A Better Life E-Book

Isobel Scharen

• Herausgeber: M-Y Books
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 626

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Beschreibung

Ada, a young Englishwoman in early-1940s Singapore, is about to be married to Michael, a well-educated Anglo-Indian from a wealthy family. She dreams of a life of security and fulfilment. Instead, when the Japanese invade, her family struggle to cope under occupation, while she is interned in Changi gaol. Separated from her baby daughter and her beloved Michael, who is torn between loyalty to his family and duty to his country, she needs all her will-power to survive.
After the war, Ada must decide how best to protect her child. She leaves Singapore in search of a better life only to experience prejudice and unkindness. But her journey will also bring compassion and hope.
This moving and engaging story is an insightful depiction of people deeply affected by the horrors of war, a mother’s bond with her child, and the momentous challenge of rebuilding one’s life in peace-time. A challenge which requires, above all, self-belief, the capacity to forgive, and the courage to love again.

Leseprobe

A BETTER LIFE

Isobel Scharen

AN M-Y BOOKS PAPERBACK

© Copyright 2019Isobel Scharen

The right of Isobel Scharen to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

All Rights Reserved No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication may be made without written permission. No paragraph of this publication may be reproduced, copied or transmitted save with the written permission or in accordance with the provisions of the Copyright Act 1956 (as amended).

Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damage.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

ISBN (Print): 978-1-912875-38-2 ISBN (epub): 978-1-912875-41-2

To the memory of my mother

CONTENTS

PART ONE—Singapore

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

PART TWO—New Zealand

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Acknowledgements

About the Author

PART ONE

Singapore

CHAPTER 1

FEBRUARY, 1941

THE TAXI INCHED THROUGH A downpour, the wipers beating and beating, dragging the heavy sheet of water back and forth. Then as abruptly as the rain hammered down, it ceased.

When the car stopped, Ada remained seated and watched the steam begin to rise from the ground and unravel above the trees. She was reluctant to move. The driver’s lack of interest in her meant there was no need to talk. She could brood without guilt, without being reminded how lucky she was.

“Can go no more, mem,” the driver said. He could not take her right to the gate of the boarding house. Streams coursed down deep furrows made by bulldozers when pipes had been laid for the new housing estate in Geylang.

Grateful for the respite he had unknowingly granted her, she tipped the driver generously and stepped out onto the ridged earth in her thin sandals. Workmen, idling by the roadside, stared brazenly at her and called softly. She ignored them and made her way up the path to the boarding house, entered the gate and climbed the battered wooden steps. Ada noticed, as she always did, the flaking paint on the verandah posts and the crumbling plaster, and felt the usual flicker of despair even though she knew that there was no longer any need to worry. The old bungalow, with its mottled tiled roof and pillared base, had recently been sold to a Chinese businessman, buying it for his newly married son.

The house was quiet. Vera, her sister, had left for work, and their mother, Elizabeth, was taking her nap. Ada glimpsed the shy Eurasian boarder disappearing into his room along the corridor. He seldom spoke, although he’d stammered congratulations when she became engaged, and nowadays managed a timid smile.

The kitchen smelled of raw onion and coconut grated for sambal. Chicken curry simmered on the stove top, but the vegetables lay unsliced. The maid, Amah, had abandoned cooking for a task more to her liking. Through the open window Ada heard her voice, small and sharp as a razor, scraping across the thick midday heat. Ada rolled up the blind and leaned out, the scent of bougainvillea and jasmine coming up to greet her. Amah, her thin shoulders bent forward in belligerence, was scolding Abdul, the houseboy and gardener. He was knocking rambutans from the tree, wielding his long pole in extravagant arcs that threatened to end up on Amah’s balding head. Ada could not hear what she was saying, but guessed it was to do with some unfinished job. Amah had this notion that Abdul was deceitful and lazy, and she was forever prowling about the house and garden in her soft black slippers and pouncing on him. Admittedly, he liked nothing better than to lean against the wall and smoke his pipe, his sturdy parang beside him, but he willingly did all the heavy jobs.

Ada was about to call Amah in, stop her from hounding the poor boy, when she reminded herself that this quarrelling would soon be a thing of the past - in two weeks’ time, to be exact. After the wedding Abdul would go with her to the Woods’ in Serangoon, and Amah would be with Elizabeth and Vera.

Ada let the blind down and hurried to the bathroom for a throw-over. She kicked her sandals off her swollen feet, stripped, grabbed the pitcher from the bucket, and began dousing herself vigorously. It was simply pre-wedding nerves, she reasoned. There was no need to feel apprehensive. She loved Michael, and he loved her.

She dabbed all-cure Tiger Balm on her temples and made a cup of coffee, sweetened with an extra comforting teaspoon of condensed milk, before seeking the shade of the front verandah. This overlooked waste land, and on the far side a Malay kampong, the thatched roofs of the huts partly screened from view by a fringe of king coconut trees. Ada could see a group of children from the kampong splashing one another in the rusty puddles. A few were chasing a ball, some racing beyond it simply for the pleasure of running. She heard their shouts and laughter and thought how she would miss them. Their fathers, too, when they came across to sell vegetables and fish, especially Ali, who had invited Ada and her mother to his son’s wedding. “More the merrier”, he’d grinned. She remembered the laughter and jests of guests trying to waylay the groom as he walked to the far end of the village where his radiant bride waited for him on a raised dais. Paper lanterns hung in the trees. She remembered how at ease people had been, and reflected wistfully that her own wedding day would certainly not be so relaxed.

She did not hear her mother come out from her bedroom that opened onto the verandah.

“Ah, you are back, Ada.” Elizabeth sat on her cot. “I’ve been worried about you. You shouldn’t have gone on your own.”

Ada longed for more solitude, but tried to keep her tone free from irritation.

“I didn’t have the choice. Amah was unwell. Complained of a headache. But I think she wanted to keep an eye on Abdul.” Reluctantly, she added, disliking the need to be accountable, “I kept to the quayside.” She was aware of the dangers lurking in a side-alley – the brothels, the gambling dens, the opium houses. “And I took a taxi to come home.” She would not say that she’d paid the costly full fair, having instructed the driver not to stop for another passenger. After her episode with the godown keeper, she deserved the luxury.

