The Lazarus Effect

by H. J Golakai

  ‘Tam-tam! You in the shower yet?’ Silence. ‘You still out there?’

  Tamara sighed. ‘Yeeeaaah, I’m heeere.’

  ‘Well, jeez, what’s up with the creepy silence? Hurry up loser, we’re not gonna wait for you.’ A moment passed, then: ‘Don’t get pissed but can you bring me a tampon from my bag, please, super-please? Nee, man, of all the days to start leaking.’

  ‘Shit, Jacqui, I’m not your flippin’ maid, you know! It’s like you think I just jump at your say-so,’ Tamara barked, instinctively reaching for Jacqui’s satchel and working the zip. ‘Anything else you need, madam?’

  ‘Fine, bitch, I’ll get it myself. No need for the aggro.’

  The ridged soles of a pristine white pair of sneakers peeped out from under the jeans and T-shirt Jacqui had come wearing. Tamara threw a glance over her shoulder and wiggled them out. Nike, one of the latest designs. Brand new, expensive, original Nike. Daddy-bought, for sure.

  ‘Hang on, I’m bringing it,’ she murmured. Jacqui started to wail and Tamara made a fist, counted to five, and then called out that she was on her way. Jacqui answered with a perky ‘Dankie, meisie!’ and the shower started up again, hissing over the sound of her singing.

  We don’t all have rich fathers. Tamara laid the shoes on top of the satchel and crossed her arms, staring at them. Jacqui’s dad was a heart specialist who’d ditched her to keep up appearances with some white chick, true, but he was splashy enough to spend this kind of money on tekkies and that was a sweet deal. One that spoilt, stuck-up witch didn’t deserve. Tamara looked around one last time, and before she could talk herself out of it, grabbed the shoes. She fumbled with the zip of her own bag for what felt like a lifetime, finally got it open and stuffed the sneakers inside as far down as they could go.

  ‘Hurry up, I’m haemorrhaging!’ Jacqui cackled gleefully.

  Tamara rearranged the clothes and toiletries in Jacqui’s gym bag, fluffing up the contents so the shoes wouldn’t be missed immediately. Jacqui never checked her kit after a practice. Until today she’d never had reason to, so it wasn’t likely she’d notice anything missing until she was home. Tamara bit her lip for a second. She wouldn’t care. She never cares.

  Tampon in her hand, she scuttled to the showers.

  12

  Chlöe cooled her heels outside Bella Blues, unaware that less than half a kilometre away Vee was being besieged by harried commuters and shoppers. The boutique’s display window was inviting, decorated with the sort of mouth-watering items Chlöe had a weakness for. It took all of her self-restraint not to go in. She knew too well what she’d find: gushing assistants (at those prices, what couldn’t be faked?), plush couches for the weary and credit card machines that were never out of order. Willpower could only be tested so far. She had to face it: her days of relaxing after an exhausting but rewarding expedition, surrounded by a sluttery of shopping, were over. That lifestyle of indulgence was on ice indefinitely. Meanwhile, she was fighting to embrace an inner career girl who stood on her own two feet. In far less expensive shoes.

  Chlöe checked her phone again for time. Not that she had anywhere else to be, for heaven’s sake. Driving back to town from Athlone, the manager at Bella Blues called her to say Tamara Daniels was around. Daniels was technically on leave but she was one of their best; committed, liked to pop in from time to time even when she was off. Today was one such lucky day. Tamara agreed to a chat, as long as it was a quickie and Chlöe could pitch up pronto.

  Irksome, then, to turn up only to find Tamara had run out to grab a munchie in Cavendish Square across the road. Chlöe sighed, dragging her eyes from the display windows. The only safe place to poke around in was a lingerie shop. Impervious to the siren call of lacy cups and boudoir knickers, she browsed in fascination. Thank God she’d never had a partner who needed impressing with this kind of stuff. Well, excepting the most recent occasion a couple of days ago, but the Neanderthal in question barely counted as humanoid, much less a consensual sexual partner. Chlöe shuddered. She’d done his memory justice and burned those knickers he’d sniffed without a second thought.

  ‘Hey!’

