Easter Lili

EASTER LILI

By

MARGARET KNIGHT

Published by Sheraton Media Partnership at Smashwords

Copyright Margaret Knight 2006

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

‘Easter Lili’ is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely co-incidental.

Cover illustration composed by Michel Goodman

Smashwords edition published by

Sheraton Media Partnership

54 Sheraton Park, Christ Church ,Barbados

sheratonmedia@hotmail.com

Dedicated to the memory of

Dolly ("Meg) Ellis

CHAPTER ONE

"Aren’t you the lady who writes articles in the magazine Bimshire Bugle?"

Yes.

Hmm. Very controversial, aren’t you?

Yes.

Bold, too, if I may say so.

Yes?

The man sitting at the desk across from me, smiled. It was not a friendly smile. He was middle-aged, white, bald as a coot, horn-rimmed eyeglasses, and had that smarmy look that told you his wife thought butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, yet some nights, when he was supposed to be at the Bridgetown Club, he was, in fact, parked in his car up a country cart track, making out with a Garrison Savannah prostitute. That type, you know?

I looked at my fingernails, which were raggedy and could have used some polish. I put my hands in my lap.

Well, let’s not split hairs. You have applied for the job of secretary to the Managing Director of this company. I am he. Oh, yeah? You don’t say! I see by your CV that you have excellent qualifications as a secretary, and … he picked up a letter from the file on the desk. … first class references from past employers in England. He leaned forward and looked me full in the eyes. He looked like a cobra about to strike. Tell me, Mrs. Brownfield, as a matter of interest, how come you’re a member of the Democratic Labour Party?

I couldn’t believe my ears. My neck went rigid and my toes wiggled about in my shoes. But before I could get around to answering that, he piped up, I mean, I can’t think of any other white woman in Barbados who would join Barrow and his gang.

Lord, in your kind mercy, I ask you to prevent me from exploding. Hear my prayer. Amen. I leaned back in my chair and smirked at him. I am not white. I waited for that to sink in, and just as he opened his mouth, I continued, "Not that that is of any consequence, but neither are my political affiliations."

What?

You heard me, sir. Furthermore, as far as I am concerned, this interview is at an end. I pushed back my chair and stood up. Consider my application closed. In other words, get stuffed, you insipid, racist jackass.

Wait, hold on a minute. You said you’re not white? Is that what I heard you say?

Yes, but I have no intention of explaining that to you – you wouldn’t understand anyhow. Good day.

I was so furious when I jumped into the car, that I nearly forgot my luncheon date with my darling hubby, Tony. We had arranged to meet at the Hilton Hotel at twelve noon, have a drink in the bar and then some lunch. The time was now eleven-thirty. It would take me no more than fifteen minutes to drive to the Hilton, just about one mile south of Bridgetown.

I had decided that I was bored stiff at home. Children at school, and Tony at work. Oh yes, it would have been wonderful to loll off on the beach all day, or drive aimlessly around the island, admiring the beauty of Barbados – and believe me, Barbados has plenty of that – or visit my mother and her husband, Henry. But I wanted more than that. I was a qualified secretary, plus I had always had an interest in writing, and I now had a regular column in the magazine, Bimshire Bugle. Yes, I did write controversial political, and other matters, and was considered too damned outspoken for the hermit crab Bajan mentality.

Why the hell should it matter my being a member of the DLP, when I am applying for a job as a secretary, Tony? I asked him, when we were seated at the Hilton restaurant, knocking back rum punches, which didn’t appear to have much rum in them. Which was just as well.

Tony spread his hands, and shrugged his shoulders. "Sam, I’m surprised you don’t know the answer to that. Most Bajan whites will never accept Errol Barrow and the DLP. A few of the more intelligent ones support the Party openly, but then again, others prefer to remain silent supporters. You can go to them for contributions, and they will give you cash – never a cheque!" He leaned back and put his hands up, as if defending himself from an onslaught. Who, me? Not me, I would never support Errol Barrow and his political Party. That’s what you’ll hear them say at their cocktail parties.

What, the ones who contribute?

The very same ones, Sam.

Well, I am determined to get a job – part-time, preferably, and there’s got to be someone around who is not politically biased.

I had, of course, worked for a while, at an hotel, soon after returning to Barbados, but gave up the job when Tony and I got married. It had been before I had put pen to paper and been assigned a column in a magazine. I was an unknown entity at that time. At least as far as the general public were concerned. Of course there were those persons still around, who had wallowed in the heat of the scandal when I had upped and married Albert Wetherby twenty or so years ago. But Barbados was changing. Well, to a certain degree.

Tony laid his hands on mine on the table. That’s my girl. I know you won’t give up. That had not been an easy thing for Tony to say, because he had been dead against my idea of getting a job. We don’t need extra cash, Sam, he had remonstrated. It’s not the cash I’m after, Tone, you know that. He had finally relented.

After a no-great-shakes lunch at the Hilton, and wishy-washy rum punches, Tony went back to work and I sped home to Ginger Lily in my Triumph Herald.

* * * *

Sam, did you call the airport? Tony yelled at me. His voice sounded all peculiar because he was shaving in front of the bathroom mirror and you know how men twist their faces up when they’re shaving.

I had just finished helping Charmaine fix the TV antenna. Fixing, did I say? More like fiddling with it. We turned it this way and that, we pushed the rabbit ears up, then down, and finally we managed to sweep the picture clean of snow. We had given Charmaine the TV set for her bedroom last Christmas, and now she spent more time in her bedroom than anywhere else.

Five year old Kathy was having an after-lunch kip in her bedroom. I would have to wake her soon, as we were all off to the airport, to welcome home Ray and Douglas, who were flying in on BOAC from London.

I called out to Tony, Just going to phone them. I picked up the phone, dialed, and asked to be put through to BOAC. Line busy, they said. I tried again and again – no less than ten times – and finally got through. I nearly dropped the phone when the Airline official gave me the news. Flight is delayed. Had to make an unscheduled stop in Antigua.

My heart flew up to my mouth. Why?

Um – slight mechanical problem. Nothing serious, but it will take a couple of hours to repair.

"They’re going to repair it in Antigua? I said Antigua" as if it were in the middle of the jungle.

Apparently. It appears to be a very minor problem, and they probably could have continued to Barbados without stopping, but to be on the safe side, they chose to stop and have it looked at.

So, you’re saying it may be around six p.m. before it finally arrives in Barbados?

Difficult to say for sure, ma’am, but I would think so.

Bloody hell. Shall I call back in an hour or so, then?

Yes, ma’am, unless you’d like to give us your name and phone number, and if we hear anything further, we’ll call you. I gave him my name and phone number. Damn and damn. Here we all are, looking forward to having Ray and Douglas home for the long summer holidays, and their plane chooses to develop a mechanical fault.

I went to the bathroom, where Tony was just wiping his face on a towel. He opened his eyes wide and his eyebrows shot up. There was a speck of shaving cream on his left eyebrow, so I grabbed a corner of the towel and wiped it off. Well? he said,

Not well. Flight is delayed. It’s stuck in Antigua, having a slight mechanical problem rectified, apparently.

Shit.

Yeah, quite.

So, how long will it be delayed?

Couple of hours, maybe.

Tony moved into the bedroom and sat on the bed. He rubbed his chin. I sat next to him. There wasn’t much we could do but sit around and wait.

Charmaine appeared in the doorway. Snow’s back, Sam, she said, with a pout of her mouth.

I turned to Tony. Since we now have bags of time, could you take a look at Charmaine’s TV? We fiddled with the antenna, but apparently that hasn’t worked.

Tony got up wearily and followed his daughter into her bedroom. I remained sitting on the bed, contemplating.

Ray was eighteen, and had just finished school. He had done his ‘O’ Levels in Fifth Form and ‘A’ Levels in Sixth form. He had five ‘O’s and three ‘A’s, and was all set for University. Trouble was, he wasn’t sure what he wanted to do. (Like mother, like son). Ray was my son, from my first marriage, which had hit the rocks in its infancy, and Douglas and Charmaine were Tony’s children from his first marriage – which had also hit the rocks. Kathy was our daughter – Tony’s and mine. Mischievous little tyke, but what a darling. Loved her father to death. Loved me too, I suppose, but not to death. Hated me when I told her not to back-chat people.

Ray and Douglas had gone off to boarding-school in Somerset, England, way back in 1969, when they had actually made the decision themselves. Of course Ray was no stranger to England – having been born in London – but I had been a little concerned as to whether or not Douglas would have been happy. The two boys had met for the first time when Ray was eleven, and Douglas nine and a half, when Tony and I had tied the knot, after our respective divorces. Ray and I had packed up from London and come home to Barbados. Well, I should say home for me, but a new home for Ray.

Ray and Douglas had taken to each other right off. Charmaine was a quiet placid little soul, and it was difficult to know how she really felt about life and the blow it had dealt her, when her mother had left her father and gone to live in Florida with another man. She seemed to accept Ray without question, but whether or not she actually liked him, was another matter. She teased him from time to time about his English accent, but he seemed to take it in good faith, and sometimes gave back as good as he got. He was friendly towards her, and often helped her with school homework.

