~
The next day I found the Idas in a chaos almost matching mine. Mama, groaning, swooning, was being supported through the living room when I arrived, Ronnie on one arm, and the middle brother, Ricky, on the other. Ronnie was stern, trying to keep a rein on things, shouting commands over his mother’s head. The pink mobile kept ringing. Ricky looked bewildered and glazed, but then he always did. He had only recently rejoined the family, having been surrendered as a baby to Mama’s mother, who at the time was not long a widow, and was considered to be in need of distracting company – so they gave him to her. Ricky had grown up in a remote Sumatran village, and no one had thought to tell him his real parentage until the death of the grandmother, a recent event. Although he was now living in the house, and getting on well enough with his new acquaintances, his brothers and sisters, he remained quiet, cautious, tentative. This seemed strange in someone built as solidly as Ricky, who was the only Indonesian body builder I ever saw.
Ronnie guided Ricky to a sofa, still shouting instructions. Ricky laid down his mother as if she were a doll. Mama turned toward the television, she reached for the remote. Then I saw Ronnie had been hailing Georgie.
‘Fancy meeting you here, m’laddie! I thought I’d come around and help, what with the wedding and all!’ Georgie looked sheepish, and her patter fell away.
Having dealt with Mama, and another incoming call from the florist, Ronnie consulted with Georgie. They had compiled a list of urgent things still to be done: the wedding was less than forty hours away, he said.
Reggie appeared at the side door, shook his head slowly, rolled his eyes, and disappeared.
I was given the task of writing place cards and sat at a small table near the surgery door. I found myself writing in time to a sobbing through the surgery wall. The Doctor had extended his hours, no doubt to help pay for the event, but also, perhaps, to avoid the chaos.
‘Makan, makan!’ croaked Mama from the sofa, waving a handkerchief across her face. A maid came running with an electric fan, aiming it at her. ‘We’ve been wondering where you were, Joe: makan!’
DJ and Aki appeared at the side door. Aki stayed in the corner, smoking, while DJ bounded upstairs, where Ronnie and Georgie were delegating the outstanding tasks.
‘Oh, why must she marry? Must she? Why?’ moaned Mama from her sofa, trying to twist her head to see me. ‘My poor Rini – gone. Eat, Joe, eat. Makan, makan! The goat dish is there. Your favourite. I made it just for you.’
Ricky stood looking down in quiet confusion at her, his massively muscled arms at the ready. He had only known this woman a matter of months.
‘Now, Joe has to be dressed and fitted out,’ I heard Ronnie saying to Georgie from the balcony above. ‘All the others are accounted for.’ He looked down at me. ‘Joe, come upstairs, your clothes have arrived back from the tailor. And I’ve got a new song. It’s about Chechnya. Have you heard what’s going on over there? It’s terrible, isn’t it, the way religion can divide some places? But it might have to wait until after the wedding.’
Aki watched me climb the stairs, eyes narrowed, a smile about her lips. ‘I’ve got a message for you,’ she murmured, stopping me on the stairs. She leaned forward and whispered.