Read Online A House Called Askival by Merryn Glover - Free Book Online Page B

and over Ruth’s icy toes. She heard Miss Joshi’s footsteps across the room, the jingling of keys turning in the lock and the door yanking open. Silhouetted in the light, Miss Joshi’s hair rose around her head in a frazzled mane, as if she had spent the night tearing at it. Her face was dark.
    â€˜What?’ she demanded.
    â€˜I had an accident,’ whispered Ruth.
    â€˜What sort of accident?’ Miss Joshi snorted, as if she couldn’t possibly imagine.
    Ruth dropped her head, gripping one hand in the other. ‘I wet my bed,’ she mumbled.
    â€˜Good God! Do you think I want to know about that in the middle of the night?’
    Ruth was stumped.
    â€˜Do you?!’ Miss Joshi demanded.
    â€˜No,’ breathed Ruth, feeling her chest caving in.
    â€˜And what do you think I’m supposed to do about it, hm? Turn all the lights on and wake everybody up so we can change your sheets?’ Miss Joshi was reaching the pitch she employed for the dinner queue. She did not sound very worried about waking everybody up. ‘Is that what you think, huh?’
    Ruth shook her head, tears turning the light at Miss Joshi’s feet to a blur. Though she bit hard on her lip she couldn’t stop the stinging in her nose or the wobbling of her breath.
    â€˜Now go back to bed and we’ll fix it in the morning,’ Miss Joshi said, beginning to turn away.
    â€˜But, my bed…’ and Ruth broke, clutching her arms around herself asshe crumpled into sobs.
    â€˜Oh God,’ Miss Joshi hissed. She wavered, then leaned over and put a hand on Ruth’s shoulder. Her voice was softer. ‘ Cha, cha, cha now darling. Stop that now.’
    But Ruth’s crying had engulfed her and she could no more stop it than turn the tide. Miss Joshi bent awkwardly over her, a great bird in her fringed shawl, and wrapped her arms around Ruth’s heaving shoulders. Ruth could feel her long nails as she patted her head and back.
    â€˜Shush now, beti , shush now,’ she clucked.
    â€˜We’ll think of something.’ What Miss Joshi thought of was to rinse Ruth down with a couple of mugs of cold water – there was no hot at this time of night, but the icky-icky had to be removed – and to put her back to bed lying on top of her razai with another one as a cover, a spare she’d found in a cupboard.
    â€˜Don’t forget to strip your bed in the morning,’ Miss Joshi whispered, pointing a dark talon at the polka dot sheets. Then she clutched Ruth’s head in her hands and planted a wet smacking kiss on her forehead.
    â€˜Sleep well now, darling.’ Her breath was a curdling of stale tea and garlic.
    Ruth listened to the sound of her rubber chappals slip-slapping back to her apartment, then rubbed her forehead and curled into a tight ball. She was naked and still cold from the dousing. The top razai was scratchy in places as though things had been spilled on it and dried like scabs. It smelled of mothballs.

NINE
    James watched from his window at Askival as the Colonel and his wife came up the path, their labelled black umbrellas – BUNCE 1 and BUNCE 2 – bobbing above their ponchos. It was September 1947, monsoon and nearly dark. Mrs Bunce carried a torch, while the Colonel strode in front, striking and swinging his walking stick like a parade master’s baton.
    He propped it against a pillar on the veranda and stood billowing his umbrella in and out, gusting raindrops before him. James heard the squeal of the screen door and saw his mother stepping forward with out-flung arms.
    â€˜Welcome, welcome!’ Leota cried and helped Mrs Bunce with her poncho. ‘My, but if the heavens haven’t opened today and spilled themselves! Come on in and get dry.’
    James moved to his bedroom door and peered through a slit to the hallway where Mrs Bunce was pressing her powdered cheek to his mother’s rough one.
    â€˜Lovely to see you, Leota,