Night shift is going particularly slowly tonight and I had a lot of time to write. So here's another missing scene, just because. Realism time! I've written Mumbai as I remember it from the last time I was there, but that was way back in 2007 before the Mumbai bombings so things may be a little different now. Also my German is a little rusty so if the grammar isn't perfect please forgive me; it's my third language so sometimes the word order gets a little confused in my head.
And there's gonna be someone you should recognise in this chapter too, in fact two someones. Many hugs and love to the people who have reviewed already, you guys are amazing!
Content Warning: significantly less dark than the previous chapter but still not all that happy. Grief, recovery, domestic tension.
Another letter addressed to Marceline arrived from the prison service that morning. Simon scowled and tucked it clumsily into the pocket of his cardigan like he always did, hidden from curious young eyes. He'd read it later and probably make himself so mad he'd wish for a punch bag, anything to work his empty rage out on. But it would have to be later. Marcy was waiting for her breakfast and he didn't have time to be furious when there was a small mouth to feed.
With long practice he ignored the aching pain in his hands when he grasped the milk carton and slopped some clumsily onto her cereal before he went to knock on her bedroom door. She was already awake, like always, just lying in bed waiting for him.
"Good morning my little sunbeam, your breakfast is ready." Simon smiled to her. Marcy smiled back but made no move to get out of bed. He sighed internally; looked like today was going to be one of her frequent bad days. "Marcy? Come on darling, you gotta get up."
She just shook her head and hugged her teddy bear tighter. A really bad day, then.
"Hambo, why doesn't Marcy wanna get up? Isn't she hungry?" he asked the bear instead. The first few times Simon had felt stupid talking to his niece's teddy bear, but he'd gotten over that pretty quickly when it became obvious it was the only way she'd communicate with him when she was upset.
"She had a really scary dream and she's too afraid." Marcy whispered back in Hambo's voice.
"Oh darling, why didn't you come wake me? I promise I'll never ever be mad if you wake me in the night. Do you wanna hug?"
She just stared at him with big hurt eyes and it was so hard to keep the frustration out of his voice.
"Hambo, does Marcy wanna hug?"
The teddy bear nodded and Simon perched on the side of her bed, letting her sit up and slide her small arms around his neck in her own time. He was very careful not to put too much pressure on her back when he hugged her, her latest round of surgery had only been a month ago and she was still nervous of being touched. One of her grafts had got infected and been terribly painful until they'd managed to convince her to take her antibiotics.
"Uncle Simon, what's heaven like?" she whispered in his ear, almost too quietly for him to hear. It was their ritual when she woke from a nightmare about her mother and brother. They talked about heaven and how much fun it must be.
"Heaven's the best, darling! The streets are made from chocolate and it rains marshmallows! And instead of stairs they've got slides and water parks and everyone has a pet unicorn. There are very kind angels there too who help people who are scared or sad, they make them feel all better."
"Like Marshall."
"Yeah, like your brother. He was probably scared and sad when he first went to heaven but I bet he's really happy now. He's probably looking down at you and wishing he could send an angel to earth to make you happy, too. Do you know something?"
"Yeah. People we love don't really go away when they die, they always stay in our hearts." she mumbled back. He'd told her it so often over the last year that she could have recited it in her sleep.
"That's right, darling. Now, I was gonna save this until after breakfast but I think my special little sunbeam would like to see it now. I've got a surprise for you, darling. Do you wanna read something for me?"
He pulled something out of his pocket and it wasn't the letter from the prison, it was something a million times better. The anniversary of their family's death was coming up and Simon just couldn't bear to be home for it. No, he was taking his niece away someplace they could lose themselves for a while.
"What does that word say right there, darling? Spell it out."
