The delivery guy rolls his eyes. ‘Read the card,’ he says, ‘and then you’ll know.’ He obviously feels this entire situation is a taint on his CV. I take the parcel and turn to go. Then I turn back.
‘Has anyone ever sent you a gift from Thrupps?’ I ask.
He almost seems to sag beneath my stare. ‘No,’ he says.
‘Maybe you should think about that, eh?’ I turn and walk in. I feel triumphant that I’ve come up with a perfect retort for once, although the look on his face makes me feel a bit guilty.
‘Who’s that from?’ says Joshua, as I carry the basket of goodies into the house.
‘According to the charming gent who delivered it,’ I say, ‘we should read the card.’
The hamper is, of course, from April, and I wonder why I didn’t immediately realise.
‘Sorry, and strength to your dad,’ says the card.
‘That was nice of her,’ says Joshua.
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘It was. She didn’t have to.’
We both stare at the hamper.
‘Dad will love it,’ I say. ‘Biltong and nuts and chocolates. He’ll be in heaven. We can just put it next to his bed.’
Joshua looks at me. ‘It was thoughtful, Mary,’ he says. ‘Not everyone shows friendship in the same way.’ He pauses. ‘I still wish you knew that you could have called me last night.’
‘You were at a work thing,’ I say. It hadn’t crossed my mind to disturb Joshua. I’m used to dealing with this sort of thing on my own, or with my dad’s help. Even when Travis was alive I couldn’t rely on him; and I grew up seeing my father do everything himself. I’m not sure I would have asked Joshua for help even if he had been available. I’m not sure I would have thought of it.
‘I would totally have left to help you,’ he says. ‘Please know that.’
‘Thanks.’ I smile at him. ‘And I’d better thank April for this.’
I text her: Thank you for such a thoughtful gift. Love it.
And then because I want to go back to feeling fine with her, I carry on with another message.
I may have been a bit rude to the delivery guy, who seemed to think that delivering to me was below his life calling.
April responds immediately.
So glad you like!! What did you say to delivery guy??
I smile.
Basically told him that he isn’t nice enough to get gift baskets sent to him.
April: Lol. Was he that bad?
Me: Probably not. I felt bad after. Maybe I should send him a gift basket from Thrupps?
April: Stop it. I’m snorting tea out of my nose.
I’m also laughing. Plus, April’s kindness has given me an idea and I log on to a local delivery site and send Stacey a bottle of her favourite wine as a thank you. Okay, it’s not a Thrupps gift basket. But it’s something.
When Joshua and I are finished with the room, it looks great, even if I say so myself. I’ve made the bed with clean white linen, and I’ve found my old patchwork quilt, that Travis hated, at the bottom of a cupboard. On the bedside table we have put a lamp and the Thrupps basket. There was an old rug pushed into the corner of the room, which I have washed and dried on the line, and that now looks new. In the corner I’ve put an armchair with a small table next to it, so Dad can sit and read or have a cup of tea in privacy. We found an old plastic drawing table of Django’s that can work as a table for meals in bed. Finally, I have cut a bunch of iceberg roses from the garden and put them on the table by the armchair. Everything is clean and smells fresh, and I’m proud of what we’ve achieved.
I send both Stacey and April photos of the tidied-up room, with the comment:
Dad’s new bedroom for now.
Stacey immediately answers:
Gorgeous babe. Well done. You’re so clever.
April reads the message but doesn’t answer. Joshua and I have a quick snack, and then he goes off to work while I get ready to fetch my dad. I message him the time that I will be there and hastily clean out my car so he can’t complain about the mess.
Just as I’m about to leave for the hospital, slightly later than I wanted because of the car, I get a message from April.
At the gate to drop something off.
I don’t know how to react. I’m going to be late, but I can’t just refuse to accept a gift from her. Our homes are not around the corner from each other. I can’t help wondering why she didn’t message before she left, to make sure I was here. It seems like quite an odd way to do things in these days of mobile phones.
I go out to meet her.
