Authors: Alex Wheatle
Almyna took a cigarette from Cilbert’s packet, lit it with the lighter in Cilbert’s hand and blew her smoke above his head. “So, Cilby, isn’t it polite if ya offer me ah drink?”
“Yes, of course. Me forget meself. Come.”
Barging through the crowd, Cilbert led Almyna to the bar. “Two Coca-Cola wid ah liccle somet’ing, please.”
“Ah shame dem ’ave nuh rum,” Almyna grinned.
Clinking their glasses together, Cilbert toasted, “to Orange Valley an’ so many good yesterdays.”
Sipping her cocktail, Almyna placed her right hand on Cilbert’s shoulder. “Cilby, me waan to apologise fe me behaviour ’pon de ship. Me did hear dat yuh marry Hortense but to see yuh two togeder was ah shock fe me. But me still nah understan’ why Jenny strike me down. Mebbe she ’ave some kinda feeling toward yuh too.”
“Jenny? Nuh, Almyna. She jus’ very protective of her sister.”
“If yuh say so, Cilby. But she did ah look ’pon me like me an’ her are rivals.”
Cilbert shook his head.
“Cilby,” Almyna continued. “Yuh remember when we were fifteen years old when it was de night of Uncle Lloyd’s shelling match? All de family did crowd around de fire an’ me an’ yuh steal off to Walkers Wood. Yuh was very nervous, Cilby. An’ yuh kept looking behind yaself, fretting dat somebody ah follow we. Me cyan remember dat night like it was yesterday.”
Nodding, Cilbert recalled losing his virginity on that night.
“Dey say dat yuh never forget ya first time,” Almyna resumed. “An’ ya never forget ya first love.”
Looking into Almyna’s eyes, Cilbert realised the lasting pain he had caused by breaking up with her. Before him was no longer the confident, well dressed woman-about-town, but the innocent young country girl he had fallen in love with – cute liccle Almyna Simpson.
An hour later Cilbert escorted Almyna home to her place in Cricklewood. It was a semi-detached house complete with a garage in a tree-lined avenue. Cilbert guessed that Hubert and Almyna were the only blacks living in this street.
“Isn’t dis wha’ yuh dreamed of, Cilby?” teased Almyna. “Ah nice house in London wid ah front lawn? Isn’t dis wha’ yuh working for?”
“Yes, Almyna,” Cilbert nodded. “But me waan to buil’ somet’ing like dis back inna Jamaica.”
“Jamaica? Me would
never
go back der. Nuh, sa. Dis is how we should live.”
“Well, dat is me intention, Almyna.”
“Yuh waan to come inside so me cyan offer yuh ah drink fe de road? As de white people say.”
“Yes, me don’t see nuh harm in dat.”
Almyna led Cilbert inside and once she switched on the lights, Cilbert was mightily impressed by the flocked wallpaper, expensive furniture, mahogany coffee table, laced cushions and colourful rugs that he saw in the living room.
Before he sat on the sofa, Almyna took Cilbert’s wet coat and hat and hung them up in the hallway. Cilbert studied the glass ornaments that were sitting upon the mantelpiece over the coal-fire.
Almyna returned and lit the fire. She then walked over to a large radiogram that also doubled as a drinks cabinet in a corner. Taking out a bottle of Appleton’s rum and two glasses, she kicked off her shoes and joined Cilbert on the sofa.
“Where did yuh get dat?” Cilbert asked, thinking how Hortense had missed her overproof rum.
“Oh, Hubert has him contacts.”
Almyna half-filled the glasses, caught Cilbert with a sexy glance and took a sip. Her burgundy lipstick smudged the glass. Cilbert watched her, realising that to deny his attraction for Almyna was futile. He downed his drink in four takes and then took the glass out of Almyna’s hand and placed it on the floor with his own. They then made love in front of the coal fire upon a bear-skin rug.
Seven hours later, as Almyna slept upon the sofa, Cilbert felt a
weight of guilt on his mind. Without making a noise, he laced on his shoes, donned his hat and coat and slipped out to an overcast, damp morning.
He arrived home an hour and a half later and found Hortense asleep. He quickly undressed and climbed into bed. He felt too guilty to wrap his left arm around Hortense’s shoulders as he usually did and as he lay open-eyed, he asked himself silently again and again, “wha’ ’ave me done?”
Awoken by Cilbert’s presence, Hortense asked, “yuh rave ’til dis hour? When de lark sing inna de tree top? Wha’ kinda club is dat? Was you dancing? If der was any dancing den how could yuh go widout me?”
“Calm yaself, Hortense,” Cilbert said. “Der was nuh dancing. Jus’ ah band playing. Yuh woulda been mighty bored. Me could nuh get ah bus home so me stop at one ah Lester frien’ an’ coch meself der ’til bus ah run.”
“Me waan go dancing, Cilby. Promise yuh will find somewhere so me cyan dance.”
“Of course, Hortense. Nuh worry yaself.”