"I-n-d-i-a. What's that mean, Uncle Simon?" she asked him with big eyes. She was holding the plane tickets carefully, like they were something magical. Marcy had never been on a plane before and so far as he could tell she'd never had a proper holiday anywhere; Hunson wouldn't have left the business for so much as a weekend away and the thought of his sister being allowed to take the children anywhere alone was just laughable. So he'd negotiated with the university, argued that it was important for his niece's recovery, and they'd granted him a month's sabbatical. He'd booked the tickets that same afternoon while Marcy had been in one of her regular therapy sessions.
"It's a country, darling. A country full of people who look a lot like you, it's where your biological grandmother came from. And we're gonna go on the plane there, tomorrow. We're gonna pack a bag and go away, just you and me and Hambo. I've got such a fun trip planned for us! We're gonna go on the trains overnight, and we're gonna go see all the beautiful palaces and explore ruins and have adventures. Do you wanna come to India with your old uncle and have an adventure? There'll be monkeys and elephants and special pistachio ice cream."
Marcy was grinning now, whatever horrors her sleeping mind had tormented her with were completely forgotten in her excitement. Simon vowed to himself there and then that he was going to take her all over the world, take her to see every possible thing he could. Because his little sunbeam deserved to see the whole world and he'd have done literally anything if it would make her smile.
...
"Simon, it's too hot here. Hambo doesn't like it; it makes his poorly skin feel itchy."
He hadn't thought of that, cursed himself for a fool because of course it was hot, it was India, and Marcy was so sensitive to the heat. For a moment Simon panicked, but then his brilliant mind kicked in with an observation; Betty was sensitive to the heat too, remember? If she forgot her thyroxin she couldn't go out at all without her parasol.
Parasol, of course! Betty had been a redhead, she'd burned easily and because of her thyroid condition she couldn't handle the heat so well. So instead of a sunhat she'd used a parasol and fan when they'd travelled.
"We'll stay in the hotel with the air conditioning on for today darling, and when it's dark and cool we'll go out then. There's something I'm gonna get for you to make it better, ok?"
She nodded and let him take her hand, lead her back inside their palatial hotel and back up to their suite. They spent the afternoon watching old Bollywood movies on the huge TV and trying a dizzying array of exotic foods Simon ordered from the kitchen, things Marcy had never even heard of before but instantly loved. She was especially taken with mango lassi and dal fry. By the end of the afternoon her face was crusted with bits of dried lentil paste and every surface in the lounge was covered in empty lassi glasses.
As the sun began to sink behind the horizon Simon picked up their hotel phone and dialled a number from memory; one of his old friends that he knew was in the city on an extended placement with the university. The line dialled out for a long time but eventually a weak voice answered.
"Hello?"
"Daniel? You old fruit, you're still around!"
"Simon! Well this is a lovely surprise. I won't lie, I heard terrible rumours."
"And all of them true I'm afraid. I have a favour to ask. Do you remember Betty's luggage?"
His friend laughed down the crackly line.
"Remember? I still have her hot weather gear in the back of my office! Oh that woman knew how to travel in style, Simon! I was so sorry to hear about the fire, so sorry my old friend."
"I'd rather not speak of it, if that's all the same. But you still have her parasol?"
"Of course, I understand completely. Yes, I'm looking at it right now."
"Can you bring it and meet me by the Gateway at eight? There's someone I'd like to introduce you to."
"Of course. I'll see you there at eight, will we go to dinner? Leopold's or the Taj Palace?"
"Dinner sounds wonderful. We'll let my travelling companion decide on the restaurant, she's quite the young gourmet." Simon replied with a fond smile across to where Marcy was blowing bubbles through her straw into her lassi glass. She grinned back and a half dry lentil fell from her cheek onto the floor as he hung up the line.
Simon was glad Daniel was still around; they'd known each other a long time and it was surprisingly good to be back to travelling, meeting his contacts. Since the fire Simon had been on light duties only, he'd not even thought about going on any extended digs or site visits because Marcy had needed to be so close to the hospital all the time. But she was so much better now, talking again and no longer in constant pain. Perhaps she'd like to come travelling as his assistant.
"Uncle Simon, who were you talking to?"
