Bone China - Roma Tearne

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cousin. ‘Without her lessons, Alicia, you would have been nowhere!’

      ‘You’ll be able to play on a Steinway, Alicia,’ Thornton said, pleased for his sister. ‘And everything sounds wonderful on a Steinway!’

      ‘This calls for a celebration, darl,’ Aloysius decided, much to Grace’s alarm. ‘Our family will be famous yet, you’ll see!’

      And he went out to play a game of poker, to win some money and buy his clever daughter a present. Or if not a present for Alicia, thought Aloysius unsteadily, moments before he fell into the sea at Galle Face, then at least some whisky.

      Myrtle watched him go. Afterwards, she wrote in her diary.

      Thursday, September 4. So, my cousin thanks me as though I am her servant. How she loves to play the good mother while neglecting her husband. As for Aloysius he will die of drink.

      Towards evening, an Englishman from the Tea Board brought Aloysius home. Grace would not go to the door. She was too ashamed. She sent the servant instead.

      ‘He’s had a slight accident,’ the Englishman said tactfully to the servant, helping Aloysius into the hall.

      There was a brief pause.

      ‘Is Grace de Silva at home by any chance?’

      Myrtle, hearing the commotion, opened her door stealthily and listened for a moment. Then she went back to her diary.

      Four o’clock, she wrote, grimly. And Aloysius is drunk again. I shall continue to record what goes on in this house. Who knows when it might come in useful? If Grace is doing something illegal, if she is caught, my diary will be useful evidence.

      Grace was furious. She recognised the man’s voice. How could Aloysius make such a fool of them both? He might not mind being humiliated, but what about her?

      ‘Charming bastards,’ said Aloysius staggering in, stopping short at the sight of his wife skulking in the doorway. ‘Why on earth are you hiding, darl?’ he asked cheerily. ‘I know he’s white but he’s not such a bad fellow, you know, underneath. My clothes made rather a mess of his jeep, I’m afraid!’

      He laughed. Grace glared at him. She would never raise her voice in front of the servants.

      ‘They don’t like me much any more,’ continued Aloysius mildly, unaware of her fury. ‘They think I’m no use with the local idiots.’ He wagged a finger at her. ‘They think I don’t know what’s going on, that I’m a bloody fool! But I know what the British are up to. I know what’s going on.’ He leaned unsteadily against the door. ‘Divide and rule. That’s been their game for years, darl. These fellows don’t give a damn about any of us.’ He made a gesture as though he was cutting his throat. ‘I think I’ll have a little lie-down now, if you don’t mind, darl.’

      And off he went, first to wash off the seawater and then to pour out a small hair of the dog, after which, he informed the servant sternly, he would have a late afternoon nap.

      All her life, Myrtle wrote, G has had everything she wanted. The looks, the wealth and the man I wanted. But she’ll never be happy. And he has wasted his life because of her.

      In a month from now Alicia would leave for the Conservatoire. She would be a full-time boarder. Myrtle paused, staring out at the bright afternoon garden. That would leave Frieda, she thought.

      The shadow, she wrote, whom no one notices!

       3

      THE WAR ENDED. IN SPITE OF ALL the predictions, Japan had not invaded. The enemy, it seemed, was within. The writing on the wall was no longer possible to ignore. A hundred and fifty years of British Rule, guided by Lord Soulbury, drew to a close and the island became a self-governing dominion. One day it would no longer be called Ceylon. A few days before independence was announced Aloysius was offered early retirement.

      ‘They want me out of the way,’ he told Grace, avoiding her eye.

      Ostensibly his retirement was due to his ill health. Privately, all of them knew it was a different matter. His drink problem had never gone away, his liver was failing, his eyesight poor. On his last day he came home early.

      ‘Well, that’s that,’ he announced. ‘The end of my working life!’

      There were several vans with loudspeakers parked outside on the streets delivering party political broadcasts.

      ‘Of course I drink too much,’ Aloysius shouted above the racket, glaring at the servant who handed him a drink. ‘But they kicked me out for a different reason.’ He was more subdued than Grace had seen him for a long time. The servants closed the shutters to muffle the noise.

      ‘I’m a Tamil,’ Aloysius said, to no one in particular. His voice was expressionless. ‘That’s not going to change, is it? They can give their damn job to one of their own, I don’t much care any more.’ He was beginning to sound cornered. ‘The old ways are finished. These fellows have no need for courtesy. Or good manners. Life as we have known it will shrink. We’ve been sucked dry like a mango stone!’

      Discarded, thought Grace. That’s how we’ll be.

      ‘I shall breed Persian cats,’ declared Aloysius.

      He looked with distaste at the cloudy liquid in his glass.

      ‘I’ve forgotten what decent whisky tastes like,’ he muttered.

      Christopher, standing in the doorway, looked at both his parents in amazement. Why did his mother remain silent, why couldn’t she stop his drinking?

      ‘Hah!’ Aloysius continued, grimacing as he drank. ‘The Sinhalese have been waiting years for this. Well, let’s see what happens, now they’ve got the upper hand.’

      He’s like a worn-out gramophone, thought Grace wearily. In all the years of their marriage she had never told him what he should do. But she was tired. Aloysius switched on the radio and raised his voice.

      ‘It was bound to happen. I told you! Independence will change everything.’ He was getting into his stride. ‘The Tamils won’t be able to keep a single job.’

      Pausing, he took a quick swig of his drink.

      ‘The English language will become a thing of the past.’

      ‘Don’t!’ Grace said, sharply.

      ‘What d’you expect, men? The minute the suddhas, these white fellows, are gone and Sinhalese becomes the official language, what d’you think will happen? They’ll forget every bit of English they’ve learned. In schools, in the offices, all over the bloody place! It’s obvious, isn’t it? And then,’ he gave a short laugh, drained his glass and poured himself another drink, ‘not only will the Tamils suffer but we’ll be cut off from the rest of the world. Who the bloody hell except the Sinhalese will speak their language?’

      He held his glass up to the light and peered at it for a moment.

      ‘Here’s to the new and independent Ceylon!’

      Christopher waited uneasily. He knew the signs. His father would gradually become louder and his arguments more circular. The six o’clock news finished. Evening shadows lengthened in the garden and a small refreshing breeze stirred the trees. Somewhere the liquid, flute-like notes of a black-hooded oriole could be heard calling sweetly to its mate: ku-kyi-ho.

      ‘Our Sinhalese peasants will be the new ruling class,’ Aloysius declared, waving a hand in the direction of the servants’ quarters.

      Christopher was horrified. Well, don’t for God’s sake antagonise them, he wanted to say. Don’t just get drunk, do something. His father was all talk.

      ‘On

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