Amie in Africa Box Set 1

by Lucinda E Clarke

  The man who walked into the room looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t remember where she’d seen him before. She certainly didn’t know his name, but his black skin told her he was of African heritage. He was tall for an African, well over six feet, with a body that looked as if he worked out regularly. His dark brown eyes were soft and when he smiled, he displayed a perfect set of white teeth.

  He dragged a chair over and sat down beside the bed.

  “Good day, Mrs Fish. I understand you’re improving every day. They tell me you’ll be well enough to leave hospital quite soon. It’s amazing you didn’t suffer more damage. You’ve had a very bad concussion and post-concussion syndrome, and some subarachnoid and intracerebral haemorrhage, though I’m not quite sure what that is, and a few cuts and bruises. Yes, you’ve been remarkably fortunate.”

  Fortunate was not exactly how Amie was feeling, but she wasn’t going to argue the point. She didn’t want this stranger sympathising with her nor pouring out meaningless drivel. She wanted answers.

  “Where ... where is my husband? Where is Jonathon?” Her words sounded harsh, her throat was dry.

  The man inspected his fingernails. “Mrs Fish, I’m sorry. But I have to tell you that he didn’t survive the blast.”

  “Blast, what blast? What? What are you talking about?”

  “So – you don’t remember?”

  “Remember? No, I don’t ... what do you mean Jonathon didn’t survive. Survive what?” Amie’s eyes filled with tears. This couldn’t be happening. Jonathon couldn’t be dead. No, not her husband. This man was lying. He wasn’t real, in a moment he would vanish like all her other visitors.

  She turned away, the tears running down her face and soaking the pillow. “Go away, leave!” she spluttered. “You’re not real. It’s not true.”

  “The blast at your house Mrs Fish, the explosion. I thought you knew. I thought someone would have ...” for a moment her unknown visitor seemed lost for words. He took a breath. “Believe me, Mrs Fish, I hate to have to inform you of this, but persons unknown set off a large incendiary device in your home, and it was totally destroyed. You were found outside by the back-garden wall, and you’ve been in hospital ever since.”

  The mists in Amie’s brain swirled around, the veil parting for a moment as she caught glimpses of the past. She vaguely remembered walking outside into the garden, and then nothing else. She looked down at her left hand and saw there was no ring on her finger. A narrow white mark where the sun hadn’t reached her skin told her that her wedding ring had gone.

  She turned back to her visitor. “Tell me, is it really true, that ... Jonathon ...” she couldn’t say the words.

  “Yes, he is ... dead. I’m very sorry.”

  “Go away! Go away! I don’t want you here,” Amie tried to scream but the words came out as a low moan.

  Slowly the man rose. “I’ll give you some time and then I’ll be back. We need to talk,” he said, leaving the room.

  Amie dissolved into floods of tears. She tried to dismiss the words. No Jonathon? No large as life Jonathon? Nooooo! He couldn’t have gone. He’d be back, he couldn’t die, he must be alive. But the more she denied it, the more she realised the truth. That made her a widow, and she shuddered at the word.

  She sobbed into her pillow and cried until she was exhausted and fell into another deep sleep, only to toss and turn, calling out for her husband, a shadowy figure who looked over his shoulder as he disappeared out of sight. Still she chased after him, but every time she got close, he vanished into thin air.

  She dreaded the return of her unnamed visitor but the following day he was back. This time Amie was well enough to sit up in bed and she was just finishing her lunch when he walked in without even knocking. She glared at him.

  “What do you want?” she was past caring about manners. “And who are you?”

  He ignored her question but pulled a chair up next to the bed and sat down. “I’ve come to offer you somewhere to stay,” he began. Amie did a double take. She’d been so deep in despair that she’d not given a thought to the more practical things. The house had been bombed? What was left?

  As if reading her thoughts, he continued. “Look, there’s no easy way to tell you this, but I’m afraid you’ve lost everything.”

