by H. J Golakai
‘It’s an ‘institute’. Apparently, nobody wants to be openly confronted with the fact they’re diseased and mortal, precisely what hospitals are good at. They say they’re promoting a spiritual and holistic combination. New Age evasiveness is all the rage now.’
‘My point is the Fouries are far from starving. They’re both senior staff at WI. They’ve offered Paulsen money for her ‘cooperation’ before, when it involved saving their son’s life, but ever since her daughter went missing she’s felt a distinct lack of support on their part. She may’ve changed her mind about recompense.’
She found and spread out the contents of Jacqui’s case envelope: copies of the official police report, statements from everyone questioned, newspaper clippings, hotline numbers for missing children sightings. She pushed the second photograph in the pile towards Joshua.
‘That’s the basket she’s put all her eggs in,’ she said, tapping the image of a man in the snapshot. ‘Ashwin Venter, the boyfriend. Twenty-five, auto mechanic, bit of a bad boy with a record. Obviously, Mommy didn’t approve. She demanded that Jacqui end the relationship; they quarrelled and Jacqui took to sneaking around behind her back. When Adele found out that her precious was still running around with him, grinding gonads no less, well, you can imagine how that went down. Typical mother-daughter stuff.
‘But Adele swears that Venter has the perfect motive for murder. She suspects Jacqui was pregnant from the way she was acting before she disappeared, and that Ashwin found out and flipped. She heard them fight a couple of times just before Jacqui disappeared, but couldn’t really pick out what it was about. Jacqui even came home with bruises one time, wouldn’t talk about how she got them. She just told her mom that she hoped she was happy now, because she’d broken up with him. He obviously didn’t take it well. Came by their house a few times making threats and causing a ruckus. They had to call the neighbours to get him off their property.’
Joshua eyed the photograph, his expression sceptical. Venter had a protective arm draped around his girl, the look on his face one of overplayed bravado. He was pale and freckled, well-muscled but kind of short. Hardly the toughest stud on the block. ‘I guess bad boys come in all flavours,’ he muttered. ‘What, he offed her when he found out she was having his baby? Doesn’t sound like your average male reaction.’
‘My thoughts exactly. But according to Adele, this guy’s typical coloured trash – her words, not mine. In his teens he was part of a gang. When his father died he inherited the business, which he couldn’t manage, and it started losing money. To top it off, he’s got two kids with other women. He’d been hauled into court for child maintenance and was seriously struggling to make ends meet. Basically, he wouldn’t have been over the moon about baby number three. He probably saw Jacqui as a soft option. Naïve schoolgirl star-struck by a big-time player. The way Adele tells it, he begged Jacqui to get rid of the baby, she refused and it went downhill fast.’
‘Dang, she really has it in for this guy. She knows all this how?’
‘Oh, she’s gunning for him all right, but her gun’s not loaded. Sure, he confessed under interrogation that they’d argued and even fought physically before, and had a huge bust-up on the day she disappeared. But other than that, there’s no proof. The cops pegged him as their main suspect, especially when it turned out he was the last person to see her alive and he couldn’t produce an alibi other than his sister. They brought him in for questioning a number of times, even held him in custody for two days without a formal charge, but with no evidence they eventually had to let him go. No body, no crime.’
Joshua frowned. ‘So, what, the cops hound one guy without much to go on, then suddenly the case goes cold? They didn’t have a body, but surely they had some evidence to build a case. When people go missing, they tend to leave a trace. Girl leaves home …’
‘Girl leaves home on September twenty-second, 2007. It’s a Saturday morning, just after ten.’ Vee took the reins, steering from memory. One thing her brain was good at: spooling facts, running playback. The flipside: glitching out in the face of overwhelming levels of choice or visual input, typically in malls and supermarket aisles.