"An old friend, darling. We're gonna go meet him for dinner tonight, he's got something for you." Simon replied soothingly. "So what did I miss in the movie?"
"Oh! They made the monkey statue mad and now he came to life and he's going to fight the demon king!"
"The monkey god is called Hanuman, darling."
They finished the end of the movie with Simon narrating the abridged version of the Ramayana epic to her and then made their way from the hotel down to the glitzy waterfront in downtown Mumbai through the thick crowds and balmy evening air. Marcy clung tight to Simon's hand, staring around at all the brightly dressed people and unfamiliar sights. Everything was so colourful, and there was just so much everything. So many new sights and noises and smells. The night was alive with movement and sound and energy; it was almost overwhelming. But it was exciting too, and as long as she had her uncle by her side little Marcy felt brave. As they wove through the crowds Marcy felt herself smiling; there were other kids with shiny black hair just like hers and darker skin than Simon or her Daddy had, kids who looked more like her and how her Mum had looked. Of course she'd seen people who looked like her in London too but never so many all at once. And sometimes when she went places with Simon she felt curious eyes on her. Sometimes she knew that people were wondering why she looked so different from him, why she was a different colour and had a different kind of hair. But here it was Simon that people looked at from the corners of their eyes; it was a strange but nice feeling not to feel a little out of place. They finally stopped in front of a huge archway made of carved white stone that looked a lot like the Marble Arch at home in London. Marcy gazed up at it, amazed. Close up it was so tall it made her a little dizzy to look at the top.
"This is called the Gateway of India, darling. It was built in the early twentieth century to commemorate King George V coming to visit." Simon told her when he saw how she was staring up at it.
"It's really big."
"It sure is, darling. The king thought he was very important."
Marcy nodded thoughtfully and continued to stare up at the monument but Simon looked around at a voice calling his name. There was Daniel, puffing towards them through the crowds and looking just as eccentric as ever.
"Simon! There you are old man! I was beginning to think I'd missed you."
"Daniel." Simon smiled, grasping his hand as tightly as his scars would allow.
"Oh Simon, your hands!" Daniel gasped, looking down.
"Just scars, they're healed now. Not important." Simon replied, brushing him off carefully. Marcy was watching him intently; perhaps if her uncle had known that she was learning from watching him how to explain her scarring to people he might have been a little less casual in downplaying his injury.
"And who is your friend?" Daniel asked, smiling down at Marcy. She slid a little further behind Simon shyly and grabbed his hand again.
"I'm Marceline." she mumbled quietly when the tall man crouched down to her level. He was dressed in a light linen suit and had floppy dark grey hair held back from his kind eyes with a thin headband. Marcy thought his face was very pink but it was probably just sunburn.
"Very nice to meet you, Marceline. I'm Dr O'Bracker, but you can call me Daniel."
She giggled a little.
"Your name is funny. It sounds like Abracadabra."
"It sure does. Because, abracadabra! Magic, I brought you a parasol."
He pulled it out from behind his back with a grin and Simon suffered an unexpected stab of grief at the sight of it. The last time he'd seen that parasol Betty had been packing it into a trunk in Daniel's office and telling him they'd be back for it in the winter season. But she'd never come back, it was the last place they'd ever travelled together.
"Oh, it's so pretty!" Marcy gasped, accepting it carefully like she was handling a baby bird. And it was pretty, all lilac silk and fine embroidery. Simon had bought it in a winding bazaar in Morocco for his new wife on their honeymoon; it had been all over the world with them and Betty would have wanted Marceline to have it. He wiped the traitorous tear from the corner of his eye while his friend and niece were busy exclaiming over the parasol.
"Marcy, darling, you see that big palace over there?" Simon asked instead, pointing behind them to the huge glittering Taj Mahal Palace Hotel across the street, all lit up like a fairy tale. "Do you wanna go and have dinner there, like a princess?"