“You look very tired, child.”

“There’s a new godown keeper. I had to use all my patience and hold my ground. Old Mr Lee,” she said, referring to the previous keeper, “used to go out of his way to be helpful, especially when I first started going in after Daddy died. He knew Daddy of course. Respected him.”

She would not tell her mother of the new keeper’s leer, the way he had tried to touch her when she’d entered the musty warehouse. She was young, white and unescorted, and he might have thought she was a refugee from the war in Europe. It was said that many of the women were struggling to survive in the East. “He was shocked when I spoke to him in Malay. And he gave me a reduction on the oil. Though I paid what he wanted for the milk powder. I remembered Daddy saying that you should never let a Chinese lose face or you’ll lose more.”

Ada pictured her father now – the lightly crossed arms, the faint smile - emblems of his calm steadiness in the face of formidable guile. Noel Pendel had never been like other tuans and their wives – he had no need of theatrical gestures and huffy dismissals.

“Your father would’ve been proud of you, child. He always thought you would go far. If only he could’ve been alive to give you away.” This was not the first time Elizabeth had said this, so Ada made no comment. “You’ll never have to go to Boat Quay again.”

“But I want to.” Ada thought back to the morning - coming out of the dim warehouse into the glaring light of the riverside. The rotting egg stench of the river carried on the heavy air. And all around was bedlam - the barks of the lightermen jostling their wide-bellied craft, the excited cries of old men playing cards, the shouts of coolies heaving bales of sugar-brown rubber from sampan to the dockside. She would miss the productive chaos. She could not imagine Evaline Wood, Michael’s mother, allowing her to go there.

Elizabeth did not hear her, or chose not to do so. “You’ll get your life back. You’ll never have money worries.”

Ada did not brighten at this, which she instantly regretted because Elizabeth continued. “I know how hard it’s been for you.” Her mother’s deep sigh encoded a frequently expressed guilty regret for taking a good-for-nothing as a second husband. “Never marry again if you marry well the first time.”

“I know,” Ada replied. “You’re always telling me. And I’ve no intention of doing so. Michael’s only twenty-four anyway.” Only four years older than her. It was hard to believe sometimes. “He’s not going to die for a long time.”

“Young men sometimes do die. They’re dying in the war now.”

“We haven’t got a war here.”

“Good people are taken because they’re too good for this world.”

“Oh, Mummy. For goodness sake. What a thing to say! Telling me Michael is going to die young.” Elizabeth had the knack of handling worry about the unpredictable future by imagining the worst. Ada understood her mother had grounds for pessimism due to her own experience, and perhaps it was wise to be constantly prepared for disaster, but it was still irritating.

“I wasn’t saying Michael was going to die. He’ll always be there for you. He’ll give you an easy life.” Elizabeth clasped her hands together. “You don’t know how lucky you are. Every day I thank God my daughter is marrying such a thoughtful and generous man.”

“Are you talking about the butterscotch?” Ada said. Michael always arrived at the house with small gifts, such as a tin of Parkinson’s butterscotch, much appreciated and not seen in the Pendel household for some time.

Elizabeth, aware that Ada was teasing her, continued. “I’m thinking about him taking me out when he was so busy with his teaching and scouts, because he knows how confined I feel.” He had driven her in his father’s Vauxhall, once to Mt. Faber, another time to Katong Park. Ada had nearly cried with gratitude seeing Elizabeth so happy.

“He’s very patient too. Hearing me going on.” Elizabeth loved to talk about her life in service in Kent – where she’d met her first husband Noel – getting up at dawn to light fires and press clothes. She knew what hard work was. If Michael was bored he did not show it, Ada thought, and recalled the time when Elizabeth had said that she could never believe her luck now, having servants and all. Elizabeth was so thankful to Singapore and people such as Michael for sharing it with her. Michael’s face had softened, and he replied quietly that his family had also come for a better life.

Elizabeth had such simple beliefs. She was naive like a child. She even looked childlike, Ada observed. With the medication for her heart, weakened after a stroke, Elizabeth’s blond prettiness was becoming more like that of a 10c doll – round cheeks, a squeezed rosebud mouth, and her once long hair worn in a chignon, now cut and styled in a girlish bob.

It troubled Ada to think how vulnerable Elizabeth had become since Noel died. Ada recalled the time, soon after the move to Geylang, when she returned from school to find Elizabeth wandering aimlessly in the garden, then staring up at the tulip tree as if expecting some mystical truth to emerge from the branches. When Elizabeth started to have panic attacks, there had been no choice but to leave school and help run the boarding house.

“If only I hadn’t been so foolish. If only I’d seen through that good-for-nothing,” Elizabeth said.

“We were all taken in, Mummy.” The good-for-nothing, Hilton Frugneit, was a lanky bald Dutch Burgher introduced to the family by an acquaintance of Noel. He began to be a frequent visitor, welcomed for his cheerful company. “All his talk about being in the import export business.” Ada pictured Frugneit selecting a pastel-coloured Sobranie with feline grace from a gold cigarette case engraved with his initials. He had elegance, she conceded, but he was not handsome, not handsome like Noel had been.

“We weren’t to know about his drinking and gambling,” Ada said.

She shut her eyes against the image of him shouting and striking out like a madman when he wanted money from Elizabeth. “He seemed the most generous man on earth. Flowers, perfume. Jewellery too, for you. And taking Vera and me out.” Several times to the racecourse, as it happened, where they’d gorged on fried bananas and watched the card tricksters and the raucous Australians standing on boxes with their slates and chalk. Scoundrels making a packet, Frugneit complained, but he had spent a lot of time with them exchanging dollar notes.

“If I’d told you that he chased the horses, you might not have trusted him.”

Ada wondered, not for the first time, if she’d ignored the signs of Frugneit’s waywardness because she craved an easier life. She’d welcomed the chance to be free of boarding house duties and to find a job in the Municipal as a Power Samas operator doing the gas, water and electricity bills. The trouble was that having tasted independence, when Frugneit showed his true colours, it was a grave disappointment for her to return to managing the boarding house. Every day Ada felt that life was passing her by.

