A Kind of Eden by Amanda Smyth Page B

suddenly feels sorry for her. Andyet at the same time, he is irritated. He doesn’t want things to get heavy yet. There will be time for that later on. But this is so typical of Miriam; he should have known. He sits on the edge of the bed. Her hair is towel-dried and her face looks scrubbed. A clean slate.
    â€˜I just feel as if we’re not communicating with one another. I feel like a stranger, and you’re a tourist guide.’
    She cries a little, and wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘We’ve come a long way to see you. I want things to be okay. Things were so weird at Christmas. I keep thinking that maybe you don’t want to come back. You want to stay here and live in Trinidad.’
    â€˜Whoa,’ he hears himself say, ‘steady on, Miriam. You haven’t been here a week and you’re assuming all kinds of stuff.’ He talks with a surprising confidence. ‘I want more than anything for you both to have a good time. There’s so much to see and do in this place. It’s a great opportunity for Georgia.’
    He runs his fingers through his sticky sea hair. ‘We’ve both had a lot on. Just try to relax and enjoy the sun. Stop worrying.’
    She smiles weakly and says, ‘I’m okay when I think we’re okay.’
    â€˜I know.’ He looks down at the doves embroidered on the pillowcase. Hand-stitched birds of peace.
    â€˜So, are we okay?’
    â€˜Yes, we’re okay.’
    He pats the top of her leg, and for a moment, he hates himself.
    Deceit, the cruel enemy of love
.
    Miriam says, ‘There’s something else: last night I dreamt of Beth.’
    A hook in the heart—he is caught.
    â€˜She was right there like she was in the room. She was wearing her purple nightshirt.’
    He remembers well her Bart Simpson nightie, the cheeky caption read, ‘And your point is?’ When she died, Miriam took to wearing it daily under her clothes like another layer of skin.
    â€˜Did she seem all right?’
    â€˜She said she keeps trying to telephone us but we don’t answer.’
    â€˜Was she anxious?’
    â€˜No, not anxious.’
    â€˜Well?’
    â€˜She was a bit agitated; as if we were ignoring her. She seemed to want my attention.’
    Miriam is relieved to be able to talk to him about this. Her face twists with pain. He has no choice but to allow her to come closer to him. She shuffles over the bed; he puts his arms around her thin, stiff back.
    â€˜Breathe,’ he says, softly.
    This was something they learned in counselling; by taking deep breaths it is possible to release pain more quickly and effectively. Holding the breath can block the release of uncomfortable feelings. In the long term it can create chronic illness. He is not sure about this. But the part about releasing he knows to be true. He feels Miriam shudder with her crying; she sobs softly into his chest. They stay like this for a few moments.
    â€˜You know, there was a girl on the plane sitting right behind us. She reminded me so much of her. She might havebeen eleven or twelve. I almost said something to Georgia but I thought it wasn’t fair. Then when we were coming through immigration, Georgia said, did you see that girl, didn’t she look like Beth?’
    Miriam wipes her nose. ‘It’s ages since I dreamt of her. In the early days, it was all the time. Do you remember?’
    It was true; back then Miriam used to look forward to going to bed. Her dreams were vivid and alive. At the time he was envious. The only problem, she said, was waking up.
    â€˜I wonder if she’s trying to tell us something.’
    â€˜Like what?’
    â€˜I don’t know. It’s strange to dream of her now.’
    â€˜Maybe it’s being in another place; a part of your mind is more open.’
    â€˜I don’t think so.’
    â€˜Or maybe it’s because it’s her birthday in a few