On an unnamed Caribbean island in the 1960s, a girl named Wheeler, the youngest of three sisters, is left in the care of her aunts while her mother goes to England to seek work. It’s a glimpse into a story not often told, of the children of the Windrush emigrants who were left behind: who waited for their parents to send for them.
With meticulous detail, Anne Hawk outlines the contours of Wheeler’s world: a small volcanic island; a town on the bay; humble houses built on the steep slopes rising up from the sea. The sea is ever present and ever changing: one moment, a “brilliant display of silver water at their backs”, another moment “gnawing” and “ravenous” on the underside of the road; other times “pleating, golden waves” that “broke away in the light”. When Wheeler’s eyes turn to the bay, searching for the boat that might bring news of her mother, she sees “long-distance ships” that “materialise, waver and change course out on the horizon”.
Wheeler’s inner thoughts come to us in dialect, as if direct from her mind, as she tries to work out who will look after her in her mother’s absence. Her sisters aren’t doing what their mother told them to: Adele makes her late for school and Hesta leaves her to cross dangerous roads by herself. Wheeler seethes with indignation at her sisters “acting big now”, and their “styling her off”. Frequently, she asks them when their mother will send for them: she’s annoyed by their evasiveness, and it doesn’t occur to her that their withholding might be a form of kindness.
In her aunts’ home, the warm Tant’Celeste keeps the cogs turning: she prepares meals, makes cocoa tea, scrubs clothes clean at the outdoor sink. Older cousin Floyd, who works as an apprentice carpenter, is a domineering presence, muscular with “bulging arms”; but it’s fearsome Tant’Innez, who works at the government dispensary in town, who’s the real authority: a “large, rubbery-looking woman” who comes down the steps of the house “planting one hefty foot in front of the other”. Wheeler, keenly observant, tries to make sense of the unexplained tensions in the household. Why do the aunts stay away from each other? Why doesn’t Celeste leave the house? Why does everyone keep out of Floyd’s way?
Many of the mysteries go unsolved, and Wheeler inevitably falls foul of the rules that govern her new world. Tant’Celeste secretly sends her to the shop alone to buy bread – a forbidden task, involving dangerous roads. When word gets back to Tant’Innez, Tant’Celeste hides in her room, leaving Wheeler to face Tant’Innez’s anger alone. Tant’Innez orders Wheeler to polish the ornaments in the sitting room – a packed mahogany cabinet “filled with unusable items”, Regency figurines, Bo-Peep and her sheep. Hesta helps her, and they get it done without breaking anything, but still, Wheeler is overwhelmed by a deep sense of injustice, and shock at her aunt’s betrayal. Even greater injustices are to come, and the extent of her vulnerability in her mother’s absence becomes painfully clear. It’ll be left to Wheeler, in the end, to consider all the evidence and make her own judgment, to exert some measure of control over her future.
Some of the chapter endings are a little abrupt, reading as cliffhangers belonging to a pacier type of novel, rather than the patient, steady examination that Hawk offers here. But overall, the writing is confident and precise; evocative of the beauty of the Caribbean islands, and full of sparkling observation. I’ll eagerly await whatever this talented author has in store for us next.
• The Pages of the Sea by Anne Hawk is published by Weatherglass (£12.99). To support the Guardian and Observer, order your copy at guardianbookshop.com. Delivery charges may apply.