Elizabeth was tearful.

“Oh, Mummy, please, don’t get upset.” Ada hated Frugneit. He not only robbed Elizabeth of her money, but also of her health and self-respect. “We must put the past behind us and look forward to a better life,” she said, recognising that they each had a different view of what that better life might be.

“Yes, a better life.” Elizabeth managed a timorous smile. “We have much to look forward to. You to your marriage, me to my new home. I can’t believe how kind Patrick Wood has been.” Michael’s father had sold her a small house far below market value, so she had money left over from the boarding house sale to buy a flat for renting out.

Ada was grateful for his generosity, but she disliked the sense of being beholden. Not that she believed Patrick would consider that she owed him anything. He was not a petty man. Tall and angular with hawkish features and darkly circled eyes, she found his severe expression rather intimidating at times. But she could cope with Patrick. She liked Patrick.

✬✬✬

Two days later, when she arrived for a lunch party at the Woods’ home, Patrick was waiting to greet her at the top of the verandah steps. She was late and more than flustered. The kitchen had flooded that morning. It had been an ordeal to keep Amah calm while summoning a repairman to unclog the pipe. Ada babbled her apology to Patrick, who smiled, took her hand and bowed slightly.

“You look beautiful, my dear. Beautiful as ever,” Patrick said, admiring her dress. “Your mother’s work?”

Ada nodded.

“Michael asked me to give you his deepest apology. He has school affairs to attend to, but will be here as soon as he can. Come.” With his hand cupped lightly on her elbow he steered her down the wide verandah into a room at the furthest end of the large, rambling bungalow.

They entered through wide-open doors into the spacious dining room used for entertaining. It was a formal room with a big mahogany side-board, high-backed padded chairs, and several portraits of severe-looking men in stiff collars. Guests were seated at the long table beneath steadily beating fans. She recognised a few people from previous gatherings but there were some strange faces. Everyone else seemed to know one another, and the chatter was warm and animated

Ada sat beside an elderly woman wearing black. She smiled at Ada and asked her name. “Oh, so you’re Michael’s betrothed. I’ve heard a lot about you. Evaline has…” She looked beyond Ada, and there was Evaline. Ada rose to kiss her.

“I was introducing myself to your future daughter-in-law,” the woman was saying. “She’s indeed the beauty you said she was, Evaline.”

Evaline took a step back to inspect Ada’s appearance, smiled approvingly, then looked up at Ada’s face, scrutinising it in that judgmental manner Ada had become used to. Evaline was a short woman, rather stout, and with an air of authority, despite the curly grey hair that readily escaped the fixture of hairpins. Ada, conscious that people were looking her way, was pleased to have worn her new dress, a soft pleated white-dotted silk crepe at the new shorter length. She knew from past occasions that the Woods’ acquaintances were always well-groomed. As they were polite. And somewhat aloof - as if making it clear that Anglo-Indians were equal to any member of the ruling class. She did not resent this at all. She was fully aware of the superior airs of many Europeans in Singapore.

As Evaline gushed compliments before bustling away to call the servants to begin serving, Ada, seated again, noticed that Michael’s sister Charmaine had taken the vacant chair directly opposite. She had her elbows on the table and glared down the white-clothed stretch of it as if she despised the fine patterned china and crystal decanters. Ada felt that Charmaine was deliberately ignoring her and could not help but feel slighted. What had she done to deserve such rudeness? Michael had tried to explain Charmaine’s coldness to her by saying that Charmaine was often miserable as she lacked male suitors. Ada fixed her gaze on Charmaine’s sullen, dark-complexioned face. Still Charmaine ignored her, even when Patrick stood to welcome his guests.

Wine was poured, water glasses filled, and Evaline entered proudly before a line of white-coated Tamil servants, all of whom carried steaming dishes of food. As Evaline walked up and down behind people’s chairs, urging them to sample the lavish array of curries, Ada wondered which was worse: Charmaine’s disregard or Evaline’s controlling fussiness?

Plates full, the conversation quietened while people ate. The elderly woman at Ada’s side said to her in a confiding tone, “It’s been a while since I’ve been to the Woods’. I was in Burma until recently. My husband died there suddenly. The heart. He never complained of anything, so it came as a complete shock. Seeing a loved one suffer a long illness is very distressing, but at least there is time to share the ending, and say goodbye.”

“My father died suddenly too,” Ada said. “A clot in the brain. My mother has never got over the shock, I think.”

There was a patter of applause, a scattering of greetings. Ada glanced up to see Michael enter the room. He raised his hand, smiling acknowledgement. His athletic stride took him swiftly to the vacant chair beside her. He kissed her cheek, and apologised for being late.

“I was late too. I’ve had a dreadful morning,” she began, then, judging that Michael would not be interested in drains, asked, “Have you been busy?”

“More administrative things to do with the head leaving.”

“I didn’t know he was leaving. Where’s he going to? Not back to England surely.”

“No. Australia. He’s playing it safe. Wise man.”

Waiters approached carrying serving dishes. Michael helped himself to food and began to eat hungrily. Ada ate too, tuning into the conversation around her. Patrick was talking to a man at his side, a Chinese man with a birthmark on his cheek. Seeing Ada look in his direction, he stared boldly at her with a lascivious smile. Patrick noticed her too then, and said in a louder voice, “We must congratulate the English. You can’t take it away from them. They have grit. The RAF is unbeatable.”

Patrick raised his glass to Ada as if she were in some way part of the glory. She guessed he was referring to the Battle of Britain, the months of bombing that had worried her mother, who feared for distant relatives. Ada wished that she had something intelligent to add, as she always did when Patrick talked to her about Britain. Although he always listened attentively to what she had to say, she was embarrassingly aware that his knowledge was far greater than hers. All she could offer was what her parents had told her – the ways of the gentry, fires in Kentish pubs, the blossom foaming in the orchards, frost on the apple trees, which she imagined to be like the shaved ice in kachang. She often thought that one positive fact about living with the Woods would be the chance to learn so many things.

The waiters removed the plates. Guests, replete, waited for the next course, and there was a respectful silence as Patrick spoke more loudly. “It is a great relief to know that a man of Churchill’s calibre is in control.”

