Carlene: A Love Story

‘Just when it seemed the gods had finally answered my prayer to find the greatest love I had ever lost, they answered it again’.

‘Over 10 years after, I wrote a novel to help me find the greatest love I have ever had and lost when I was 19 years old. Just when it seemed the gods had finally answered my prayer, they answered it again and must have promptly sat back comfortably to watch my throes of indecision.’

‘Carlene’ is an easy to read romantic, sensitive and light-hearted story that heavily borrows from the truths and emotions of the author’s real life. Carlene Wong, a Chinese-Malaysian beauty that Tobi Vaughan met on a normal train journey stole his heart at a speed he could not have prepared for. Then he lost her as she followed a dream to America. The story spans Tobi’s early years in Nigeria across to England, America, Malaysia, Thailand, and Dubai.

Having spent so many years agonizing over losing Carlene and scheming ways to find her again, he finally had to face the ultimate test of his love for her when he met the second answer to his prayer, Suchada Koyama, a Japanese-Thai air hostess of stunning looks and grace.



                                       

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Carlene: A Love Story

Chapter 1

It was yet another stifling day in Lagos. The hustle and the bustle of street vendors ring through the air, intermingling with the incessant blare of car horns, childishly demanding attention. Child hawkers carry trays of food, matches, cigarettes, whatever they could, on their head. Many were not much older than me. They were barely 10 years of age.

I knew the pavement was hot from the pounding by the sun yet my feet sent no sensation of pain as I walked briskly, over the busy bridge that connects Lagos Island to the mainland. I walked barefoot, no different to some of my peers and the grownups I passed on my journey, my adventure. I was determined not to return. By rights, and by my judgment, I should never even have had to go through this in the first place.

I couldn’t blame my mother for having left me in the care of her half-sister and left my brother and sister with my paternal grand-mother. These were probably the logical options she and my father had before she embarked on her own journey and adventure, to a new world, and for her, a new land called Great Britain. Not much more than two years before her departure, my father had left to study there, two years later my mother joined him.

How was she to know they had left their eldest child in the care of an uncaring woman albeit a close relative.

My uncle was well-to-do and had a large family with 5 children that I was aware of anyway.  There were four boys and a girl, only the girl was younger than me, the others were older although one was just a year or so older.

For two long years, I lived with my aunt’s family, not as a relative born to her half-sister but rather more as an extension of the domestic staff for her home.

I ran the daily errands I was assigned and shared the chores with the housemaid. A twin set of scars close to the inside of my right wrist is a life-long reminder of one of these errands. On a stormy, rainy day, whilst returning from buying cooked food from street vendors for an older cousin, I slipped and fell. The plates I carried crashed to the ground and I landed on some broken pieces, cutting my wrist. The cuts only just missed a major vein in my wrist.

Worse was to come.

***

During the years I was with my aunt, I rarely attended school; I was the protégé of the cousin closest to my age, Rotimi. We would spend our bus allowance on food and whatnots and walk to school. Sometimes we would go to school then ‘hop-off’ or simply not go to school at all and head off in the direction of Bar Beach. There on the beach, we would just hang out. Watch people, skip stones in the water, every now and then we would catch catfish and take them back to school to sell or just use them to show off to our peers.

It was during one of these fish-napping escapades that I lost my grip as I tried to lower myself along a slimy, algae covered wall of an open gutter which led to the sea.

It was an easy place to catch small fish such as catfish that were trapped in the gutter. I fell, landing on my right knee, shattering the joint and the knee bone cut through the flesh, protruding by an inch and half. Needless to say, I was in excruciating pain as I lay at the bottom of the gutter, knee bleeding profusely and writhing in never-ending, pulses of pain.

With the help of my shocked and worried cousin, somehow I managed to clamber up the same slimy walls that had aided my fall unable to bare the slightest pressure on my right leg. How we made it to the hospital without money was a minor miracle.

My aunt was contacted by the hospital staff and strangely all I recollect is a vision of my grandmother visiting me during my knee operation, no one else.

Years later, I would look on this as a major turning point in my early life. There’s nothing quite like pain to help sharpen a person’s focus on the important issues.

My knee seemed to have healed quite well and only a slight tingling sensation remained whenever I over-exerted it.

***

Walking through the ramshackle gate leading the way to my granny’s colonial style home, I wondered at how it was that I was the one chosen to live with my inattentive aunty.

Mammy-nurse was the first person I saw, as she hobbled energetically across the front yard.

She expressed shock, naturally, at the sight of the child she had partly nursed along with my siblings in this very home.  She fussed of course, as to what I was doing here and how had I got here and what seemed like a zillion other questions. The one that stood out was “have you had something to eat child?”