  For a second his words didn’t register. Amie was so used to people with black skins talking English with that particular lilt in their voices, but her African visitor spoke with a perfect upper-class British accent. He’d obviously received an excellent education.

  As the words sunk in, Amie asked, “Including my husband?” The tears streamed down her cheeks, again.

  “Yes. I am sorry for your loss.” He sounded less than sincere.

  Did he have to use that well-worn phrase, Amie felt angry. But then what did you say to those who’d lost a loved one?

  “So, everything is gone? The house, all my belongings, everything we owned, all gone?” it was very hard to take it all in. One moment life was normal and the next – turned totally upside down. She fought down a sob.

  “So, what do I do now?” she blurted out.

  “That’s what I’m here for, to help,” he seemed on firmer ground now. “We’ve worked out a plan and as soon as you leave here, you will come and stay with us and you’ll be quite safe.”

  “But who are you?” Amie felt so frustrated.

  “Call me Ken. I’m from the British Embassy, here in Apatu.”

  “I should have guessed,” Amie muttered. “So where will I stay?”

  “In the embassy itself. It would be safer we think.”

  Amie pushed her tray away and leaned back. It was all too much, she couldn’t take it in. She could cope while she had Jonathon, but now that she was all alone, she just couldn’t face it. She closed her eyes and looked away.

  Ken hesitated for a moment before standing up. He replaced the chair against the back wall. “I’ll make the arrangements then, for when you leave. You will stay with us. That will be best.”

  On his next visit the doctor told her she could leave in a couple of days, but he warned her she would suffer dizzy spells for a while, and sometimes she would find it difficult to think clearly, as if Amie hadn’t noticed that already. Most of the time the world appeared in a haze and she was floating through it. The medic reassured her that this was quite normal, it was the brain’s way of coping with stress. She needed healthy food, lots of sleep and no worries, then she should be good as new.

  Amie’s next visitor was Mrs Motswezi, who crept in looking so furtive that Amie was tempted to laugh.

  “I am not supposed to be here, to know you are here,” she announced cryptically, “but Ouma Adede thought you might need me.”

  “You know Ouma Adede?” Amie was jolted out of her funk. “Yes of course you do, everyone knows her.”

  “Everybody knows Ouma Adede,” repeated Mrs Motswezi. “She is the most powerful sangoma (witch doctor) in the whole of Apatu. She sees things no one else sees. She is a great lady and to be revered.”

  Amie had to admit she both respected, and indeed, was a little afraid of the lady with the chicken bladders in her hair and the rattling coke bottle tops and shells around her wrists and ankles. She appeared too often at times of need not to believe she had some sort of special powers.

  “I cannot stay long,” Mrs Motswezi seemed nervous. “They will be angry I talk to you because they told me you were not here.”

  “But why would they say that?” Amie felt something was not right. Was this all part of another dream? She pinched herself hard not sure if she was asleep or awake.

  “Ah, maybe they’ll only allow family, that would explain it,” Amie commented.

  “No, that is not what they said. They said you never come here at all.” Mrs Motswezi sounded quite indignant. “They said you did not exist at all! Nonsense, here you are.”

  “I’m so pleased to see you,” Amie put out her hand and her old friend grabbed it firmly. “Look, please tell me what
happened. I’ve got bits of the story from some official at the British Embassy but I need to hear it from you.”

  “You do not remember.” Mrs Motswezi stated it as a fact not a question.

  Amie went to shake her head, but stopped as a shaft of pain radiated across the inside of her skull. The doctor was right. She was not back to normal yet. She found it hard to think straight, to sort reality from her hallucinations. She could remember very little of her past, although slowly, scenes would pop into her head like an internal tape rewinding events and people she had once known.

  Mrs Motswezi wriggled her generous bottom more comfortably in the plastic visitor’s chair, a sure sign she was about to tell a story. “First, they throw bombs into your house in the middle of the night but you were found outside in the garden by the wall. Jonathon, well, Jonathon was asleep in bed. He would not have remembered anything. A blessed way to go, may the good Lord take us all like that.”