“What do you mean by control?” Michael muttered quietly.

Patrick went on citing examples of Churchill’s good sense. “I think we can trust him when he says that Singapore is the Gibraltar of the East. With our naval base complete the Japanese will not be able to attack us from the sea.”

“What about from the mainland?” Michael asked in a louder voice.

“They’ll never get through the jungle,” someone else said. “Hundreds of miles of it. And thousands of Commonwealth troops ready to take them on. Even the Japs know their limitations.”

“It is very foolish to underestimate the Japanese, sir,” Michael said, leaning forward. Ada glanced at him. There was a heightened colour on his fine-featured face, and she sensed his growing agitation as he continued.

“Tell me, what is the point of a naval base without battleships and submarines, and aircraft carriers? It is war we are talking about. Nasty, brutal war, which we know at this moment is being fought in Europe. Singapore is not impregnable.”

“Why would the authorities be telling us it is if that wasn’t the case?” Patrick asked, frowning. “Why would they want to deceive us?”

“It’s more that they need to deceive themselves,” Michael replied heatedly. “Convince themselves that they’re in control. That they have nothing to fear from little Japanese men.”

There was a stirring among the guests. Ada wished Michael would not be so serious. It was not the time or place.

The man with the birthmark said, “Well, I for one am not worried. I’ve visited the naval base. Singapore is a fortress, surrounded by sea. In my opinion Singapore’s never had it so good with the demand for our rubber and tin.”

There were murmurs of ‘hear, hear’, and then a bubbling of excited chatter as mango ices were brought in.

Michael ate his dessert in silence, making little effort to converse with the woman beside him. Ada knew that he was not one for small-talk, but this indifference was more than being uninterested in making polite conversation.

The guests were invited to take coffee on the verandah. Ada went ahead of Michael and expected him to follow her. She was seated on a cane chair talking to the elderly lady again when Michael emerged some time later. There was an angry expression on his face, and his hair, usually combed back smoothly from his wide forehead, now looked as if he’d been raking his fingers through it. He came directly towards her, and hardly glancing at her took her hand. “Come,” he said. She began to apologise to the elderly woman, but Michael held her hand firmly and pulled her to her feet. She was surprised at his rudeness.

He led her back into the dining room. His father was standing with the Chinese man. Patrick looked seriously at Michael, and the Chinese man turned his back as they walked through. Ada followed Michael along the back corridor into the library. He stood for a moment without speaking as if trying to control his emotions, then said, “God, how I loathe that man.”

The Chinese man, Ada presumed, the one who’d smiled lasciviously at her.

“What did he do?”

“He’s been buying up property on the coast. Malay land. And he’s boasting about the money he’s going to make developing a hotel complex. He refuses to accept that he’s robbing the Malays of their livelihood as fishermen and farmers, their traditional way of living. Whole communities are being wrecked. And he had the gall to say the Malays are a lazy bunch. I wanted to hit him.”

Ada nodded solemnly, recalling what Michael had told her when he’d first come to the house. They had been on the front verandah watching the Malay children playing on the waste land. “I remember you saying that you admired the Chinese for wanting to get on. But you wished they were more tolerant of the Malays who wanted different things out of life.”

She mentioned the feud between Abdul and Amah. Michael had listened to her with a grave attention. She felt closely observed, and this scrutiny, combined with his good looks and quiet authority, had been a little disconcerting. She wondered if there had been a note of spoiled petulance in her remarks – a white woman complaining about the onerous business of managing the servants.

The air in the library was close. Michael took out a laundered handkerchief from the pocket of his trousers and wiped his top lip. She caught the scent of eau-de-cologne. “It’s such a pity,” she said, “that races can’t get on. I’m so pleased that Daddy made sure Vera and I mixed with Singaporeans and sent us to Raffles Girls’. Everyone got on there. Chinese, Eurasians, Indians.” Noel thought little of the British tuan besar types who avoided the local markets and shopkeepers, and only shopped at the Cold Storage or Robinsons. “If we have a daughter,” she said shyly, “we’ll send her to Raffles Girls’.”

Michael put his arms around her and kissed her brow. “My darling Ada. From the first time I met you I fell in love with you. I could see that you weren’t like other English girls.”

She smiled. “And I thought you were a man with strong convictions. And very clever.” She paused, then decided to add, “But not so clever losing your temper today. Your father looked a bit upset.”

Michael stepped back. “I know. I’ll apologise.” He looked out the window, his face turned from her. “It’s just that I feel a bit frustrated at the moment. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

“School problems?”

He did not reply immediately, then said, “I’m not going to bore you with all that.” He looked at her. “I think we should join the party. I need to make amends and do the chat. Sorry if I embarrassed you at lunch.”

She accepted his apology, but as they returned to the party she wondered how she could support Michael, and at the same time persuade him not to work so hard. She admired him for being a man with strong convictions, but he’d lost his temper today, which indicated he was under considerable stress. It was not going to be straightforward, she predicted, being married to Michael.

CHAPTER 2

NEXT MORNING, ADA HELPED AMAH lay the dining tables, and checked the laundry for the dhobi man. When she came out onto the verandah Elizabeth was seated with Mrs Sinathamby, a plump broad-featured Indian woman, who lived in one of the two neighbouring bungalows. She was complaining loudly about the noise and dust from the building works, the general disruption to their once peaceful lives. Ostensibly she was waiting for the hawker, but Ada knew that what she was really waiting for was the chance to talk about the wedding. Her face lit up on seeing Ada, who smiled as radiantly as she could.

“Harry is working hard on his speech” Mrs Sinathamby said, referring to her mild husband who was going to give Ada away. “It will be the proudest moment in his life.” Ada had heard this many times before, but she still nodded appreciatively. “He is making sure not to shame you.”

“What do you mean shame?” Ada asked. “How could he possibly shame me?”

“We know how clever Michael is. And his father.” Mrs Sinathamby tilted her head from side to side. “Oh boy, what a family you’ve married into.” Her eyes brightened with curiosity. “And the party?” she asked Ada. “A good time had by all?”