  Chlöe turned, pasting on a smile. The leggy, cookie-coloured girl, boosted by a pair of weapon-toed boots, eyed her up and down, a box of confectionery and coffee cup from Mugg & Bean in hand. For the second time that day, Chlöe Bishop felt too short and too white.

  ‘Are you the reporter wanting to talk to me? Don’t know why we couldn’t do this over the phone.’ Tamara Daniels sported a heavy Cape Flats accent, a Model C school inflection in the undertow. Probably came with a big chip on the shoulder, too. Chlöe braced herself.

  ‘I’m on leave, you know. But I’m curious to know what this is about.’ Tamara perched on a nearby bench with the fluidity of the tall and dextrous, not once jostling her parcels or exquisite handbag. ‘Lenora,’ she indicated her colleague with a nod in the direction of the boutique, ‘only said you wanted to ask about my old friend, Jacqui Paulsen. Haven’t heard that name in … hoo-oo, it’s been a while.’

  ‘How well did you know each other?’ Chlöe fought to maintain a professional air and not stare at the doughnuts being devoured. Had she had breakfast? Yes, an age ago. Tamara ate with witchy daintiness, pinching off pieces of doughnut with red fingernails and cramming them down a corner of her mouth so as not to disturb her lipstick. She caught Chlöe’s stare and offered one up, which Chlöe gratefully accepted.

  ‘We were best friends. We met in high school after I moved to the neighbourhood. My parents relocated from Bellville and I finished my last two years at Rhodes High. Jacqui had already been there a year before me, had a head start in popularity.’

  ‘What was she like?’

  Tamara’s laugh was empty of genuine amusement. ‘Jacqui was Jacqui, you know. Flashy, talkative, tendency to think she was better than everyone else. Her dad was a big deal but she still lived pretty common like the rest of us, so I don’t know what that was about. And he bought her lots of nice things, and didn’t we always have to listen to her talk about it? But we got along well enough, though. She was mostly okay. Just sometimes she really pissed me off. Like, Jacqui just loved being the centre of attention. When she was alive, that was all she was about, and now she’s dead I’m not surprised it still is.’

  ‘You think she’s dead, not missing? Maybe she left to strike it big somewhere else.’

  Tamara snorted sugar. ‘Where else would she be? Jacqui used to go on and on about how she was gonna make it big one day. First she was gonna be a designer, then an interior decorator, then it was theatre and drama. Trust me, if Jacqui ran off somewhere and made it on her own, she’d contact everybody to boast about how well she was doing and what losers the rest of us were for staying behind. If she hadn’t made it, she’d be moaning about how horrible her life was, but at least she was trying and who’re the rest of us to talk.’

  Chlöe nodded, rearranging her preconceptions. So, this wasn’t a friend – this was a Frenemy. A creature many loathed to admit was central to female companionship, frolicking in its natural habitat. Carried on like a comrade, backstabbed like a burglar. Tamara had more than likely coveted the position her friend had occupied – top dog – but had settled for being as close to the limelight as possible and nurtured some pretty bitter feelings while she was there.

  ‘What can you tell me about the day you last saw her?’

  ‘That day.’ Tamara shook her head. ‘I don’t know how many times I’ve relived that day and told the same story to the police. They harassed me, they harassed my family, they turned the whole neighbourhood upside down and still didn’t find anything. You wanna hear it again?

  ‘Well, here it is, the long and short of it,’ she replied to Chlöe’s nod. ‘Me and Jacqui went to Newlands Sports Club at around eleven in the morning. We were both on the girls’ basketball team at school, so we liked to play something different on the weekend, mix it up. Tennis was our thing, sometimes we’d mess around in the pool. Few
other girls used to join us. Newlands has great facilities and students get in for free, and we could dump our parents for a while, which was perfect. We played until one o’clock.

  ‘On the spur of the moment, we decided to go watch a movie at Cavendish, but Jacqui bailed and left the group. She made up some lie about having stuff to do for her mum, blah blah, but we all knew it was that Ashwin idiot she was going to see. She swore she’d dumped him but she was being really shifty that day, so I knew he was somewhere in the mix. We were close, but you know how girls are: we hide our drama when we can’t deal with all the judgement. Anyway, she took off and the rest of us went to the movies, and the next thing I hear she’s missing and Mr Ash is denying everything. But I swear to God, I didn’t see or hear from her again after that.’

