. They stream into the underground, eyes down, like ants.
But Justin is what? He is a moper, a sleeper. He is not in a hurry about anything. Once I understand, I know I can help him.
On the second day that I was in England, I went to see Justin and was stern with him.
“Mr Justin—”
He opened his blue eyes, amazed. “Mary, you can’t call me Mr Justin. Won’t you call me Junty, like you did before?”
“I do not know.” I had to think about this. “Because you are no longer a baby, I will call you Justin instead of Junty. But if you prefer, I will not call you Mr.”
He sulked a little, with his lips like a Ugandan’s, which make him beautiful as a woman.
“Justin, I have run you a very nice bath.”
“I don’t need a bath.”
“You smell like a donkey.”
This made him laugh, and cover his face.
“If you go on this way, you will grow a tail.”
When he was in the bath, I inspected his room.
I found out why he never eats his dinner. Underneath his bed, it is schoolboy heaven. A jewellery box of sweets is spilled everywhere. (Miss Henman would see them as hellish, though. Miss Henman thinks that sweets are poison. Perhaps it was sweets that ate her teeth. My teeth are perfect, without fillings.)
I myself like chocolate and peppermints, though I never had them till I came to the city. But obviously Justin has too many sweets, and they are too easy for him to pick up, so he does not have to get up for his meals. And his sheets are full of sweet papers. When he went to his bath, they stuck to his skin. A white boy covered in butterflies.
I swept up all the sweets into a carrier bag, and changed his sheets, and opened the windows. The wind from the garden came into the room. The clean green wind, so beautiful. This house is greatly in need of fresh air.
When Justin came back he smelled warm and sweet. I did not tell him what I had done, I did not want to fight with him. I was going to put the sweets in the dustbin, although they were not really ebanisiko, but when I looked, it was full of food, packets of half-eaten, expensive food, and the carcass of the chicken, which still had meat on, but Miss Henman had not bothered to make soup or stew, and I did not want to add to the waste, so I hid the sweets at the back of my wardrobe. In Uganda, the ants would have eaten them by bedtime.
Justin came back clean, with slicked-down hair, but he still had the orange necklace on. He sat beside me on the bed. “Don’t go away, Mary. Please, I need you.” He held my hand and smiled sweetly. His forehead was still a mass of bruises. I cannot believe this gentle boy is the one that attacked his mother’s new lamp as if he was a bull in a butcher’s shop.
“Justin, why do you wear this necklace?”
He looked at his knees as if he didn’t want to tell me, in the same way he did when he was only ten.