“I think so.” Ada hesitated, wondering if she should tell them what Michael had said about the war, and how he’d lost his temper. Both women were waiting expectantly. “The food was delicious, of course. It was in the big dining room.”

“Ah, the big dining room.” Mrs Sinathamby raised her brows, wanting more. She was familiar with the exterior of the house, having ventured to Serangoon to see for herself where the Woods lived. With its plantation-style rambling structure set on a base of Doric pillars, the house resembled those of the tuan besars in the Tanglin district. She was most impressed by the front staircase, which descended in a spacious inverted Y from a deep verandah. But the elaborately carved barge boards had also been noted - a sure sign that there was plenty of money for detail. She had to depend on Ada to describe the interior.

Ada usually obliged, accepting that material betterment was what the older women wanted for her, and spoke enthusiastically about the blue and white corridor tiles, the many rooms, the library with Michael’s piano. Today, however, she was not in the mood to be drawn into talk of grandeur. But aware that the women were looking questioningly at her, she offered, “It’s very formal. It reminds me of something out of an English history book. Long table. Chairs with high backs. A huge sideboard. Not my taste at all.” She frowned. “I wish Michael and I could have a place of our own. I wouldn’t care if it was cramped and ugly.” Daring to sound ungrateful she added, “And I wish the wedding was going to be simpler.”

“Evaline Wood likes to show off,” Mrs Sinathamby said brusquely.

“The Woods have been very generous. We must not criticize, Ada,” Elizabeth said.

Of course she must not. The Woods were paying for the string trio, the three-course meal, the four-storied wedding cake from Victoria Confectionary. Only the dresses were the Pendels’ responsibility: Elizabeth’s to be precise, with Ada’s help. Ada suspected that Evaline would have preferred a more elaborate dress than the one she’d chosen – a ground length crepe gown cut on the cross with a yoke of gardenia-patterned lace.

“We are paupers! If not for Patrick Wood where would we be?” Elizabeth exclaimed.

“He can afford to be generous. He’s made a fortune from his property deals. And he was left pots by his father from the pineapple preserving business,” Mrs Sinathamby said. She had told them this before. It was information gleaned after careful investigation.

Perhaps noticing Ada’s troubled expression, Mrs Sinathamby glanced at Elizabeth whose head was bowed as if in shame, and cried, “Chee, they could not have done without your sewing. No tailor can come up to your little finger. Ada and Vera will be the most beautiful girls in Singapore. Melanie too,” she added, referring to Ada’s friend, who was one of the three bridesmaids. She paused and smiled maliciously. “Their daughter, even, will look nice. Evaline Wood will have nothing to grumble about.”

This remark made Ada conscious again of the shadows which loomed over her future. “She is very particular,” Ada explained. “Runs the house like a major general. Michael has this quote on the wall of his bedroom.” A room stuffed with his schoolboy past, such as his cricket kit and scout memorabilia. “‘Dad is the boss of this house and has Mum’s permission to say so.’” The women laughed, and Mrs Sinathamby clapped gleefully. Ada smiled, but she was picturing her future mother-in-law. The way she walked with her chest thrust out reminded Ada of a ship’s prow cutting a swathe through the water and leaving other vessels to rock in its wake.

“She sets the rules. She set the wedding date, for goodness’ sake. There’s scarcely been time for the banns to be read.”

“She was worried that you might change your mind,” Mrs Sinathamby said.

Ada did remember the time she’d visited the Woods’ house soon after Michael had told the family about the engagement. Evaline had led her to the bedroom she and Michael would occupy. Evaline had pressed the thick mattress of the four-poster bed, and pointed out the carved wardrobe doors, all the while holding onto her hand as if she might try to escape.

“And she wants grandchildren. His sister, Charmaine, might not produce for some time.”

Ada recalled looking out of the bedroom window and seeing the golden dome of a mosque shimmering in the midday sun. She’d heard the steady beat of a drum, and a muezzin calling people to prayer. Struck by how different her life was going to be, she had failed to register a possible encouragement to procreate.

To prevent Mrs Sinathamby from saying more, Ada spoke with emphasis, smiling reassuringly. “You must tell Mr Sinathamby not to worry about the speech. I know he will do it beautifully.”

“You’re the daughter he’s always wanted.” Mrs Sinathamby hung her head. The couple were childless, a state much regretted and demanding sympathy.

Ada was thankfully relieved from making a comforting and grateful remark by the cracked, solemn chant of the hawker.

“Idli…Jalebi…”

Soon he would appear in his grease-stained dhoti, carrying a huge basket filled with sweet pastries and crisp parcels of meat, seeping chilli oil.

“Oh dear. What I would give for a taste. I’m like a beggar living off the smell of salt-fish. I dream of kuey teow,” Elizabeth said. And she was off to visit the arcades of her memory for favourite eating houses and stalls selling satay, or chilli prawns, steamed buns, nasi goreng, mah mee.

“Do you want me to buy…?”

“No, Mrs Sinathamby. She cannot eat spicy food,” Ada interrupted. The doctor had said not too much salt or fat, not too many spices. Ada had Amah prepare steamed fish and vegetables most days, rewarding her mother with fresh fruit at the end of the meal, and an occasional treat of gula melaka.

“You see, Jem, how she bosses me!” Elizabeth cried as Ada shook her finger in mock severity. “I’m not eating, but I’m still getting fat. Too fat for my clothes.” Elizabeth had always been careful to keep her figure, curbing her joyful greed by resisting syrup-drenched Indian sweetmeats.

Ada was worried that Vera would not be firm with Elizabeth about her diet and her rest times and resolved to speak to her sister, when she returned from work next day, about the severity of Elizabeth’s illness. Another stroke would kill her.

✬✬✬

Ada put the last pin in the hem of Vera’s bridesmaid’s dress, then sat back on her haunches and compared her reflection with that of her younger sister in the full-length mirror. The dress, like her own in cut but with short puffed sleeves, was the colour of old rose, which suited Vera’s white skin and jet-black hair perfectly. She took after Noel with her colouring and had also inherited his slim frame. Ada, with her fair hair and full-breasted shape, was like Elizabeth.

