by H. J Golakai
He watched her eat, the furrow between his eyebrows deepening with every passing minute. The silence got creepy. Vee finally put the utensils down.
‘I’m listening.’
‘Four months, Vee. You sat on this for that long. You need to see a therapist. Some kinda professional. You’re carrying a lot of crap around that you need to unload …’
‘Joshua …’
‘You can’t really think that glossing it over is healthy. You got caught in a civil war when you were ten, for Chrissake. You had to fight for your life, you had to pick up a weapon and–’
‘STOP!’
‘All right. Okay, okay, no more.’ He raised his hands and slapped them down on his thighs. They glared at each other some more. Vee pushed the plate away, not that there was much on it, and came back to sit on the bed beside him. ‘You scared the shit outta me, okay. I thought you were having a heart attack,’ he said.
She twisted her fingers around in her lap. ‘That’s what it feels like,’ she said quietly.
‘There has to be a trigger. What’s the first thing you feel?’
‘Nothing. I’ve stopped writing it down because I couldn’t see any connection. They come on anywhere.’
Joshua looked around the bedroom. He rose and walked over to the box of old clothes, lifted out a T-shirt. ‘Men’s extra large. Yours?’
Vee snatched it, tossed it back into the box, and kicked it away. ‘That’s Titus’s junk. He’s had enough time to pick it up, so I’m donating it to charity. Should’ve burnt it all.’
‘Bitter much?’ Joshua shook his head. ‘How can you not see a link here? When else?’
Vee froze. Their favourite music, the food he loved, wearing his cologne to work. She’d packed and unpacked these clothes a hundred times under the pretence of throwing them out. They used to jog on Rondebosch Common together and he’d teased her by zipping ahead, leave her laughing and panting in his dust. A myriad ways she subconsciously attempted to recreate her old life with Titus. Every single one of those incidents had preceded a seizure. It was a punch in the gut.
‘Well. There were other times that had nothing to do with that. It’s a terrifying feeling, don’t think I haven’t been fighting it. I’ve fought so hard to stop it coming back and every time …’
‘Then don’t. Don’t fight it. Just let it happen.’
She reeled. ‘It feels like I’m being murdered. How do I not fight that?’
Joshua shrugged. ‘If you know it’s inevitable, then let it happen. Struggling and pushing back hasn’t worked, so flip the script. Go with it. Sounds crazy, but what’ve you got to lose?’ He gave her one of his sage looks. ‘Fighting isn’t the only way to win.’
‘Where’d you hear nonsense like that?’
‘I dunno. Kung Fu Panda. Point is, it’s poignant and true.’
Vee mumbled under her breath but didn’t press the point. She wasn’t always a fan of Serious Joshua. Serious Joshua held her feet to the flames, got a bit too wise and intense.
‘So …’ she said. By this time their chitchat would wind down and he would do his flirtation bit and head out. They had crossed the veil now, and she wasn’t sure how their thing worked on the other side. Did he want to leave? She didn’t want him to. He knew everything there was to know. He’d fed her and changed her music from the ‘depressing garbage’ she’d had on to a playlist on his phone. Kings of Leon belted out a bluesy-rock ballad she hadn’t heard before.
‘So …’ He kissed her. Vee kissed him back.
‘Wait.’ She pushed him away. ‘This isn’t what you came for, remember.’
‘Screw that. You just shaved a decade off my life, jitterbug. You owe me.’
‘Smh, I’hn owe you nuttin,’ she laughed.
‘We’ll see.’
33
The Mercedes-Benz E class rolled to a halt behind a cluster of bushes. The driver tapped the accelerator and the engine replied with an alarmingly throaty rumble. The driver’s foot slipped off the pedals and skittered to regain hold. The driver put the car in park with a trembling hand and muttered a prayer for courage.
Minutes ticked past.
After eleven of them, a woman rounded the far corner at a jog. She wore a chocolate jogging suit with acid pink trim and paid no attention to the car, if she saw it at all. The driver started the engine and crawled forward, trying to follow without being spotted.
The driver of the Merc was in luck. The woman hadn’t heard the engine, nor did she notice the pursuit. She was in her own world.