  Amie had her doubts about the benefits of being blown into little pieces but had to admit that her elderly friend was probably right. It was unlikely that Jonathon had suffered and for that she should be thankful.

  “Then the house just went poof!” The headmistress threw her hands up into the air to illustrate her point. “Everything gone. Poof. All gone. Mathilda too!”

  Amie grabbed a tissue from the locker next to the bed and wiped her eyes. She still couldn’t take in the enormity of her situation. It was beyond her imagination.

  “But,” continued Mrs Motswezi as practical as ever, “you have money, they are only things, you can buy them all again.”

  “Yes, all except Jonathon,” Amie murmured as she sank back against the pillows. “And poor Mathilda.”

  “Ah, you are tired, but I will try to come again, even though they say you are not here. I am your friend and they cannot stop me.” Mrs Motswezi took a very small banana out of her bag. “I have read that you must bring grapes to sick people but there are none, so this banana is instead.”

  Amie couldn’t help but grin but when she went to thank her friend she had already gone. Once again sleep overtook her and she drifted off into a world where everything was normal and all pain forgotten. She wasn’t even sure that Mrs Motswezi had been there at all. What was even stranger, when she woke the next time, the banana had gone.

  When Amie came to again, she tried hard to remember more of her past life. Jonathon was forefront in her thoughts and she could recall living in her new house somewhere in Africa. But what came before that? She was from England. Yes, did she have family? A vision of another woman floated into view. She looked a little like Amie but she was angry and fretful. Who was she?

  8 THE WALKING DEAD

  A nurse bustled into the room clutching a pile of clothing.

  “The gentleman outside said you would need these.” She pushed them into Amie’s arms. There was a pair of jeans, a t-shirt and underwear reminding her again she had lost everything. She didn’t even have clothes to wear besides her sleep suit, and a dressing gown and slippers. She had no personal possessions whatsoever.

  She sat up, swung her legs over the side of the bed and got dressed. To her surprise the jeans were more or less the right size as were the trainers. She wondered if Ken had been sizing her up as she lay in her hospital bed and cringed at the thought.

  The nurse reappeared with a wheelchair and gently helped her to sit in it despite Amie’s protests that she could walk.

  “Hospital regulations, Miss Mansell,” the nurse said brightly.

  “Miss Mansell?” queried Amie.

  “That’s the name on your records. That’s your name.”

  Amie opened her mouth to protest and then decided it was better to say nothing. Was it the result of her injury? Was she going mad? Were all her memories just fiction? The effort of getting dressed along with the thought of going back out into the world kept her silent. Her room in the hospital had been a refuge but she couldn’t stay here forever, and she was reluctant to leave the safety of a closed and secure environment.

  Once they were out in the corridor, Ken stepped forward with another man Amie didn’t recognize and took the wheelchair from the nurse.

  “We’ll take her from here. Nurse. Thank you. I know the way and I’ve left the release papers on the desk.”

  The nurse nodded, patted Amie on the shoulder and walked away.

  Instead of following the main corridor marked EXIT, Ken pushed Amie in the opposite direction, along a narrow passageway, and on through the deserted kitchen area to a service entrance. He wheeled her out by the dustbins at the rear of the building to a waiting car. A bolt of fear swept through Amie as she looked at the tinted windows; once inside no one would see her. Were these people who they said they were? She could so easily be abducted. As soon as Ken let go of the wheelchair to open the door, Amie tried to stand up and walk away. She swayed as the ground swirled around her and the hospital buildings did a 360 degree turn.

  “Whoa there,” Ken took firm hold of her elbow. “It’s this way,” and putting his arm firmly round her waist he steered her onto the back seat.

  Amie fought down the wave of panic that threatened to engulf her as the door was slammed shut. She was a prisoner again.

  Ken got into the front seat with the unnamed driver who drove expertly through Apatu. Any official looking car was good reason to get out of the way in most African cities, and in no time at all they were turning in through the gates of the British Embassy.