They were different in character, too. According to Michael she was all sense and Vera all sensibility - like the sisters in Jane Austen’s novel, the younger impetuous, ruled by her heart, the other level-headed and protective. Ada thought the comparison made her seem dry and staid, like someone’s great aunt. Vera was only two and a half years younger, and though she might wear higher heels, paint her nails red rather than pink, and choose the latest dress in fashion instead of simpler styles from the McCall pattern books, Ada considered that she took good care of herself - brushed and curled her thick blond hair, dabbed Vaseline on her lashes, and when she was a working girl went to every tea dance or matinee that she could.

Vera smoothed the dress over her hips. “I don’t suppose you’ll go dancing much when you’re married. I mean you and Michael don’t go dancing much now. I must say I can’t imagine not being able to dance.”

Ada frowned and got to her feet. She disliked the implication that she and Michael were going to surrender youth instantly after marriage. “Michael might not like dancing as much as me, but he readily takes me to the Recreation Club if I want to go,” she said defensively, failing to add that he was happy to let his friends partner her. “But we both just prefer going to the pictures. It was one of the first things we discovered about each other.” She and Michael had sat under the rambutan tree while Elizabeth was having her nap. Later, in the soft passage of small talk with Elizabeth, Michael had asked if he could take Ada to the Cathay the following week.

Elizabeth had predicted wedding bells as early as then, Ada remembered. It was after Michael had dropped her home. Elizabeth, watching him walk on the moon-washed path to his car, had said something about him being serious, but also very kind, and that he would go somewhere. And although they had different backgrounds, it would not matter if they respected each other. Elizabeth was always saying that Michael was a decent man, and that he reminded her of Noel.

Vera, looking at herself in the mirror, began to practise a dance step as if completely uninterested in what Ada had said. “I haven’t told you that Madame has found something vunderfewl for her gearls.” Vera was mimicking her dancing teacher, a flamboyant Hungarian who taught ballroom, tap and national dancing, and exhibited her young talent at carefully chaperoned private functions in the city. “I can’t wait.”

“You know that you can’t leave Mummy all the time. I won’t be there...”

“I’m not going to leave her all the time.” The colour rose in Vera’s cheeks. “It’s all very well for you going off to your nice life.”

The nice life that Vera wanted for herself, Ada thought. She remembered Vera accosting Michael one morning after service at St. Andrew’s and inviting him to a tea party. A sing-song, she’d called it. He probably had no idea what a singsong was. He bowed his head but did not smile. Well, he was hardly known to them. He probably only accepted the invitation because Vera had asked him to play the piano. Apparently, she’d heard that he was a brilliant pianist.

Ada remembered Michael turning up at the boarding house in an immaculate white suit and bowtie. You could tell he was forcing a smile. He sat at the old piano and played with intense conce ntration like someone who’d been hired to perform, hardly glancing up when people applauded loudly. She thought he was shy, but Vera said later that it was not shyness. It was disdain for the shabby furniture, the faded cretonne. Of course, she felt put out because he appeared neither impressed nor entertained when she had sidled in wearing one of her dance costumes – gauzy pants caught at the ankle, yashmak, embroidered bolero – and began to move sinuously around the room to the wavering notes of Arabic music on the phonograph. He was seated on the settee and looked down at his feet as if embarrassed. Ada remembered how she’d rescued him by saying the Malay children were playing near his car and could accidentally scratch it. It was then, out on the verandah, that they began talking about serious things.

She was aware that without Vera she would not have got to know him, but she could not forget what Vera had said when she learned that Michael had proposed. She’d said that Michael was marrying for white blood. She actually used the coarse expression ‘watering down the stengah’. Ada could understand jealousy, but that comment was unforgivable.

Ada packed the sewing basket. “I don’t think your life is that unpleasant, Vera. It’s not me who goes off to the Sea View every day, dressed to kill. I’m left here to run the place. Who does all the shopping? Who sews your dance costumes?” Her voice was rising as she tried to quell the image of Evaline inspecting her features and blond hair. “You’ll have to sew your own clothes now.”

“But I can’t. I’m not clever like you with my hands.”

Elizabeth had failed to pass down the seamstress skills in the family to her younger, dance-struck daughter. Ada had accepted Elizabeth’s lack of insistence that Vera learn to sew, understanding that it made for an easier life. Besides, she, Ada, enjoyed sewing, and had a real sense of achievement in completing a garment according to Elizabeth’s high standards.

“It’s just practice, Vera. You just get better the more you do it. Like with your dancing.”

“I know it takes hard work to be good at something.” Vera crossed her arms, contrite. “And I know how hard you work. And that you deserve to have a nice life now.” She sighed “It’s just that I feel very frustrated sometimes. I don’t want to be an old maid, and a hotel receptionist forever. I want to do something good with my life.”

Ada softened, aware of the same need to better herself, and that unlike Vera she now had the opportunity to do this.

“You are very talented and beautiful, Vera. You will do something good with your life.”

This was not the time to say, as she had often said, that it would have been wiser for Vera to have remained at school. Vera was adamant about leaving after the troubles with Frugneit. It could not be denied that her earnings as a receptionist at the Sea View helped.

“Do you really think so?”

“Yes. If you’re determined, you’ll get there. It’s determination that counts.” Ada nodded firmly, although she was thinking about luck. Or fate, as she preferred to call it.

✬✬✬

Ada helped Amah clean and tidy following supper that evening, then, as was customary, took out glasses and a jug of iced coffee to share with her mother on the verandah. Elizabeth was on her cot. The darkness was relieved by the light from the tiny glow of a mosquito coil, which had attracted a large furry moth. Ada could not see her mother’s face, but she noticed her unusual quietness, and decided not to bring up the subject of Michael at the lunch party.

“You’ve worked very hard today, Mummy. Too hard. You mustn’t push yourself. We’ll get everything done. Now that we’ve finished Melanie’s dress there’s only Charmaine’s to do.” From the kampong laughter could be heard, seeming to encourage the bullfrogs to croak more loudly. Still Elizabeth did not say anything. “Are you all right, Mummy?”

“Yes, child.”

“You don’t need to worry about anything. The dresses are beautiful. You’re a genius.”