Leaning over, Cilbert kissed Hortense upon the back of her neck. His eyes still betrayed his guilt.
The following Saturday night, Lester arrived at Cilbert’s home ready for another night in the West End.
“Nuh, Lester. Not tonight,” Cilbert declined. “Me well tired an’ me ’ave ah liccle pain inna me brain.”
Lester called again the next weekend and Cilbert found it difficult to come up with another excuse. Waiting in the kitchen as Cilbert dressed, Lester spotted Jacob arriving through the front door.
“Good night, Lester,” Jacob greeted. “Yuh an’ Cilbert going out sporting?”
“Yes,” Lester answered. “Jenny not wid yuh tonight?”
“Nuh, she’s wid ah friend of hers,” Jacob replied. “It look like I’m eating alone dis night.”
“Why yuh don’t come wid us?” asked Lester. “We cyan eat somet’ing out der ’pon street an’ den tek in some cool jazz.”
Jacob thought about it. “Why not? It will be an experience.”
“It’ll be certainly dat,” grinned Lester.
Arriving at the Flamingo club at eight thirty in the evening, Cilbert, glancing anxiously around him, said, “Lester, is der an nex’ club we cyan go to? Jacob don’t smoke an’ being inside der might trouble him chest.”
“At every club der is smoke,” replied Lester. “An’ dis is de only one dat cater fe we.”
“I will be alright,” assured Jacob. “Don’t worry about me. I’m looking forward to it.”
They all entered the club with Cilbert looking this way and that. His worse fears were confirmed when he spotted Almyna chatting with two white women at the bar. She was wearing a yellow dress that was slit above the knee, revealing her lined stockings. Cilbert turned his back to her but Almyna had already seen him.
Walking over with a knowing smile rippling from her mouth, Almyna greeted Jacob first. “Nice to see ya once more, Jacob. Me never expected to see yuh here as yuh is ah mon of de Lord. Me guess is dat Cilby mus’ ah tell yuh about it. De Flamingo club’s reputation is sure growing.”
“Good night, Almyna,” Jacob smiled politely. “Is ya husband, Hubert here?”
“Nuh, he’s away. But de last time me come here Cilby did ah look after me. He was de perfect gentlemon. Him even escort me home.” Almyna then offered Cilbert a dazzling smile as Jacob regarded Cilbert with suspicion.
Grinning to mask his apprehension, Cilbert offered, “me will buy de first round. Jacob, Lester, Almyna, wha’ yuh drinking?”
Cilbert took the orders and went off to the bar, leaving Almyna addressing Jacob. “So how is Jenny?” she asked. “Has she learned to cool her temper? Me wonder why she lost it dat day ’pon de ship? If anybody was gwarn to strike me down me t’ought it woulda been Hortense. But don’t worry, Jacob. Dat is inna de past. Me already apologise to Cilbert fe me bahavior dat day an’ now we good friends again.
Very
good friends. We were so close when we were young.”
Embarrassed, Lester looked away and Jacob spotted a nervous Cilbert looking over, wondering what was being said. He quickly returned with the drinks.
Sipping her cocktail, Almyna remarked, “It’s good dat two people who born an’ grow togeder cyan rely ’pon each udder inna strange place. Dat kinda friendship cyan never bruk. It mek me sleep better at nighttime, y’know. Ah certain reassurance dat mek life easier inna strange land.”
His temper brewing, Cilbert took hold of Almyna’s arm and led her away to a corner. Jacob watched them arguing about something as Lester laughed.
Twenty minutes later, as the jazz band was jamming, Cilbert returned to Jacob’s side. Exasperation was written upon Cilbert’s face and sweat had dampened his temples. “Jacob, me ’ave to get out of dis place. Yuh stay here an’ enjoy de music. Me going home.”
Jacob watched Cilbert disappear and then Almyna stormed passed him, obviously upset. Jacob caught her arm. “Why don’t yuh jus’ leave him be? Cilbert’s ah mon who honours him marriage. Him don’t need yuh inna him life.”
“Tek ya hand offa me!” roared Almyna. “An’ keep ya mout’ quiet becah yuh don’t know not’ing! Instead of worrying about me yuh should worry about ya own wife an’ who she truly desire! Now leggo me hand before me start scream. Preacher mon nuh ’ave nuh aut’ority here!”
Wondering what Almyna meant, Jacob recalled the apprehension that Cilbert displayed on their way to the club. “Mebbe dem ’aving an affair,” he concluded.
“CILBERT!” screamed Almyna as she ran outside. “CILBERT!”
Aware of pedestrians looking at him, Cilbert turned around, saw the distressed figure of Almyna and walked back to her. Shaking his head, he said quietly. “Dis cyan never work, Almyna. De both of we married now. Me love Hortense now.”
“But yuh mek love to me two weeks ago! Didn’t dat mean not’ing to yuh? Yuh know how many times me come here hoping to see yuh? Yuh t’ink me enjoy dem American mon coming up to me an’ talking to me?”