‘April,’ I say, after we’ve hugged, ‘I really need to get to the hospital. I’m so sorry, I can’t invite you in.’
‘No, no,’ she says, shaking her head, ‘I can’t stay anyway. I just wanted to bring you some things – your pic of the room inspired me.’
She hands me a gift bag. In it is a scatter cushion – exactly the same colours as the patchwork. It will look great on the bed. There are two new novels, bestsellers that my dad will love. They are so new that there is no chance he has read them. Finally, there’s a new pair of pyjamas.
‘This is too much, April,’ I say. ‘You really have been far too generous.’
I’m not just saying this. I literally feel that she has done too much. I feel uncomfortable and a bit like I should have thought of all these things for my dad. Her generosity is wrong-footing me.
‘I just feel so bad, Mary,’ says April. ‘I know I wasn’t there for you last night and I can’t really explain why. This is the least that I can do.’
‘Oh, April,’ I say. ‘I can’t phone at night and expect you to drop everything. It was perfectly reasonable to say no, and I had lots of options. I was just panicking.’
Put like that, I’m actually feeling bad. It was unfair of me to expect her to be available. I did have options.
April holds up a hand. ‘No,’ she says. ‘I was in the wrong. And I promise, if you ever need anything like that again, I’ll be there for you.’
I give her a hug. ‘April, thank you,’ I say. ‘Now I really have to run.’
My dad is thrilled with April’s gifts.
‘What a kind young woman,’ he says, lying in his bed in my spare room later that night in his new pyjamas, propped against the scatter cushion. ‘What a good friend to you.’
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘She is.’
But just before I fall asleep, it’s Stacey I message. ‘Thanks again for everything,’ I say. I plug my phone in to charge, and I’m thinking that I can always count on Stacey. And I’m thinking that overwhelming gifts or not, I’ll never ask a favour of April again.
Chapter 26
There is some irony in the fact that the very next week April asks me for a favour. We’ve met for coffee – the first time I have managed, because I don’t like to leave my dad at home alone for too long, but it’s Nelly’s cleaning day, so she can phone me if anything goes wrong. Not that much could, but I have this mental image of him getting up to do something and collapsing and lying unattended on the floor for hours, waiting for us, with an actual broken hip. I know it’s not rational, but I can’t help seeing my dad as vulnerable since he had his fall.
‘Did you ever find out why he was on the roof?’ asks April.
‘Oh God,’ I say. ‘That’s the most ridiculous part of the story. He said he just had a feeling that some of the slates might be loose, so he thought he’d have a look.’
‘So not a leak or anything like that? He just had a feeling?’
‘Exactly,’ I say. ‘And now he’s bruised all over and Mrs Lacey’s azalea may never be the same.’
‘We should send Mrs Lacey a new azalea,’ says April, as if this is her problem too.
‘That’s an excellent idea,’ I say. ‘I’ll do that as soon as I get home. You are so good at things like that, April. You always know the perfect gift.’
April smiles, and there is a moment of perfect peace between us.
‘So,’ she says, after w
e’ve both had a few sips of our coffee. ‘So, I need to ask you a favour. A big one.’
‘Sounds scary,’ I joke. I’m trying to think what it could be. April never needs childcare – which is what I usually want when I ask someone for a favour – because she has a domestic helper and a nanny and two alive-and-well grandmothers, even though she doesn’t like either of them much.
‘This is awkward,’ she says. ‘But I need you to lie to Leo if he asks.’
‘If he asks what?’ I’m sure I look as confused as I feel.
‘Next week,’ says April. ‘I’m going to tell Leo that I’m seeing you at lunch, but I’m not. If he phones, please tell him I’m with you.’
I absorb this. There are so many questions. I start with the least obvious.
‘Why would he check? He’s never checked when you actually are with me, after all.’
‘I don’t think he will, but if he does, I need you to back me up. And he could.’
‘But he doesn’t even have my number, I don’t think,’ I say.
April’s smile is wry. ‘Really?’ she says, her eyebrows arched. ‘One of the things that Leo does is get people’s numbers without them realising. Think back. Think to when we first had dinner.’
