Page 31 of What It's Like in Words
IHADN’T SEENLOUISE—AUNTYLulu—since I was a child. She would kiss me on the mouth and wipe the lipstick with her thumb. I scanned the bar, and a voice reverberated: Oh, my goodness gracious! My sweet girl! I turned to see a woman with curly gray hair, red hoop earrings, and lips to match.
Aunty Louise?
Lulu, darling. Lulu.
She was wearing cargo shorts and a Tusker T-shirt. When she hugged me, her fingers dug between my ribs, and she smelled overwhelmingly of vanilla. Let me look at you! Gosh, you are the spitting image of your dad. I saw you and thought, that’s Kit’s and that’s Kit’sandthat’s Kit’s too. She pointed to parts of my body with a long, ring-covered finger.
Kit. I hadn’t heard his name in so long. Everyone just referred to him—if they ever did—as “yourdad.” Like he belonged only to me.
I am?
She nodded, clutching my hands so tight that my finger bones hurt. You are, my sweet girl. But not your hair, my darling, your hair is mine. Look how curly it is!
I told her it was only because of the sun and the salt, and she looked at me like I was hiding something. She asked me how old I was now. I answered that I was twenty-eight, and she said she thought I was older. It’s because you’re such a slip of a thing. Sophisticated. It makes you seem older. Small bones.
She sat, gesturing to the empty chair. Come and sit. She clicked at the waiter, then pointed to me. I smiled in apology and asked for a latte. Louise asked for the same as before and the waiter looked confused. I realized that he was probably a different man, so I asked what she was drinking so that he could hear the answer.
English breakfast, my angel.
As the drinks arrived, I watched her sip. The liquid rattled into her mouth. Her skin was covered in brown patches and deep lines cut her forehead. Her eyes, curved slightly, gave her an expression of sadness. When she smiled, her teeth were yellow and her lips pushed up to show her gums. She dabbed her brow with a handkerchief.
So, my lovely girl, tell me about yourself.
I opened my mouth to respond, but she continued: I was so pleased to hear from you, sweet girl. When I think about how long it’s been… But I know that will have been your mother’s doing. I know that. Don’t you worry about that. There are no hard feelings about that. Anyway, I only have this one morning with you—Sam, that’s my new man, is fishing, and I told him that we had to take a detour to meet my sophisticated niece. He asked me how old you were, and I almost said: She’s six years old. My goodness, you must think I’m an old lady now!
I think you look wonderful, Louise—I mean, Lulu.
Oh, aren’t you sweet? It’s yoga. I’m doing yoga. So anyway, I have a little place in Kilifi, but my friend Kim, whose house you’re staying in—
Yes, thank you so much for—
—rents it on the Airbnb and gets afortune. You two have a very good deal this week. Averygood deal. I’m thinking about doing thatmyself. Ours isn’t a beachfront, but still, you and your gorgeous man can stay whenever you want. Now, darling girl. Who is he?
I put down my coffee and told her his name. That was all I said, but she gushed that he sounded lovely and then proceeded to say that her psychic had told her that she would meet someone from her past.
Now, tell me. You miss Kenya, don’t you, darling?
I told her that I didn’t really think of it much anymore. I’ve been in England for… gosh, nearly twenty years now, I said, looking to the ceiling as if the dates were printed on it.
Nineteen years and four months. I had just turned nine when Mum and I arrived at my grandparents’ house in the Midlands lit up in Christmas lights.
Louise put her tea down. Your mother really did hate him, didn’t she? I shifted in my chair and said that everyone had a different impression of things, but Louise snapped that there was only one impression of things.
Well— I started, but Louise interrupted.
Yourmother—she said this like it was alleged—hated him. She was unhappy, you know, depressed. And I had to come out every few months to take care of you! She just wasn’t made to be a mother. I’m sorry but that’s true. She missed being an actress, not that she was very good at it. My brother used to tell me that and we’d laugh—I’d help him to laugh at that. And, of course, she took it all out on him. And he would tell me that he could handle it. Lulu, I can handle her, he would say. But I’m not sure that he could, not really, not in the end.
I couldn’t deal with this. I felt myself detaching and watching the scene like a stranger from across the room. Once, when I was eleven, a girl had said something about my dad in hockey practice and I had hit her with my stick. I hadn’t remembered doing it. Dissociation, the therapist had called it, but I think I had just been really fucking angry.
But as Louise continued her assassination, I felt an alien desireto come to my mother’s defense or perhaps just to stop Louise from talking. But, Lulu, I said, England was home. Dad’s work was demanding and, I mean, maybe Mum was just homesick?
Louise shook her head, red earrings swinging, and said that was neither here nor there. England was his home too! He didn’t get to feel homesick? His feelings didn’t count? And his job. The pressure he was under. No. She can give all the excuses she likes but she was cruel to him.Cruel. He was my family. He was mybrother. You know our parents died young? Well, he never recovered from that. You never do, not really. And your mother never understood him. And that’s a hard thing. It’s a hard thing not to be understood. You do know that I speak to him? Well, I do. And he is still angry with her.
Had Louise been drinking? Her perfume was strong, and her eyes were red. She was talking in hyperbole, asking the same from me as from her psychic: affirmation.
She dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief and added a sachet to her tea. But I promised that I wouldn’t put this on you. Tell me aboutyou, my sweet girl. My goodness, that dress is lovely.
Relieved for the subject change, I told her that I worked in a hedge fund café with Ruth. Do you remember her?