“I love to sew. It’s the one thing I can do well. And when you have your baby I’ll help you sew the clothes and prepare the cradle.”

“Oh, Mummy, that’s thinking far ahead!”

“Babies come more quickly than you might like.” Elizabeth shifted on the cot. Ada sensed she was about to embark on something of an awkwardly confidential nature, as she had at the time of Ada’s approaching menstruation. Elizabeth warned that when Ada got her ‘friend’ she must be careful not to ‘lead men on’. It had been murky talk, and Ada had silenced her by saying she knew it all, though she did not, not about leading men on anyway.

“Don’t worry, child,” Elizabeth said. A slight pause, and she continued. “On your wedding night you will give your body up. It’ll hurt at first. A little blood.” Elizabeth hesitated again. “I’m only telling you this to prepare you. My mother left me to find out for myself. She thought I knew it all from seeing the animals, I suppose. I don’t want you to have the shock.”

“It’s when the hymen tears,” Ada said briskly. She wanted to silence her mother with superior knowledge, and detach the image of animals humping each other from what everyone knew was an essential biological fact. Did Elizabeth not know that girls talked and giggled?

“It is your duty, you see. It’s a wife’s duty to give her body up. You’ll do it because you love him.”

Ada imagined her naked body stretched out on the marriage bed like a corpse, a sacrificial victim. She did not want to think of it like that.

“Michael’s a decent man. Like your father. I know he’ll be considerate and patient, even if a bit clumsy as it’s his first time too. You’ll grow to think it’s all right. You’ll be proud of yourself.”

Ada gulped the coffee and wiped her hand roughly across her mouth. She was annoyed with Elizabeth for making her feel anxious - as if it were a trial she was about to undergo. She knew that Michael desired her very much, and not only from the way he eyed her breasts. His goodnight kisses were definitely becoming more insistent, which in fact she did not at all dislike, secretly enjoying the tingling in her vagina – near her hymen, probably. But she feared that although he might be clumsy the first time or two, she would be much clumsier - gauche, completely unattractive.

She thought of the women who never married, spinsters like her school teachers. They did not have to worry about pleasing a man. They appeared happy enough, laughing together in the staff room. But perhaps they went home at night and wished they were with someone clever and handsome who would give them lovely children?

She hugged her knees and stared out into the dark emptiness of the waste ground. The cicadas were deafening. There were so many frantic tickings and whirrings, and the eerie wah-wah of monkeys. The jungle was very close.

CHAPTER 3

MARCH, 1941

ADA WAS RESTING ON THE bed, propped up on pillows, when Michael came into the room after his shower with a towel wrapped around his waist, and rummaged in a drawer for clothes. He was lightly muscled, the skin of his chest fairer than that of his face which caught the sun despite his diligent wearing of a topee. Although Ada had seen his torso before when they went swimming, she’d never seen him – or any man, for that matter – completely naked, and kept her eyes averted as he began to dress. She would wait to bathe and change into her going-away outfit until he’d left to join the guests already milling in the house, spilling out onto the verandah, gathering their energies for more food, laughter and talk after the reception. Anglo-Indians love to party, Evaline had said when she was planning the snacks for the evening.

“Tired?” he asked, coming to stand beside her, and adjusting his underpants. “You can sleep in the car.” He stroked her hand with his thumb, moving it back and forth as he studied her face. Of course, he’d caressed her hand before, but this time he seemed to do it with a searching pressure. “I’ve told them not to worry about feeding us. We’ll get there quite late.”

He was referring to the home of two bachelor friends whom he’d not seen for a few years - since they all attended Raffles College and trained as teachers. An over-night stay, to break the journey up-country to the Cameron Highlands for the honeymoon, provided an opportunity to meet again. “They’ll understand if we want to have an early night.” A room in a small hotel near the friends’ house had been booked. Ada felt a mixture of nervousness and excitement at the mention of an early night.

“You were marvellous today, darling. Coping with a horde of strangers. Dad said so as well. And Mum was crowing with pride.”

Ada had a clear image of Evaline darting busily between the groups of guests, then scurrying at intervals to twitch the train of the wedding dress, to smooth back the veil. “Show everyone your rings, Ada.” A flawless diamond set in a circle of rubies bought with a loan from Patrick, and a broad wedding ring fashioned by Evaline’s favourite magician with gold. Everyone, so many strangers, had been very charming, but it had been such an effort to smile endlessly, achingly.

“I felt a bit nervous going down the aisle, in case I tripped. I don’t think I’ve ever been in a room with so many people I didn’t know.” The place had been filled with the smell of perfume, both from the elaborate flower arrangements and the expensive scent of the fashionably-dressed, immaculately made-up women. She’d wished for the chance to go outside, breathe deeply.

“And you didn’t have to give a speech. Think how I felt.”

“You sounded very confident.” She hesitated. “Did you mean what you said?”

“Of course. And I’ll say it again.” He straightened. “I have never met a woman more beautiful, more intelligent and sensible, and more loyal. I thank Mrs Pendel from the bottom of my heart for bringing up Ada to be such a fine woman, and I apologise for stealing her daughter.”

He bowed, and Ada laughed, and then grew serious, thinking of her mother. During the speeches Ada had noticed Elizabeth seated at the end of an adjacent table close by. There had been a prickling of sweat on her pale brow, and she had stared ahead blankly as the best man addressed the gathering. The speech was clearly very witty, for laughter rippled endlessly along the tables, and faces beamed delightedly at Michael. The teasing seemed to be mainly about his competitiveness in sports, or ambitious pranks that had not always worked out the way he’d wanted. But Ada was only half-listening, her attention on Elizabeth, and as soon as possible she went to her mother, filled a glass with water and made her drink. Elizabeth, despite Ada’s urging, had refused to leave and insisted on coming to Serangoon to see the couple depart.

“Everyone’s been telling me how beautiful you are,” Michael said.

“Do you need to be told?”

Michael looked taken aback for a moment, then seeing her smile, he grinned and patted her cheek. “You’re not going to let me get away with anything, are you? I like that.” He stepped back and looked into her eyes. “I’ve told you why I love you. So, may I ask, what is it about me that made you fall at my feet?”