She nodded, eyes wide, and after a whole year of living with Simon it was second nature to her to hold her hand up for him to take while they crossed the street with her beautiful new parasol folded carefully across her other arm. Simon shared a wan smile with Daniel over her small head; he was so glad they'd come back to India.
...
"Hallo. Mein Name ist James."
Bonnie looked up from her book to find that a bigger boy had flopped down on the grass of the school field next to her and was peering curiously at her with a friendly smile.
"Um, Hallo James. Ich bin Bonnie." she replied carefully. Bigger boys coming to talk to her wasn't something she was used to and it made her a little nervous.
"Otto sagte, du Englisch sind." the boy continued, nodding to her book. It was Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, the English version because sometimes she just got a bit homesick and wanted to read something without having to look up the occasional harder word.
"Ja, ich bin Englisch." she agreed with a nod.
"Cool! I talk English!" the boy told her, grinning. "Meine Mutti is from England and she teached me!"
"Taught." Bonnie corrected him. "Would you like some candy?"
"Danke." he smiled shyly, accepting a sticky handful from the bag of Gummibärchen she handed him.
And that was how Bonnie made her first really close friend in Germany. James was a year older than her but he often asked her for help with his classes, especially science and math. And he was funny and energetic and he didn't think she was weird for reading so much, in fact he thought it was amazing and he wanted to borrow her books and try to work out the English words. He didn't even say anything mean about Neddy when he came over to their house and all her brother wanted to do was try to stand upside down in the corner and then draw picture after picture of cats. He drew a ginger cat and gave it to James before the older boy went home, eyes downcast and gurgling anxiously as he handed it over.
"Thank you. I will put it in my Schlafzimmer." James told him.
"That means bedroom, Neddy." Bonnie translated for him. Ned gurgled and sat down on the floor, losing interest in them both completely when he noticed he wasn't wearing socks and he could wiggle his toes like little pink jelly beans.
But the best thing about James was his mother. She was an older woman, maybe ten years older than Bonnie's own mother, and she loved to read and discuss books with her son's smart English friend. And she had lovely dark brown eyes and a smile that was prettier than anything Bonnie had ever seen. The little girl was only eight years old, she had no idea what the word 'crush' even meant. But she definitely had one.
...
Sometimes when she couldn't sleep Bonnie liked to sit behind the curtain in the little window seat by her parents' bedroom and listen to them talk while she read her books. And that night she couldn't sleep because when she'd come home from James' house after having dinner with his family his beautiful mother had kissed her on the cheek and now her whole head was spinning.
"Neddy's teachers are very impressed with his art. They said he might have a real gift." her mother started.
"Mhm."
"And he's settling in really well. He drew me a picture of Frau Benz."
"Uhuh."
"Thomas, are you even listening to me?"
"For God's sakes, yes, the kid likes to bloody draw. Tell me something I didn't already know."
"Do you even mean that? Or are you just being a sarcastic prick like usual? Fine, something you didn't know? I think our Bonnibel had a crush on her friend James' mother."
"Now you're just being ridiculous, Sandra. She's eight years old! And her best friend is a boy; no doubt they'll be having inappropriate teenage groping the moment our backs are turned long before she's legally old enough to give consent."
Bonnie frowned. She didn't like the tone of voice her father was using to talk about her, even if she didn't really understand what he was saying.
"Or possibly she's not completely straight. Do you even know the statistics? One in ten people are gay. Have you got any idea how hard it must be for her growing up different when everyone expects her to be one thing and she identifies as another?"
"Sandra, she's eight. Her sexual preference is Sesame Street and gummy bears! What kind of expectations could anyone even be putting on her at that age?"
"Oh I don't know, maybe assuming that she'll grow up to get inappropriately groped by every male friend she has?"
"Not a reflection on our daughter, just on the libidos of teenage boys. Speaking of libidos-"
"I swear to God, Thomas, if you don't get your hand off my breast right now I am going to go sleep in the lounge."
