Dinnertime came and Mammy called for me. Ignoring her was easy. The more frantic she got, the happier I felt.
—Solo! Now! How many times I must call you? Come to the table.
From behind my locked bedroom door I yelled back.
—I’m not hungry!
That was a lie. I was starving. So what? I’ll go in the pot later when everybody’s sleeping.
—What you mean you’re not hungry? Boy, come to the table.
—I’m not coming. You can’t even cook. Mr. Chetan cooks better than you.
—Stop being so rude and come to the table now.
—No! And stop calling me!
I heard Mr. Chetan telling her to leave me alone and enjoy her food while it hot. Sure. Go ahead and forget about me. I don’t need any of you. My headphones can block out this house and everyone in it. It certainly blocked the noise of Mr. Chetan calling for me. It was only when he was banging hard hard on my bedroom door that I finally heard and unlocked it. I don’t mind talking to him—but only him.
—What?
He came in and gently lifted the headphones off my ears.
—You want to eat now?
Not hungry.
—You expect me to believe that? You is a man who don’t mess with his food.
—I’m not eating while that man is in the house.
—Fine. Come play a game of chess with me instead.
—No.
—Dominoes, then.
—No.
—What about checkers? You beat me last time.
—No.
—You want to watch TV in my room?
—No.
He sat on the edge of the bed.
—Dev’s gone.
—That’s early for him.
—He and your mammy had a quarrel.
I picked up my iPad.
—He said he won’t come here if you don’t like him.
—You believe that? He was probably looking for an excuse because he had to go home early.
—Why you showing the man bad face? I only see him being nice to you.
—I didn’t do anything to him.
—You’re sure? I’m asking because your mammy’s crying and I don’t like to see that.
—She’s crying because the man gone home to his wife.
—That’s not fair. What’s bothering you?
—Nothing.
—Then for your mammy’s sake try to be pleasant and polite. Please. For me. Do it for me.
I rubbed my temples to stop the headache that was developing.
—What’s the point? He’s not going to be here forever.
—You don’t know that. I don’t know that. And I bet you five dollars even they don’t know. Big people business complicated.
—What, you think it’s right that Mammy’s hooked up with him?
—When you get older you’ll realize that life’s not so black and white.
—So, it’s all right?
—Solo, it’s not as simple as wrong or right.
—Well what you feel going to happen? Don’t think I haven’t heard all the bull he does be saying about leaving the wife. His wife’s driving a brand-new BMW. They went Florida for holidays. That is his family. We are not his family. If Mammy believes his bullshit, then more fool she.
Mr. Chetan ruffled my hair and stood up.
—You’re a funny boy. One minute you’re a baby and next minute you’re playing big. Come out of the room for a quick game of checkers with me and then go get a plate of food.
I said no but I was smiling.
—If I had to get a new father it should be you. But you and Mammy don’t seem the slightest bit interested in one another.
Mr. Chetan let out one laugh and pulled me close.
—Can you take out some food for me? Please.
—Okay, lazybones. Make me fetch and carry for the little Maharaja of Simonette Street.
As I drank my second coffee I wondered if today we might talk. It’s been on my mind to say something to Miss Betty when the time’s right. Solo’s going on a school trip. Without him around she might open up a little. The breakup with Dev was a good few months now and it’s still bothering her. For all the big talk Miss Betty never had the gumption to take a stand and make Dev choose. Being his long-term deputy wasn’t her style either although I personally think that setup has its merits. He didn’t choose and she couldn’t settle. Part of me wishes they had had a big bust-up where everybody cussed and carried on. At least then the relationship is dead. End of story. Take your pain in one hit. You recover faster than if the relationship drags on for ages. And those two dragged that carcass from one hurricane season to the next. Drip by drip he stopped coming over. She doesn’t mention it but her eyes don’t lie. Miss Betty’s still hurting.
And Solo is a next one. Getting him out of this house is hard work. It might be easier to hook him up to a crane. Happiness for him would be staying in his bedroom forever with headphones and iPad. It’s Saturday but it’s a school thing and he better go if he knows what’s good for him. He’ll get in trouble if he breaks biche and misses this outing. Poor fella. He’s finding it hard to fit in and he’s forever angry. When I went to wake him up he started sniffling, pretending he’s stuffed up.
—I’m feeling real dread. No way I can go out today.
I felt his forehead.
—Solo, you’re not sick. Get your little tail out of the bed.
—Honest. I’m not making joke. I’m getting a cold.
—Two Tylenol and jump in the shower. You’re not going to cut cane. You’ll have fun. See the Pitch Lake. Buss a lime on the beach. It will do you good.
For a teenager to be by himself all the time is unhealthy. Apart from not wanting to go on the excursion, the bus was leaving from the schoolyard at 8 A.M. Solo’s not a morning person. He whinged. He whined. He carried on like a cry cry baby. I assume this is a phase. What I don’t want is for it to become a habit. He mustn’t go through life being ’fraidy ’fraidy. Trust me. I know it’s no life. Besides, I was up early o’clock to make the little wretch saheenas and aloo pies for his trip.
Once Solo was gone Miss Betty mapped out the day. I was given my orders—weeding the beds and planting out the tomatoes we’ve been growing from seed. We have a little vegetable garden at the back of the house. Let me rephrase that. Miss Betty started a vegetable garden and I got roped in as the hard labor. Skinny me as the muscle. I don’t want to put goat mouth on it but days like this are as good as having my own family.