Lola Lovely looked round the dining room with the mournful expression of someone visiting a landscape after a long time to find the places of her youth obliterated. ‘There were only ever friends and family in the house when I was here,’ she said. ‘Strangers don’t respect a place in the same way.’ She ran a finger over the side table, looked disappointed to find it clean. She rubbed her fingertips together anyway but didn’t inspect further. ‘We’d have the priest round for dinner regularly in those days. Ah, but it was Father Lucien then, a handsome Frenchman. Everyone asked him to dine.’ She stopped at the window, gazed out, perhaps seeing the garden as it might once have been. ‘Always in the sun, chut, that child!’ I peered past her but the garden was empty. Lola Lovely ran her hand over her cheek and I imagined her suddenly leaning out of the window calling down to where Mary Morelos, the schoolchild, sat alone playing jacks. America! Tell that child to play in the shade at least. I don’t want her getting dark.
She glanced round the room once more, at the bowl of glass fruit, the cutwork place mats, the glossy surface of the table. She frowned as she looked in my direction and I moved aside, so that she could complete her inspection. ‘Things have got a little tired over time,’ she said, ‘but do what you can. And put out the best china, Joseph.’ And with that she left, pulling her pañuelo round her shoulders as if she was cold and the thin silk might provide any warmth.
I polished the dining table again and checked that everything was straight and lined up. Lola Lovely wasn’t in the room – she’d gone to check on America – but the sensation of her scrutiny persisted. When I’d finished, the room looked no different so I was glad she’d seen me get to work, for she nodded, pleased, when she came in again. I doubted either Father Mulrooney or Pastor Levi would take in the state of the room; the dinner invitation was hardly a social one anyway, more to discuss what could be done to halt Eddie Casama’s scheme.
Lola Lovely, assured that all preparations would be carried out to her satisfaction, went to take her siesta and I found myself in the sala with Aunt Mary, who had managed to avoid her mother most of the morning. We sat together, in silence, Aunt Mary on the piano stool, me on the rug polishing the boys’ shoes. I liked these moments; there were fewer of them now. More often these days, Aunt Mary left me to maintain the house without her direction, closing the door of her study softly behind her.
The blinds had been lowered part-way and the windows of the sala thrown open. Through them came the fragrance of the jasmine that was in full flower, mingled with the scent of the hot street and, somewhere, faintly, an open gutter. The noise of the street felt close and intrusive but it was too hot to close the windows again.
Aunt Mary sat with her back to the keyboard, a pile of sheet music on her lap. The piano lid was open, but Aunt Mary hadn’t been playing. She frowned as she ran her hand over each sheet, as if the texture of the paper or the music it described might ignite some lost memory. The sheet music had been ordered and reordered countless times: alphabetically by composer, or categorised by style, genre, era. It was a kind of meditation for her. I’d never heard her play. I watched her out of the corner of my eye, saw her hands pause over the pile and then, without warning, she exclaimed, ‘Damn it, Joseph.’ Startled, I jumped to my feet, uncertain what I’d done wrong. She waved me down again, apologising. Then she marched into the hallway straight to the telephone. I heard her exclaim, ‘Constanza! Mary Morelos here. Oh! Connie, then. I was wondering if you and Edgar are free this evening. I know it’s very last minute.’
Dub and Benny, called by their mother, came down just as the doorbell rang at seven. They kidded around with each other as they walked down the stairs. They were uncomfortable to be dressed smartly, in shirts chosen by their mother that I’d pressed for them that afternoon. They stood awkwardly side by side in the sala, like acquaintances waiting to be introduced at a wedding.
