‘Richard, get back here now, before you drown!’ shouted Abbey, trying to control her voice.
Richard paddled furiously back towards them. About a metre away from the riverbank, the makoro disappeared under the water and Richard, totally drenched, crawled back onto dry land on all fours. Abbey and Phil were both bent double, shaking with laughter.
‘Are you alright?’ spluttered Abbey, reaching out her hand to help him stand on his own two feet. He ignored her offer of help. Instead, he hauled himself to his feet and stormed off back towards the office, the rucksack trailing on the ground behind him, which attracted the attention of a troop of monkeys who could smell soggy, wet sandwiches in the near vicinity. They congregated into little groups and followed him as he walked up the road, making high-pitched screeches in excitement, as the distance between them and their lunch narrowed.
‘Well, what now?’ asked Abbey, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Phil, in no better state of control to the point where he couldn’t speak, pointed over to the Chobe Fish Eagle, which was boarding a group of tourists for the next trip.
An hour later, Phil and Abbey were comfortably entrenched on a bench seat on the top deck of the steamer, sailing down the Chobe River with their second double gin and tonic.
‘I know,’ said Abbey standing up, glass in hand. ‘Let’s play spot the hungry hippo,’ and she pointed to a family of hippos bathing quite happily in the cool water.
They both crumbled into a heap as they laughed, going over Richard’s ungracious landing. ‘Actually,’ continued Abbey, ‘I read that hippos don’t eat humans, they just kill them if they find them in the water.’
‘Well hun, that’s something I don’t ever want to put to the test.’
The river cruise wound its way down the river, Zambia on one side and Botswana on the other. Above them was an immenseness of pale blue, which stretched as far as the eye could see. Wispy clouds created a latticework across the sky.
Herds of elephants waded out into the river, totally ignoring the steamer as it gently chugged its way through the reeds and the water. Baby elephants followed their mothers, struggling to keep up as the water got deeper. They trumpeted loudly as they drank and cooled themselves, using their huge trunks to squirt the river water across their backs. Crocodiles slithered back onto dry land, camouflaging themselves against fallen logs, waiting patiently for the next hapless victim to stumble on their paths.
The top of the steamer was uncovered and the relentless sun beat down on them.
‘You know,’ said Abbey, draining her glass. ‘We really should do this more often.’
‘What, get pissed on the riverboat?’ chuckled Phil.
‘No! Do the tourist thing. I’ve really enjoyed today and there is so much of the Park I haven’t seen yet. Honestly Phil, we have all this on our doorstep and we don’t even bother to explore more!’
The four-hour trip came to an end. ‘Do you think we can claim this on expenses?’ joked Abbey as they got off the boat.
‘Don’t know, but I doubt Richard would be happy to sign the cheque,’ sniggered Phil.
They made their way into town and ventured into the President’s Lodge terrace bar. This part of the hotel was open air, but the bar itself was protected by a thatched roof. It was packed with wooden tables and chairs and had a small circular pool in the middle, which was lit with underwater lights and looked very inviting to Abbey as she walked past it on her way to the bar. No, she quickly thought. Her swimming days at this hotel were firmly over.
The bar was already busy with tourists and punters finishing off their week with a well-earned drink. They took a small table by the stone wall overlooking the river.
‘Cheers,’ said Abbey, chinking her glass against Phil’s.
Friday night was karaoke night, and the punters who had not spent the day drinking on the river safari were still reluctant to get up and sing. Phil motioned to the DJ to bring over the song sheets.
‘Look Phil,’ teased Abbey, ‘if you sing Tom Jones again I’m away up that hill. Understand?’
Phil shouted his way through ‘Mustang Sally’ and Abbey quite happily provided the backing vocals in the chorus. The bar was soon packed with rangers and safari guides and the noise of laughter and voices got louder as the evening wore on. Most of the locals already knew Abbey and Phil from previous social occasions, and were happy to chat and buy them drinks.