My brother, sister and cousin were still at school that day and my granny had gone to the market with the driver and houseboy.

I played in the back garden first, climbing the guava tree until I could see over the wall into the massive gardens of the cinema complex next door which also belonged to my family. It had all been one incredible sized estate in a prime location decades before but had been partitioned to provide space for a cinema complex to be built and rented out. In those days, cowboy western and improbable South Asian movies were the most popular at the cinema.

Guava had always been one of my favourite fruits and right next to the two guava trees was a staggered row of shorter trees bearing paw-paw fruits which am also still very partial to. I chased lizards along the rough cement wall bordering the left side of the house until they disappeared over the top between the rows of jagged broken glass used to prevent intrusion into either property. The bigger lizards with blue-black back, long tail and bright red crest were my favourites to chase.

I climbed the colossal mango tree that stood slightly off-center of the front yard, perched on a substantial branch, surrounded by the elongated leaves; I remembered the stories of snakes being found amongst these very branches. So I was very careful not to go up too far in the tree and looked nervously around. I have always been fascinated yet, frightened by snakes.

These were some of my happiest hours in those days. The familiarity of granny’s home unleashed a sensation of abandonment I had lost since I left this place. I jumped to the ground from the last muscular branch and landed on the very spot where my puppy, Sugar would die less than a year later. A large Citroen car which had automatic suspension adjustment would trap Sugar as he took a nap under its shade.

Chapter 2

I looked back at them, as, from behind the flimsy fencing, they stood waving to me. I waved back. I could see my sister, brother and cousin; their view of my departure obscured by bits of debris that took flight in the light breeze and became stuck on the fence.

And there was my granny’s over-generous frame, her stern, caring face re-assuring me. After-all, this was to be my first time ever, on an aero-plane. I walked in line across the tarmac with the other passengers.

Strangely enough, I don’t recall being escorted by any British Airways ground staff as we approached. I was 9 years old. Perhaps in those days, it was not considered necessary to ensure that junior passengers boarded the right plane.

The baking sun bullied us as our plane loomed ever larger. I looked around at other planes parked, waiting to carry people off and wing them towards their distant dreams for faraway lands. Some may never reach there, but I did not know of such possible hidden treachery harboured by lady Fate. I had the luxury of innocence and youth.

I had never seen planes close-up before, the nearest had been several hundred feet above me as they buzzed away on their repetitious errands.

We arrived at the foot of the stairs leading up to the ginormous metallic tube shaped like the disgusting cigars my uncle puffed from the extreme corner of his lips. I thought about his wife, my uncaring aunt and her sons and daughters and the house-maid and the life of semi-slavery I had ran away from.

I looked back at the fence and felt courage as I could still make out the forms of my real and more caring family now silently willing me on towards my own adventure, England bound.

I was guided to my seat by a smiling BA cabin crew member. At least they did make sure juniors were led to the correct seat I thought! My fellow passenger occupying the seat next to mine had a kindly face and was probably in her early 20s. My assigned seat was an aisle seat but when she saw me approach with the still smiling attendant, she stood up and let me through, to have her window seat instead.

She probably regretted this kindness later as I must have visited the toilet to pee every half-hour. I had energy and was fuelled by over-excitement at the prospect my new life in a far-off land I had only heard of and that was only because my parents were there.

They had sent for me keeping their unheard promise to send for us once they started to settle in England. I was chosen to be the first to re-join them. Perhaps my luck was finally changing.

The plane progressed bumpily, its giant jet engines throbbed incessantly as they powered the fat aluminum bird over and through wispy clouds as if in a game of hide and seek, in slow motion.

***

After what seemed like forever and a day, I sensed the excitement of other travelers as those that could, were peering through the inadequate windows at the ground ever so far below. I rubbed my eyes with a fist and joined the visual excitement; my pretty and kind seat neighbour was also looking across me out of our window.

The orderly crisscrossing of England’s green and pleasant land was now clearly visible from our plane. We dipped lower and lower in stages, almost mimicking the flight of a bird. With each dip, the runway beckoned ever more irresistibly until finally, the plane gave in and bumped grumblingly to the ground and with brakes screeching and the wind roaring past us, we touched ground.

“…welcome to England…and we would like to thank you for …” The flight steward’s voice was deep and settling.

***

This time, I was met and led away by a rather portly BA ground staff after I had bid farewell to my seat neighbour and after receiving a pat on the head from the now grinning flight attendant.

After a rather long immigration process where I spent most of the time sat waiting while the immigration agent helped me to process my entry papers, I finally emerged into the passengers meeting hall.