Bonnie held her breath in fear a moment later when she heard her father slouch across the hall to the bathroom and close the door, muttering angrily under his breath to himself. She didn't want to be discovered out of bed and listening to their conversation. A moment later she heard the shower turn on.
"I hope you block the drains, you prick." her mother muttered from the bedroom. Then she switched the bedroom light off and the hall was plunged into darkness, too.
Bonnie would have crept back to her own bedroom but she would have to go past the door to the bathroom to do that and her Dad was taking ages in the shower. So instead she slipped noiselessly into the bedroom next door to her parents' room.
"Hey Neddy." she said quietly, sliding into his bed with him and hugging him when he sleepily gurgled at her. "Mum and Dad had a fight again and Dad's in the shower. Can I come sleep in here?"
He'd already wound his hands into her hair and was snuggling up against her. Bonnie knew instinctively that things weren't right with her parents, hadn't been right since her brother was three years old and the doctors confirmed what they'd known all along; Neddy was autistic and he probably wouldn't ever learn to speak or anything. He hadn't been properly toilet trained until he was six and the only things he ever wanted to do were experimenting with what his body could do and drawing things. So he did handstands and wiggled his toes and drew the same things over and over; cats and loaves of bread and sailboats and one memorable time hundreds of penises when he'd discovered that he looked different from his female relatives with his clothes off. And their father worked longer and longer hours and their mother never smiled when he came home anymore. Then one night he'd turned up much later than usual smelling like beer and they'd stayed up until very late yelling at each other while Bonnie hugged Neddy in his bedroom and tried to calm his tantrum because he hated the noise. After that her father had announced he'd gotten a new job and they were moving to Germany for a better life. Bonnie liked Germany better than England though, everyone was nicer and her father was away more than ever so her mother seemed happier. Bonnie drifted off to sleep feeling calmer than she had all evening. She always felt better when she was with her brother.
"Bonnie! Bonnibel! Where are you? Oh Jesus, Thomas, call the police! Her bed's empty, she's gone!"
It was her mother's terrified yell that woke her the next morning. After a few minutes of frowning at the ceiling trying to work out what was happening she came stumbling out of Neddy's room confused and rubbing her eyes.
"I'm here, Mum."
Her mother turned and immediately swept her into a tight hug with a cry.
"Ja, meine Tochter, sie ist acht Jahre alt. Oh! Macht nichts, sie ist hier! Es war ein falscher Alarm. Ja, es tut mir leid."
Her father hung up the phone and turned to her with a scowl on his face.
"Where the hell were you? Bon, we were scared someone had taken you! Never run off in the night like that again!"
"I just went to Neddy's room last night because I couldn't sleep." she told him, lower lip trembling dangerously because she hated getting yelled at.
"We were so worried! You can't just go wandering around at night!" he continued in a loud, angry voice.
"Thomas, stop it, you're upsetting her. She didn't do it deliberately." her mother cut in with a scowl, hugging Bonnie tighter to herself.
"I'm sorry, Dad." Bonnie whispered around the tears that were beginning to brim in her eyes.
"Hey, come on now, don't cry." he relented, bending down and throwing his arms wide. She came stumbling towards him and he hugged her tightly too. "Shhh, sweetie don't cry, I just got angry because I was scared. I didn't want anything bad to have happened to you, because I love you. Ok? So how about we have breakfast and you and me can go to the park. Does that sound fun? We can see if James wants to come too, and let your Mum get on with the housework in peace."
Mum was scowling at her Dad but Bonnie nodded anyway, she didn't want to be in the house if they were going to fight again. And James would probably want to come to the park and they could play football and make daisy chains and she'd see if Dad would buy some gummy bears to bring home and share with Neddy. He carried her downstairs and into the kitchen to make breakfast, leaving her mother to comfort a wailing Neddy because all the yelling had upset him again. If she'd been just a little older Bonnie would have stayed and helped her mother, but she was just eight years old and she had no idea why going to the park with her Dad was less about her having fun and more about her parents' marriage slowly crumbling.
