Brixton Beach

‘Oh yes,’ Sita replied. She spoke easily but Alice knew, from the way she spoke, that she was lying.

‘Can I learn to ride my bicycle now?’ she asked, kissing Sita good-bye.

‘Don’t wear your grandparents out,’ was all her mother said.

‘You must get out of your school uniform first,’ her grandmother added.

‘We must go too, child. Just look at the time,’ Dias announced, yawning. ‘Come on, Esther. If you’re going out tonight you must help me in the house first.’

‘I’ll be back soon,’ Bee called.

He turned to Alice and now he was smiling again.

‘So be ready,’ he warned. ‘We’ll go to the beach and I’ll teach you to ride your bike!’

Outside, the sea beckoned invitingly. It hissed and rolled restlessly, catching the last of the radiant light. Ahead of them, three white ships had positioned themselves against the horizon, and as the last train to Colombo hooted its way towards the station a small kite rose and fell languidly in the breeze.

Later, when he returned, Bee and Alice set off on foot, down to the sea.

‘Like in The Water Babies,’ said Alice, who had just finished reading the book.

‘Don’t be long,’ Kamala warned. And hold her hand when you cross the line.’

‘Yes, yes,’ Bee waved impatiently.

But then at the level crossing he stopped and took her hand, waiting and listening for the sound of any stray trains.

‘Just to keep your grandmother happy,’ he told her. ‘So you’ve finished The Water Babies, huh? You read that quickly’

Alice skipped beside him.

Aunty May has given me all the books I asked for,’ she said.

‘Good!’ he nodded. ‘You must read as much as you can. English is a beautiful language,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘It’s a language of grace and culture. We have been very foolish to confuse such a language with our government’s anti-British attitude.’

Alice yawned. This was the moment she had been waiting for. Going down to the sea with Bee. At last, she thought, wondering what they might find today. He was always finding her things on the beach to add to her collection of objects. Mostly it was glass that he found, but sometimes it was other things: driftwood and rusty bits of tin that made Kamala scream with horror.

The barrier was up. An old woman carrying two chickens crossed the lines. She beckoned them to cross with her.

‘Eney, eney,’ she called, showing betel-red teeth. Two boys on one bicycle rode across.

And then, at long last they reached the sands where several bigger boys shouted hello as they passed. Bee heaved Alice up on to the bike and began pushing.

‘Right,’ he said with a grin, ‘let’s go!’

They wobbled off.

‘Pedal, pedal,’ he shouted above the roar of the waves. ‘Keep going, faster! Faster!’

On and on they went, Bee breathlessly behind her. A train roaring past. There was spray against her face. She could hear Bee’s encouragement, as, head down, On and on they went, Bee breathlessly behind her. A train roaring past. There unmarked and very white. A half-buried shell flashed by. The wind ran through her hair, wet and heavy with water.

Am I doing it?’ she asked, but there was no reply.

Turning, she looked behind her and wobbled.

‘Watch out!’ Bee called too late as she went crashing into the water.

He was laughing now.

‘You stopped,’ he cried, going to help her. ‘I told you not to stop pedalling!’

He was still laughing as he pulled her up and righted the bicycle.

‘That’s enough for today,’ he said.

Her dress was soaking and her knee hurt.

‘Your grandmother will kill me!’

‘Oh, please, please,’ Alice pleaded, her eyes like saucers. ‘I don’t want to stop yet. I have to learn now!’

Bee hesitated. He was done for with Kamala, he knew.

‘Come on,’ Alice insisted, tugging his hand.

Bee laughed.

‘Oh, all right, all right, just one last time, then,’ he agreed. ‘It’s true. You have nearly got it. But this time, don’t look behind you, for God’s sake!’

Some of the boys had gathered round to watch. They knew Bee from his daily visits to the beach to buy fresh fish and talk to some of the fishermen. They were used to seeing Alice, too, had watched her learn to swim and now they wanted to see her learn to ride her bicycle. One of the boys whistled encouragingly and wheeled his own bike in the air, showing off. Alice ignored him, wishing Janake hadn’t gone away. She wasn’t going to admit defeat, not in front of these grinning idiots.

