Stella laughed. ‘He also mentioned that Steve once tried to get rid of him by putting him on a bus.’
‘Oh god. I’ve always hated that story. I don’t know why they insist on telling it.’
‘You know,’ Stella added, ‘we don’t really see Steve all that much anymore. Not one on one, at least.’
‘Well, you know I’ve never asked anyone to take sides.’
‘I know. I’m just … I don’t know what I’m trying to say. If you or Hannah ever need help, of any kind, remember that we’re here for you.’
‘Thank you, Stella. John. I appreciate it. Oh, and for all the camping gear. My dad had a great time out there. I mean, we all did. But I think he needed it the most, after everything. He’s also so grateful for the work John’s found for him. Gives him a sense of purpose, you know?’
19
The second school term was my favourite because we switched sports from cross-country to netball. I always chose to be goalkeeper and Diana would play goal defence, allowing us to spend the whole time talking to each other. While I was away at Dad’s party, Mum had called the Bishopslea secretary to insist they revert my surname back to what it had always been – I was returning to school as Hannah Reynolds once more.
As Mum and I got close to school, I could see that something was wrong. There were cars parked up on the grassy bank next to the gates, which were closed and chained shut. Mum slowed down as we drove alongside the cordoned-off premises. I identified my headmaster, Mr Webster, out the front, having a conversation with a man in uniform. He paused to walk towards us but, after glancing at the car that had stopped right behind us, presumably another Bishopslea parent, he stood in the middle of the vehicles and yelled out to us both.
‘School has been suspended for the day. It will resume as usual tomorrow. We will be sending out letters when we have more information. Thank you,’ he said, holding his hands up in the direction of the two cars as an abrupt goodbye signal. Mum rolled the window up and slowly accelerated down the road without saying a word.
‘Yay!’ I exclaimed.
Mum didn’t seem to share my excitement, probably because she still had to go to work.
‘Can I go play at Diana’s house then?’ I asked.
‘I wonder what’s going on,’ she said, turning right at the lights. This was the opposite direction from our house, so presumably she had agreed to my request without actually acknowledging it.
Diana lived in Strathaven, in a house big enough to accommodate her two brothers, her sister, her parents, her grandma and a woman she called her aunty but wasn’t related to her. It was, by far, the most luxurious house I had ever entered. It was bigger than Michaela’s, and had even more fancy things than Dad’s. Huge Grecian pillars held up the entrance. As you stepped inside, your eyes were drawn to an exquisite chandelier that hung from the ceiling of the second storey. Red-brown marble flooring stretched from the front door up to the edge of the kitchen, where it switched to white and grey. The living-room floor was also marble: large sand-coloured squares divided by thick black lines, meeting in the middle to form an eight-point star. Tan leather couches were arranged in an L-shape around the star, and when you sat on them you felt as though you were slipping into a vat of melted toffee.
The pièce de résistance, however, was the pool. It was at least three times the size of mine at home, but circular and filled with a selection of amazing blow-up pool toys that put Grandpa’s tractor tyres to shame. These weren’t your regular lilos; they were giant inflatable creatures: a purple dinosaur with plastic spikes, and a white swan that could easily fit two adults side by side. To top it off, there was a big blue slide that led directly into the water. I decided that when I grew up, I was going to build a house exactly like Diana’s.
When we arrived, Diana, her older sister, Christine, and their mum were walking to their car, while her twin brothers were still coming down the steps in front of the house, trying to push each other over.
‘Hi, Nancy,’ Mum called out to Diana’s mother. ‘I was going to ring, but you’re just around the corner so I thought I’d pop by and save you the trouble – they’ve shut down school for the day.’
‘Boys, stop it,’ Nancy yelled behind her. ‘Oh, okay. Do you know if Prince Edward is closed too?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t think so … I drove past but didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary.’
‘Lord, I hope not. These two need to have some structure to their day.’ As if on command, one of the boys threw his school hat like a frisbee, the straw boater with the maroon trim landing directly at his mother’s feet. She snatched it up.