Dazzled by the lights, shy and somewhat bemused, I returned the hugs of my mother first, then my father.

It was at that point that I noticed my father was carrying a baby whom my parents introduced to me as my brother! Whilst in Nigeria, I had not been aware of any siblings abroad.

I was happy, very happy to see my parents and still not sure how I felt about meeting another brother, a very little brother.

My parents looked a lovely couple, mum pretty, dad handsome both dressed smartly and even my newly discovered brother Deji was smartly turned out.

Mum hugged me for so long, perhaps she was trying to drain and absorb the effects of the ill-treatment she heard I had received in the hands of her half-sister and her family.

Chapter 3

It was Sunday and time for me to return to Chelmsford where I was doing my apprenticeship and part-time study. I usually came home to London every other weekend, when I could afford it. I was 19 and had won a technical apprenticeship position with Marconi Communications Systems, with my father and mother’s encouragement. I left school and went to live away from home for the first time. I was fairly self-supporting from that point but of course, mum and dad were always there for when my bank account nudged red.

Marconi owned Chelmsford. It was said that when the workers went home; the town of Chelmsford shut down.

The bus ride to Liverpool Street railway station was uneventful and as per normal. The buzz and busyness surrounded me as I entered the station, starkly contrasting the dull bus trip.

I stopped at a kiosk to get snacks for the fifty minutes train journey. On the way to my train’s platform, two Far-East Asian girls standing to one side of the platform gate drew my attention.

They were perhaps 2-3 years older than me, at a guess. The slim, prettier one crossed eyes with me momentarily as I walked past, close by.

I boarded the train and walked along its side corridors, looking for an empty cabin. The train did not seem so full in fact and I was spoilt for choice. I selected one in the carriage before the canteen carriage. I made sure I would be in a carriage which did not get left behind when the train shed some carriages several stations prior to arriving at Chelmsford.

I entered, closed the sliding door dumped my sports bag and guitar on the seat opposite and settled myself into my ‘private’ cabin.

It was a beautiful spring day and I was relaxed and content with life, not a care in the world and looking forward to the journey back.

I usually preferred to take the train leaving just after 1:30 in the afternoon as it gave me time to settle back into semi-rural life in Chelmsford. I was happy to be returning yet I also looked forward to going home to London whenever the time came.

I had many friends back at the dormitory in Chelmsford, the first ‘animal house’ I lived in. In fact the whole mansion had been rented by Marconi to house its apprentices and other staff.  We always have a lot of fun mixed with rivalry of course. It was a new home offering new experiences and friendships along with challenges academically and socially.

Back home in London, I had my friends from school days whom I saw often when I did go home for weekends. We would play tennis, one of my favourite sports, watch a film, or just lark around town.

There were of course, my two brothers and sister. Two years after I arrived in England, my brother Tunji and sister Demi were also sent for by our parents and journeyed together to England. Demi was 8 years old, even younger than I when I first traveled on a plane. There was approximately 2 years difference between our ages so we were pretty close. Shortly after Tunji and Demi joined me and Deji, our cousin Dotun, who grew up with us at granny’s house also left Nigeria, to be with his mother who lived in Scotland at the time.

Normal, sibling rivalry aside, we got on very well and spent a lot of time together and with our friends.

The noise of people walking past the cabin door and along the corridor outside stemmed my daydreaming. Dragging bulky luggage, they bumped into the door which rattled back in protest. I watched them march past my private haven, hoping I will be left alone to continue my reflection during the trip.

I glanced at my watch, wondering if the train was going to leave late as it tends to. Less than five minutes to the scheduled departure time. I stared out of the window across the platforms watching other trains come and go and tried to track the mesmerizing flow of legs striding on the platforms.

I turned as the slide door was disturbed again, this time it was opened. I instantly recognized the pretty girl at the platform gate. She stood behind her slightly plump companion who was not carrying luggage.

“Would you mind if my cousin sits with you, she’s still new to the country? She’s on her way to White Notley, are you going that far?” The plump girl spoke in a typical but educated London accent. The other girl smiled as her cousin, gave her a reproachful side glance laced with embarrassment.

“Yes, yes of course”, I replied, stunned at lady Luck’s gift to me. “I’m getting off at Chelmsford, three stops before White Notley”

“Fantastic!” she beamed. “Alright then, call me when you get there won’t you?” she said, turning to her delicious cousin and stepping aside to let her into the cabin. I hurriedly pulled my luggage to the seat next to me, making room for her to sit opposite me. She kissed her cousin on the cheek and they hugged. Her cousin smiled an appreciative smile and I returned the smile, even more appreciatively. “Thank you, thank you!” I telepathized with her.

