Peace Page 3

  When I found out the next day that Eva had tried to kill herself two weeks ago on New Year’s Eve, my little victory had swiftly turned sour. Especially when a memory was stirred of moonlight illuminating a different room at a different time, white pills scattered over a blue bedspread and the crushing devastation I felt when I woke up the following morning to mourn the fact that death hadn’t replaced life as I had planned. The news had also stirred up an ugly tangle of guilt over the one-sided war I had waged against her for all these months. It didn’t go away even when I tried to right my latest wrong by buying her a new set of plates; plates that had sat outside her bedroom door for the better part of a week, filling me with guilt and shame whenever I passed them. And now here she was at my door, as haughty as ever as if nothing had taken place on New Year’s Eve.

  “Eva? You all right?”

  She tensed, ignored my question and thrust some folded-up notes at me.

  “This is the gas money I owe you.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief at the unexpected miracle of the folded-up notes and greedily snatched them out of her hand.

  “Thanks,” I mumbled and put the money into the pocket of my towelling robe. “Did you see the plates I left...?”

  She was already moving away from my door, but not before looking me up and down as if I was something you avoided stepping on in the street. Her bedroom door closed softly behind her whilst I was still standing at my door with a half-finished sentence on my lips.

  I closed the door.

  Letting out a thin stream of air, I thought about why I had even tried to make amends with that snooty cow in the first place. And I suppose it boiled down to the fact that I was lonely. For a long time I had been living in a tiny bubble that revolved around the safety of my bed-sit and the small moments when I could leave the world behind me. My disconnect from the world, and everyone in it, had disappeared for a brief second when I discovered another person who had also looked down the long winding road of life, felt nothing but despair at the thought of taking another step and so tried to put an end to the journey. I suppose that I had instinctively wanted to reach out to that person, even if it was someone who had good reason to hate the very sight of me.

  The only thing to do now was retrieve the pitiful little gift that was still sitting untouched in the corridor. But the thought of taking it sickened me, so I decided to leave it there and was just thankful I would be moving out of this house in a few days’ time.

  I released the hold on the doorknob just as another knock came on the door.

  When I pulled it open I found Eva once more before me. She looked unsure of herself, probably for the first time since I had known her.

  “What?” I asked when the silence had stretched on for too long.

  “Pizza,” she said finally.

  “Pizza?”

  She inhaled deeply before she spoke again.

  “I...I mean, I just bought a pizza and you can have some, if you want.”

  I stared at her for what seemed like a long time. “Um, you... Okay.”

  I was surprised again when I heard her breathe what must have been a sigh of relief when I followed her past the white box on the floor and into the narrow kitchen with its dark wood floor, yellowing white walls and dirty-beige cupboard doors.

  “I got Meat Feast by the way,” she said when I sat down on the opposite end of the long wooden table.

  She peeled a slice of pizza off the carton and placed it on a plate in front of me. Then she took a slice for herself, and when the smell of fresh food wafted up to my face, I realised how hungry I was.

  “Hmmm. That’s my favourite.”

  “Same here.”

  She sat down and bit into her pizza and I did the same. I took another small bite and chewed slowly before deciding to break the awkward little silence that hung between us.

  “So what course are you doing?” I said after a moment or two.

  “Uh?”

  “At uni. What course you on?”

  “English Lit.”

  “Are you enjoying it?”

  “No, not really. I just want it over and done with so I can start earning money instead of always being broke.”

  “Hmm, that’s exactly how I felt.”

  “You’ve got a degree?”

  I was pleasantly surprised by the fact that she didn’t sound shocked at the thought that I might have a degree.

  “Nah, I started a course two years ago, but didn’t finish the first year.”

  She gazed at me expectantly. When I didn’t say anything else, she started on her second slice, chewing heartily and swallowing it before she spoke again.

  “I’m not keeping the plates by the way.”

  I looked up from my plate, confused. What was this? Was she trying to make me feel small? Was she trying to tell me that she thought she was too good for my little gift?

  “I appreciate the gesture but you didn’t have to do that. Just say you’re sorry next time. And besides, some of the plates you broke that day were yours.”

  Not seeing anything condescending in her eyes, I allowed myself a small smile, seeing how ridiculous my little tantrum must have seemed.

  “I was so pissed off, I didn’t even notice,” I said.

  The smile left her face.

  “Why were you so angry? All I said to you was—”

  “I know.” I cut her off, not wanting to be reminded of how ugly my behaviour had been. “I know. I don’t know why I got that angry,” I added quietly, remembering how I had been seething with rage and wanted to strike out at her; strike out at any and everybody.

  She nodded as if I had told her something significant and I was grateful that she didn’t question me further.

  I ended the silence that sat between us like a third person a few minutes later.

  “So why did you try and...you know...on New Year’s Eve. What made you...?”

  Her gaze shot up to meet mine and a flash of unease or anger, or both, crossed her face.

  “So how did you get into drugs?” she countered.

  I tensed but didn’t look away.

  “It’s a long story.” She was still looking at me. “I forget how much Lorraine loves chatting about everyone’s business,” I added dryly, referring to our nosy neighbour on the ground floor.

  “Tell me about it.” She glanced quickly over her shoulder then leaned closer, a mischievous smile dancing around her lips. “Lorraine really needs to find herself a man.”

  “She sure does, but I don’t see that happening anytime soon with a buck-head like hers.”

  We started laughing, but the laughter was cut short a few seconds later as if we had caught ourselves doing something unnatural.

  “I was shocked when she told me,” she added a few moments later. “You look so normal.”

  “What? Were you expecting me to only have two teeth in my mouth and living on some street corner? That’s just what you see on TV, Eva. I’m just like everyone else.”

  She looked as if she was about to disagree with me but ended up stuffing her mouth with pizza instead. I let the silence drag on for a while and instead played with my food, my appetite gone as quickly as it had come.

  “So where did you go?” I gestured to her clothes.

  “Oh, someone I used to work with had a little get-together.”

  “Why did you go so soon after...?” I stopped myself, knowing I was intruding again and I was expecting another guarded response but she merely shrugged.

  “I don’t know. Everyone kept telling me how nice my clothes were and how well I looked. It makes you wonder if people are that blind or if they just don’t care enough to see that something’s not quite right.”

  “What about your mum and dad?”

  She didn’t answer right away.

  “They’re both dead.”

  “Oh.” An intense sympathy washed over me, making me feel a sudden protectiveness towards her. She was only twenty years old, but it seemed as if she didn’t
have anybody.

  “Your name, is it Peace as in peaceful?” she asked when she was finally able to look up at me again.

  “Yeah, it is.”

  “Do you know why your parents called you Peace?”

  I paused, remembering asking my mother the same question when I was eight.

  She had been in her room reading her Bible and had the television murmuring softly in the background. I was lying at the foot of the bed, pretending to watch television but sneaking long, fascinated glances at her.

  I used to spend a lot of time watching my mother, a quiet, humble creature who epitomised beauty, grace, and everything I wanted to be. She was petite, had small, even features and was a quiet woman who often said more with her expressions and gestures than she ever did with words.

  She had surprised me by looking up from the Bible and instead of asking me why I was lying there staring at her, her brow had knitted together and a small questioning smile had danced around her mouth.

  Having no way of explaining why I had been staring at her for the last twenty minutes or so, I quickly blurted out the first thing I could think of to say.

  “Ma, why did you call me Peace?”

  “Well...” she had said in her soft Ghanaian accent. “The word peace...it was...I...I suppose it suited you.”

  She had quickly looked down at her bible. But her eyes were still and no longer gently sweeping over the words before them and her mouth had twisted into a small mark of anguish. I stared at her, puzzled by her reaction to my question.

  After a few moments she put her Bible down on the bed and spoke.

  “When your sister Barbara was born, the doctors told me I would not be able to have any more children. Your father was already very sick when I found out that I was pregnant again. He didn’t live long enough to see you come into this world, but when you came...” she had slowly heaved herself up to her feet. “...you brought me peace.”

  She had kissed me gently on the head and left the room.

  “My mum said it was ’cos I brought her peace,” I said to Eva. “That was a long time ago.”

  “It’s a nice name.”

  I smiled sadly, glancing at her hair.

  “You do look nice,” I said, wanting to move away from memories of precious moments with a woman I hadn’t seen since I began using heroin nearly two years ago and how much I missed her. “But why do you always scrape your hair back like that? And the gel... It’ll start breaking if you keep on putting that much gel in it.”

  “It’s all breaking off anyway,” she said, watching me with a pensive expression as she lazily shoved a mouthful of pizza into her mouth. “I’ve tried everything but it just keeps breaking. I’ll be left with two strands of hair before I know it.”

  “It probably needs a rest. I’ll tell you what. Wash all that gel out of it tomorrow and I’ll plait it for you,” I offered. “If you want me to that is,” I added quickly.

  “Yeah? I’d like that. Thanks, Peace.”

  She smiled genuinely at me for the first time and I gratefully returned that smile.

  We stayed bent over the kitchen table like two wilting flowers that had been left in the gloom for far too long. We stayed there until enough hours, enough words and laughter, had passed between us to establish the first tentative steps towards friendship. It was only then that we left the kitchen and returned to our rooms, happy in the knowledge that this was maybe the start of something we both desperately needed.

  Chapter 4

  I thought the memory of him and that day at the tube station was safely hidden away. But I was wrong. Like a hungry vulture, it had circled high above my head, waiting until it could swoop down and take me back to that busy station and the train that was pulling into the platform.

  Having no way of knowing how momentous that trip home would end up becoming, I had joined everyone else as they surged forward to congregate at the train doors. And when those doors finally sprung open and everyone spilled into the train, I chased Mohamed onto the busiest carriage. I spent the next two stops sandwiched between other passengers and the doors, having to brace myself against the tug of war that took place every time the train doors opened and people shoved and pushed at me to free themselves from the crush. But I didn’t mind any of that as I had a clear view of Mohamed who was sitting a few feet away from me with his head bent over his notepad.

