Without waiting for an answer, Calvin rolls up his jeans and wades over, beaming from ear to ear. I withdraw a little, remembering he was with Gaynah laughing at me.
‘Clara—’ he is pointing down at my feet—‘you’re in water.’
I look down at my feet under the water. It isn’t deep water—it only reaches my knees—but I back out as if a shark were coming towards me. I clamber to my feet and run up the hill, my eyes stinging with tears.
‘Clara!’ I hear Rudy call behind me, but I continue climbing until I reach the top. I am out of breath and my throat is stinging. I feel a hand on my shoulder. Rudy turns me to face her with her wet hands and water dripping from her clothes. She pulls me into a hug and now my face is wet, and I can smell the river on her.
I hear a rustle among the banana trees and Uncle Albert appears, still in his grey work trousers and matching shirt. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him wear anything else.
‘Thought I would find you here,’ he says in his usual quiet voice. ‘Why you always running away, Clara?’
I lower my eyes to the ground. ‘Is Mama mad?’
He makes a noise in his throat that’s neither a yes nor a no. He nods to Rudy. ‘I told your mother I’d keep an eye on you. Come, I’m going to see Leroy. Clara, you can show your friend your place.’
I break into a wide smile, relieved he won’t force me back to the party. I turn to Rudy. ‘I have something really cool to show you.’
Her eyes widen, and they are a light brown with black specks. ‘Cooler than this night?’ she cries.
I shake my head in dismay. This poor girl—I am about to blow her mind.
Chapter Nine
Most nights, when he has finished work in the fields, Uncle Albert walks down the hill to his best friend’s house, where they sit on the veranda overlooking the sea. They will talk about work and politics but mostly about how much fun they had when they were younger. How they ran the streets, how the music was better and people were kinder.
Sometimes, because Uncle Albert doesn’t talk much, they just sit in silence listening to the sound of the waves hitting the wall that protects his house from the sea.
At eleven every night they say their goodbyes and he heads back up the hill and straight to bed, ready for work the next morning.
Tonight, he takes us through the banana grove on the path that the workers use. It gives easy access to the road without climbing the hill. The banana grove is so big that if you don’t keep to the path, it’s easy to get lost.
The moon shines on Uncle Albert’s bald head, and the shadow of a banana leaf forms on his dark skin. We follow in a line, and I think how Uncle Albert has always been there for me in his own quiet way. How he always made sure he knew where I was without suffocating me. How good he is at keeping Mama happy while still leaving me be. How he made signs so I wouldn’t forget what route to take when I would help him in the banana grove. He would pick all the bananas and tell me and Gaynah to pile them in the back of his truck. Then we would drive further into the hills to get more.
The grove goes on for miles into the hills. It’s owned by a businessman named Mr Hyke, who I’ve only met once, when he came to check on his land.
Mr Hyke lives in the city, and Uncle Albert says he has a big house with servants and a swimming pool.
There is only one road going into the hills, and it’s barely drivable. It’s full of potholes and big rocks, and it’s so narrow that you can see the sheer drop over the edge. Only one other person lives that far into the hills: Papa’s brother Eldorath. But Eldorath doesn’t like people visiting him, not since Pastor Brown turned the town against him.
As we come out of the grove and on to Sycamore Hill by the junction, I almost forgive Uncle Albert for retrieving the memory box from the river.
I take the lead as we turn off East Avenue and down another steep but wider road. I know these roads like the back of my hand. I have walked these roads to school and with Uncle Albert when he knew I needed to get away.
East Avenue has four or five houses on either side with grassy front yards and big gardens. The houses here are closer together than ours, but it is obvious these people are the ones with the money. They have shiny American trucks parked in their driveways, and black BMWs.
We reach the end of East Avenue, and I point to our police station, tucked away on a dead end. ‘Anton’s dad works there. He’s the chief of police.’
‘It’s so small,’ Rudy says in awe. ‘Our police station is ten times bigger, with hundreds of policemen, and they drive around in their cars staring at you like this.’ She scrunches up her face to look as mean as possible. ‘They never leave us alone; they’re always watching us.’ Her voice rises in waves of frustration and sadness.
We pass Phillip James Church, where Mama and Papa got married and I got baptised.
‘Where I live,’ she continues, ‘there are some bad kids, but there are a lot more good kids, but the police think we’re all the same.’ I am torn between wanting to interrupt her to show her everything and wanting to know about her life in London.
The road veers round a narrow bend and turns off down the hospital road. Rudy has stopped talking about home and is now transfixed once again by her surroundings. I point to the hospital as we pass the entrance, the crumbling stone surrounding it still not fixed after the last storm. ‘Mama used to work there, and my grandma.’
‘Why doesn’t she work there any more?’ Her voice is gentle, as if somehow she knows the reason is sad.
I am ashamed to tell her that I don’t know. One day last year, she just stopped, and I never asked why.
‘She just doesn’t.’
Rudy doesn’t ask me anything more about it, and I change the subject, pointing ahead. There is an old guard post almost swallowed by overgrown grass. On either side of the path are two stone pillars that used to hold impressive gates, but the gates have gone, replaced by tufts of grass. Rudy spots the first cannon at the sea wall and starts to run, screeching words I can’t make out.
Uncle Albert leaves us at his friend’s gate and tells us to come and get him when we’re ready to go home. I tell him I will wave to him from the wall, and chase Rudy through the gate.
Fort Charlotte is an old fighting fort that the English used to defend the island. It was built hundreds of years ago, when England ruled our island and they didn’t want anyone else to have it.
The fort has fallen apart since then, but you can still recognise what it was. They’re rusted and peeling and none of them work, but the four cannons facing the sea still stand tall. There are lookout points and oval windows cut out of stone. There is a wall surrounding the fort that you can walk on and see the entire town and ships far out to sea.
Gaynah was never interested in history or rusty cannons. I was afraid Rudy would turn her nose up at it, but she doesn’t. She plays along.
Rudy goes to the first cannon, running her hand along it, her mouth wide open. She catches sight of the lookout posts and sticks her head through, then she runs up the steps to the wall and looks out across the bay.
She turns and shouts down to me, ‘Ah ho! I see a ship! Get your men ready to fight.’
My heart swells as I order my men to position their guns. ‘Take aim. Fire!’