  ‘What time was it exactly when she left you?’

  Tamara pondered, shoving another pinch of doughnut into her mouth. ‘We wanted to grab some food and still have time to make the two-thirty show, so we had an hour to hustle. I’d say we got a taxi and left her in Newlands at around one-thirty.’

  Chlöe was stumped. Was there something she was missing, a question she was leaving unasked? There were over three hours lost in the ether in between tennis and the last time Jacqui’s missing phone had been on. ‘So she, like, didn’t call you even once for the rest of the day?’ she pressed, hating how lame she sounded. Tamara was already on her feet, impatient to push off.

  ‘No, not once.’ Tamara spoke quickly, but then she paused, allowing some unspoken thought to knock around in her head a bit. ‘Like I said, I really didn’t trust or like that Ashwin of hers, but maybe he wasn’t lying about everything. Jacqui had loads of friends and liked being liked, but strangely enough she could keep a secret. Who knew what else she was up to? If anybody can help you out more, try Bronwyn Abrams. In some ways she was closer to Jacqui than me.’

  Chlöe explained they were well aware of Bronwyn’s existence but were having trouble getting in touch with her. She reeled off an address and contact number hoping for a nod of confirmation, but all Tamara did was shrug.

  ‘If you already know about Bronwyn, I can’t really help beyond that. She wasn’t with us that day. Don’t know her number or where she stays or nothin’. She wasn’t my friend per se; she mostly hung out with Jacqui. They used to be tight from their old ’hood when they were kids, then Jacqui moved away, or she moved …’ Tamara arched her shoulders again and shook her hair to indicate the tale was muddled and uninteresting. ‘Some long story. Anyway, we had Jacqui in common, but not much beyond that.’

  ‘That sounds like an intriguing dynamic.’ Chlöe knew stalling wouldn’t work for much longer and she couldn’t stomach the sound of her fake ‘investigator voice’. ‘Why was it, exactly, that you guys weren’t all that close despite having a best friend in common?’

  Tamara looked pained. ‘Look, who knows why some people get along like a house on fire and others can’t stand each other’s guts? Don’t get me wrong; we weren’t enemies, far from it. We just … didn’t gel. Bronwyn had a very sweet, insecure personality. Lots of handholding. I really don’t rub shoulders too well with chicks like that. Sucks up too much energy. Jacqui was great with her. She was always wonderful with that kinda stuff.’

  Chlöe wondered how Tamara’s temperament worked in a sales environment where delivery was crucial. But from the look of Tamara’s outfit, the girl clearly let nothing mess with her money. ‘You said Jacqui was good with secrets. Is it possible that that played a part in her disappearance? Maybe she was pregnant, or in some other kind of trouble that led to something worse?’

  This time, Tamara’s laugh was a short bark of incredulous scorn. ‘That’s way more than unlikely! The only thing Jacqui was better at than starting shit was getting out of it, so no way would I believe she’d let any situation get that far out of control. Okay, I’m not saying she was superhuman or anything, but Jacqui was dead clever. If she was in too deep, she definitely would’ve told me, or her mother, or someone, y’know. She wasn’t some stupid girl, to go drink bleach or whatever. Pregnancy is so not on. No, she would’ve told me. Jacqui was majorly ambitious, and she wouldn’t be careless enough to screw up all her magnificent dreams on one mistake. Not for Ashwin.’

  Chlöe arched her eyebrows, massaging for more.

  ‘Ag, man,’ Tamara continued, ‘her mum was all worried that they were ‘doing it’ and, sure, I didn’t like his ass, but that whole Ashwin thing was nothing but a high-school fling. A major man upgrade was gonna happen after that. Jacqui liked guys and fooled around as much as the next girl, but unlike the next girl she was no bubble-headed romantic. Beemers and Gucci don’t mix with an old-school coloured guy who wants a goody-goody wife and lots of kids. Like, hello.’

  Hello, indeed. So heart-throb wasn’t quite the centre of the universe he was painted to be. Or as much as he’d believed himself to be? How confused would he have been about that? Or had Dad found out and taken matters into his own hands?

  ‘I really have to go.’ Tamara shuffled, looking uncomfortable for the first time. ‘Not that I don’t wanna help you out, but …’

  Chlöe nodded, jostling titbits into the right slots between her ears. Maybe she should’ve written stuff down in case Voinjama asked for specifics later. Journalists were supposed to write things down. Crap.