There were the usual tiffs between them all, which sometimes called for parental intervention, but mostly they sorted out their own battles, and on the whole, Tony and I considered ourselves lucky that they had formed an amicable, and working relationship. They all loved the sea, and living on the beach, as we did, was an added bonus – especially for Ray, who had spent his first ten and a half years in crowded London, surrounded by rows of terraced and semi-detached houses, except for the few years he and I had lived in a flat overlooking Wandsworth Common, with a view from the bathroom window of the train lines leading in and out of Clapham Junction Station from, and to destinations all over southern England. Across from the tracks was the large Emanuel Grammar School that I would have liked Ray to attend, had we planned to continue living in London.

Both Ray and Douglas had disliked Harrisons College, where they went to school. They were unhappy because of the prevalence of racial prejudice, and after much consideration, and weighing of the pro’s and con’s, they both decided that they would like to go to boarding-school in England.

Ray’s godfather, Les, lived, with his wife, Fiona, in St. Ives, and Ray and Douglas spent many of their school holidays there. Sometimes they came home to Barbados for summer holidays, and Christmas holidays, so they never lost touch with Barbados.

I had watched Ray grow from a chubby little boy into a slim, muscular, very handsome teenager with what the girls called bedroom eyes and long eyelashes. And he was a flirt. When he and Douglas came home on school holidays, they spent a good deal of their time at the Yacht Club, sailing, swimming and chatting up girls.

Tony and I had nearly come to blows over the Yacht Club. I refused to enter that establishment until there was at least one coloured member. Tony could understand that, but he drew the line when I said that we, as a family, should not go there. "My parents were members, which gave me automatic rights as an offspring, Sam, and then I became an independent member, and when we got married, our family also inherited those rights. When Que Pasa needs repairs, or caulking and painting, where else can I have it done? Be reasonable."

So I gave in, and the children used the club facilities regularly, but I refused to go, and Tony himself seldom used the club, except for repairs to the boat, Que Pasa.

Ray excelled at sports, particularly cricket. He had been the school’s cricket captain and opening batsman; he was a fast swimmer and was good at high diving; he was an accomplished horse rider and often entered into Equestrian events, representing his school. Academically, he did well at school and was naturally bright. On the whole he was a well-behaved boy, but, like all boys, he occasionally got into minor scrapes at school, for which he was flogged by the Headmaster. However, he tended to sulk, when ticked off, and sometimes, if he became angry, his temper would flare. Mercifully it didn’t last long.

Douglas was in the main a quiet boy – a plodder at school - but I detected an underlying nervousness, and when in company he became quite talkative and excitable. He appeared to be anxious to please his friends. He too, was a good-looking boy, tall and angular. He had light brown hair with golden flecks, and dark blue eyes. He played football and tennis well, but was not an athlete. He did, however, go to a Riding School, because it was what his big brother did, and I suspect that Ray twisted his arm somewhat.

Charmaine was like her mother – my old enemy, Greta. But in looks only. She hadn’t a grain of spite running through her veins. Instead, she had a sweet personality, and she was like a little mother to young Kathy. She had curly blond hair and blue-eyes, and a round face. She had refused to go to boarding-school in England, when Tony and I offered to send her. She was very much a home girl, who loved her friends and did not wish to be parted from them. She attended Queen’s College, and had a delightful black girlfriend, whose father was a Civil Servant.

Kathy. What can be said of Kathy, except that she was a proper little mischief monkey; always active when not sleeping, and regularly into trouble. Everyone said she looked more like Tony than like me, except that she had my curly hair and chin. I was happy that she looked like Tony – he being so handsome. I always called him Clark-Gable-without-the-mustache.

The phone rang and I jumped. I had been so wrapped up in my thoughts that I was unaware of what was going on around me. Tony grabbed it, and I went to stand by him in case it was a call from BOAC. I heard him say, Yes, it is. Oh? Yes. Their names are Ray Wetherby and Douglas Brownfield. He looked at me and nodded his head. He listened, and then said, Can you hang on a minute, while I talk to my wife? He put his hand over the mouthpiece. BOAC. The mechanical problem may take longer to fix than they thought. They want to know if they can put the two boys on a LIAT flight to Barbados.

Oh, my God. Ask them if it’s a direct flight. We don’t want them island-hopping all night.

Is it a direct flight to Barbados from Antigua? Tony listened, then nodded yes to me. I said, Well, I suppose that’s better than having them stuck in Antigua. Tell them okay, Tone.

Tony got all the details from the BOAC person and rang off. BOAC in Antigua will look after the boys and get them onto the LIAT flight, which comes in to Seawell Airport at five forty-five p.m.

I shrugged. Well, we can’t do any better. What a shame, though, breaking up their travel plans like that.