‘She cleans her room and takes off for tennis practice at Newlands Sports Club with her friends, or so she tells her mom. That part of the story holds up. After that, holes. Just before midday, Adele called to find out where she was, got told they were on their way to lunch in Rondebosch. Like most teenagers, Jacqui was a great white liar, so her mother was in the habit of checking on her a lot, particularly on weekends. Didn’t do much good, because Jacqui still managed to give her the slip. She ditched her girlfriends and went to Ashwin’s garage in Athlone. According to him, it was simply to talk about their relationship, but it escalated into a screaming match. He wanted her back and she wasn’t havin’ it. Later, he swore up and down that the subject of pregnancy never came up. The prospect of having another child, this time with his beloved, wouldn’t have scared him but would have made him the happiest man alive.
‘That’s when the trail goes cold,’ Vee flung her hands up. ‘By about four in the afternoon, Ashwin gave up the bended-knee act and Jacqui left. He swore he never laid a hand on her that day. Nobody admitted to seeing her again. Everybody who tried calling her once they started to get really worried said her cell was switched off. Wherever she ended up, I’m guessing that phone ended up there with her.’
‘Not necessarily,’ Joshua countered. ‘She could’ve lost it or it could’ve been stolen.’
‘True, possible. Too many possibles at this stage.’
‘Whatever you do, you’ve got to roll out with it like a boss.’Cause I bet your boss’s given you this much,’ he held two fingers an inch apart, ‘wiggle room.’
‘Oh, my inner bitch is so poised.’ Vee sat up. She let silence bounce around the room for a minute. Then, ‘Sorry I forgot your birthday.’ She reached across the table and covered his hand with hers. ‘I meant to send you a male stripper for the big three-oh.’
‘Shucks, guess I missed out.’ He stroked her fingers. ‘Don’t worry about it. I wasn’t here, anyway. New York.’
‘I’ll make it up to you.’ She side-eyed him, testing the air with her feelers, wondering if it was safe just to spit out what she’d wanted to get off her chest from the second she’d run into him. Screw it – she was going to ask. He looked so relaxed, though. Why ruin the mood? No, she would see him on the weekend and bring it up then.
‘So, how’s your friend doing? Where he at?’ she blurted.
Joshua drew his hand away. He didn’t meet her eyes, but his shoulders and the corners of his mouth spasmed. ‘Haven’t heard from him,’ he replied when he did look up, holding her gaze steadily. ‘You know I wouldn’t hide it from you if I had.’
‘Well, does he know how I’ve been doing? Does he give a righteous shit?’
Joshua dragged his hands up and down his face and over his head, messing his bramble of hair even more. ‘Uggghh. Vee …’
‘Y’know what’s funny?’ She chuckled. ‘I’ll tell you what’s the final word in hilarity. Filling out a new form at the WI the other day and getting to the section on contact details for next of kin. Ti was mine. He’s been my go-to all the time I’ve been here. So, I’m sitting there with my pen hovering over this piece of paper–’
‘Stop. Don’t do this.’
‘–poised to write who the hell knows what, at a complete loss. He took pride in that position, especially since we weren’t linked by marriage yet but since I knew we would be, I relinquished control. He sure didn’t have a problem with telling some doctor to slice me open and chop off a vital organ; he signed that consent form pretty willy-nilly. Then, because he had to play nursemaid for a few months afterwards when I lost it, suddenly behaving like my kin was too much to handle. He fucks off to …’ she flapped her hands, ‘wherever, and I’m left here dealing with …’
‘V. J.’ Joshua stayed quiet for a full minute. ‘This was too much on both of you
. You were unconscious from an ectopic pregnancy gone rogue. He had to make a call. No guy wants to be the one to call his fiancée’s parents, like, ‘Hey, your daughter’s dead by the way, ’cause I kept my thumb up my ass too long deciding what to do.’ And he took care of you afterwards, while you blamed yourself and him and the entire world. You were a mess.’ He made a move towards her and she got up and walked to the sliding glass doors feeding out onto the patio and backyard. ‘And I say ‘were’, because though you’re still pretty shitty now, you’re in much better shape.’ Pause. ‘He loves you. He didn’t abandon you.’
Vee snorted. ‘Six months and no word. How the hell d’you know?’
‘I know what it is to love you.’
