suddenly come over all friendly.
‘I hear your brother from the Philippines will be joining us soon, Andi?’
‘Yes, miss.’ I had wondered at the chummy way she touched my shoulder, the way she looked at me, as if there was a terrible illness in the family.
‘Well, if there’s anything I can do to help, let me know.’
Help? I’d wondered. Why would we need help?
Now I knew.
4
Bernardo
A mandolina’s eyes seemed to be fixed on my necktie and I tugged at it self-consciously.
‘Very smart,’ Ma said. ‘Did Timbuktu make your suit?’
I nodded.
It had been a rush job. Timbuktu had refused at first. But Uncle told him it was an emergency. A cousin from out of town suddenly needed to get married. Tim understood, of course. As a tailor he often dealt with urgent weddings with fire-breathing families intent on rescuing the honour of an expectant bride. Uncle told Tim I was best man.
‘Everyone on the plane will be wearing suits,’ Uncle told me. ‘And you must make a good first impression when you get to Heathrow.’
Tim charged extra for the rush and he charged extra for the Velcro on the tie. Tim liked Velcro. All the trousers that he’d ever made me were fastened with Velcro. The only thing about Velcrowas the whole household could hear you undressing.
Zzzzt
. Nardo’s emptying his pockets.
Zzzzt
. Nardo’s unzipped his fly.
Of course, there weren’t any smart shoes to go with the suit. Nobody had ever even heard of size twenty-two in San Andres and shoes were way beyond Timbuktu’s considerable abilities. So he made me a pair of leather sandals instead. Uncle said he had once seen a fashion magazine where the male models wore sandals with suits.
‘Nardo, you look so smart,’ Uncle had said. But I felt more like a tightly rolled piece of dim sum.
The morning of my flight to London was boiling hot long before the sun had even risen beyond the coconut trees.
Auntie made me put the jacket on, then turned me around and around as if she was inspecting a marrow for bruises.
‘It’s too hot, Auntie!’
‘Just let me have a good look!’
I rotated, trying to ignore the rivulets of sweat that trickled down my back.
There was a knock on the door.
‘Sister Sofia!’ a voice called urgently from the other side.
Auntie and I looked at each other.
Whoever it was knocked again.
Auntie’s shoulders sagged. She crossed the room and opened the door, leaving the chain on.
Old Tibo’s face thrust through the crack, his eyes frantically searching the room behind Auntie before settling on me with relief.
‘Thank God,’ he said. ‘I was afraid we were too late.’
‘Too late for what?’ Auntie’s voice was cold.
‘Let us in, Sister,’ someone called from behind Old Tibo. ‘We must speak to you.’
Auntie sighed and unlatched the chain.
A small crowd hurried into the living room.
It was so early in the morning, the streets outside should have remained empty for another hour. And yet here were all our immediate neighbours. Old Tibo, of course, with Flash Gordon at his heels. Timbuktu. Salim. Sister Len-Len with her baby curled in the crook of her elbow like a kitten.
And Jabby. He followed the others slowly into the room, frowning as he spotted the luggage piled up on the floor.
‘It’s true, then,’ Old Tibo said.
Auntie glared at me.
‘I swear I didn’t tell anyone, Auntie!’ I stared guiltily at the crowd.
‘Then how did they find out?’ She clenched her fists in frustration.
‘I put two and two together,’ Timbuktu said, his arms akimbo, a smug expression on his face. ‘Your uncle wanted your jacket lined. In this climate? People only ever order suits when they’re about to go on an international flight.’
‘And, Nardo, there was an earthquake last night, after midnight,’ Old Tibo said. ‘Did you feel it?’
All their eyes turned to me, accusing.
‘The first one in three years; it woke the baby,’ Sister Len-Len added. Her baby made a meowing noise as if to
‘I hear your brother from the Philippines will be joining us soon, Andi?’
‘Yes, miss.’ I had wondered at the chummy way she touched my shoulder, the way she looked at me, as if there was a terrible illness in the family.
‘Well, if there’s anything I can do to help, let me know.’
Help? I’d wondered. Why would we need help?
Now I knew.
4
Bernardo
A mandolina’s eyes seemed to be fixed on my necktie and I tugged at it self-consciously.
‘Very smart,’ Ma said. ‘Did Timbuktu make your suit?’
I nodded.
It had been a rush job. Timbuktu had refused at first. But Uncle told him it was an emergency. A cousin from out of town suddenly needed to get married. Tim understood, of course. As a tailor he often dealt with urgent weddings with fire-breathing families intent on rescuing the honour of an expectant bride. Uncle told Tim I was best man.
‘Everyone on the plane will be wearing suits,’ Uncle told me. ‘And you must make a good first impression when you get to Heathrow.’
Tim charged extra for the rush and he charged extra for the Velcro on the tie. Tim liked Velcro. All the trousers that he’d ever made me were fastened with Velcro. The only thing about Velcrowas the whole household could hear you undressing.
Zzzzt
. Nardo’s emptying his pockets.
Zzzzt
. Nardo’s unzipped his fly.
Of course, there weren’t any smart shoes to go with the suit. Nobody had ever even heard of size twenty-two in San Andres and shoes were way beyond Timbuktu’s considerable abilities. So he made me a pair of leather sandals instead. Uncle said he had once seen a fashion magazine where the male models wore sandals with suits.
‘Nardo, you look so smart,’ Uncle had said. But I felt more like a tightly rolled piece of dim sum.
The morning of my flight to London was boiling hot long before the sun had even risen beyond the coconut trees.
Auntie made me put the jacket on, then turned me around and around as if she was inspecting a marrow for bruises.
‘It’s too hot, Auntie!’
‘Just let me have a good look!’
I rotated, trying to ignore the rivulets of sweat that trickled down my back.
There was a knock on the door.
‘Sister Sofia!’ a voice called urgently from the other side.
Auntie and I looked at each other.
Whoever it was knocked again.
Auntie’s shoulders sagged. She crossed the room and opened the door, leaving the chain on.
Old Tibo’s face thrust through the crack, his eyes frantically searching the room behind Auntie before settling on me with relief.
‘Thank God,’ he said. ‘I was afraid we were too late.’
‘Too late for what?’ Auntie’s voice was cold.
‘Let us in, Sister,’ someone called from behind Old Tibo. ‘We must speak to you.’
Auntie sighed and unlatched the chain.
A small crowd hurried into the living room.
It was so early in the morning, the streets outside should have remained empty for another hour. And yet here were all our immediate neighbours. Old Tibo, of course, with Flash Gordon at his heels. Timbuktu. Salim. Sister Len-Len with her baby curled in the crook of her elbow like a kitten.
And Jabby. He followed the others slowly into the room, frowning as he spotted the luggage piled up on the floor.
‘It’s true, then,’ Old Tibo said.
Auntie glared at me.
‘I swear I didn’t tell anyone, Auntie!’ I stared guiltily at the crowd.
‘Then how did they find out?’ She clenched her fists in frustration.
‘I put two and two together,’ Timbuktu said, his arms akimbo, a smug expression on his face. ‘Your uncle wanted your jacket lined. In this climate? People only ever order suits when they’re about to go on an international flight.’
‘And, Nardo, there was an earthquake last night, after midnight,’ Old Tibo said. ‘Did you feel it?’
All their eyes turned to me, accusing.
‘The first one in three years; it woke the baby,’ Sister Len-Len added. Her baby made a meowing noise as if to
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