Vee pumped her legs at top speed. She closed her eyes every now and again and imagined the top of her head gone and the wind whipping over her exposed brain, cooling and clearing it of every care and grief. The days of running for fitness were over. Now she was in it solely for peace of mind and the sense of freedom.
After an unbroken fifteen-minute spurt, her legs gave out. She thundered to a stop and slumped onto the asphalt, heaving. No morning breeze was strong enough to blow all her troubles away. She drew her knees up to meet her forehead as she caught her breath, powerless to stop her thoughts from eating away at her.
She had failed. The one-month anniversary of the day she was handed the Paulsen case had passed her by, smirking, and had nothing to say for itself. She’d had to face Portia with the truth – the Fourie frontier had gone from quiet to a barren wasteland, and she and Chlöe had nothing to run in an issue. Both doctors had gone from making excuses to making threats, and finally to avoiding her altogether. Portia dumped her back on features, shunting her onto the most boring assignment available.
‘If you give me more time, like two more weeks, even one, I know we’re about to break something. I’ve been talking to Rosie …’ Vee angled.
‘Rosie? The spastic one?’ Portia’s expression said she couldn’t even summon the energy to be disgusted. ‘Come on. Don’t be this person.’
‘She might not be as entrenched in all of it as the others, but she’s my in. If I can massage her into getting me solid information that’ll break her father’s alibi, like a copy of his schedule from two years ago or solid proof that he, or his wife, weren’t at the hospital the night Jacqui disappeared, we’ve got enough for an opportunity.’
‘So basically you’re harassing a child, the least common denominator, because you think she’ll snitch on her father.’ Portia sighed. ‘When you said this case was frozen solid, what you should’ve said was it couldn’t be defrosted at all,’ she said, the pity in her tone cutting deeper than any reprimand. ‘Forget it, Voinjama. No more sand in the hourglass.’
Too embarrassed and confused at her failure to argue any further, Vee dutifully pressed her nose to the grindstone.
The one highlight of October was her twenty-ninth birthday. Connie threw her a party that turned into a raucous affair. It was fun, but Joshua didn’t make it thanks to work. He called sounding tired and faraway, boxed in by walls of documents overrun with ones and zeroes. Other people’s millions.
‘This is so unfair.’ She hated wheedling in a quiet corner at her own party. Worst of all, she detested the thrill she got in feeling like a woman entitled to pry and make demands. It stank of high school. Vee cringed. The older she got, the deeper she regressed in her dating habits.
Joshua had promised to make it up by picking her up in the evening for a surprise outing, at seven-thirty.
By 7:45 p.m., her glow had vinegared. Dressed to dazzle, she sat in a darkened lounge, worried and pissed off in equal proportions. It was not like Joshua to be late and not call.
She moved to the window and looked out. Two figures loitered on the sidewalk outside her driveway. She let the curtains drop, a rattle of unease in her chest. For several days now, the sensation of being followed nagged at her, an invisible hand trailing down her spine. Maybe it was residual paranoia from the Lucas Fourie–Ashwin Venter tag team event. Shadows loomed everywhere.
Vee peeped again and her throat clenched. The figures took shape in the half-light. She s
tepped away from the window and thought long and hard. She took her heels off, opened the front door and pattered down the front walk.
‘What the hell’s going on?’
She looked from Titus to Joshua. So different and so alike. Titus was more ripped than she remembered, the cut of his biceps defined under his sweater. Had he been bodybuilding in his spare time instead of pining over her? Had he got wind of her adventures and gone on an ironman regimen to beat down any rivals he caught on his turf? She wasn’t his turf any more.
‘Yor better not start nuttin. There will be no ghetto shit in front of my house, so my white neighbours can judge me,’ she warned.
They tossed an amused look between them and her face warmed. Ah. They intended to play this civilised. She didn’t know whether to feel relieved or undervalued.
‘Can we talk?’ Titus asked.
She had an ear for his nuances and picked up the faintest quiver in his voice. Titus waited. Vee turned to Joshua and he looked away, eyes at half mast as his force field of inscrutability went up. She cursed him silently.