‘Kevin. Michael. Who threw this? Do you want me to get the spoon, huh? Huh?’ At the mention of the kitchen implement, both boys began rapidly apologising and casting the blame onto the other sibling. Nancy turned back to face Mum.
‘You are lucky you have just the one. And no boys. So lucky.’
‘Well, I would hate to add to your load, but Hannah was hoping she could stay here and play with Diana for the day, but I know it’s short notice.’
‘Oh, nonsense. Hannah is always welcome. She is like one of mine too. She’s the only one who doesn’t talk back to me, so she’s welcome whenever.’
‘That’s funny, because she’s not like that at home. Can we do a child swap?’
‘Sure, but you have to take Kevin and Michael too – it’s a combination deal.’
Diana and I rolled our eyes at our mothers and their cringe- inducing performance. God, parents were embarrassing.
We spent the day splashing in the pool, eating frozen- yoghurt icy poles and imagining our lives as grown-ups. Diana was either going to be a famous athlete or a doctor or – as we joked – she would combine the two and become a ‘running doctor’ who could sprint to the scene of an emergency. I was going to be a vet or a newsreader.
‘If you are a vet, you can have your office next to mine, and I’ll treat the people and you can treat their pets,’ Diana suggested.
‘Hannah and Diana: A doctor for you, and a doctor for your pet,’ I declared, using my hands to map out the sign that we would have over our inter-species health practice.
‘Diana and Hannah,’ she corrected me.
‘Why are you first?’
‘Because I’m the doctor. The order makes sense. Diana and Hannah: Doctors to you and your pets.’
When Mum came to collect me at four-thirty, the first question she asked was whether I had put any sunscreen on.
‘Um, yes,’ I lied.
‘Look at your face in the mirror.’
I pulled down the car’s sun visor and slid open the mirror, coming face to face with my beetroot-red reflection.
‘It’ll turn into a tan,’ I said confidently.
‘It’ll turn into melanoma if you’re not careful.’
I poked the tip of my tongue out in reply, convinced Mum was jealous of my day in the sun while she had been cooped up in the office.
‘What did you end up doing today, if you weren’t busy learning?’ Grandpa asked me across the dinner table. Gogo had cooked up a roast for the four of us, piling our plates with great portions of meat, veggies and potatoes.
‘I was at Diana’s house – we pretty much just swam all day,’ I said, grinding salt over my meal.
‘Diana is the little black girl, right? The runner?’ Grandpa asked. I nodded. ‘Sweet girl. Black folk aren’t the best swimmers though, are they?’
‘Dad …’ Mum started.
‘It’s true. She’s a good runner, sure, but I bet she struggles in the water. Doesn’t mean anything, just different abilities is all … That’s what Mugabe doesn’t see. Black, white. We’re not different on the inside, where it counts.’ He beat his fist against his heart.
I wanted to explain that his presumption was incorrect, but gauged that he’d already moved on.
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‘You know, Hannah, all of the Afs on the farm were good people. Really nice folks.’
I flinched when I heard him use an abbreviation for ‘Africans’. I knew he didn’t think he was being racist. From his perspective, he was progressive.
He pushed his knife and fork together, even though he had barely started to eat his meal, and continued to speak about the men on the farm, many of whom he no longer had a means of getting in contact with. He wondered what had happened to Ephraim, one of his ‘smartest and strongest’ workers, and an ardent supporter of the Movement for Democratic Change.
‘You know what they did to George when he supported MDC, so you can imagine what they’d do to one of their own.’
‘What did they do to George?’ I asked.
‘Oh, poor old Georgey boy, they—’
‘Hannah, are you still wearing your cossie underneath your clothes?’ Mum cut across Grandpa to ask me. I glanced down and realised that indeed I was.
‘Put something warm on before you catch a cold.’
‘But it’s not wet anymore.’
‘Hannah …’
‘It’s dry! Look,’ I said, lifting my dress up to my chin to prove the material of my swimming costume underneath had well and truly dried.
