by JT Lawrence
“Miss Lovell. Would you like this to work, or not?”
Kate takes a deep breath, counts to purple, and then lets it out.
“Back where?”
“What is your most poignant memory? A happy one.”
Kate has to think. It’s been a while since she was happy.
“Giving birth to Silver.”
“Let’s start with that.”
The room around Kate changes into what looks like a hotel room. She’s in the bath, wearing a bikini top but no bottoms. Her belly is huge, her fingertips are wrinkled from the water. The contractions are all-consuming. The pain takes over her whole body in waves and she can’t help but to groan and pant. The doula tells her she’s doing a good job.
“Just a few more pushes,” she says.
Kate is light-headed. The labour – eight long hours of it – has already taken all the energy she has, and she has no more to give. She feels like she’s going to pass out. She should have listened to Keke when she said to have a C-Section.
The doula sees the look on her face and squeezes her shoulder. “You can do it.”
Kate is really not convinced that she can.
Her mother crouches down next to the birthing pool and clutches Kate’s forearm.
“Mom,” says Kate. She had never called her that before. When they were finally reunited a few months before, it had been like meeting a stranger. Yes, they have the same hair, the same chin, but they were separated by thirty years, childhood memory loss, and Kate’s gnawing black hole – the one she can’t remember ever not having.
The word makes tears spring to her mother’s eyes. Emotions swirl around the room like Holi powder in a breeze.
“Mom,” she says again, and her mother cries openly, touches her head to Kate’s. “My beautiful Kate,” she cries. “My beautiful girl.”
“Get ready to push,” says the doula.
“I don’t know if I can. I’m finished. I don’t have anything left.”
“You can,” says her mother. “You can. You’re the only one who can get this baby out. We’re almost there.”
Kate resumes her breathing. The next tide of contractions catch her off-guard. It’s sooner than she expects and double the pain of the previous one.
“Push,” says the doula. “Everything you have.”
Kate screams and pushes, and it does feel like she’s giving everything she has, like she’ll be empty and broken after this. She’ll never be the same. She pushes harder, bears down, and just as she thinks she is literally dying, the room explodes with light and colour. There’s an intense sting as the head crowns, then the baby slips out, and she catches it, underwater. Her screaming gives way to happy sobbing as she clutches the waxy baby girl to her chest. The warm, slippery weight of her daughter on her breasts moves her, irreversibly. There are no words in her head anymore, just a ferocious glow.
She doesn’t feel broken anymore.
Chapter 43
Film of Fear and Dread
Keke can’t sit in the jury room smelling like she’s run a marathon on tik – which is pretty much the idea that comes to mind when she lifts her arms – so she zooms home on Nina. The shower washes away the film of fear and dread and heartache that’s covering her body like a membrane. The three-minute timer rings but she stays inside, under the water, not giving a damn about the water restrictions. Not today. She’ll eat a carbon-negative lunch to make up for it, or something. Not that she has an appetite, but she hasn’t eaten in twelve hours and that’s asking for trouble, given her condition.
She pulls on some kevlarskin steampunk-print leggings and a tight red shirt. Swaps her moo-leather jacket for something less bloodstained; chooses her new pine-leather wrapper. She’s not sure how it’ll hold up in a motorbike accident but there’s only one way to find out. Her fashion sense is almost entirely dictated by Nina. She likes it that way.
She packs some things for Marko: his sonic toothbrush, laser-razor, solar multi-charger, a set of clean clothes. As she zips up the bag she feels foolish. He doesn’t need any of this stuff, but she’ll take it anyway, because if nothing else it will make her feel better. As she’s rushing out the front door, another item occurs to her: she’s sure he’d like his noise-control headphones. He practically lives in the things and everyone knows hospital noises are the worst. She opens the door again and runs to his man cave. The scene that greets her sucks the air out of her lungs. Not only is his desk lying on its side, like some kind of dead animal with rigor mortis, but his machines are lying all over the floor, smashed to oblivion. His data lockers have been levered open and plundered.
Her brain stops working for a moment, like a GPS that is re-calculating. She doesn’t understand what she’s seeing. So, Marko had a heart attack. The most destruction she expected to see – apart from the ravaging inside his chest cavity – is a coffee cup spilt on the table. Perhaps, at most, his chair knocked over. But this isn’t that, this is a vicious onslaught.
Keke tries to switch on a few pieces of equipment but they either don’t turn on at all, or they make dangerous electric sounds, as if ready to shock in retaliation for the prior abuse. Keke’s Patch keeps beeping, letting her know that she is already half an hour late for court.
She doesn’t stop to put on gloves. The South African Police are notoriously crap at their jobs and even if they do arrive to take fingerprints, Keke guesses the scans will go straight into some docket in the Cloud, never to be seen again. Most crims are convicted only if the victims, or friends and family of victims, are willing to pay for their own private C&P. Capture and Prosecution teams are big business.
Zack bumps her, knocking her thought processes sideways. They’re just about to decide on Lundy’s fate. She needs to go. She’ll deal with this shit-show later. Keke grabs the headphones and crams them into her bag. Underneath them is Marko’s Tile. Cracked, but perhaps not entirely broken. When she switches it on, to see if it works, she notices on the desktop a single file called LUNDY.