Phil was also on the town football team and most of the rangers and guides were also players. Football was a favourite sport in Botswana and taken very seriously at any level. Each town or village usually had a football pitch or an area that was sacred and only used to play football on. Sundays were practice nights in Kasane, and it was not unusual for half the town to turn up and watch. On match days, the team could expect the whole town to come along and support them.
Not only did Phil enjoy football, but he had also mentioned to Abbey that his street cred had gone through the roof after he had been chosen to play for the first team, and he had become instantly attractive to the majority of the women in the town, regardless of their age!
After a couple more rounds of gin and tonics, they staggered back home. Abbey left Phil and made her way up the hill. She didn’t notice Darren’s bakkie parked outside. She stumbled up the steps, fell into the fly screen and landed on her backside on the lounge floor with a loud thud.
Darren turned and looked at her from the kitchen. ‘So, this is what you get up to when I’m not around,’ he said jokingly.
‘I’ll have you know,’ slurred Abbey, waving her hand in the air, ‘I’ve been on a team-building day, and now I love my colleagues, very, very, much.’ With that, she curled up into a ball and went to sleep on the floor, exactly where she had landed.
She woke up in bed, completely naked. Her head felt like it was going to explode. Darren appeared at the bedroom door with two cups of coffee.
‘How’s the head this morning?’
‘Shhh, not so loud,’ whispered Abbey, trying to move off the pillow, fumbling in the bedside drawer for paracetamol tablets.
‘Come on then, tell me all about your team-building day.’
Abbey sat up and told the story in as much detail as she could remember.
‘Monday should be an interesting day then,’ laughed Darren. ‘Assuming that Richard has a sense of humour?’
‘Well, if he has, it certainly hasn’t seen the light of day for some time,’ replied Abbey. ‘I have never met such an incompetent arse in my life. Were you due back yesterday? I don’t remember seeing your bakkie when I came home.’
‘Yes, I told you I’d be back on Friday at some point, and to be quite honest I’m surprised you can remember anything about coming home!’
He smiled as he watched her trying to swallow whole paracetamol tablets with hot coffee, choking in the process.
‘I feel like shit,’ muttered Abbey, taking another slurp of her coffee and slumping back onto the pillow.
‘And I have just the hangover cure you need,’ said Darren, pulling back the duvet.
Chapter Nine
A warm breeze blew through the kitchen window. Richard was sitting at the kitchen table, feet up, his hands resting on the back of his head. He had showered and changed into clean clothes after the disastrous morning down by the river. His contempt for his colleagues had gone from simmering to boiling point. That was it - they had gone too far this time. He had no choice but to take action if he was to re-establish any kind of control over the two imbeciles he had been lumbered with. He picked up the phone and rang the Savuti Lodge.
Mr Permelo listened without a word.
‘Ja,’ he finally spoke. ‘The girl is a problem now this Darren Scott has appeared on the scene. We should have sorted her out months ago.’
Richard sighed and agreed they might have missed their opportunity. ‘Wait though,’ he said. ‘Mr Scott works away a lot. I’m sure it would be quite easy to find out when his next trip is.’
; ‘Ja, that would be good,’ snarled Mr Permelo. ‘You let me know straight away.’
‘What about the buffoon, Phil?’ asked Richard. ‘Any ideas about him?’
Mr Permelo laughed into the phone. ‘Ah yes, Mr Phil. Now that is an easy one. I have a plan that will finish him off for good.’
Richard replaced the receiver, feeling much better. This house was far too small, he thought, as he looked around the kitchen. He thought it grossly unfair that Abbey Harris had been given the bungalow at the top of the hill - the bungalow he had been asking to live in for the past six months ever since Abbey’s predecessor had left Kasane.
He took a deep drag from his cigarette and blew the bluish smoke in the direction of the open window. Although he knew that Abbey hadn’t specifically requested the house, given that she didn’t even know it existed until she arrived, it was typical of that sort of woman - bossy and in your face - to end up with the best of everything. His own house had only one bedroom and a small rectangular garden with no evidence of any living foliage. It was near the centre of town and the constant barking from the neighbourhood dogs nearly drove him demented. He had been in Kasane just over a year now and, apart from the house, it had been a very good decision.