Looking into Almyna’s eyes, Cilbert found them welling with tears. “Almyna, we ’ave to move on. As ah teenager me did love yuh fe true. Yes, sa! But me find Hortense an’ yuh find Hubert.”
“But yuh mek love to me still! Yuh did waan me an’ me know yuh still waan me. SAY dat yuh don’t!”
Recognising Almyna’s vulnerability and need for reassurance, Cilbert reached out his arm and took hold of Almyna’s left hand. “T’ings come to an end, Almyna. Me will never forget yuh. Ya right, nuhbody cyan forget dem first love. But jus’ as we both leave Jamaica to mek our way inna new land, de same way we ’ave to leave each udder, mek ah new start. Y’understan’? But saying dat, Jamaica will always be in me heart an’ me love it more dan me ever realise.”
Letting go of Almyna’s hand, Cilbert offered her a last broad smile before he turned, adjusted the hat on his head, placed his hands in his pockets and disappeared into the London night. Almyna’s head dropped as she returned to the club.
Reaching home just after midnight, Jacob undressed, kissed Jenny upon her forehead and slipped into bed.
“Yuh enjoy yaself, Jacob?”
“Yes,” Jacob answered. “De music was very good.”
“How dis club like?”
Jacob paused, still thinking of the Almyna and Cilbert situation.
“Somet’ing wrong, Jacob?”
“Nuh, Jenny. Well, yes. Me cyan’t lie to yuh.”
“Wha’ is it?” Jenny wanted to know.
“Me see Almyna tonight.
Don’t
tell Hortense.”
Jenny sat up, now fully awake. “Almyna?”
“Yes. Me sorry to say dis but me t’ink Almyna an’ Cilbert been ’aving an affair. But me t’ink Cilbert end it tonight. Promise me yuh won’t say not’ing.”
“Nuh, Jacob. Yuh t’ink me waan to see me sweet sister hurt?”
Returning to her sleeping position with her back facing Jacob, Jenny hissed, “dat red skin bitch! See me don’t cuss her backside when me set eyes ’pon her. Me will box her down again!”
Remembering what Almyna had said to him that perhaps Jenny had feelings for Cilbert, Jacob closed his eyes but his troubled mind denied him sleep.
Three weeks later, on a Friday evening, Hortense was ironing Cilbert’s shirts. Stretched out upon the bed was Cilbert, surrounded by unironed clothes. Barebacked, he was smoking a cigarette and tipping the ash in an ashtray upon his chest.
“So when are yuh gwarn to tek me out ’pon de town?” asked Hortense. “Since we reach London yuh don’t tek me out yet. Lester tek yuh to dis Flamingo club inna de West End an’ to shubeen inna Notting Hill. Me waan to check out dese places, Cilbert. Me waan to dance.”
“But de West End an’ Notting Hill are nuh place fe ah lady,” Cilbert warned. “Blue foot girl all over de place an’ dangerous people.”
“Cilbert Huggins!” Hortense reprimanded. “Me walk an’ talk wid people inna de most dangerous places of Trenchtown. Yuh t’ink any blue foot girl or bad-mon ever worry me?”
“Me tell yuh wha’,” compromised Cilbert. “Me hear about dese Caribbean nights dem hold inna de Town Hall der ah Brixton. Me will tek yuh der. It’ll be safe fe yuh. Me jus’ don’t waan to tek yuh somewhere inna town where de white mon fling some dutty words inna ya direction. Y’understan’?”
“Me suppose so,” nodded Hortense. “But me cyan fling bad word too. Yuh t’ink dem scare me?”
The next Thursday after he had finished work, Cilbert bought Hortense a new turquoise-coloured dress and a pair of white shoes. “T’ank yuh, Cilby,” said Hortense, holding the dress in front of her while looking into her bedroom mirror, “de first lady of de dance is reborn!”
The following Saturday evening, Hortense proudly wore her new outfit to the dance at Brixton Town Hall.
Hearing the jolting bassline as she approached the venue, Hortense smiled, “but, Cilby! Yuh never tell me dat dey ’ave
sound system here.”
“Yes, de Mighty Count Suckle,” Cilbert grinned. “Nuh way as heavy as de Trojan or Downbeat but it sound sweet to me ears.”
The hall was packed with West Indians and once Hortense downed a shot of Jamaican rum, mixed with coke, she happily danced to the sounds of Laurel Aitken, Strangejah Cole, Alton Ellis and Prince Buster. Feeling elated that there was a corner of the Caribbean to cling onto in Brixton, Hortense sang along to every tune she knew and even jived alongside Trinadadians when Count Suckle played calypso tunes from the likes of Lord Marvellous, King Sporty, Duke Invincible and the Earl of Pleasure.
Curried goat and other West Indian dishes were served from a hatchway in a wall. Red Stripe beer was flowing. Flags of Caribbean islands were hanging from the ceiling as Count Suckle’s homemade speaker boxes, the size of wardrobes, boomed out the music. Everybody was dancing with a free abandon, shedding their fears and trepidations of starting new lives in a foreign land.