  ‘Look, this isn’t easy for me. I’m not some bitch,’ Tamara said. Her guard dropped for the first time, and sadness and anger frothed to the surface. ‘I really, really do miss her. We both wanted to move on to greater things and leave our old lives behind; that’s all we ever talked about. All this time I just couldn’t believe she’d just pack up and leave without me. Piss off for a jol in a new city and not care who she left behind.’ Tamara gulped. ‘It was easier to assume she was selfish and left without saying goodbye. I could be angry with her for that. It was better than … thinking the worst.’

  Chlöe nodded some more, unsure of what to say. Tamara would work through things in her own way and time, with or without platitudes from a stranger. Instead, she promised she’d be in touch if there were any more questions.

  ‘Whatever you find out, can you gimme a shout? So I finally know what happened to her.’ Tamara waved half-heartedly and walked away.

  13

  The security guard hardly spared them a look as they passed through the doorway swaddled in a clutch of other shoppers. Vee hung back as the girl behind the parcel counter slid Rosie’s school satchel into a free slot and handed her a beaten, numbered cardboard disc in exchange. The bargain bin store was crowded but Vee wasn’t worried about keeping up in here. Rosie looked intent on being as idle and oblivious as an afternoon would allow. She draped a shopping basket noncommittally over her elbow and meandered through the aisles of bins.

  Crunching on an apple, Vee kept the schoolgirl in sight. Dogging people’s footsteps involved a lot more watching than pursuing. The trick lay in maintaining a line of sight at all times, which was easy with so few of the aisles blocking her vision. She retained a wide angle of rotation around Rosie, keeping several warm bodies between them, making sure she was never more than a profile in peripheral vision.

  The guard was in plainclothes, which was a relief. Vee didn’t have the energy to deal with a uniformed, walkie-talkie tough guy, should things go sideways. The guard’s attention and hands were thankfully engaged by the giggling parcel-counter attendant. Burrowing through mounds of ‘Made in China’ with harried mothers, Vee kept one eye on him and the other out for Rosie, sharp elbows and scampering kids.

  She held up a ladies’ white tank top, played the fabric around in her fingers. The quality was appalling. Nevertheless, it sang of warm days in clean jeans, of Sunday shenanigans. Her thoughts stole her away for a moment, as some fantasy man caressed the small of her back and murmured in her ear. As Joshua …

  Vee tossed the tank top back into the bin and brushed her fingertips over her forehead. She needed to get a grip. She was a little lonely, fine
, no shame in that. But there was truth to the saying that shopping (for men) while hungry (desperate? She wasn’t desperate) was a bad idea. And with Joshua? Inviting, persistent as hell, but off limits. Extremely off. Like, miles offshore of sanity’s dominion to even be flirting with one of her ex’s best friends.

  She snapped out of her head and scanned the floor for Rosie. She was gone. Vee’s heart somersaulted. Shit, woman, focus. Her head was meant to be in the game and here she was, in heat and trying to drive heavy machinery. She tiptoed to the next aisle, peeped, and exhaled when she saw Rosie, jammed up against a garment rack, her eyes vacant.

  Why the hell won’t she just leave? This dump didn’t have much to offer. Vee frowned. The twitchy look on Rosie’s face was suspicious, and the girl had one hand behind her back like she was hiding something. The arm behind her back darted to a shelf and a flash of colour disappeared up the sleeve of her school jersey. Rosie pressed her arm against the side of the display shelf, flattening her ‘purchase’ so it didn’t stick out so much.

  Well, I’ll be damned, she is shopping, Vee snickered. Shoplifting, and doing a horrible job of it. Vee switched her phone to video record and angled her palm, filming as Rosie spirited more merchandise into her knee high socks by pretending to tie her laces. The shoelace thing was clearly her go-to ninja move.

  It didn’t go unnoticed. The Asian woman behind the till yelped and pointed, sending a male counterpart muscling over. A scamper of children dashed across his path and the sharp-featured man fell, grabbed on to a metal bin and overturned it. The Asian woman bellowed in Mandarin in the direction of the security guard, jabbing her finger at Rosie.