Even as a young girl, Camille had always been closer to her nan than her mother. She had so frequently sought shelter and company in her nan’s house that she had surreptitiously moved in by the time she was ten years old. Her mother never seemed even to notice, let alone mind. Camille thought of Jasmine as a selfish woman, bitter to the core. As to who Camille’s father was, it was a question never asked or answered. Jasmine tolerated Nan and Camille, but love was patently absent. In addition, Jasmine was angrily estranged from her only brother, Alphonse. Camille had never heard a sound reason as to the cause of their separation. She suspected that the large age difference may have been a contributory factor, Alphonse being at least a decade older than his sibling. But it was also likely due to Jasmine being a heartless bitch.
Some people reckoned Jasmine worked hard to maintain her gruff personality, but Camille believed it came effortlessly. She had both knowledge and experience of the potentially rapid evolution of Jasmine’s raging temper. When roused, her apoplectic visage combined with an acid tongue could be frankly terrifying. For Camille, Nan’s house represented a calm refuge in a fickle and tempestuous sea.
The difficult lessons learnt growing up in this challenging environment had steeled Camille to strive for more in her life. She did not want to be anything like her mother. She did not want men around like those she saw most days, loitering with intent. Camille had worked hard at school to get an education and tried personally to be kind and generous, like her nan. As a result, she was popular and had, even before leaving school, got a job working for the local tour operator. Camille started as a receptionist in the company but had quickly impressed with her intellect and work ethic, and now managed the online booking system as well as the accounts. On a small island, this was the equivalent of executive level. She planned to start her own company in a few years and saved most of her wages in preparation. The glass jar hidden under the floorboards of the kitchen cupboard was two-thirds full.
“Hello, Jas,” Kitty projected her sweet voice through the open window across the bare yard. “Please join us for some cake.”
“In a minute,” came a terse shouted reply. As the two houses were close together, Camille and Kitty could hear the banging of Jasmine’s door and then the urgent but careless clink of a bottle on glass. Long experience had taught them that Jasmine’s drinking was unlikely to cease and that opinions, or intervention, were unwanted and unhelpful. They quickly exchanged glances, and furrowed brows, as they waited to see what this evening would bring. Kitty gazed worriedly out the window. She had always tried her best to care for her daughter’s welfare. The arrangement to build a second house on the property was so that Jasmine would always have a place to live. Mainly through strength of will, Kitty had managed to control Jasmine’s excesses to some extent but, when both Kitty and her husband had become sick, her influence faded. Kitty’s husband, Ricky, had passed away quickly, racked with fever. Kitty herself had survived but was weakened and remained permanently unsteady on her feet. As a result, she was effectively housebound. Jasmine capitalised on the change in the familial power balance and now did whatever she pleased. It was a shameful pity that this seemed to actually make her more miserable.
Kitty perused the view from her front window. The painted wooden boards that framed the window were warped and cracked from long exposure to the weather. She now joked that she was the same. Her house was separated into four rooms with the kitchen and two small bedrooms coming off the living room, and there was a toilet attached to the rear of the house. Ricky had built this house himself nearly sixty years ago, and it was still solid. He had been immensely proud of the attached toilet as, traditionally, these were outhouses. When it rained he would chuckle to himself as he used the bathroom, knowing that he didn’t have to go outside and get wet. Simple pleasures and basic comforts. That was progress.
The house was perched in an elevated position halfway up Mont Centrale. This provided a panoramic westerly view of the forested island and the sea extending to the horizon. From this aspect, looking down onto the tall forest trees, the visual impact of civilisation on the island was surprisingly minimal. A prolific emerald canopy hid most signs of human settlement. It merged seamlessly with the expansive blue sea. With today’s wind and moderate swell, the patterned ocean stretched endlessly to a hazy horizon. On a clear day you could see the faint craggy outline of La Premiere.
Rugged, bouldered gullies led up the steep mountain slope towards Kitty Albert’s property, assuring privacy. It was rare for anyone to pass this way up the mountain. More had come since Jasmine’s house was built.
“The afternoon sea breeze is starting to pick up,” Nan stated perfunctorily.
“If it looks strong, I might close the side shutters.” Camille walked to the window and leant forwards, almost sniffing the air.
Nan murmured, “So, so beautiful.”
“The view is pretty.”
“I meant you, blossom.” Nan gave her granddaughter a short, sharp smack on her rounded bottom. “Beautiful inside and out.”
Camille was surprised. “Nan. You cheeky thing. That’s the most attention I’ve had in a while.”
“Somehow I doubt it,” Nan disagreed, noting Camille’s curvy silhouette. “I’m sure all the boys notice your gorgeous face. And your figure.”
Camille playfully screwed up her nose, poking her tongue out towards her nan.
“You may think I’m a silly old woman, but I’ve seen how your friend Ajay looks at you. And he’s such a nice boy.”
Camille shot her a look. “When have you seen Ajay?”
“A few months ago, at the cultural fair on National Day. I went down with you to watch you dance.” Camille was the best dancer on the island and regularly won the cultural dance contests, as she did most athletic events. She should probably win the beauty contests as well but her best friend Alvina had a mortgage on those. Sex appeal counted in those competitions and Alvina knew how to appeal. Camille, on the other hand, had a natural grace and fluidity of movement that was both powerful and sensual. This was well noted by the men of the island. Camille was clearly oblivious to her own charms. She had always believed, as her nan had taught her, that beauty was like purity; it must be clearly evident in both thought and deed. One facet was not enough. It couldn’t just be window dressing.
Camille tilted her head as she tried to visualise the events of National Day. It was a few months ago now. “I remember, but we didn’t really spend any time with Ajay, or his parents. And besides, he’s more interested in Alvina.”
“Sure, dear. If you say so.” Nan was almost openly mocking her. “But he wasn’t looking at Alvina or the other girls, and when you danced, he was very focused on your moves.” Nan winked and produced a subtle shoulder shimmy for effect.
“Oh, stop it. You shameless hussy!” Camille pretended to be upset. “I think you’ve had too much sweet tea!”
They both paused knowingly at the well-rehearsed set-up before making eye contact and grinning, shouting to each other, “You know I’m a raging diabetic!”
The mood changed as Jasmine stomped into the room; the smell of strong liquor wafting inside with her. “What are you two guffawing about?”
“Men!” They said in unison, both now racked with fits of laughter.
Jasmine was so surprised that she was lost for words.
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