Mum dropped her cutlery onto her plate, the sound of stainless steel clashing against porcelain ringing through the room. ‘Hannah, please, forgodsake.’
I scraped my chair back, strode to my room and ripped the costume off, pulling on a pair of old Winnie the Pooh pyjamas that I’d grown out of several years ago but were worn in and comfortable. I still had several roast potatoes and a portion of peas left on my plate but decided to stay in my room. Mum was treating me the same way Nancy Chigumba reacted to her twin boys when they traipsed mud through the house or were caught pinching each other in the back seat of the car, except I didn’t deserve it.
After a while, Mum came into my room.
‘What’s wrong, sweetie?’ she asked. ‘We’re waiting for you to come back to the table.’
‘I want to go to Dad’s,’ I announced.
Mum sat down on the edge of my bed and tried to look me in the eyes, but I turned to face the wall opposite, where I had glued my birthday cards from over the years. I focused on the one Diana sent me (the biggest of the lot). It was a printed photo of us both dressed up for the school nativity play; I was in the sheep outfit Gogo had fashioned out of white cloth and cotton wool, while Diana was covered in feathers as some sort of barnyard chicken.
‘Okay … why do you want to go to your dad’s?’
‘Because he is actually nice to me and doesn’t get mad at me when I’ve done literally nothing wrong,’ I blurted out. ‘You’re really mean,’ I added for extra effect.
‘Alright,’ Mum said. ‘If that’s the case, I’ll call him now. He can come get you. It’s past seven p.m. on a weekday. You have school tomorrow, so he’ll have to get you ready and take you there before he goes to work. Maria will need to pack your lunch for you. I’m sure he won’t mind. I’ll go and ring him then, shall I?’
I turned to face her.
‘No … It’s okay. I don’t want to go to Dad’s anymore.’
‘Are you sure? I’m happy to ring him,’ Mum repeated, unflinching.
I knew my threat was empty. I knew the only reason I mentioned my father was the horrible part inside of me that wanted to make my mother feel guilty. I knew the idea I would rather spend time with him than her, that I would reach for him in a moment of anguish, would upset her more than if I had asked for Gogo or Nana. I regretted my words as soon as they left my mouth, but the fact she called my bluff made me ache. We both knew that if she made the call to my dad, he wasn’t going to come through.
‘No, I’m too tired to pack my things,’ I said, trying my best to fight back the imminent tears.
‘Do you want to come and finish supper? Grandpa said you can have his drumstick.’
‘I’m not hungry.’
‘Alright then,’ she said, getting up from the bed. ‘Goodnight, Hannah. I love you.’ She flicked the light off and began to close the door behind her.
‘Love you too,’ I mumbled under my breath.
20
The next day at school, we were given an important envelope to take home with us that indirectly provided an explanation for the brief closure. The formal letter detailed an upcoming spike of twenty-five per cent in Bishopslea’s school fees, commencing the following month. It turned out that members of the ZANU-PF party were demanding a free education for their children, one that would bankrupt the school unless they substantially increased the fees for other parents. Of course, that part wasn’t in the letter but had travelled along the Harare grapevine. A quickly negotiated settlement to the dispute was reached: fees would increase, and party members would receive a discounted rate.
‘Well, that’s about as much of a compromise as we’re going to get from Mugabe and his cronies,’ Mum said.
‘Are you angry you have to pay more?’ I asked her.
‘I’m not angry. I’m too tired to be angry anymore.’
I doubted whether it was possible to be too tired to be angry about something, as often the times when my mum was the angriest coincided with when she was also the most tired, but I didn’t point that out. In any case, her fatigue did not put a complete stop to her capacity for anger, as I discovered when I heard her side of a heated argument over the phone.
‘Of course she has to stay at Bishopslea. We can’t send her to a government school – are you out of your mind? Goddammit, Steve.’
‘Yes. I went to Girls High, but that was a different time. Things are different now.’