I watched her arrange her luggage and sit down in the opposite seat. Somehow, I sensed this train journey was taking both of us to a destination neither had planned.

We smiled at each other as the train obeyed the departure whistle and chugged effortlessly away from the platform and out of the station.

“I’m Tobi Vaughan and may I ask your name?” I looked at her, she had a cute nose and a great, easy smile with even, white teeth proudly displayed. There was mischief to her eyes too and smooth lightly tanned complexion all wrapped in a slim frame of about 5’6” was so alluring that I almost did not hear her reply.

“Hello, my name is Carlene, Carlene Wang”. Close up like this, I thought we might be the same age or she may be a year to two years older max.

I wanted to know everything about this girl and I would be an open book for her, what ever she wanted to know about me, I would oblige.

We talked, I asked her about her cousin and what she had been doing in London and we quickly drifted into easy conversation.

My first and only puppy love had been at primary school when I was around 10 to 11 years old. Her name was Kay Philips. I still think about her to this day but it was puppy love. What I was starting to feel for the girl sitting in front of me was something much more mature and unexpected, certainly not from the dull way my day started on the bus to the train station.

“…I came to spend my weekend with my uncle and aunty in London. They had insisted I come to celebrate my birthday with them!” she said.

“Oh, nice and how was it?” I prompted “Happy belated birthday!”

“Thank you”, she gave me that easy smile that I liked so much.

“I had a wonderful time, they are really lovely and it was good to be with family again”

She spoke with a pleasant, lilting accent that seemed all at once familiar yet distant.

“I can’t quite place your accent, but it is Far-East Asian isn’t it?” I asked.

“Yes, you’ve got it”; “I’m actually from Kuantan, on the east coast of Malaysia”

“Alright!”, “Well I knew it wasn’t quite Japanese, that’s for sure!” I laughed.

“Come to think of it, you look Chinese, yet you could also pass for a Korean or Japanese too, from certain angles that is!”

“Good thing you didn’t say am Japanese, we don’t like them much you know”, not easy for the Chinese race to forget what they did to us in the past”

I nodded sympathetically.

It was then I remembered. I had heard the same accent once in a movie called Tanamera. One of my favourite stories based in 2nd World-War Singapore and Malaysia. It was inspired by a book of the same title written by Noel Barber.

“So, do you consider yourself Chinese or Malaysian” I asked, genuinely seeking clarification.

“I am a Malaysian Chinese of course”. A logical answer to an unnecessary question maybe. “I’m what you might refer to as a third generation Malaysian Chinese” she said this with an emphasized lilt to the words. She beamed her cute smile.

We chuckled and both looked out of the window at the scenery unfolding sideways from urban to suburban to rural. The spring tree blossoms were out in force as if it was their first time ever and birds darted through the trees and over shrubs busily disputing nesting spots or collecting nesting material. Some still had to fight for the right to a mate. There I was hoping mine had been just simply handed to me as I had sat quietly in a train cabin, anticipating another standard journey.

It seemed perfect. It was perfect.

“Please God, let her not have a boyfriend or other distraction” I prayed silently.

Our train slowed as it approached the next stop and the Shenfield station sign sneaked up on us, gliding past the window as we screeched to a halt at the station. We were now a little over half-way towards my stop and I was still grappling with how to get Carlene’s number or some contact information of any sort. We had conversed easily after the first awkward moments and yet, the simple question lodged itself in the throat of my mind and just would not come out.

“If you don’t mind, can I ask how old you are?” She enquired.

I panicked a little, if I gave the right answer, it might put her off as I would probably be younger than her.

“Happy to tell you if you let me know which birthday you just celebrated!” I quipped, helped out by a shot of bravado.

“You want to play mind games then TV!” She used my nickname with such familiarity I felt bravery re-entering my veins.

“Actually, I’ll be 20 this year”, It sounded better than telling her am 19 years old!

“I just turned 21 a few days back”, she told me and went on to say that her birthday was on 19th April. I immediately filed that safely in my memory. She showed no concern over the fact that I was a little short of 2 years younger than her. Relief crept over me. I was besotted with this girl and didn’t want to risk losing her. I wondered if she felt for me even close to what I was starting to feel about her.

I don’t know why I had not seen it earlier but she had these rather pretty dimples on her cheeks when she smiled. She had long, stubbornly straight brown-reddish hair all the way down to her hips.  Her sweet cotton summer dress paired with a Swiss style waist-coat was set off by stylish ankle boots. The effect was extremely pleasing.