Father Mulrooney and Pastor Levi were punctual. I was conscious of the slightest throb of disappointment as I opened the door to them, but only because I’d steeled myself for the arrival of Eddie Casama. Aunt Mary stood behind me as I opened the door, to direct the men into the sala. Father Mulrooney, less crumpled than usual, was wearing a shirt and slacks. I’d expected him to come in his robes. Perhaps Lola Lovely had too, for she said as he entered, ‘How fashions change, Padre.’ He smiled at her and she held her hand out as if expecting him to kiss it. He hesitated and then took her hand in his, bending his face only slightly towards it, an abbreviated but polite gesture. Lola Lovely held her hand out to Pastor Levi and said, ‘I’m sure I remember you as a boy. Why, nothing really changes.’
Mulrooney smiled again and Pastor Levi said, ‘I was born in Esperanza, ma’am.’
‘Of course you were,’ Lola Lovely said. ‘I probably knew your mother.’
Pastor Levi introduced his wife. Eveline didn’t possess the kind of effortless beauty that BabyLu had, or that Lola Lovely had once exulted in, but she’d taken some trouble for the evening. Her dress, long and plain in cut and the colour of an afternoon sky, flattered her. She’d applied a little colour to her face and, though it seemed obvious, inexpert somehow, the effect was agreeable, like a high-school teacher chaperoning at a prom. Lola Lovely’s eyes sparkled as she took her in and, beaming, she reached out and squeezed Eveline’s hand, pulling her gently towards the piano, where earlier I’d laid out a selection of drinks.
The priests turned to speak to Aunt Mary but only for a moment, for now Lola Lovely drew away the shawl that she’d draped over her cast so that Eveline exclaimed and the men turned to look. Mulrooney said, as Cesar had several days before, ‘I hope it’s nothing serious.’
Lola Lovely’s cast drew a nonchalant arc. ‘An inconvenience,’ she said serenely. I started towards the piano but she waved me away. She lifted a bottle of Johnny Walker Black Label, her cast dismissing Mulrooney’s mild objections without even turning to look at him. She poured the priests a tumbler each. Neither man’s protest was sustained. Lola Lovely poured slightly more modest glasses for herself and Eveline and then raised her eyebrows at her daughter. ‘Fizzy drink?’ she said.
Dub stepped forward, smiled disarmingly at his grandmother. ‘I’ll get ours,’ he said. Lola Lovely moved to the settee and sat down. She looked for a moment as if she might commandeer the centre of it, leaving the men with too few seats, doomed to stand, but then she sat on one side and patted the seat next to her for Benny to join her. He shot me a look as he sat down. Lola Lovely arranged herself with more than her usual care, her feet neatly turned like a dancer. I saw Benny glance down at her feet and wondered if he too saw the artificiality of it. I knew from America that Lola Lovely had never been a dancer, though after she started courting she took to affecting a certain gait and poise when walking or sitting. She was always pleased, America said, when later, in those circles, people often asked if she was, though she never quite confessed, admitting only to loving the ballet. I imagined Lola Lovely’s disappointment when her daughter, despite being sent to the most expensive dance academies, showed neither aptitude nor interest.
Aunt Mary left for the kitchen and it was while she was out of the room that the doorbell rang again. I expected her to come out into the hall as I opened the door to Eddie Casama and his wife but she did not. I showed them both into the sala. My eyes were drawn to Dub as I followed them in. Dub had got home late and, kept occupied by America in the kitchen as she doubled up on ingredients and grumbled good-naturedly about stretching the chicken, I hadn’t had a chance to warn him. I saw now how his easy manner wavered when Eddie’s eyes levelled with his and appraised him for longer than they might have. If the older man was troubled in his turn by Dub’s height, his beauty, he showed no sign.
By the time Aunt Mary returned, Connie had seated herself and I’d served both her and Eddie their drinks. I was surprised, knowing how old-fashioned Aunt Mary was about certain things, preferring to welcome invited guests herself. ‘I’m so glad you could make it,’ she said easily as she came in. She was unreadable as she shook first Eddie’s hand and then pressed her cheek to Connie’s.
‘Eddie rearranged a few things,’ Connie said.
‘I hope I haven’t caused you any trouble,’ Aunt Mary’s voice sounded sufficiently concerned but not apologetic.
