Into Suez by Stevie Davies Page A

you.’ Ailsa had had to bite back the words that had so lacerated Mona, Keep in touch .
    ‘See you soon. And here’s a little something for you,don’t lose it. Our address is on it and a note. And something from Habibi . I’ll wait for you to contact me, OK?’
    ‘You shouldn’t have. I’ve nothing for you.’
    ‘Aha. Wait till you see it. Stolen goods.’
    Ailsa had crammed the brown paper package tied with string and sealed with wax into her canvas bag: a book, obviously. She doubted whether they would let her see Mona again. Already as they boarded the train, with its shining carriages painted silver to reflect the heat, she could see this friendship going into the past. The Empire Glory had been an interlude. Joe was everything to her, Joe and Nia. Of course they were.
    Joe said nothing whatever to disparage her friends. The men had maintained their formal smiles at one another across the corridor of rank. Correctly but also with goodwill. The dock had bellowed around them. Alex had slackened the tension with that public school drawl. Ailsa, reading Joe’s face, could see immediately what Joe had thought of him . Smoothie, nancy-boy, poufter, was the gist of it. Which had taken her aback, for it hadn’t dawned on her before that Alex was effeminate. Perhaps he was. She’d seen it in Joe’s eyes.
    Nia, squirming and whining for Auntie Mona to pick her up , had confided, ‘Auntie Mona, my botty’s itching!’
    Frantic embarrassment and hilarity had reigned. Even Joe had laughed and relaxed. Habibi , shaking hands with Ailsa, had wished her well, thanking her for her true friendship to his wife. Ailsa read Joe’s appraisal of Ben: short back and sides , she read, as clearly as if he had spoken the words. Joker from Civvie Street, scarecrow in uniform . Next to Ailsa’s impeccable husband, the slouching Wing Commander did look like a ragbag. Nia’s fingers had had tobe prised one by one from Mona’s, to the chorus of Babs Brean, who paused to say, ‘She’ll have to turn over a new leaf now she’s with her daddy, the scamp!’
    And here, oh dear, Babs was on the train with her husband, whose arms were round both of his daughters. They sucked sherbet through licorice straws and gazed up at him through eyes silly and beautiful with love. But everyone’s eyes wore the same expression. Shy too, as if on a first date.
    ‘Not long now,’ said Ailsa to Nia.
    ‘No.’
    ‘And then we’ll be home together. The three of us.’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘What an adventure for us, darling,’ Ailsa said. ‘Aren’t you pleased to see Daddy?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Are you tired, lovey?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Put your head down on Mami’s lap if you want to
    drowse.’
    She patted her lap, smoothing the creases of her skirt for Nia to lay her head on the intimate place, hers only, where Mami’s soft legs and secret body joined. And Mami’s hand stroked her hair, quelling the qualms in her head, by holding it still and calm. Nia kept her eyes and ears open, viewing the skewed world from beneath.
    As the train drew out, Nia considered the Brean girls’ sherbet dabs. She watched the father remove his arms from his daughters to light up a fag. Then he put his arms back round them and dangled the fag from the corner of his mouth, growing a worm of ash that hung and hung. He could talk like that, hardly moving his lips. The girlssucked the licorice, leaving a moist gloss of black on their lower lips.
    And his worm fell. It collapsed on to his knees, where the breeze from the open window winnowed it away.
    The carriage filled with smoke and chat. Joe and Ailsa lit up. Nia watched from the corner of her eye as Joe struck the match and offered it to Ailsa, who bent to take the light. She saw his hand move from cupping the flame to brushing her mother’s cheek. Nia registered the consciousness between her parents that trembled like the plumes of blue smoke the sun revealed as it beat on the glass. She saw that this quivering and pluming