Vee stared at her lawn. It was easy to forget, in the throes of her egocentric rages, that she wasn’t the only one dealing with the fallout. Joshua had stuck it out, for his own quasi-selfish reasons, true, but he had, never once railing against his friend. Whatever Code Amongst Men Titus had broken, Joshua hadn’t broken rank and had kept it together for her sake. She wanted her pound of flesh; as much as she loathed to admit it, her ex still had a hold on her. An ever-slackening hold – barring a sprinkle of bad days, Titus now crossed her mind with lazy frequency – but a complete exorcism was in order.
She blinked back the film of sting in her eyes. Other than Connie, Joshua was the size of it in her realm of ride-or-die allies in Cape Town. Titus got the friends after Armageddon. It’d probably be to her benefit to come clean about the anxiety attacks. Joshua had borne far more than his share of the weight for their friendship, but he deserved honesty. He was a staunch advocate of facing oneself in all things, and the frightening magnitude of her symptoms indicated there could be something concrete to his theory.
Joshua said: ‘Back to your thing. It’s strange, but it made me …’ He stopped. ‘What? You were about to say something.’
‘Hehn? No. Just a random thought.’ She waved it away. ‘What’s strange?’
He squinted at her for a long time. ‘The story sounds familiar. I dunno, something you said in the beginning …’
‘Well, you were here two years ago. Jacqueline Paulsen’s disappearance didn’t make headlines, but it got local media coverage. I’m sure you read or heard about it.’
‘No, that’s not it. More recent … Anyway, it’s gone now. But it’ll come back to me.’ He rose.
She walked him to the front door, a pang knocking round her chest. She didn’t want to be alone just yet. Monro tottered after them, nudging the back of Joshua’s legs, and settled on his haunches at the door. ‘When’re you planning to take your dog back?’
‘Next week,’ Joshua lied promptly. ‘Saturday. Next week Saturday, bright and early.’
Vee sniggered and gave a thumbs-up. ‘Next week’ was a year-old excuse. An attack in childhood left her terrified of dogs until Joshua had dumped the husky on her for a couple of weeks, which had turned into, well. And he went on enjoying his spacious Sea Point apartment while Monro tore around her tiny yard.
‘Your eyes look like a horror movie. Get some rest. Don’t stay up all night chasing clues down that black hole between your ears,’ he said. ‘And eat something. Fatten up a little. Your ass used to be thorough.’
He dawdled; he always did. Vee dawdled with him. It felt good, smelled good, having a man this close. He gave his customary goodbye, a graze at the edge of her mouth, a little too protracted as always but quite safe. She didn’t expect it when he pulled back, turned her inside out with a look, and kissed her full on without pause or caution. Soft, incredibly warm, right amount of pressure. Vee leaned into it for longer than she should have. She caught herself and pulled away.
Joshua cleared his throat. ‘Right.’ He stepped out of the doorway and crossed the path, walking backwards to his car. ‘Are we done, Voinjama Johnson?’ he called.
‘Are we ever, Joshua Allen?’
Vee latched the door, biting into a smile. Monro looked up at her and issued two sharp barks.
‘Don’t you dare judge me,’ she said.
8
On Monday evening, Chlöe Bishop perched on the edge of an expensive oak desk and tried not to look uncomfortable as it dug into her backside. The inner flesh of a woman’s upper thigh was incredibly sensitive to touch, and no one knew this better than she. She shifted hers away from the man’s clammy fingers with a nervous titter, but it only succeeded in shifting his focus to another spot under her skirt.
She didn’t need to check the time to confirm what she already knew, that she was horribly late for a date. It didn’t matter how late she was, or whether she showed up at all. She and her ex would only go around in circles. It was time she accepted that she’d been dumped, and begging was only crushing the market value of her self-esteem.
What choice did she have, though? Her living situation had gone from loving and financially supportive to broke and hugely uncomfortable, since two people who’d been romantically entwined couldn’t carry on living under the same roof without friction. Not when one of them (Not me, she thought bitterly) kept bringing random losers home for casual sex and calling it ‘processing heartbreak’. This was how she found herself putting in a little extra something into her job search, seeing as how a killer CV wasn’t getting her anywhere.
