that burnt her throat and dried it out. It was getting harder and harder to hold back.
In the cubicle, she sat on the floor, cradling the toilet bowl. She wished Paul were there to hold her hair back.
She didn’t know how long afterwards it was that she left the toilets, but when she managed to find the place where she’d been with Paul, not daring to look into the faces of all these sweat-dripping freaks with eyes that wouldn’t blink, staring at her as she pushed past, he had gone.
That was the last thing she remembered.
(xv) The Letter
It took Genie several minutes to realise where she was. The curtains were open, the bed made, the room iced over with moonlight. Paul’s room. Dimly she became aware that she had been sleepwalking. She collapsed onto Paul’s bed, pulled back the covers and crawled in. The sheets still smelt of him.
She awoke before Mam. In the kitchen, she made coffee and opened the dresser drawer where she found a packet of Paul’s cigarettes and a lighter. Genie went onto the balcony. Out here all you saw was a grid of other balconies, each filled with their individual combinations of washing and plants, toys and junk. But if you looked up you saw a stretch of skyline that took in Canary Wharf, St Paul’s Cathedral, the BT Tower and, if it was clear like today, the skeletal O of the London Eye. She took a cigarette from the packet and lit it. After a couple of puffs she stubbed it out in the dry earth of one of the potted geraniums Mam had put out there, hoping to create a Parisian-style balcony. But the plants were dusty and stunted: the place was permanently covered in a fine grey soot, a kind of light ash that might have been sucked up from some volcano on another island and scattered in the wind to fall here, in Hackney. Pigeons nibbled through the netting which Mam had hung up to keep them out and, finding nothing of interest to them, expressed disgust by shitting all over the place like vandals or occupying soldiers. Mam had given up on the balcony now and tried instead to cultivate plants indoors: fake-looking things with waxy leaves; their soil spiked with plastic care-instructions like medical chartsat the end of a hospital bed. Water sparingly . Needs constant attention .
Mam knocked on the balcony door. She was holding up a letter. It’s just come, Mam said. Mauritius.
Genie thought back to the letter Paul had sent half a lifetime ago. The address on this envelope was also handwritten, but the handwriting was unfamiliar. Along with a short letter written on thin, lined paper was a page from a book. It was a plate from Paul et Virginie . Genie recognised the image. The letter, which gave an address in La Gaulette, was from Gaetan, a friend Paul had mentioned before.
Paul
I found this on the floor after you left. I do not know if you will come back to Mauritius, and, if you do, whether you will visit me again. So I am returning this to your address in London. It looks valuable. If you are reading this then I am happy, because you are safe at home, where you belong. I think it is a mistake to go to Rodrigues.
Gaetan
Virginie on the prow of a ship, her eyes looking to Heaven, her hands clasped in prayer, her long fair hair whipped around her by a violent wind. The ship caught on a reef; a tempest raging. Paul, on the shore – stripped to the waist, his face contorted in agony, unable to reach her, restrained by two men on either side of him, one old and white, one black and middle-aged, both struggling to hold him back from the waves.
Mam did not like the idea at first.
Why should you go maxing out your credit cards chasing him halfway around the world? He left you on your own that night, Genie.
Because he is my brother and I love him more than he loves himself.
Genie told Mam all that she had learnt about Paul those past three weeks. Mam went quiet. Then she agreed that it would not be impossible for Genie to find him. Rodrigues
In the cubicle, she sat on the floor, cradling the toilet bowl. She wished Paul were there to hold her hair back.
She didn’t know how long afterwards it was that she left the toilets, but when she managed to find the place where she’d been with Paul, not daring to look into the faces of all these sweat-dripping freaks with eyes that wouldn’t blink, staring at her as she pushed past, he had gone.
That was the last thing she remembered.
(xv) The Letter
It took Genie several minutes to realise where she was. The curtains were open, the bed made, the room iced over with moonlight. Paul’s room. Dimly she became aware that she had been sleepwalking. She collapsed onto Paul’s bed, pulled back the covers and crawled in. The sheets still smelt of him.
She awoke before Mam. In the kitchen, she made coffee and opened the dresser drawer where she found a packet of Paul’s cigarettes and a lighter. Genie went onto the balcony. Out here all you saw was a grid of other balconies, each filled with their individual combinations of washing and plants, toys and junk. But if you looked up you saw a stretch of skyline that took in Canary Wharf, St Paul’s Cathedral, the BT Tower and, if it was clear like today, the skeletal O of the London Eye. She took a cigarette from the packet and lit it. After a couple of puffs she stubbed it out in the dry earth of one of the potted geraniums Mam had put out there, hoping to create a Parisian-style balcony. But the plants were dusty and stunted: the place was permanently covered in a fine grey soot, a kind of light ash that might have been sucked up from some volcano on another island and scattered in the wind to fall here, in Hackney. Pigeons nibbled through the netting which Mam had hung up to keep them out and, finding nothing of interest to them, expressed disgust by shitting all over the place like vandals or occupying soldiers. Mam had given up on the balcony now and tried instead to cultivate plants indoors: fake-looking things with waxy leaves; their soil spiked with plastic care-instructions like medical chartsat the end of a hospital bed. Water sparingly . Needs constant attention .
Mam knocked on the balcony door. She was holding up a letter. It’s just come, Mam said. Mauritius.
Genie thought back to the letter Paul had sent half a lifetime ago. The address on this envelope was also handwritten, but the handwriting was unfamiliar. Along with a short letter written on thin, lined paper was a page from a book. It was a plate from Paul et Virginie . Genie recognised the image. The letter, which gave an address in La Gaulette, was from Gaetan, a friend Paul had mentioned before.
Paul
I found this on the floor after you left. I do not know if you will come back to Mauritius, and, if you do, whether you will visit me again. So I am returning this to your address in London. It looks valuable. If you are reading this then I am happy, because you are safe at home, where you belong. I think it is a mistake to go to Rodrigues.
Gaetan
Virginie on the prow of a ship, her eyes looking to Heaven, her hands clasped in prayer, her long fair hair whipped around her by a violent wind. The ship caught on a reef; a tempest raging. Paul, on the shore – stripped to the waist, his face contorted in agony, unable to reach her, restrained by two men on either side of him, one old and white, one black and middle-aged, both struggling to hold him back from the waves.
Mam did not like the idea at first.
Why should you go maxing out your credit cards chasing him halfway around the world? He left you on your own that night, Genie.
Because he is my brother and I love him more than he loves himself.
Genie told Mam all that she had learnt about Paul those past three weeks. Mam went quiet. Then she agreed that it would not be impossible for Genie to find him. Rodrigues
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