I think. ‘I sent him the details for the whisky magazine?’
‘Bingo,’ says April. ‘I mean, he could always just ask me for a number, but it’s kind of a thing he does. Like a power play. He’ll get people’s numbers. I never know what he thinks he’s going to do with them.’
‘Check up on you?’ I’m not sure if I’m joking or not.
Her face falls. ‘I guess it’s as simple as that,’ she says.
‘Which leads me to the biggest question,’ I say. ‘The last time I covered for someone it was to their parents and they were with a boyfriend. Is there something you want to tell me?’
I smile as I say it, but the truth is I have no idea what I’ll think if April is having an affair – which really is the most likely reason that she could be asking me to cover for her. I don’t think affairs are okay, which I realise is grossly judgemental of me, because everyone has their own story and their own reasons, and perfectly nice people seem to have affairs. But fundamentally, I’m not okay with it. But also, if she’s having an affair, I’ll feel kind of angry that she’s only telling me now. I feel like we are good enough friends that she would have told me if she was even thinking about it. I guess, put bluntly, I’ll feel left out if she’s cheating on Leo. Which is a bit pathetic of me. Maybe this friendship means more to me than to her, I’m thinking, if she wouldn’t tell me something like that. And finally, I can’t imagine a woman actually wanting another man when they have someone as sexy as Leo at home. Sure, he seems a bit more complicated than he comes across at first glance, but then again, who isn’t? He’s still an incredibly attractive man.
But April’s reason for wanting me to lie is nothing that expected.
She looks down at her hands. ‘You can’t tell anyone, okay?’ she says.
‘Okay.’ I’m still thinking affair. This sounds like an affair.
‘And obviously, especially not Leo.’
‘Okay,’ I say.
‘I’m going to see Steve Twala,’ says April.
‘You’re having an affair with Steve Twala?’ I almost shout.
April looks flabbergasted. ‘What? No. What? Why would you think that?’ she says, and then she laughs. ‘Okay, no, I can see how you’d think that. But no. I’m not having an affair with Steve Twala. Or with anyone.’
‘Then why are you secretly seeing Steve?’ I say. I bite back on saying ‘Steve Twala’. Something about the way we all include his surname every time is starting to annoy me.
‘Because he’s a divorce lawyer,’ says April. She opens her mouth as if to say more, and then closes it again, eyes back down to her hands.
I need a moment to process this.
‘You’re thinking of divorcing Leo?’ I say, dropping my voice.
‘No, no,’ says April. Then she stops. ‘Well, not really.’ She pauses again, like she’s trying to line up the words into the right sentences. ‘I just want to know where I would stand, you know. If . . . If something happened. Like if he left me. Or I left him. Or, like, whatever.’
My mind feels like it can’t get traction on what she’s saying.
‘April,’ I say, leaning forward. ‘Is it really that bad?’
She sighs and looks at me. ‘We fight the whole time, Mary,’ she says. ‘I hate people whining about their marital problems, so I try not to do it. But we fight almost every day. Unless we don’t speak at all. He’s always threatening to leave me. And take the kids. And leave me with no money. He . . . He says terrible things, Mary.’
‘But you never talk about it,’ I say. Then I amend this. ‘Or very seldom.’
‘I told you. It’s tedious for other people. And I don’t want you to think less of me. Or of Leo,’ she says.
‘Why do you care what I think of Leo?’
‘The thing is that Leo had a terrible childhood. He’s been through a lot. And when he married me, it was also awful for his relationship with his family. They’ll never accept me, so he’s even more conflicted. He can’t help how he is, Mary. He’s had a terrible time, really.’
‘But he’s done so well,’ I say. ‘And he’s charming. And funny. Surely he should be over his childhood by now?’
‘I don’t think we can understand what it was like for him,’ she says. ‘His parents were incredibly strict. He was beaten if he did anything wrong. He had to study Torah and pray whenever he wasn’t at school. They weren’t right in their heads. They still aren’t.’