‘Yeah. Go in and make yourself comfortable. I need a minute.’ She waited for Titus to flinch or flare up at her tone, demand a ‘please’. He was screwing up her evening and she wanted blood. He tipped a nod, no more. He shared an exchange with Joshua before walking away: a locking of eyes, the fractal arrangement of bodies at cryptic angles, a barely perceptible nod. Male language.
Vee breathed when he was gone. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Ahh. The best laid plans …’ Joshua said.
They couldn’t go anywhere now. If he asked her, she’d run back inside and toss Titus out on his ass. They could turn this thing around. If only he asked …
‘He had his reasons.’ The wind flapped his overcoat at the lapels and threatened to upend her dress. ‘For what it’s worth.’
So he wasn’t going to ask. Instead, one more shithead had jumped on the bandwagon hurtling towards certain death. ‘You fuckin’ jokin’ me? You making his excuses now?’
‘No. It’s the truth.’ He lifted and dropped his shoulders. ‘You two need to work this out …’
Vee climbed out of her head and brought herself back to the street. The wind stung her face, whistling down the street of whichever neighbourhood she had stopped in to catch her breath. Her muscles had dumped all the lactic acid and settled into a dull throb.
She touched the lapis lazuli necklace round her neck, the birthday present Joshua had given her that night. The night he had left her alone to do her own adulting, forced her to face Titus on the very day she had been least prepared for it. Laying low was the strategy Serious Joshua had adopted, fighting by not fighting. What she was meant to do or decide in the meantime, she still had no idea. It was funny in an achingly unfunny way. Never had she had two men she cared for this fiercely in her life at the same time, and yet, at her own choosing, her arms were empty. She didn’t enjoy being alone. Her appetites left little room for singleton heroics, and she was a master at messing with her own head, whether or not she had romantic company. On the other hand, the solution for one man was seldom a second one. The situation needed to breathe. Or there would be no pieces to pick up afterwards.
Her watch read 4:46 a.m. Sunrise was about an hour away and she needed to get a move on. Vee wobbled to her feet, using the rubbish bin outside someone’s gate to steady herself. She looked down the closed lane, surprised how far she’d come. Her legs hurt too much to even dream of running home. She started the stroll to the top of the road.
She heard the crunch of loose tarmac under car tyres behind her and veered out of the way of whoever was driving by. She frowned. No lights. Who would be driving before day broke without their headlights on? She glanced over her shoulder. The Mercedes on her tail echoed a shade of grey deeper than the street in twilight, an obese beast of a vehicle. Its glossy body came equipped with the trendy layering of lights that looked like cat’s eyes stacked on top of each other. None were on.
Vee clicked up her speed. The engine pumped and the crackle of tyres grew louder. Her heart started to hammer. Okay, she was being followed. And not by someone on foot, where she stood a chance. She stopped and turned, slowly. The Merc rolled to a halt. The rasp of her breathing versus the gentle hum of German technology was all she could hear. She could just about make out the outline of the person behind the wheel, nothing more. The driver had dressed for the occasion and kept it dark.
Vee ran.
The engine rumbled and in seconds the sheer weight of all that metal was at her back, eating up the road. She burst onto the top of the road and rounded the corner, buying a few more seconds. The car lurched to the top of the road, made a wide, clumsy swing and rolled back, before turning the corner. It steered to the right, the headlights popped on and it squealed towards her.
Vee couldn’t find the air to scream. At 5 a.m. on a deserted street, screaming would probably be useless. Crime had desensitised the nation; the neighbours would fasten their locks and send her a prayer.
The car ate up her thundering footfalls and Vee faked a right, yelping as the bonnet grazed her hip. She leapt behind a tree on the sidewalk, and the Merc swerved and smashed into the Durawall of someone’s house. At last she found her breath, her scream mingling with the crunch of metal and glass into concrete. The headlights on one side were completely smashed. The Merc reversed down the verge of the pavement, its headlights obliterated on one side. The tyres wrenched around as it turned to get back on the road.