  When the seat next to him became available I had, without thinking, sat down and not knowing what to do now I was within touching distance of him, I stupidly stared rigidly ahead of me until we got to the third stop. I eventually forced myself to relax when my neck began to ache from the strain and I realised that he was still completely unaware of my presence. It was only by the time the train got to the fifth stop that I managed to pluck up the courage to glance enviously, although surreptitiously, at the notepad he so lovingly held in his hand. That’s when I gasped out loud.

  Forgetting all attempts at trying not to be noticed, I leaned forward to gawp at the notepad in amazement, even reaching across him to tilt it toward me for a better look. It was only when his hand stopped sweeping across the page that I realised, with belated horror, just what it was that I was doing.

  I raised my head from the notepad with a feeling of impending doom and gazed up into dark eyes which were now staring down into mine. For a moment he looked as if he was waking up from a dream. He glanced at the notepad and then stared intently at me for a few seconds before he spoke.

  “Hello.”

  “H-hi,” I said after a few seconds spent staring dumbly up at him.

  “Um...do you mind if I have my notepad back?”

  “Oh. Oh! Oh my God. I’m sorry.” I immediately let go of it and leaned back, allowing him to once more have the seat to himself. “I’m s-so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  “It’s all right,” he said and it was only then that I realised he was trying not to laugh.

  “Here.” He placed the notepad on my lap. “What do you think?”

  I picked it up and stared down at it in amazement.

  On the top half of the page was what appeared to be a rough sketch of a church spire. Farther down the page was another drawing of a half-finished face. He had drawn two startled eyes, a nose, mouth, the outline of the cheeks and had started sketching in the hair when I had interrupted him.

  “It’s beautiful,” I was able to say after a few moments spent staring in awe at the drawing.

  “I didn’t even realise it was your face I was drawing until I looked at you just now,” he said, but I barely heard him.

  I never imagined I would ever be able to say that about my own face, but seeing it captured so elegantly by Mohamed’s hand, I thought it was beautiful. My attention drifted away from the notepad when he leaned closer to peer at the drawing, his eyes narrowing slightly as he scrutinized it. When he turned that scrutinizing gaze on me I looked down quickly, feeling a frantic fluttering in my chest along with a warm rush of blood to my face.

  “I didn’t get the eyes right though,” he said after a few seconds, thankfully turning his gaze back to the notepad.

  “It’s perfect. You made me look so pretty,” I said wistfully.

  “You don’t think you’re pretty?”

  “Well…um—”

  “You are, you know. I didn’t do you justice if I’m honest.”

  He smiled when I stared at him in astonishment. Not wanting this unexpected encounter to ever end, I forced myself to speak even though my mouth had gone dry and my heart was beating a lot faster than it normally did.

  “I always see you round college. I didn’t realise you did art?” I said.

  “You go to my college?” I nodded. “How comes I ain’t seen you around? I’m normally good at remembering faces and there’s no way I would’ve forgot a face as pretty as yours.”

  Words failed me at that point and I was thankful when he carried on talking.

  “Nah, I don’t do art.” This statement brought sadness to his eyes.
“No one sees the stuff I draw. My parents don’t like it. They want me to be a doctor, so this is nonsense to them.”

  “They sound like my mum. ‘Education is the key to success, so you must study hard,’” I said with a strong Ghanaian accent.

  He chuckled softly.

  “Yeah, that’s exactly what it’s like in my house.” He had taken the notepad back from me and put it into his rucksack, standing up as the train doors sprung open. “Well, this is my stop. I’ll see you around, yeah?”

  “Yeah, I’ll see you around,” I said sadly, thinking that the next time we saw each other he would probably take no notice of me.

  He turned to face me once he skipped out onto the platform.

  “You’re not planning on jumping any more men now that I’m getting off, are you?”

  I felt my face grow warm.

  “Of course not.”

  He smiled brilliantly. “Good. Good.”

  The doors closed on him before I could reply and the train pulled away. But my thoughts stayed on him, on those eyes and that smile until long after the journey was over.

  It was a lifetime ago, but it could have been only yesterday that I had followed him onto the train, chasing an impossible dream. And even though over five years had passed, I found myself getting caught up once again in the magic of that perfect moment and I hated the fact that the memory could still seduce me after all this time and after all that eventually took place.

  I forced the ghosts of the past back into the haunted houses of my mind and turned to Eva who was at my side.

  It was another cold day and we were walking in bright, frosty sunshine through the untamed, seductive other in my life that was the inner city. We were on our way to my new flat with carrier bags of paints, paint brushes and takeaway food. As we got closer to the flat, I saw the unmistakable sign of trouble in the way that a small crowd of people had gathered near a bus stop like a cluster of flies and that the bus had emptied and was standing idle a few feet away. As we got nearer, I saw that the commotion was centred on a burly black man in his early thirties who was wearing a bus driver’s uniform, and a hawkish looking young black boy who didn’t look much older than twenty. Another man appeared to be mediating between the two, but I barely noticed him and was instead focused on the way that the bus driver was standing completely still as if he had been turned to stone. He was so eerily still in fact, that he didn’t even blink and I followed his gaze which took me to a small object that was glinting evilly in the young boy’s hand.