and the three of them squatted outside her door on the concrete, heads bent together, chatting in Cantonese like noisy sparrows. From her open doorway Chinese pinkle-ponkle music issued softly.
Two fair heads, one dark smooth one. Ah Heng, feeling Fleur’s stillness, looked up and in that fleeting unguarded moment Fleur saw the bleakness in the amah’s flat, impassive face. The two women stared at each other, accepting an ending where nothing in either of their lives could ever be the same again. No contentment so taken for granted; no happiness so whole.
In lives at each end of a cultural divide, they would, Fleur knew, remember in quiet moments their innocent rivalry for the twins’ love. Here in a house that had been filled with the cheerful life of Master and husband; a place the three of them had experienced together the thrill and joy of the twins, the flourishing of small lives.
‘Time, Missie?’ Ah Heng broke the silence.
‘Yes, Ah Heng. The car’s coming up the road. Saffie, Nikki, come on, time to go.’
The twins looked up but hung on to Ah Heng. Their mother had an unnerving listlessness, a restless preoccupation with something that lay beyond them. It was as if she could no longer see them, as if they had suddenly become frighteningly invisible.
Ah Heng gathered their bags and led them firmly up the steps past Fleur, through the kitchen to their bathroom where she made them use the loo and washed their hands and faces one last time. She checked that the small jumpers she had bought them were still in their cases. Missie had a habit of changing over the clothes she bought the twins from Chinatown. She led them down the front stairs to the open front door where the black official car was crouched, waiting for them.
Mohammed, the driver, had stowed their luggage in the boot. Fergus stood beside Fleur. He was watching the twins with Ah Heng. The children seemed passive, too devoid of emotion. Had Fleur given them something?
Ah Heng let go of the children’s hands and moved towards Fleur. ‘Missie take care. Missie have chil’ren think about. If Missie no come back to hand house over to army men, Missie write me all news of babies, please.’
She held out both hands and Fleur took them, clasping them tight, and tears sprang up between the two women.
‘I have to come back, Ah Heng. There is an army memorial service for Master…’ She hesitated. ‘I will leave the babies in England…I think it is best…I don’t want them to have to say goodbye to you twice…and…’
Ah Heng nodded. ‘Yes, Missie. I stay here. I clean house. I wait till you return. I help you hand over to army men…’ She pulled her hands gently from Fleur’s.
Fleur whispered, ‘Ah Heng, you must look after yourself. I know the High Commission want you back. You must leave when they need you…’ Her voice broke. ‘Ah Heng, thank you, thank you for everything…’
‘Missie go…’ Ah Heng turned away in misery and bent to the twins and held them hard as Fergus gently pushed Fleur into the back of the car. Ah Heng hugged them tight to her and closed her eyes to breathe in their skin. She placed her small, flat nose to their cheeks, took a huge breath, so that they were with her always, clear as their laughter, the childish smell of them. Her babies captured forever, not only in the photographs she would display in her next job, but hidden inside her always.
Fergus went round the car, picked the twins up quickly and placed them in the back of the car with Fleur. Then he went to sit by the driver. ‘Drive, Mohammed. Drive away quickly.’
Mohammed started the car. Ah Heng stood like a statue, hands clasped to her cheeks, when suddenly the rear door of the car was thrown open and the twins leapt out screaming like small banshees. They rushed at Ah Heng, threw themselves at her, clutching her black baggy trousers, hanging on to her legs.
‘No…Heng…Heng…No…Heng…You come too…You come…’
Ah Heng folded to the ground in a fluid movement, holding them to her, and her tears spurted, cascaded down her face, soaking the heads of the children.
‘Shit.’ Fergus leapt out of the car, followed by Mohammed. ‘We should have left five minutes ago.’
They tried to tear the twins from Ah Heng but they kicked and screamed hysterically. In the car Fleur sat immobile, staring straight ahead. She could not take any more.
‘You…’ Mohammed suddenly commanded the amah. ‘You come airport with English babies…You calm…You tell babies must be good for English Missie or their dada not pleased. Come! You come, please, or I not get to airport in time.’
‘It’s a good idea,’ Fergus said quickly. ‘Would you mind, Ah Heng? We’ll see you home again…We must leave now.’
Ah Heng glanced in the car at Fleur’s blank white face. ‘I come. I lock up quick.’
In the car Ah Heng wiped the twins’ faces. They had stopped crying and she put her arms around them and whispered to them in Cantonese, admonishing them softly. ‘You’re big girls. No more crying. Look at Mama. She’s very brave, yes? Well, twins too must be brave, take care of Mama for Ah Heng. Who takes care of Mama, if you do not?
‘Ah Heng wants letters to say you are being good girls, then Heng will know you are very grown-up children and Heng will be very happy you are no trouble for Mama. This is what your dada would want…and who knows? Ah Heng’s brother might come to England, and bring Ah Heng to work in cousin’s Cantonese restaurant…Who knows, twins might come back to Singapore one day to see Heng. Heng is always here. Ah Heng will send Mama her new address. No more now. No more crying or Heng will get cross. England is a very good place. You will be very, very happy with your grandparents in the big English house…You’ll see. You listening to Ah Heng?’
‘Yes,’ Nikki said.
‘Yes,’ Saffie said, putting her thumb in her mouth.
Ah Heng took it out again. ‘You too big girl for that. You no do. I tell you…crooked teeth…’ And she held them close and rocked them to her as the car purred along.
In the mirror Fergus saw that Fleur was still looking blankly out of the window. She was leaving all the comforting to her amah. She did not look, touch or reassure the twins. She did not feign cheerfulness or bravery. Fergus felt unease. Those little girls had just lost a father who idolised them. The life they were leaving was all they had ever known. Had Fleur even acknowledged her children’s loss? Or was she only capable of feeling her own?
If I long to comfort my godchildren, how is it Fleur can bear not to?
The coffin was waiting. The RAF plane to Brize Norton had already loaded its normal passengers. A small contingent of top brass and David’s squadron were waiting to march David to the plane, on his last journey home.
Ah Heng handed the twins out of the car to Fleur, who took their hands like a robot. The twins turned once to blow Ah Heng a kiss with their hands, their lower lips wobbling, and then they turned back and walked towards the coffin, which was being slow-marched to a Scottish lament to the rear of the plane.
Fleur, Saffie and Nikki all shivered in the heat. Like a sleepwalker, Fleur shook hands and accepted the words of condolence and comfort said all over again. Fergus hugged her briefly and painfully and for a moment Fleur clung to him.
‘I wish you could come to the funeral.’
‘So do I, Fleur. But we’ll all give David a wonderful memorial service when you come back.’ There was a big exercise coming up in Malaya and it was impossible for Fergus to leave now. He was doing David’s job as well as his own and one of the squadron pilots was still in hospital. ‘Take care. I’ll see you in two or three weeks.’ He shook her gently. ‘The twins need you…You’ll have help keeping them occupied on the plane. I’ll ring Laura and Peter when I get back to the mess to say the flight has just left.’
‘Thank you,’ Fleur said dully.
Fergus suddenly wanted to shake her, wanted to say, This