‘I cannot believe you are fighting me on this. For all your elitism and—’
‘You are! A big flaunt-your-wealth sixtieth party at Vic Falls, and yet you want to send our daughter to a government school? A government school in Zimbabwe?’
‘Steve, she would be the only … She wouldn’t fit in there.’
‘God, ultimately, I will pay the difference, okay? But I bet you knew that anyway.’
‘Alright. Alright. Okay …. Goodbye.’ She slammed the receiver down, grabbed two thick handfuls of her hair and stared at the ground.
It was when she was in this position that Grandpa approached her. Since she was already by the phone, he wondered if she wouldn’t mind calling John to let him know he wouldn’t be able to come in to help with the handyman jobs tomorrow.
‘What’s wrong, Dad?’ Mum asked him, looking up from the floorboards and unclenching her fists.
‘Nothing, nothing. Just feel a bit under the weather, that’s all. It’s not hard work, just some simple sanding – I’m not really needed.’
‘Oh, okay, I’ll let him know.’
Grandpa wandered back to the spare bedroom, where he now spent most of his time during the day, napping or reading. Nana passed Grandpa in the corridor as she came to find Mum in the living room.
‘Something is wrong,’ Nana whispered to Mum, once he was out of earshot. ‘It’s odd, him not pitching up.’
‘It’s just one day.’
‘You know your father. He’s never missed a day’s work in his life. Something’s up.’
‘Maybe he’s depressed? You know, mentally drained after everything that’s happened? Maybe it was too soon to force him back to work,’ Mum said.
‘Maybe,’ Nana conceded. ‘He would be too proud to say so … That’s for sure. But I’ve seen him sad. I’ve seen him during the war, you know? And when his sister passed. He wasn’t like this.’
‘Well, Jesus, Mum. What do you want me to say? I don’t know what’s wrong. Why don’t you ask him? I’m dealing with a lot myself right now.’
‘Don’t use that tone with me,’ Nana snapped.
‘Tone? I’m forty-four.’
They looked at each other before bursting into laughter.
The next few days of school went by without incident. Tuesday and Thursday afternoons were spent passing the ball back and forth on the netball court. Friday morning we gathered in the chapel to sing the Lord’s Prayer, and play noughts and crosses in the blank pages of the hymn book.
However, instead of our scheduled spelling test on Friday afternoon, our class received a ‘safety lesson’. It was all pretty self-explanatory, and nothing Mum hadn’t already told me before. If someone tries to steal your bag on the street: let them take it. If someone tries to hijack your car: duck beneath the glove box, and hide your face to protect it from both the hijackers and shattering glass. If someone breaks into your house: pretend you are asleep. Blah. Blah. Blah. I didn’t pay much attention in the lesson since Mrs Hicks didn’t seem like she was going to quiz us on the information.
After Mum collected me from school, we set off for a house in Belgravia where she got her eyebrows waxed and her hair cut. I turned on the car stereo, pressing play on the cassette already inside. The familiar reggae rhythms that had accompanied many a car trip came through the speaker. Mum only had two tapes that she kept in the car, both of which were purchased from the Avondale flea market and sold in nondescript cases, the artist’s name and album title written across the plastic in red marker: Bob Marley’s Greatest Hits and David Bowie, Let’s Dance.
‘You know I saw him live,’ Mum said. ‘I was there, in 1980, when Bob Marley performed at Independence. I was in my early twenties, back home in Zim for uni holidays. He paid for the whole tour out of his own pocket, from what I heard.’
I asked Mum what the Independence Day ceremonies were like. I knew I’d learn about the chimurenga (liberation struggle) when I reached Form 1, as it was part of the high-school curriculum, but until then Mum had to fill me in on the basics.
‘It was … historic. No other way to describe it. Indira Gandhi was there and Prince Charles … even the Australian prime minister, Malcolm Fraser. Prince Charles, dressed up in white, with all his regalia, gave a speech. And we watched as they pulled down the Union Jack and hoisted up the new flag. People were cheering for Comrade Mugabe as the new prime minister. Canaan Banana became president. It was a big day.’
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