‘Ready? Let’s go!’

Once again the sound of the sea was close to her ear, mixed up with Bee’s footsteps thudding softly in the sand behind her, telling her to pedal faster. And then it was only the sound of the sea, insistent and haunting, that filled her head. She could go on this way forever, she thought, raising her head. Startled, she saw her grandfather was no longer behind her as the horizon righted itself in her sightline. So that finding she was riding the bicycle entirely by herself she laughed so loud and so much that she wobbled and fell off again.

It is evening. Alice can see the sea through the horses as they fly round and round. Gilded hooves, flying sea-spray that disappears to be replaced by the sky. Then they’re back, flying high, dipping low, back and forth. She sees Bee’s face as he chews on his pipe. He is waving at her. Music belts out; its beat riding the sea from side to side, swinging the fairground lights, the pink-and-green paper lanterns strung around the stalls. Round and round. There’s Esther eating candyfloss wearing her polka-dot dress. Even her ponytail swings as she waves at Alice before strolling off. Aunt May holds on to Alice tightly and laughs. Uncle Namil stands on the grass verge watching solemnly. He is still wearing his Colombo office clothes and doesn’t seem part of the fair at all. Maybe, thinks Alice, that’s why Aunty May is laughing so much. Alice throws her head back, feeling the wind running through her hair, the dress her aunt made, cool and lovely against her legs. Above her the stars blink in the vast tropical sky. I will never forget this, she thinks, shouting into the air that rushes by. She wants it to never end. Three kites fly lazily, flicking home-made tails, while the sound of the barrel organ is loud in her ears and the smells of roasting gram and fried fish and burnt sugar seemed to gather together and explode around her like Catherine wheels.

In another part of the island, in Colombo 10, a woman screams. It is an old familiar scream, primeval and ancient, travelling down the corridors of centuries. In this darkening hour, in the brief southern twilight, the woman screams again, this time more urgently. A child wants to be born. Nothing can stop the need, the desire to exist. Nothing, not the Colombo express rushing past, nor the poya moon gliding tissue-paper-thin across the fine tropical sky can stop it. The child is coming before its time; its clothes, lovingly embroidered, are piled inside a shoe-box in the woman’s house. The clothes are small enough to make this possible. Blue; most of the fine lawn clothes are as blue as the sky, for the woman is hoping for a son. She has already decided on a name. For months now she has been saying the name to herself in a whisper.

‘Ravi,’ she says, ‘Ravi.’

She speaks softly for fear of the evil eye. But now she is in pain, three weeks too early, and here in the government hospital. It is late. Too late to inform her mother. Or her sister. Her husband has been sent home, told to return in the morning. This is women’s business, the nurse tells him.

‘Don’t worry,’ the nurse says. ‘Three weeks is only a little early. And Doctor will be here shortly.’

So the husband goes, the sounds of his wife’s whimpers resounding uneasily in his ears.

The carousel has stopped. Alice and May stagger down the steps with shaky feet, fresh sea air cool in their faces. They are still laughing. The puppet master has begun his show. Beside him is a huge neon-coloured inflatable man who sways in the sea breeze. The monkey screams in terror. Namil buys them all an ice cream, but Alice can hardly eat it she is so excited. She can’t decide what to look at first. The world is a spinning, rocking, top of sparkling lights. Someone has climbed the tallest coconut tree and strung the coloured bulbs amongst the branches. The carousel starts up again. Alice watches as the lights swing across her face. Her grandfather, yawning, has gone home, leaving her with her aunt. May stands close to Namil and watches the carousel begin again slowly at first and then gathering speed. She smiles a secret smile, thinking about her wedding. Not long now, she thinks. There will be lights threaded across the trees in the garden for the wedding party, just like these at the fair. They will serve iced coffee, May tells her niece. And wedding cake.