“No, it’ll go to your head.” She slid off the bed. “And it would take too long.” He caught her arms and kissed her on the lips. She rested her cheek against his for a moment, then leaned back. “I must get ready now. And see if Mummy is all right. She’s exhausted. I’m a little worried about her.” Ada thought guiltily of how hard Elizabeth had worked. Her mother had lost her appetite in the final sprint of finishing the dresses and had refused her evening meals of steamed fish and vegetables. Ada had asked Amah to prepare mild curry and nasi goreng to tempt her palate.

After Michael had left, offering to check on Elizabeth, Ada showered and dressed quickly, then inspected herself critically in the mirror. Noting that with the blue of her dress her eyes appeared more vivid and large, rather too girlish perhaps, she composed her face into what she believed was a mask of self-assurance before going out onto the back verandah.

She was looking about for her friend Melanie amongst the noisy groups of people and white-coated servants handing out drinks and titbits, when she noticed Mrs. Sinathamby seated beside Elizabeth on a deep rattan settee, beckoning to her. As Ada approached Mrs Sinathamby said loudly, “Such a beautiful dress. It does you credit, Elizabeth. Always you do excellent work.”

“Not my work. Ada sewed that,” Elizabeth said, smiling up at Ada.

Mrs Sinathamby fingered the silk sash that crossed under Ada’s breasts and tied at the sides. “Such fine material. And the colour. Oh, my, how the blue suits your eyes. It’s Loretta Young you remind me of, I’m thinking.”

Michael, who’d been fetching a drink for Elizabeth, appeared at Ada’s side.

“Oh my. Your husband puts any actor in all the American pictures to shame.” It was strange for Ada to hear ‘husband’, as if her changed status had been long established.

“Perhaps we should try our luck in Hollywood, Ada,” Michael said, his gaze passing admiringly over her dress.

Mrs Sinathamby chortled with delight. “You have not only a beautiful wife, you have a clever one. You heard her mother say it is Ada’s work?”

“Talented, beautiful, clever. I am indeed the luckiest man on earth.”

A group of children rushed down the steps and headed for the tennis court at the back of the large garden. One of the servants followed them. It would be his duty to supervise ball and marble games and top spinning, while the parents continued to party. Evaline had thought of everything. Ada had made sure to thank and compliment her several times at the reception, but she was not sure if Evaline in her excitement had heard her.

And here she was now, advancing towards them, her chest thrust out like a mother hen. Lighter skinned than Michael, the dark around her eyes, like that of her husband Patrick, had the effect of narrowing the bridge of her nose. The couple resembled birds of prey, or owls, although apart from domestic matters it was Patrick who had the greater share of the wisdom.

Ada was aware that her thoughts were uncharitable, and hardly helpful if she intended to get on with her mother-in-law. She smiled directly at Evaline, who pushed between her and Michael and, turning to each in turn, announced, “Have you ever seen such a pair? Think what their children will be like! Ada’s fair beauty and Michael’s brains.”

“So I have nothing to offer in the way of good looks, Mum?”

Several guests had joined the group, and Evaline’s reply was drowned in a burst of laughter which drew others closer. Wanting to escape attention, Ada crouched down beside Elizabeth. “We’re going soon. You can leave then. The Sinathambys will take you home. I’m worried that you’ve overdone it.”

“Don’t worry. I’m feeling much better out here. Outside. The hall was hot.” Elizabeth opened her fan and flapped it briskly.

“Well you must rest, rest, rest. Promise me.”

“I promise. I’ll be very sensible. You must not worry about me.” Elizabeth patted Ada’s arm. “Now go and find your husband so you can leave and make a start on your journey. You don’t want to get overtired either.”

Ada looked up to see that Michael had left the others. She found him in the drawing room. He was talking to Patrick. They were having a serious conversation, it seemed, and Michael was nodding soberly. Then Patrick noticed Ada and indicated with a slight inclination of his head that she follow him out onto the front verandah. Michael turned away with a quick encouraging smile at Ada, and she wondered why Patrick should wish to speak to her alone.

The front of the house was shaded by short, dense palms. Patrick stood beside Ada, and they looked for a few quiet moments out onto the carefully cut lawn and the circular bed of cannas standing rigid like hostages within a ring of white rose bushes. Ada had time to admire the banks of bougainvillea in the side borders and notice that there were several pili nut trees – trees her father had unsuccessfully tried to grow. All was neatly cut, well groomed, unlike the garden – if you could call it that – of the boarding house where Abdul had been hard-pressed to keep back the fast-growing vines and low-lying shaggy plants. What she saw now was in contrast a ruthless taming, a triumph of authority, which somehow made her feel diminished.

Patrick turned to her. “Michael tells me you’re worried about your mother. I will make sure our family doctor, Dr. Wong, visits her. He’s an excellent physician, one of the best in Singapore.”

“That is very kind of you. I am worried, Mr Wood.”

“You must call me Patrick. Evaline and Patrick. Now that you are properly one of the family.”

“Thank you. Thank you, Patrick.”

“It’s the least I can do.” He looked out onto the garden again and frowned slightly, then continued. “I’m very proud of Michael. Naturally, I am. But I can see that he is also impulsive, and a bit wilful, which comes with having strong beliefs and a desire to do what he feels is right, I think. It relieves me to know that he has found someone who will be a steady influence on him.” Patrick paused and glanced at her. She noted the gravity in his tone. “But what’s more important is that you appear to have the capacity, the strength of character, to forgive his transgressions.”

“As he will forgive mine, I hope.” Ada attempted a smile, wondering about the word ‘transgression’. It sounded biblical, something much more serious than impulsiveness. She recalled Michael’s anger with the property developer at the lunch party, which had disturbed her. Was that what Patrick was talking about?

“God bless you, my dear,” he said. She detected a tinge of sadness in his expression. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t pass onto Michael what I’ve just said.” He looked towards the garden. “Now. I must not keep you any longer. I know Michael wants to set off.”

“Yes, I’d better go and find that impulsive son of yours.” She hesitated, wanting Patrick to say that there was nothing to worry about. But he just stood there, so she kissed him lightly on the cheek – an act of reassurance for herself rather than Patrick – before hurrying inside.