Who the fuck is this maniac?! Vee shot from behind the tree.
She thundered down the tree-lined avenue until she spotted a single lit driveway. Hope flared in her heart. In the millisecond it took to zoom past the house with its security lights ablaze, time slowed down. Out of the corner of her eye, Vee saw a woman with dreadlocks wearing an impeccable wool coat and idling next to an open car door, cell phone pressed to her ear. The woman jerked her head up and caught sight of Vee ducking and weaving with a swerving vehicle in pursuit. The woman’s frown morphed into horror as the car made contact.
Vee heard and felt every second of the impact like she was having an out-of-body experience: the whump as the bonnet glanced off her glutes, the nip of air on her skin as her body flew, thumped onto the ground and rolled. She heard and felt muscles and bones shift in ways they shouldn’t. Lava coursed up and down her side.
Cradling her arm, she hoisted herself up and tried to crawl away. The Merc zipped down the street and overshot the next corner, reversed, did a seven-point turn and roared off. Vee slumped onto the ground for the third time in seven weeks. Someone else finally started to scream.
34
Chlöe knew she was playing with fire, stopping to grab coffee and muffins in Rondebosch instead of hitting the road, and the risk wasn’t paying off. If she … if they didn’t get going in about ten minutes, she’d be late. She’d vowed that Voinjama would never enter the building and find her assistant had yet to show up.
So far she’d kept her word. So far she’d kept her word about a lot of things, at least until last night … when once again she’d been sucked in, chewed up and spat out like old, flavourless gum.
In a bakery on the other side of the street, Chlöe watched her ex-girlfriend fritter around the confectionery display, picking out the choicest bits. The sight made Chlöe’s throat clench a little. She’d been handpicked like that, plucked from an array of supple beauties, set aside for carnal delights until her usefulness expired. Am I really such a gullible hedonist? she thought. Was she that much of a blind slave to her baser passions that she couldn’t let go, or be let go, gracefully?
‘Hey, I know you.’
Chlöe turned around, the devious itch that came on every time she heard a pretty voice tickling the back of her neck. The stone-grey eyes smiling into hers were needled with amber and framed with batwings of shoulder-length hair. Her pulse skipped. She’d wanted to be disappointed.
‘Um, sorry, I don’t think so.’ She huddled d
eeper into her coat.
‘Yeah, I do know you. Well, I’ve seen you, at least. We weren’t formally introduced.’ Three dark moles on the girl’s neck did a fetching dance as she spoke. It was all Chlöe could do to keep her eyes off the inviting slope down the V-front of the girl’s sweater.
‘Remember, a couple of weeks ago? You came to UCT campus to hustle Serena away for a scary chat. You were with a tall black girl, the one with the lips and all that neck.’
Transfixed, Chlöe watched the girl’s mouth move. Now this was a lovely pout, natural, and none of that sticky gloss rubbish. It matched her aura of home-grown, farm freshness. Free State, probably; Chlöe had hard evidence that the girls were hot out there. The wind whipped the girl’s cascade of onyx hair into a frenzy, and she casually twisted it into a ponytail at the nape of her neck and swept the lot over one shoulder.
Chlöe gulped. Pay attention and stop perving. Of course, she remembered now. This was one of Serena Fourie’s friends. A member of the flock she was with the day they came to campus.
‘How’s your investigation going?’ the Farm Beauty said.
Chlöe’s eyes narrowed.
The girl gave a short laugh. ‘Sorry, am I not meant to ask? Is it a big secret? Serena plays it quite close to the chest when it comes to her family. Thinks they lower her prestige or something. Whose family doesn’t?’ Farm Beauty sighed. ‘But she’s not very good at hiding her emotions. She was really shaken up after you guys left.’
‘Did she have reason to be?’
Farm Beauty smiled scornfully. ‘Well, no offence, but you guys did ambush her in the middle of her day. You could’ve been more graceful and considerate about it. Serena’s really sensitive.’ She softened. ‘Look, I’m sorry. I’ve known Serena since we started first-year Law together. It was really tough when her sister went missing. I get a bit overprotective when I see how much it still affects her.’