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he has wasted his life because of her.
    In a month from now Alicia would leave for the Conservatoire. She would be a full-time boarder. Myrtle paused, staring out at the bright afternoon garden. That would leave Frieda, she thought.
    The shadow , she wrote, whom no one notices!

3
    T HE WAR ENDED. I N SPITE OF ALL the predictions, Japan had not invaded. The enemy, it seemed, was within. The writing on the wall was no longer possible to ignore. A hundred and fifty years of British Rule, guided by Lord Soulbury, drew to a close and the island became a self-governing dominion. One day it would no longer be called Ceylon. A few days before independence was announced Aloysius was offered early retirement.
    ‘They want me out of the way,’ he told Grace, avoiding her eye.
    Ostensibly his retirement was due to his ill health. Privately, all of them knew it was a different matter. His drink problem had never gone away, his liver was failing, his eyesight poor. On his last day he came home early.
    ‘Well, that’s that,’ he announced. ‘The end of my working life!’
    There were several vans with loudspeakers parked outside on the streets delivering party political broadcasts.
    ‘Of course I drink too much,’ Aloysius shouted above the racket, glaring at the servant who handed him a drink. ‘Butthey kicked me out for a different reason.’ He was more subdued than Grace had seen him for a long time. The servants closed the shutters to muffle the noise.
    ‘I’m a Tamil,’ Aloysius said, to no one in particular. His voice was expressionless. ‘That’s not going to change, is it? They can give their damn job to one of their own, I don’t much care any more.’ He was beginning to sound cornered. ‘The old ways are finished. These fellows have no need for courtesy. Or good manners. Life as we have known it will shrink. We’ve been sucked dry like a mango stone!’
    Discarded, thought Grace. That’s how we’ll be.
    ‘I shall breed Persian cats,’ declared Aloysius.
    He looked with distaste at the cloudy liquid in his glass.
    ‘I’ve forgotten what decent whisky tastes like,’ he muttered.
    Christopher, standing in the doorway, looked at both his parents in amazement. Why did his mother remain silent, why couldn’t she stop his drinking?
    ‘Hah!’ Aloysius continued, grimacing as he drank. ‘The Sinhalese have been waiting years for this. Well, let’s see what happens, now they’ve got the upper hand.’
    He’s like a worn-out gramophone, thought Grace wearily. In all the years of their marriage she had never told him what he should do. But she was tired. Aloysius switched on the radio and raised his voice.
    ‘It was bound to happen. I told you! Independence will change everything .’ He was getting into his stride. ‘The Tamils won’t be able to keep a single job.’
    Pausing, he took a quick swig of his drink.
    ‘The English language will become a thing of the past.’
    ‘Don’t!’ Grace said, sharply.
    ‘What d’you expect, men? The minute the suddhas , these white fellows, are gone and Sinhalese becomes the officiallanguage, what d’you think will happen? They’ll forget every bit of English they’ve learned. In schools, in the offices, all over the bloody place! It’s obvious, isn’t it? And then,’ he gave a short laugh, drained his glass and poured himself another drink, ‘not only will the Tamils suffer but we’ll be cut off from the rest of the world. Who the bloody hell except the Sinhalese will speak their language?’
    He held his glass up to the light and peered at it for a moment.
    ‘Here’s to the new and independent Ceylon!’
    Christopher waited uneasily. He knew the signs. His father would gradually become louder and his arguments more circular. The six o’clock news finished. Evening shadows lengthened in the garden and a small refreshing breeze stirred the trees. Somewhere the liquid, flute-like notes of a black-hooded oriole could be heard calling sweetly to its mate: