The light had changed the colour of the house. Everything was clearer and more beautiful than Alice remembered. Someone had sharpened the picture of it, making the verandah and the old planter’s chairs and the garden appear brighter too. In a moment Kamala appeared and Alice was enveloped in a juggery-scented hug. On the table was a selection of rasa kavili, Singhalese sweetmeats. She did a quick count in her head. Alu-Eluvang and hakura appa, juggery, hoppers and jelly. No, nothing had been forgotten. All her favourites were there: the boroa, the small delicious Portuguese biscuits she loved, and the jug of freshly squeezed lime juice. In the middle, in pride of place, was a magnificent love cake with nine candles waiting to be lit. Her grandmother had not stopped smiling. Beside her, tied with a pink ribbon, was a lime-green bicycle.
‘Well,’ Bee asked, ‘so, what d’you think about the colour?’
A bicycle!’ Alice said, astonished further by this day of surprises.
And she rushed full tilt towards it.
Then she stopped.
‘But I can’t ride,’ she wailed.
Ah! Yes, that’s a problem,’ agreed Bee seriously. ‘Well, someone’s got to teach you then. Now, I wonder who that might be!’
‘I’m not hungry, Amma,’ Sita was saying even before she sunk awkwardly down on one of the old planter’s chairs. ‘All I want is a cup of tea.’
Alice scowled. Why was her mother spoiling everything? Or rather, she corrected herself, why was the baby spoiling her birthday?
‘Sita,’ Kamala said, ‘you look exhausted. How can you go on like this? Think of the baby. Why didn’t you let your father collect Alice? And why don’t you stay the night now you’re here? Stanley can manage for a night, can’t he?’
But Sita was shaking her head in a way Alice recognised. Stubbornness was the thing she had given Alice in bucketloads, and stubbornness was written all over her own face now.
‘No, Amma, you know I don’t like him being alone. And after last night and the riots in our area, I must go back. You didn’t see what we saw; you don’t know what these people are really like. There were neighbours in the crowd who knew us, people we thought were our friends, the same as us. Singhalese, like me!’
Her voice was beginning to rise; Kamala put out her hand as though warding off her daughter’s fear.
‘How can I ever trust anyone?’
They surveyed the tea table in silence. Alice washed her hands in the bowl of water that the servant held out to her. Then she dried them on the soft cotton hand towel and started on the sandwiches. She was tense with waiting for her mother to go home. Guiltily she anticipated the evening with her mother gone and the moment when she had her grandparents all to herself. And then, forgetting about everything, she realised she was enormously hungry.
Ayio!’ Kamala said, pouring out the tea.
Two tea leaves floated on a brown sea in the cups.
‘It isn’t the riots,’ Bee told her, handing over his cup. ‘We shouldn’t place too much emphasis on them.’
His eyes had closed into narrow slits in the way Alice loved. It made him look like the picture of an owl in one of her books. Bee’s voice was noncommittal. It changed the atmosphere, taking the tension away from Sita’s face.
‘Human nature has no surprises. All the riots do is make it more obvious.’
‘Well, we all know it’s the fault of the British,’ Sita murmured. ‘It’s their mess.’ But she spoke sleepily, without conviction.
This was too much for her father.
‘Don’t talk to me about the British,’ he said, sitting up instantly, eyes flashing open, alert, as though sniffing out any stray British.
‘Now, Sita, don’t start him off,’ Kamala warned, but Bee waved his arm irritably.
‘They’ll pay for all this, all right. One day they’ll be called to account, just wait.’
Alice yawned. The conversation was going its usual way and she was losing interest.
‘Enough, enough, Benji,’ Kamala warned. ‘Nothing is going to change the past.’
She glanced sharply at her granddaughter’s face, reading it accurately.
And please don’t forget it’s Alice’s day today.’
‘Just one more thing,’ Sita said.
She hesitated, holding out her cup for more tea.
‘Stanley got the passports this morning.’
The silence was electric.
‘For all of you?’ Kamala asked bleakly.
‘Yes, of course!’
Alice saw her grandmother’s hand shake and the cup she was holding rattle on its saucer. The next moment the glass door opened and Alice’s aunt May walked in, followed by Esther and Esther’s mother Dias, in a flurry of birthday visitors, a rustle of birthday presents.
‘Happy birthday, Alice,’ Esther cried, giving her a kiss.
Alice looked at her with interest. Esther was chewing on something.
‘Many happy returns, darling,’ Aunty May said, handing her niece a small parcel. ‘It’s all the books you put on your list.’
‘My God! You’re a regular bookworm, child,’ Aunt Dias laughed, pinching her cheeks with her hand as though she was squeezing rubber out of a rubber plant. ‘She looks just like you, Sita!’
And she too handed Alice a small parcel.
‘Where’s Janake?’ Alice asked, seeing he was not with them, trying not to be disappointed.
‘He’s gone to his aunt’s,’ Kamala told her. ‘He’ll be back tomorrow.’
‘Oh!’ Alice said. She was disappointed.
‘Their passports have arrived, did you hear?’ Bee told the visitors grimly while Alice opened her presents. His voice was muffled as if he was somewhere far away.
Ayio!’ Kamala said again.
‘Oh, thank you, Aunty May,’ Alice said. ‘I wanted the new Secret Seven book! And the Wind in the Willows.’
‘Good! But don’t read it too fast!’
And look at these paints!’
Kamala was beginning to look as though she might cry.
‘Now,’ May said briskly, ‘I need some tea.’
‘Why did Janake have to go to his aunt’s?’
The servant handed round white china plates edged with gold. Aunty May gave everyone another change-the-subject kiss, but couldn’t resist one comment of her own.
‘Those bastards in the government have done this,’ she said under her breath.
Alice finished her piece of cake and reached for another.
‘There are bastards everywhere,’ she said matter-of-factly, making Esther giggle and May hoot with laughter.
‘Hear, hear!’ she said, clapping her hands.
Even Sita smiled a thin, watered-down smile. Bee’s shoulders shook.
‘Our birthday girl’s thought for the day!’ he chuckled.
His eyes were the colour of cloudy glass. The tension eased imperceptibly. Perhaps now they could get on with the business of enjoying her birthday, thought Alice. She was longing to try her bicycle. Sita leaned