She arrives at the court building with a roar from Nina. Runs into the jury room and ignores the knives of disapproval shot into her torso by the other members. Out of breath, she sits huffing next to Zack, who has saved her a seat and a smile. The juror who was talking when Keke scrambled in gives her a pointed look, and continues with her speech about why she thinks Lundy is guilty. Keke’s body tingles with the new evidence; she can’t sit still until she gets it off her chest. The others want to talk about timeframe and psychological reports and prior accidents, and Keke wants to shout that it doesn’t matter. None of it matters, because she has found something on Marko’s Tile that swipes all of it away.
Chapter 44
A Blue Breeze Blows In
“Are you ready to see James?” asks Doctor Voges.
Kate takes a deep breath. She’s still recovering from the re-imagined birth. She’s warm in bed, cuddling a five-month-old Mally while the swaddled newborn with a wisp of silver hair is sleeping in Seth’s tattooed arms.
Look at us. Our funny little family. She’s overwhelmed by love and an intense feeling of gratitude. It’s such a warm, safe space, she doesn’t want to leave, but then she remembers what’s at stake.
“Yes,” she says the to the therapist. “I’m ready.”
She moves from memory to imagination. She’s in their old flat, in Illovo. Her forest of plants are flourishing, and every surface is coated in nostalgia. She’s sitting at the kitchen table, the book collector’s edition of Hansel & Gretel, James’s gift, in front of her, symbolic of so many things. Bergamot scents the air.
All of a sudden he’s sitting right across from her. He looks so real he takes Kate’s breath away.
“Marmalade,” she whispers.
He smiles at her, eyes twinkling, as if he’s alive and well and they never had to go through the terrible time they did. A furtive glance down at his hands reveals all ten fingers. Relief. She wants to touch him.
“Kitty,” he says, “God, I miss you.”
>
Kate’s chest contracts, her sinuses sting. “I miss you. I miss you so much. You took such a big part of me with you, when you – ”
The rest of the sentence catches in her throat.
“You look beautiful.”
“No, I’m a mess.”
“You’re absolutely beautiful. Motherhood suits you.”
Tears run down her cheeks. “I don’t know about that.”
“It’s your eyes,” he says. “Something’s changed.”
She smoothes down her hair self-consciously, then she remembers it’s virtual reality. The 5D image is super-realistic, but there are little clues that it’s not real. The fridge keeps disappearing, and her clothes change without warning.
“Everything’s changed,” she says.
“Tell me about them,” says James. “Our kids.”
The question makes her ribs ache. She has never truly accepted that the twins will never know their biological father. She clears her throat, tries to swallow her sorrow. “They’re like you,” she says. “Like us.”
A blue breeze blows in. Now it’s James’s turn to blink away tears.
Kate watches the fridge flicker. Her shirt changes from white to blue then back again.
“Why did you need to see me?” he asks.
“Our boy’s in trouble.”
“You named him after me. Marmalade.”
“It was a mistake.”
A ripple of hurt on his face.
“It used to hurt too much. I couldn’t bear it. A child shouldn’t see pain on his mother’s face when she says his name. Now we call him Mally.”
“Your mother’s maiden name.”
“Yes.”
“What do you need from me?”
“I need you to tell me what to do.”
“No one’s ever told you what to do.”
“I need guidance. To keep him safe. Shall I send him to live with the SurroTribe?”
“What do you think?”
“I think he may be safe there, but how do I know? How do I know who to trust?”
“Wait,” he says. “Where are the kids now?”
The pattern on the pressed ceilings swirl.
“They’re safe.”
“Where are they?”
Kate’s insides turn to cold metal.
“They’ve both got bodyguards,” says Kate, more to reassure herself than anything else. “Silver’s in Durban, with my parents. Mally’s at home, with Seth.”
“Kitty,” he says, his face flushed now, and grim. “What was the biggest thing, the most important thing I taught you? The lesson that almost tore you in half.”
She looks at him blankly, then she gets it and can hardly hear herself for the whirring of panic in her brain. Kate feels the blood drain out of her face.
Never trust anyone.
Chapter 45
Hangman
Keke puts her hand up. “I have something to say.”
“You’ll need to wait your turn,” says the head juror, who is overseeing this final meeting. He’s an especially large man, full of meat and sighs and heaviness, as if weighed down by metaphysical rocks in his pockets.
“You don’t understand,” says Keke. “I have new information.”
The man scoffs under a bent finger. “No, Miss Msibi, I don’t think you understand.”
“You can’t make this decision without what I have,” says Keke.
“There is a time and a place for evidence, and this is not it.”
“I’m telling you that I have evidence that will exonerate the accused and you’re not even curious?”
“We’ve heard the evidence at the trial.” The man’s cheeks are beginning to colour with either embarrassment or anger.
“I’d like to see it,” says Zack.
“Me, too,” says the woman next to whom Keke has sat for most of the trial. She shoots Keke a strained smile.
