Aurelia work in the kitchen and her massa always retire early. So we meet up when her working day done. We sit, have a feed as the sky fill up with stars, before she lead me by the hand to her hut. Sometimes she act all wild, straddle me, ride me like she racing to pass over to the Ancestors. Other times, we silent, fondle, caress, kiss each other all over. She melt me heart with her sweet whisperings until the blood heat up, flow out its fires right through her body, then crest into mine. Afterwards, sometimes, we talk bout every little thing that happen in the day, but most times we just lay still, silent. Hold each other close till is time for me to leave, return before daylight. Sometimes I have to run all the way, but is well worth it. Spending time with Aurelia, I come to understand how dry and brittle me life used to be. She turn out to be the one that melt the barriers round me heart, until they no longer needed.

Now every chance I get, I use the jobbing work to try see Aurelia. And every time I see her, I feel how love make me heart dip and swoon. How it give me the strength to face each day. Face the life I been chatteled to.

At first, I tell nobody bout her. I want to keep it a secret. Is for me and me alone. But love start to change me, show itself in every little thing I say and do. The first person to notice is Eliza.

‘What happen to you William?’ she ask me one morning.

‘What you mean?’

‘You no longer hold that look. The one that make everybody take a step back, keep dem distance,’ she say, and make me laugh. ‘Look pon that. The old William never laugh so freely.’ Then it dawn on her. ‘Oh, me understand now. You in love.’

‘What you know bout love?’ I ask her, try stop meself from smiling.

‘Love start as a small thing,’ she say. ‘Like when you also water the plant dem in the provision ground next to you own. Then love get to be a big thing, because you care bout somebody, more than you care bout youself. Is that what happen to you, William? Me hope so. You a grown man now. Must stop feeling hard done by, always sorry for youself.’