Amina’s and Sheryl’s families were both distraught and thankful when they got the news. They can finally have peace knowing what happened to their girls and that those involved will pay. Sugar and I will help all the families when the time is right to ensure a proper and respectful burial of Amina and Sheryl.
And John Dixon. This has been hard for me and more so for Sugar. This is a man who made a mistake at the start of his career, who allowed that mistake to cloud his professional judgement. Since that terrible beginning he has gone beyond the call of duty and helped many in countless communities. Sugar sat me down one evening and told me how hard it was back then to be a good cop amongst corrupt officers and have the resolve to say no, especially when you were a new officer. And Dixon had the integrity to give back the blood sample which will be key to this case. In the end Sugar went to see him and despite telling Dixon that the force needs him, he decided to resign. The police service won’t want a scandal so they will let him go quietly.
‘Done,’ Ronnie says with a gentle pat on my shoulder.
The women leave me alone so I can check the new me in the mirror. I grin at what I see. I run my fingers over my short, curly hair. Curly, never straight. In the mirror I don’t see Little Eva with her butchered and brutalised life. This Eva is laughing. Some curls are tight-tight-tight while others are zigzag loose, some bounce and some don’t move at all. That’s what I will learn about my hair, that it has as many emotions as I do. When I look at my reflection, at my curls now, I know exactly who I am.
I whisper to them, ‘Welcome back, my old friends.’
CHAPTER 50
A week later I face yet another new door in my life. This is the home of Dorothy Scott, who I have learned everyone calls Miss Dorothy out of respect for the forty years she worked as a dinner lady in the local primary school, and for the good works she does on behalf of her church. Eighty-one-year-old Miss Dorothy is a respected and much-loved member of her community.
Nervous doesn’t even begin to describe how I feel. I’m overwhelmed with so much emotion I’m not even sure I can really talk. I press the doorbell and wait.
Seconds later in the doorway stands a woman who uses her cane to keep her spine straight and tall. Maybe all those years it wasn’t Sugar who taught me to use my backbone but the genes of this woman. The revelation of her full face is a portrait of life. The crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes compete with the youthful gleam inside them. Grey strands of hair nest on her forehead, laughter has carved its permanent lines along her chin. This is a woman who likes to keep herself happy.
‘You look the spitting image of her,’ Miss Dorothy says, her chin nodding in approval. ‘I’ve been waiting to meet you for twenty-eight years.’
She leans her cane on the wall and opens her arms. And like we’ve known each other all my life I walk into the fierce embrace of my grandmother.
‘Would you like to see Hope’s room?’ Grandmother gently asks after treating me to the best Sunday lunch ever.
Rice cooked with coconut, macaroni pie and fried plantain. A green leaf dish she tells me is called callaloo. No meat. Hope’s mother’s religion requires that she refrain from the taste of animal flesh. She insisted that we eat before anything else. Or, as she put it, ‘Give praise to the Lord for all the goodness he grants us every day.’ We feast, swapping small slices of titbits about our lives. Wouldn’t the world be a great place if I could sit here with my grandmother drinking nutmeg-spiced homemade lemonade and simply talking forever. Sugar had sorted out all the arrangements for us to meet. Both Joe and Sugar had wanted to accompany me, but I decided I wanted to meet her alone.
Miss Dorothy’s hand beckons to me to help her to her feet. We go to Hope’s room. I gather my strength for what I’m about to see. Miss Dorothy’s frail fingers fold around the handle and pull open the door. We enter. And it’s not what I expect. The room’s as spartan as Ronnie’s. A bed, built-in wardrobe and bedside cabinet. And . . . Am I seeing right? I step closer. A row of hats on the wall. Four of them. Wide-brimmed fedoras. Red. Black. Royal blue. Emerald green.
‘I gave all her things away.’ I turn to Miss Dorothy. Her delicate fingers hold on to the bedside cabinet. ‘In my heart I knew my Hope wasn’t coming back. She wouldn’t want her things to remain here when they could improve the lives of others.’
She wobbles with the impact of the past. ‘But I couldn’t part with her hats. She loved those hats. Hope took most of them to university with her. But the last time she came back for the holidays I was surprised to see she brought all of them back with her. And when she left to go back to university she only took one with her.’ Her eyes cloud over. ‘I should’ve realised something was wrong when Hope left most of her hats here. I should have known she wasn’t going back to university.’