‘We hardly see you,’ said Eddie, ‘or your boys,’ he smiled at Dub. ‘Joey Robello was saying only the other day how you hide yourself away.’ Aunt Mary showed no outward tremor at Eddie’s casual mention of Judge Robello.
Beside Eddie, his wife fiddled with her necklace. Connie Casama’s face was somewhat heavy-set with age, but she was nonetheless a handsome woman. She looked eagerly at Lola Lovely, at her cast, her face twitching into sudden concern as she said, ‘Does it hurt still?’
‘What beautiful pearls,’ Lola Lovely said emphatically. ‘Quite symmetrical.’
‘Eddie bought them for our anniversary last year,’ Connie cupped the beads in her palm, displaying them. ‘In Singapore.’
‘Of course, old pearls have an incomparable lustre,’ said Lola Lovely. She looked Connie over, smiling. ‘Would I know your mother?’ she added.
They sat down to dinner late, for Lola Lovely insisted on more drinks all round and made no move to get up from the settee. When they finally moved to the dining room, all eyes were on the platters steaming at the centre of the table. Pastor Levi patted his belly. ‘America’s a real artist,’ said Eveline, at the sight of the food. America had excelled herself, for she knew instinctively that her skill in the kitchen was her only weapon and, moreover, that it was only through Aunt Mary that she might get to wield it. As a result, the conversation foundered as people started to eat.
After a while Eddie said, ‘This was my favourite as a boy. But you couldn’t have known.’
Aunt Mary looked pleased. ‘America decided on the menu. I rarely need to instruct her.’
‘She’s been with our family for years,’ Lola Lovely said. ‘I remember the day I employed her. Skinny thing she was then.’
‘Fresh from the fields to the market to the kitchen,’ Mulrooney said, through a mouthful. ‘Not packaged in plastic in some mall.’
‘Progress has its price,’ Eddie said.
‘Progress is an interesting concept.’ Mulrooney leaned forward. ‘We only measure our progress in relation to our fellows.’
Eddie smiled down at his plate. ‘You’re a revolutionary through and through, Father. Surely even your ideals must at times be checked by pragmatism?’
‘That sounds so completely reasonable. You’re a politician, Eddie, more than a businessman.’ Levi said cheerfully, spearing a piece of fried fish.
‘I’m not an evil man,’ chuckled Eddie. I wondered if he enjoyed his reputation.
‘How handsome you’ve both grown,’ Connie said looking at Dub and Benny. ‘You might even be courting now, Dominic.’ Dub blushed lightly.
‘You must have your pick of the local girls,’ Eddie said and I saw how Dub struggled to look at him. ‘No one special?’ Dub opened his mouth to speak and then stopped, glanced at his mother, then up at me. I felt helpless. Aunt Mary looked puzzled and her gaze lingered over her son, before considering me briefly.
Connie laid her hand over her husband’s. ‘Filipino men are famous for playing the field, I guess. But there comes a time when a man has to choose,’ she said. Her husband smiled evenly and let his hand rest under hers, putting his fork down to pick up his glass.
Once again, Dub started to speak and faltered. I saw Benny look at his brother, assessing him with his artist’s eyes. For a moment, Aunt Mary looked alarmed and then her gaze swept the table and she turned to me and said briskly, ‘More rice, Joseph,’ though the bowl was still half full. And to Pastor Levi and Eveline, ‘I don’t believe you’ve tried the pork yet.’
I didn’t return straight away. America needed my help to turn a sponge while she iced it. I wasn’t gone for long, but when I returned the air seemed charged and Eddie was flushed. A space had been cleared on the table and Pastor Levi was drawing an imaginary Esperanza with his finger. ‘But that area must have at least a thousand households.’
‘At least,’ said Eveline. ‘Why, there are several storeys all along the river.’
‘You can’t just break up a community that’s been there for generations and expect there to be no consequences,’ said Pastor Levi.
