She was heading to the door when three sharp knocks sounded upon it.
“Ah,” Chinara said. “Let us find out the truth of the matter.”
She walked past Monifa and her daughter. She opened the door, and Abeo entered.
DEPTFORD
SOUTH-EAST LONDON
Leylo and Yasir occupied a flat overlooking Pepys Park in Deptford. It was not overly far from the Greenwich Foot Tunnel, which crossed beneath the Thames, joining forever those oddest of couples: the Isle of Dogs and the Royal Naval College. Leylo and Yasir had good access to Pepys Park itself, Deborah saw. It was open to all, unlike some green areas in London that were available only to those who could afford to hold a key to them. This park seemed quite simple, but as she got out of her car nearby, Deborah could see that it possessed picnic tables, paths, and benches, with a large green—sadly not green at the moment—for playing ball games. It was a pleasant place for reading a book, sunning oneself in a deck chair, or walking a dog, and its trees provided ample shade.
When she’d rung the couple, only Leylo was at home, but she was delighted to know that Deborah St. James was in the vicinity with a photograph to give them. Thus Deborah was knocking at Leylo’s door with a large wrapped package under her arm and her camera bag slung over her shoulder.
Leylo, she found, was an altered woman. In another century she would have been referred to as “positively blooming.” In the current century, she appeared to radiate good health and energy. She welcomed Deborah with a bright smile, saying, “Oh do, do come in. Would you like tea? I would offer you hot, I would, but it seems a bit extreme, yes? This tea is cool.”
Deborah told her she’d love a cool tea. She carried her package into the sitting room and found herself wondering where Leylo and her husband could possibly hang the portrait. For above the sofa, on the other walls, and placed upon tables was more African art than she’d seen in her life: paintings, masks, sculptures, stone carvings, baskets, statues, and framed textiles. On a nearby table, there was also a display case sharing space with a sword-wielding statue. Inside the case were curiosities, made of brass in various shapes from figures to abstract swirls and squiggles.
“Those are Yasir’s goldweights. He began collecting them as a boy.”
“What are they?” Deborah turned to see Leylo carrying a tray that held the promised tea along with a plate of digestives.
“They are for determining the weight of gold dust, for currency, before there were coins and paper notes.”
“They’re quite beautiful,” Deborah told her. “Especially the alligator. Or is it a crocodile? I never know the difference.”
Leylo set her tray on a glass-topped coffee table where a collection of catalogues lay open, most of them featuring various styles of bedroom furniture. Seeing Deborah’s gaze upon them, Leylo said with a shy smile, “Soon we shall have a new marriage, me and Yasir, yes. He wants a new bedroom to celebrate. Something, he says, that is not bonded with bad memories of suffering and pain.”
“That’s a wonderful idea,” Deborah said. “Your husband seems quite a thoughtful man.”
“My husband is very unlike many traditional husbands. I am lucky to have him.”
“And he’s lucky to have you as well,” Deborah said. “I expect he knows that.”
“You are married?”
“I am.”
“Your husband?”
“He’s a man I’ve loved since I was seven years old.”
“Goodness! You were children together?”
“I was a child. He wasn’t.”
“He is much older, then?”
“No, no. Well, eleven years, but without those years and what occurred during them, we both might be married to other people.”
“This is a story,” Leylo said as she handed Deborah the glass of tea. It was room temperature, not iced. It was quite refreshing, Deborah found, flavoured with lemon, an antidote to the heat.
“Far too long a story to tell at the moment,” Deborah said. “If I can say this . . . ? You look very well. The surgery was a success, then.”
Leylo nodded. “I’ve gone to be checked, and Dr. Weatherall says that soon enough Yasir and I will be able to think about children once again. You have children, yes?”
Deborah shook her head. “I’m afraid not.” She indicated the package she’d brought. “Would you like to see the photo I’ve brought you? I’m on a mission today, distributing them.”
“Oh, I would indeed, I would indeed, yes, yes.”