“Your job is that of a juror,” says the large man. “Not to prove anything. Not to influence the judgment. We have a procedure to follow.” He speaks in a breathless way, as if his bulk is pressing in on his lungs.
“You’re okay with sending an innocent man to a crim colony for the rest of his life, for the sake of correct procedure?”
He ignores her.
“All of those in agreement that the accused, Mack Lundy, is innocent of murder, please register your vote now.”
The jurors all look down at the remotes in their hands and tap buttons. Four spinning green votes go up on the holoscreen.
“And those who agree that he is guilty, please vote now.”
Five red points on the board.
“That’s five votes guilty to four innocent. As you know, we need at least a two-point difference in order to convict or acquit. For those who didn’t vote, please re-consider your position.”
The people toggle their remotes again, and Keke can’t help thinking it’s like an obscure analogue video game of hangman. This time there are five red and five green. Two people still haven’t voted.
“This is ridiculous!” Keke stands up.
“This is a warning, Miss Msibi. If you try to swing the vote you’ll be expelled from these proceedings.”
“You may as well hang him right now with all the red tape you have in this room!”
The head juror sends her a look that could freeze fire.
They vote again. Five to five.
The man sighs deeply, as if he has the world on his shoulders. “I’ll open the floor to discussion, now. Please remember,” he says, making eyes at Keke, “it is for discussion and questions only. Anyone trying to convince anyone else of a verdict will be asked to leave.”
“I have a question,” says Keke.
He looks skywards. “Why am I not surprised?”
“Why is the nanny not on trial?”
“That is not a valid question.”
“Of course it’s a valid question,” says Zack.
“You said to not influence the jury regarding Lundy’s guilt. I won’t even mention him. I want to discuss the nanny.”
“Let her talk,” says someone of the other side of the room – a woman with great boobs in an extravagant silk dress. “We all want to hear it, don’t we?”
There is nodding, murmuring. The head juror purses his lips and gestures for Keke to continue.
“I have evidence …” She hauls out the cracked Tile. “… that the nanny wanted the boy dead.”
Exclamations ring out.
“That’s preposterous,” says the big man, pretending to laugh.
“Why is it preposterous that a nanny would hurt a child? You think the own child’s father is more capable of killing him than a stranger?”
“Miss Msibi. It is common knowledge that SurroSisters are beyond reproach. They are tested and prevaluated for every kind of physical and moral defect. Only the very best specimens pass the rigorous screening.” His double chin quivers. “It’s no coincidence that a SurroSis has never seen the inside of this courthouse.”
“That’s going to change.” Keke clicks ‘play’ on the Tile and it projects onto the verdict voting board. The image shakes a bit, probably due to the damaged device. The point of view is that of a low-flying camera travelling through a suburban area: green trees, solar roofs, puckered roads like metal zips. Old swimming pools turned into rock gardens and skating rinks, and emerald astroturf lawns. A few people are busy with daily chores, a domestic assistant is hanging out washing, a child kicks a ball, a woman in heels jumps into a cab. It’s date-stamped the 24th of January 2024.
“What is this?” he asks.
“Drone footage,” says Keke, “of a pharmacy wasp delivering medicine.”
“Where did you get it?”
“Does it matter?”
“Drones aren’t allowed to record their journeys,” he says. “It’s in part three of the 2018 almanac of domestic and personal privacy regulations of non-passenger air-vehicles.”
“It’s not for viewing,” says Keke,
then corrects herself. “What I mean is, it’s not for broadcast. It’s not for anyone’s eyes apart from the security detail of the owner of the drone, which is allowed, under section C of that almanac.”
Thank you Marko.
He’d made this note on the video for her. She wouldn’t have had a cooking clue what the legislation was.
“People steal drones all the time,” says Zack. “This was probably a live-stream feed back to the owner of the drone. Kind of like a FindMyDrone.”
“Okay,” says the heavy man. “So what?”
Keke scrubs ahead to the relevant part of the clip. The jurors sit up and pay attention.
“This is Abercorn avenue, where the Lundys live.”
She has to zoom in, which makes the picture fuzzy, but you can still get a reasonable idea of what’s going on. As the camera flies by a double-storey house with maroon cladding, a small boy is visible, standing on the very edge of the roof, just a step away from an open attic window. His knees are slightly bent, and he’s looking down to the synthetic grass below, as if gathering the courage to jump.
“Watch now,” Keke says. “If you blink you’ll miss it.”
Like a lightning flash, an adult’s arm shoots out of the window and pushes the child off the roof. The drone passes the house before you are able to see what becomes of the fallen boy.
The jury titters in excitement and dismay. Keke rewinds and plays it again, slo-mo. Although you can’t see whose arm it is, it is distinctly female, and clearly not Mack Lundy’s.
Chapter 46
Cosmic Cream
“Drive faster, for fuck’s sake!” Kate yells at the cab.
“This is an eighty-kilometre-per-hour zone. We are travelling at eighty kilometres.”
Kate clenches her teeth and kicks the chair.
“Please refrain from abuse. Abuse will result in Cabbie pulling over.”
“Just go faster!” She knows the cab is programmed to adhere to all the rules of the road but she can’t help shouting at it.