I queried her on life in Malaysia and why she had chosen Black Notley Hospital, of all the hospitals in the world, to come and do her State Registered Nurse or SRN training! I could probably count the population of the villages of Black Notley and White Notley combined on my fingers with a little help from my toes.

But of course, just below the surface, I was happy she had done so. We had already dropped off and collected passengers at Ingatestone station and were now speeding to the next stop, my stop, Chelmsford and I still hadn’t plucked up courage to ask what I needed to ask.

“And how about you, what do you do in Chelmsford?”; “My guess is you’re a student there. Am I close?” she continued.

“Well yes and more”; I teased. “Actually I study and I work. I’m a trainee for communications engineering on a ‘block-release’ basis which means the company pays me an allowance, provides accommodation and pays for my course”

“That is a nice deal!”; “In fact it sounds a lot like my SRN program but all our tuition gets done within the hospital. It sounds like yours is in a separate institution”

“Haha, ‘institution’ makes it sound like my parents sent me to Chelmsford and told them to lock me up and throw the key away!”

We both grinned then laughed out aloud at the thought.

The passing view through the train windows slowly began to crystallize as the blurring of the scenery reduced. I was quickly reminded of my mission impossible.

I didn’t even want to leave her and then I had it!

“Carlene, I’d like to see you at least as far as your station, ok?”

“Really?” she asked, needlessly because little did she know I would see her off to the proverbial moon if that was her stop. “Great, but I don’t want to inconvenience you!”

“Not a problem at all. Believe me” I assured. I had bought myself more time to get the vital contact number that I craved!

“I was born and raised in Kuantan, in fact even my parents were also born and raised there” She said, continuing from my earlier question about her life in her home country.

“We moved to KL later but I always like going back to Kuantan with my parents on the special occasions. It’s a peaceful coastal town and most of my family and friends are all there of course”

“KL, what does that mean?” I asked.

“Oh, Kuala Lumpur, It’s the capital of Malaysia. Both my parents are academicians. Mum teaches mathematics and Dad was a science professor.”

That would explain the well-raised and educated air she had about her, I thought.

“You said ‘was’ “, I enquired with interest. “Yes, about your dad”

“Oh, dad is not able to work anymore. He hasn’t worked for quite a few years now. Mum struggled hard to raise my two brothers and myself. She still does. After I graduated from secretarial college last year I decided to work abroad and help her financially. My dad’s brother in London helped me to get a trainee position at the hospital.”

I listened intently to her story and sensed sadness interlaced with excitement. Due perhaps to the loss of her father’s lively-hood and the new life she was anticipating in a new country.

“Are you able to tell me what happened?”

“They were in a car accident. Dad suffered paralysis from the waist downwards. Mom had been driving. She’s never driven since although she was not at fault.”

“What happened?”

“They had been hit by an oncoming lorry. The driver had lost control because of failed brakes.”

She paused reflectively.

“Mom blames herself for dad’s injury and is inconsolable to this day, almost 5 years later” She continued.

I wanted to reach out and hug her, tell her it will be ok. I was also conscious that the extra 20 minutes I would gain between my stop and hers had whittled to a mere 2-3 minutes as we neared White Notley station.

“I would love to show you around Chelmsford or maybe we can play tennis sometime?” I blurted out, awkwardly and out of synchronization with the topic. I could only hope the desperation in my voice was evident only to me. ‘What a fool, I am’; I thought, wondering if she considered me insensitive, having just shared an inner concern with me and all I could utter was an offer of a date!

“Ok, why not! But I warn you, am not a good player at all” She saved my embarrassment. “I can barely get the ball over the net, anyway, if you get bored with my game maybe you can show me the sights of Chelmsford” She was charming to the point of angelic.

“I can’t wait for the game, at last a chance to beat someone at tennis!” I said, modestly. The labouring of the steel wheels finally slowed to a dead stop as ‘White Notley!’ was announced over the train’s public addressing system.

I helped her with her luggage on to the platform and waved to her as she walked towards the station exit. She was about to disappear down the stairs off the platform when she turned around and walked briskly towards me with a grin.

“Hey, how can we contact each other to meet next Saturday?” In my haste I’d forgotten to get her number and she must have wondered how serious I was when I didn’t even ask.

I realized I could not remember the Animal House phone number.

“Can I call you?” I asked, finally getting the question out of my head and out there, where it belonged. She gave me her number. “See you at eleven Saturday morning then!” I said happily.

I had even forgotten I had to change to the platform on the other side of the tracks. I walked with her to the exit then turned to get the return train to Chelmsford which rolled up shortly after.