  Amie gave a sigh of relief; this was familiar territory. She’d come here with Jonathon many times before for such things as the Queen’s birthday celebrations and Commonwealth Day along with all the other resident British ex-pats. Ken had told the truth after all.

  The car came to a halt at the side of the building. Amie tried to open the car door, but the child-proof locks were on and she had to wait for Ken to open it for her.

  At the entrance was someone she recognized; Vivienne, a lady she’d spoken to at the Club years ago. Amie was surprised to see her.

  “Hi there,” Vivienne put a gentle arm round Amie’s shoulders and helped her inside. “I bet you didn’t expect to see me again, did you?”

  “No ... no, I didn’t.” It was reassuring to recognize at least one familiar face.

  “I only flew in a couple of days ago, now that everything is getting back to normal, and it’s so nice to see you’re still here. The war must have been a dreadful experience.”

  “Yes, it was,” Amie replied.

  “I’ve been told to look after you and make sure you have everything you need.”

  “Which is just about everything. I’m told the whole house went up in flames.” Amie sniffed as a wave of melancholy washed over her.

  Vivienne gave her a small hug as she led the way to a large, comfortable bedroom at the back of the main building on the ground floor.

  “This is going to be your room for now. I found some books and magazines and a few changes of clothes. I kept it simple, and you have your own bathroom through here.”

  Amie looked around. Besides the double bed there was a two-seater sofa, two chairs and a coffee table, a desk, wardrobe, a small chest of drawers and a bar fridge. It was just like an expensive hotel room. There were tea and coffee making facilities on the table and a basket of rusks, biscuits and a bowl of sweets. The curtains sported pale green flowers of some description that matched the coverlet on the bed, sofa and chairs, a sure sign that a woman had been in charge of the furnishings.

  “I think you’ll be comfortable, but if there’s anything else, then just let me know,” Vivienne chattered on perhaps unnerved by Amie’s silence.

  “I don’t see a phone or a laptop,” Amie said. “I need to let my parents know I’m OK. I want to Skype London.”

  “Of course, you do,” Vivienne agreed. “I’ll mention it to Ken, but for now, why not have a rest? Just out of hospital, you’re bound to feel tired.” She pulled down the coverlet while she was talking and patted the pillow. �
�I’ll pop back later to see how you’re feeling. Can I make you a coffee or a tea before I go?”

  “No, thank you.” The bed looked very inviting and on second thoughts all Amie wanted to do was crawl in and go back to sleep.

  “Right, I’ll see you later.”

  Amie sat for a moment on the edge of the bed and then hobbled over to the door. To her horror, it was locked.

  She struggled over to the window and noticed the sturdy burglar bars, which, in most of the houses were not an unusual sight. To all intents and purposes, she was a prisoner, in the British Embassy. Her own embassy? It didn’t make sense.

  Too tired to think any more and too dizzy to stand up she lurched onto the bed, curled up and was soon fast asleep.

  She was woken by Vivienne opening the door and carrying a tray.

  “I thought you might be hungry,” she said with a smile, putting the food down on the coffee table. “We have an excellent cook here, and I’ve brought you traditional roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, roast potatoes and veg – your normal Sunday lunch.”

  Amie nodded and rubbed her eyes.

  “And to complete the meal there’s roly-poly pudding and custard. Take your time and I’ll be back in a little while.” Vivienne left Amie on her own, closing the door behind her.

  She looked at the food. Did she feel hungry? Suddenly, she was starving. She pounced on the plate and had the best meal she could remember in a long while.

  Then she recalled what was bothering her. She tottered over to the door and once more tried to open it. Nothing. It didn’t budge. She’d been right. She was locked in. She opened the fridge and poured herself a can of cool drink and sat down to think. None of this made sense. Questions whirled around her brain but she had no answers to any of them. One moment she was standing in her kitchen at home, then in hospital and now imprisoned in a bedroom in the embassy.