‘So …’ She slid off her tank top to reveal a lacy bra, thrusting her breasts into his chest. This creep was old enough to be her father. Nope, no father thoughts right now. Her parents were disappointed enough in her. She pressed herself into his chest and turned a flinch into a light kiss on his neck. Did women really do this; did it truly work for men? It seemed so. Mr Cohen was practically panting.
‘Am I in, or not?’
‘Oh, you’re in, Miss Bishop,’ he breathed into her ear, flicking his tongue around the cavity. Chlöe summoned the willpower not to retch. ‘You’re definitely in. I’ve already made the call and sent the email. You can start at the beginning of next month.’
Chlöe did her charming laugh, casting her tinkle around the massive office and hoping the edge of desperation she picked up on was perceptible to her ears only. Never mind that it was well past 7 p.m. and no one else was in the building to hear or witness her performance. She slid off the desk.
‘End of the month isn’t good enough,’ she said, keeping her back to Cohen as her top went back on. ‘I need to start as soon as possible. You said there was a good chance of an opening, the only thing was to apply pressure in the right places. Thought you could make that happen.’
He chuckled into her hair, his lips and breath tickling her scalp. ‘What do you want, my blood? I said–’
Chlöe turned and cupped the swollen front of his pants, the sugar in her smile letting him know his prize handful was all she was after. ‘I’ll take something in writing, too,’ she whispered, lips brushing his.
‘Oh, you’ll certainly get it in writing,’ Cohen said in her ear. ‘But first …’
Five minutes later, Chlöe lay on the floor, divested of everything except the skirt. She averted her eyes in horror from his erect penis, glad its latex sheath gave her one fewer thing to worry about. No one warned girls like her strenuously enough about heterosexual encounters, and for that she was grateful. Prior knowledge would have made soldiering through impossible. Her sentiments on phalluses – revulsion – had been cemented early on in life and weren’t likely, ever, to change. Cohen held her panties to his nose and inhaled with reverence before entering her. Chlöe shuddered and tried not to clench up, turning gags into soft moans. She would keep her eyes closed the whole way through; there was nothing else for it.
Now I get why it’s called a carpet interview, she thought, stealing a peek at the pricey carpet under her head. At least she wasn’t on her knees. The weather was hobbling towards spring and she had to protect her knees if she wanted to show them off. She adored pencil skirts.
9
On Wednesday morning, Vee peeked through the blinds of Portia’s office at the girl sitt
ing across the hall. Shiny, fox-red hair, clumsily flat-ironed – it was naturally curly, the ends gave it away – but professionally layered down to the shoulders. Clear, pale skin; pretty expert make-up for someone that young. Peach cashmere sweater and tartan pencil skirt followed enviable curves for a white girl; a lot of bustiness on top, zero butt below. Vee released the slats and the blinds snapped back into place.
‘Tell me she’s for the style team,’ Vee said.
‘She’s for you. Chlöe Bishop, your new assistant. Well, our new intern.’
‘Our new intern or my new assistant? She can’t be both. And when did we start getting new interns? I thought you terminated the whole programme after last year’s fiasco. They cost us too much money and weren’t worth the trouble. They barely pulled their weight. The whole thing did nothing but give you grief and be a pain in our collective ass.’
‘No, I didn’t terminate the programme. I put it on the back-burner.’ Portia sat. ‘Look.’ She put her heels on her desk. She was the sort who looked like she would never put her feet on tables anywhere and then looked amazing when she did it. ‘This girl is a fresh graduate … well, fresh enough. She came for an interview a couple of months ago and I told her I’d think about it. Frankly, I forgot her the second she left. We’re not hiring right now, economic downturn, blah blah blah. Then a higher-up called in a favour and that favour trickled down to me …’ She shrugged. ‘She’s desperate. And I am quite drawn to desperation.’ The tint of nostalgia in Portia’s smile brought up the memory of their first interview together like a smack to Vee’s face. ‘I’ve reconsidered. Give her a chance. One month probation. Enough time for your … thing to pan out.
‘Why her? She can’t need this job. She looks like the whitest girl in the universe.’