Bet they’ll be disappointed, being shunted on to a small plane, from a Boeing 707. I can just hear Ray ‘choopsing’ his mouth, and Doug copying him.

"I’d better call Mum and let her know, just in case word gets around that the BOAC flight is held up in Antigua, and she starts having kittens, thinking it’s a major disaster.’

I phoned my mother - Mrs. Ellen Pitman, formerly Mrs. Ellen Kinley. She had come home to Barbados from Australia, when my father died there, and a few years later had met and married Henry Pitman. The two men in my mum’s life – Dr. Wilfred Kinley, deceased, and Henry Pitman, very much alive. They lived in Hastings on the south coast, but often spent time with us, staying in the cottage that had been my father’s office and surgery.

Mum, I said, when I heard her voice on the phone. Ray and Doug are stuck in Antigua, awaiting a LIAT flight. Their …

Oh, my God, what has happened?

Cool down. The BOAC aircraft developed a mechanical fault and had to divert to Antigua. Nothing serious, Mum, so don’t start having kittens.

Oh. So will they get home this evening?

Oh, yes. At five forty-five. As soon as they get home, I’ll have Ray call you.

* * * *

The LIAT flight from Antigua was twenty minutes late. Nothing to be surprised at. People in the Caribbean look upon aircraft locally owned and operated as buses that fly. If, upon boarding an aircraft, the flight attendant were to say standing room only, they would go along cheerfully with that. Would-be passengers are more often than not the cause of delayed flights. Some arrive at the airport with baskets loaded with fruit and vegetables and livestock and lash out at the officials at the ticket counter when told they cannot board with those items. Others arrive five minutes before the aircraft is due to take off, and do everything in their power to kill the Airline officials if they are not allowed to board. Taking into consideration all of these factors, it is no wonder the little airplanes are delayed.

The little plane came swooping down, hit the runway and came charging along the tarmac, right up to the Airport building, as if to make up for being late. Down went the steps and out came the passengers. I got all excited, gripped Tony’s arm and jumped about. There they are! I shrieked. Douglas appeared first, followed closely by Ray. They both wore long, grey trousers, white shirts and black shoes. They looked very smart, but very English.

Kathy jumped up and down and screamed out their names, but by then they had disappeared into the Arrival Hall. Charmaine and Tony remained calm, but had broad smiles on their faces.

Twenty minutes later, we were all sharing hugs and kisses and squeals of delight. My, but Ray looked handsome! And he had such a deep voice – rather like his father, Albert.

I don’t know how Tony managed to drive the car home with all the chatter that was going on. Everyone seemed to be talking all at once. Kathy sat in my lap in the front seat and Charmaine and the two boys squeezed into the back seat. It was just as well the car was an American Chevrolet.

By six-thirty we were home, and after the boys stashed their stuff in their bedroom, they joined us in the verandah, where Chico, our Golden Labrador was prancing up and down with excitement. Ray always thought of Chico as ‘his’ dog, but he was, in fact, the family dog and the King Pin around the place, although at age seven, he was ageing somewhat.

Mum, I swear I could see Ginger Lily from the window of the plane.

I laughed. Oh, you couldn’t, Ray. You wouldn’t be that close in, surely?

Well, I picked out our beach, with the Shak Shak tree, for sure.

Douglas chimed in, We came pretty close in to the land along the west coast. I couldn’t see much because I was on the starboard side, but Ray was on the port side. Then he gave a wicked laugh and said, On the other hand, I don’t think Ray saw much out the window – he was too busy ogling the flight attendant!

Tony gave Ray a playful cuff. You devil, you! Bet you were vexed when you had to change to a small plane, though.

Douglas laughed and tossed his head. Was he ever! He swore like a fisherman. We all laughed.

They said it was just a minor fault and they would soon have it fixed and we would continue on to Barbados, but then they changed their minds and shoved some of us on to that LIAT plane.

Tony stood up, ruffled Douglas’s hair and said, Come and help me fix us some drinks, old boy. I knew he had done that in order to leave Ray and me alone. Charmaine had gone into her bedroom to watch a TV cartoon, and had dragged Kathy with her.

I leaned forward and slapped Ray’s knee. Wotcha, tosh! He grinned and shook his head. Memories of when I was a little boy. You always used to say that. I haven’t forgotten, Mum. He leaned forward and kissed me on the forehead. It’s good to be home.

We’ll have a welcome home drink, and then you boys can go and shower before dinner. We have something special for dinner.

What?

Not telling.

You’re such a tease, Mum. Betcha it’s my old time favourite, bangers and mash. He made a quick movement, then leaned over and kissed me on the forehead again. That’s from Uncle Les.

I