Richard had started his teaching career at the age of twenty-six. He had taken the longer route of going to college before university, where he finally graduated (without honours), with a degree in Engineering, before completing his PGCE at Glasgow University. He had left school at sixteen and had been taken on as apprentice with a local builder. It soon dawned on Richard, and his employer, that getting his hands dirty and working out in sub zero temperatures in the middle of winter was not what Richard was cut out for.
After a brief spell of working in local shops, stacking shelves and being rude to customers, he was beginning to wonder what would bring contentment and the financial independence he craved. It was his mother who suggested he went to the local college to see what courses they had on offer. After initially rebuking the suggestion, Richard signed up to do a HND in construction, a qualification that would allow access onto a degree course.
Richard lived with his mother until he left for Glasgow University. His father had left the family home when he was five years old and, apart from an old family photograph he knew his mother still kept hidden in the bottom of a drawer in her bedroom, Richard had very little memory of him. He had been brought up in relative poverty, wearing second-hand clothes and existing on the most basic of diets. His mother had tried to work, but her back problems had prevented any further employment and, from the age of ten, Richard had been brought up on benefits and hand-me-downs from the locals in the village.
His school life had been hard because of it, with name-calling and bloody noses, as some of the bullies in the class never missed an opportunity to inflict some sort of physical injury. Finally, in 1977, Richard embarked on his first teaching job in a secondary school in Carlisle, about thirty miles from the village.
Richard found teaching a much more preferable form of employment than any job he had done so far. For the first time in his life he had power. Power over other people – the pupils. Richard soon learned that he could shout - actually, he could bellow - down a corridor and make the windows reverberate in their frames. He had missed out on the good old days when teachers were able to throw board rubbers and crack pupils’ knuckles with a ruler, but he still had tried and trusted methods, most of which were carried out in the darkness and privacy of the store room, which could render the hardest of students to a gibbering wreck. Richard had been very content for over fifteen years and been promoted to head of department, when a new head teacher arrived at the school.
Mrs Ryan had been appointed after a damning Ofsted Inspection, which had labelled the school as ‘failing’. She had stalked the corridors, carried out impromptu lesson observations and demanded to see evidence of lesson planning. Within six months, the staff turnover had doubled and Richard found himself working with two new colleagues. He had so far managed to keep his head down and away from the attention of the abominable Mrs Ryan, whom he had attempted to fob off on her first visit to the technical department with folders of paperwork and pupil projects. He knew it would not work a second time, and he was more than happy to let his new, younger colleagues set up teaching folders and schemes of work.
As well as the new paperwork regime, other procedures that simply went against the grain with Richard were also put in place. Department development plans and regular staff meetings were all now part of teaching life. Was there no stopping this control freak of a woman, who seemed to want to know about everything that shouldn’t concern her?
The ‘O’ level and subsequent GCSE results of Richard’s classes had always been below average, and it wasn’t long before Mrs Ryan had demanded a meeting to discuss why the classes of his less experienced colleagues were outperforming his. It was at the end of this particularly harrowing meeting that Richard had gone off sick with his first bout of food poisoning, followed by stress. Eventually, he spent more time at home (being paid), than he did in school.
After his sixth month off sick, he received a letter from the Director of Education, stating he had been given early retirement on ill-health grounds. Richard had reluctantly accepted the incredibly insulting offer, even though it dramatically reduced his pension, but he knew going back to work for Mrs Ryan was not an option. He also knew that his methods and teaching styles were not looked upon favourably by the new powers that resided in the education offices at the local council. He banked his cheque as soon as possible.