‘There’s no place in business for sentimentality,’ said Eddie.
‘You can’t dismiss it as sentiment,’ Mulrooney said angrily. ‘These are real lives.’
‘We’ve considered a number of alternatives.’
‘What will be your sacrifice?’ Benny said suddenly. ‘You said everyone would stand to lose something. What will you lose?’ The room fell silent. Aunt Mary put her fork down carefully. ‘Boys,’ she started.
‘Am I answering to teenagers now?’ Eddie smiled. ‘Antonio wouldn’t dream of interrogating his elders.’
‘Nevertheless, it’s an interesting question,’ said Pastor Levi.
‘I’d certainly like to hear the answer,’ said Mulrooney.
‘I grew up in Greenhills,’ said Eddie quietly to Benny. ‘There’s no point clinging to a history. We can move with the times or be left behind. It’s a choice.’
‘Not for everyone,’ said Aunt Mary firmly. ‘Not everyone has a choice.’ She looked at Benny, a fleeting pride in her face.
‘This should be a discussion for adults,’ said Eddie, catching her expression, ‘For those who will actually be footing the bill.’
‘It depends on what you mean by footing the bill,’ said Eveline hotly. Pastor Levi reached out and squeezed her hand. I saw Mulrooney look at their hands on the table. I wondered if he ever thought about getting married himself. I imagined Jaynie next to him, their hands side by side, almost touching, looks exchanged as they leaned together during the conversation.
‘Let’s not ruin such magnificent food with an ideological debate,’ laughed Eddie.
‘It’s a worthy discussion for a good meal,’ said Mulrooney.
‘It’s not as if I’m on my own,’ said Eddie, ‘as if I’m the only interested party. The scheme will go ahead with or without me. I’m simply making the best of an opportunity.’ I’d never imagined Eddie as a small fish and I wasn’t quite ready to believe it, but the table fell silent again after he said it.
‘Wasn’t it your idea?’ said Aunt Mary, eventually.
‘Well, ideas can’t be owned,’ said Eddie, sitting back, his hands spread out, like a picture of Jesus at the last supper. ‘They take on a life of their own in no time.’
‘Nothing can really be owned,’ I said softly.
Startled, Eddie looked round at me and then started laughing. Lola Lovely straightened up in her chair and said, ‘Perhaps you’re needed in the kitchen, Joseph.’
‘What a household you have, Mary,’ Eddie said. ‘Full of youthful romanticism.’ He stared at Dub. Dub met his eye but looked away again quickly and then, suddenly, pushed himself back from the table and stalked out of the room. Immediately, Aunt Mary excused herself; as she followed him I moved forward to start clearing the empty platters away, my body blocking the view of the hallway. When I came out with the plates, I heard her say, ‘Don’t you dare leave. I want to talk to you.’
‘Sure,’ said Dub unhappily.
She gave him a long look. ‘This evening is important to me,’ she said. ‘If you can’t behave graciously, you may have your dessert in the kitchen, if America has room for you.’
Dub didn’t return to the table but slipped up to his room and closed the door. He didn’t answer when I took a plate of America’s sponge up to him and I brought it down with me again. A little later, I heard the front door close and the sound of a motorbike engine, but the voices in the dining room continued without pause and Aunt Mary didn’t emerge.
I was kept busy in the kitchen, brewing coffee and clearing up with America. Every now and then America and I paused in our work and glanced at each other when we heard the voices rise to a crescendo, but we couldn’t make out what was being said.
Eddie Casama and Connie left early. I read the disappointment in Aunt Mary’s face and understood that nothing had been resolved. She walked upstairs to Dub’s room and pushed the door open and when she came downstairs her mouth was a thin line. ‘Did he say where he might be heading?’ she asked me. I shook my head. And then she asked me what I knew, whether her son was seeing a woman, whether there was some connection with Edgar Casama. And, for the first time, I lied to her and knew that she saw it. She looked at me, through me, and then without another word she left the kitchen and retired to her study.