‘But you let his mom see the kids?’ I say. I know that Granny G, as she is known, sometimes babysits.
‘She’s softened a bit, I guess,’ says April. ‘It’s his dad more. But anyway, I’m just going to ask Steve where I stand, you know? Find out what he can and can’t do. I always feel so exposed because Leo knows what he’s talking about and I don’t. He might not be a lawyer, but he knows a lot about family law.’
I nod. This would be true.
‘I guess you’re being very sensible,’ I say. ‘Knowledge is power and all that.’
‘I don’t know,’ says April. ‘Talking to you has reminded me of why Leo is so difficult. You know, it’s probably really my fault that we fight so much. He’s been very clear in what he expects of me, and I mess up all the time. And I know how that annoys him, so really, I should rather work on making myself better, right?’
‘That doesn’t sound right, actually,’ I say. I pause. It’s difficult, this business of commenting on a person’s spouse. You say something supportive when they’re fighting, and they’ll hold it against you when they’re back in love. ‘I really like Leo,’ I say, and I’m not lying. ‘I think he’s a really incredible and unusual man. But what you’re saying . . .’
I stop. I don’t want to say that she sounds like an abused woman, because I know how quickly that will bring the shutters down. Instead, I say, ‘I’ve told you that my marriage wasn’t great, right?’
‘Yes,’ says April. She looks sympathetic. If I wanted to, I could talk about myself for the next hour and she probably wouldn’t complain. ‘Well,’ I say, ‘when you talk about things being your fault, you sound like I used to sound. Inside my own head. I’d tell myself how I needed to be better, try harder. And now I know it wasn’t me.’
April nods.
‘I mean, obviously Leo seems very charming to me. But if he makes you feel like something’s your fault, that’s not a good feeling.’
‘But isn’t it different?’ says April. ‘Did people actually like Travis? Your friends? Your dad?’
I laugh. ‘No,’ I say. ‘Nobody liked Travis. Except me. That used to make me feel worse. Like I had to stay with him because no one else liked him.’
‘But that’s the point. Leo’s not like that,’ says April. ‘Everybody loves him. Everybody. You like him, right?’
>
I nod. I do.
‘So obviously it is me,’ says April. ‘Not everyone likes me.’
‘If I had to choose between you and Leo, I’d choose you, hands down,’ I say.
April smiles, and it fills her face. ‘That’s why you’re my best friend,’ she says.
Best friend. Would I call April my best friend? Is that what we are? I’m not sure. But it feels nice that she thinks so, and I squeeze her hand. I hope this isn’t like ‘I love you’, where you’re supposed to say it back.
‘Well,’ I say, so the moment will pass, ‘I think you should still go and see Steve. It can’t hurt, can it? And if Leo contacts me, I’ll cover for you. Then at least you’ll know where you stand, right?’
April nods. ‘You’re probably right,’ she says. ‘I wish I was as clear as you. It’s sometimes like there’s a fog in my head.’
‘Your head seems great to me,’ I say.
But inside, I’m uncomfortable. When I was with Travis, it was like there was a fog in my head, and that fog stayed until right at the end, when it lifted, and what it showed me was not pretty. I can’t believe that April is in anything like my situation. They’re obviously going through a bad patch. That’s normal, from what I’ve read. She’ll see Steve, and in a few years we’ll look back and laugh. That’s how it will be.
‘I’m here for you, foggy head,’ I say. ‘Whatever.’
Chapter 27
When I pick up Django from school, he won’t speak to me. I ask a few questions and try to make him talk, but eventually he just sighs and says, ‘Leave me for a bit, Mom.’ And then I get home, and my dad is in a mood too. He says that Nelly didn’t bring him tea, like I’d asked her to, but the empty cup is right next to his bed. And when I point this out to him, he says that the whole thing of him staying with me is stupid and he wants to go home. Django is in the TV room, curled up with his blanket, and my dad goes limping through to join him. I follow.
‘Granpops,’ Django says to my dad, ‘do you miss my dad?’
I’m standing by the door, and I’m not sure if Django knows that I am there.
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