Before leaving for Botswana, Richard had spent the last few years picking up supply work and claiming benefits. The position at AVP was too good to be true and Richard wasted no time in applying. His elderly mother had been moved into sheltered accommodation and he really couldn’t see any reason not to break free. He had no real friends to speak of and, apart from one disastrous date with a fellow teacher from the English department, his love life was non-existent. He and women just didn’t get on. They were a funny breed and Richard had resigned himself to the fact that romance would never be an option in his life. However, being a virgin in his forties was not something Richard would ever share with anyone, although his mother probably knew as he had moved back in with her immediately after leaving Glasgow.
Two weeks later, after an interview in Manchester at the charity’s head office, he had been given the news that his application was successful and he should be ready to leave the United Kingdom within three months. Kasane had turned out to be the best thing that had happened to Richard in a long time. He had met like-minded people like Mr Permelo, who had introduced possibilities into Richard’s life that, in the past, he had only ever been able to dream about. That part of his life was a long way away now and, if Mr Permelo kept to his part of the bargain, it would never be a problem again.
A knock at the front door broke his train of thought. He looked at the clock. It was four o’clock on the dot. Ah good, he thought to himself, another interview. He quickly went into the bedroom and sprayed on the aftershave his mother had bought him as a leaving present, before opening the door.
Chapter Ten
The beginning of the working week arrived all too quickly for Abbey. Richard did not mention the team-building day, but instead bustled about the office as if nothing untoward had happened at all. Abbey looked at Phil quizzically who shook his head and smiled.
‘Oh Richard, before I forget. I need to see the holiday booking forms,’ shouted Abbey as Richard made his way out of the door.
Phil immediately looked up at Abbey, ‘Where are we off to, then?’
‘Darren’s got to go to Cape Town for a meeting with some surveyors. He’s asked me to go with him.’
‘Fab.’
‘Yeah, I’ve never been and I’m really looking forward to it. We’re going to fly down tomorrow.’
Without any comment at all, Richard put the form on her desk. Abbey filled it out to r
equest two weeks’ holiday, to start from the next day.
‘Going to manage without me, Phil?’ she teased.
‘Oh yeah, it’s going be a laugh a minute with Captain Pugwash over there,’ sighed Phil, motioning his hand at Richard, who was checking the compost bags outside.
‘You’re in a good mood this morning,’ commented Abbey a little later, as Phil sang quietly to himself.
‘Yep, that’s because I have a hot date tonight.’
Abbey raised her eyebrows. ‘Do I know the lucky girl?’
‘Doubt it; she works in the office at one of the hotels. I hardly know her myself. She came around the house at the weekend, bold as brass, and asked me out.’
‘Must be your football skills,’ laughed Abbey.
‘Or the fact that I am completely irresistible to all women!’
Very early the next morning, Abbey and Darren flew down to Gaborone Airport and then boarded a South African Airlines plane to Cape Town. They hired a car and Darren drove towards the town, Abbey instantly noticing and appreciating the cooler temperature.
‘Where are we staying?’ she asked, admiring the views around her, looking up in the direction of Table Mountain.
‘I’ve booked us into a small hotel at Hout Bay,’ replied Darren. ‘It’s not far out of town and the beach is great.’
‘Wow!’ gasped Abbey when they turned into the bay and onto the main promenade, which was lined with street cafés and restaurants. ‘What are those trees called?’ she asked, pointing to a line of tall trees, abundant with purple flowers.
‘Those are Jacaranda trees. You can see them all over South Africa. They’re beautiful, aren’t they?’
The beach seemed to stretch for miles, and the views all around them were stunning with the most amazing houses positioned on the cliff, overlooking the bay. After checking in at the hotel, they spent the rest of the afternoon paddling and relaxing on the sand. The sun was hot but the breeze was exhilarating, and Abbey suddenly realised just how much she missed the sea. Not that Manchester was by the sea, but at least a beach was easily accessible, and you didn’t have to drive through other countries for days just to get a paddle. Living in a land-locked country somehow seemed to make the heat even more inescapable.
The Perils of Skinny-Dipping Page 6