Phil snapped his mind back to his current situation. He looked around the room. The same faces, the same conversations, the same scene playing itself out, over and over, in every seedy, backstreet brothel across the globe. No matter what avenue his thoughts took him, he always came to the same conclusion. He had no one but himself to blame. He had lived through the last eight months making conscious decisions that he knew could jeopardise his health and his future.
He pushed away his beer and made his way to the door, keeping his eyes focused directly in front, until he stepped out into the bright sunshine. He wondered what Debra would say to him now.
Debra had grown up on the next street to Phil in his home town of Sheffield, and they had been together since year eleven at secondary school. They had not got married, but Phil had moved into her parents’ house whilst they saved up for a deposit for their own flat. When Debra fell pregnant, Phil had promised to turn his life around and start providing for the three of them. In a bid to prove to her, and to himself, that he was not the ‘useless piece of shit’ she constantly called him, he had enrolled on a teaching degree course at Manchester Metropolitan University. He secured a room in the nearby town and managed to get through the first six weeks with relative ease, even submitting his first assignment on time.
Phil’s first teaching practice had been arranged at one of the secondary schools not far from the university campus. The school was a large comprehensive, situated on the foot of a council estate. It did not have a good academic record, and a recent Ofsted inspection had highlighted weaknesses in several areas. Phil knew it was not going to be an easy first ride but, having come from a similar background himself, it gave him some reassurance he would cope. The first couple of days had been merely observation of the other teachers in the department, and to give him time to organise his lesson plans.
His first day of teaching finally arrived and the period one lesson was the year ten computing class. Phil had sat in this class before and was confident that he had planned a good lesson, which would keep them busy for the whole hour. He arrived at the classroom in plenty of time, clutching his prepared worksheets, still warm from the photocopier.
He smiled confidently as the pupils noisily took their seats and waited for complete silence before starting the lesson. He had not even finished his introduction when a dark-haired, slim boy with a face full of freckles, sitting on the front row, interrupted him. Phil thought he had answered the question adequately, but the boy, dissatisfied with the response, challenged his every statement, taking delight in ridiculing the new student teacher with his own extensive knowledge of the Internet. Phil’s initial tactic had been to humour the boy, and laugh along with the class as they laughed at him. Within fifteen minutes, his careful planning had been destroyed and the lesson quickly turned into an annihilation of Phil’s character and ability as a teacher.
His initial disappointment at their reluctance to learn quickly turned into frustration. He walked over to the boy who had started the mêlée and said in a voice loud enough to be heard at the back of the room, ‘Do you think you could stay quiet long enough for me to finish a sentence?’
The boy sneered and stole a glance backwards at his peers, savouring his moment of triumph in succeeding to disrupt the class.
‘I asked you a question,’ repeated Phil, his voice slightly more raised.
The boy fiddled with his ruler, tapping it on the desk and, without looking up, replied, ‘If you said anything worth listening to, I might think about it.’
The class roared with laughter. The boy stood up, turned around, and took a low bow to his appreciative audience. Phil left the classroom and the school five minutes later, after locking the boy in the store cupboard and throwing the key out of the open window onto the flowerbed below. Debra had had a lot to say on that occasion when the letter dropped onto the mat, advising him that, ‘due to unfortunate circumstances’, he was no longer a student teacher at Manchester Metropolitan University.
Phil kicked at the dust as he walked back towards his bungalow. He still wondered what words Debra would use to describe his latest failure, although in his head he heard her quite clearly voicing her disgust and disappointment in him yet again. After the humiliation of the teaching practice, Phil had decided that the job with AVP would provide him with an opportunity to put some space between him and his problems. He had needed time to think. The baby was due at any time, his head was close to bursting point, and the looks of disappointment from Debra’s parents were grinding him down further. Recognising the first signs of depression, as he found it harder to get out of bed each morning, he decided to take the selfish route of self-preservation, and distance himself from all that he knew. He left the United Kingdom that October morning under a cloud of misery and despair.
As he walked up the garden path, Moxy, the tabby cat he had taken in as an abandoned kitten, greeted him with a meow and rubbed herself around his ankles, making a low purring noise. The sight of unfinished packing greeted him as he walked inside. He had no doubt in his mind whatsoever the words Abbey would use if she turned up tomorrow, and had to finishing the packing boxes.
He deliberated whether or not to tell Abbey about Ka Ka. He had not seen her since their dinner date and he was now worried that she, too, would be infected and he had more or less sentenced her to death. Their too brief union had hurt him deeply and, although disappointed that he might never see her again, the thought of living with her death on his conscience was too much to bear.
He sat on the floor between the boxes, Moxy purring on his lap, tears falling onto her soft fur.
Abbey spent the following day helping Phil to clear out his house. She had borrowed the bakkie from AVP, loading it up with mops, brushes and disinfectant.
‘Honestly Phil,’ exclaimed Abbey, cleaning a second kitchen cupboard. ‘Have you ever cleaned in here, ever?’
Eventually, all the possessions that Phil wanted to take home were boxed and labelled. Abbey had arranged for them to be picked up by the freight company she had used to bring her own items over from the UK. They put a sign on the gate saying ‘house sale’ and any unwanted items disappeared within the hour without a single tebe changing hands.
Darren sent two of his labourers to tidy the garden and, at sunset, as the garden gate whined closed for the last time, the bungalow looked well-kept and cared for. Abbey told Phil she had made up the spare room and that he would spend his last night at her house and sleep in a clean bed. She would not take no for an answer and Phil made very little objection.
Phil left Kasane on the Friday morning. After an emotional farewell, Abbey drove the short distance from the small airport back to the office in silence, preferring not to put the CD player on. Richard was out at the primary school when she got back, which gave her peace and quiet to think as she looked at Phil’s empty chair.
She had known about his lifestyle and the time he had spent in the local bars, which were full of men and women touting their bodies for money. They had never spoken about this part of African life, and Phil had preferred that this part of his life should remain confidential. Abbey was more than happy about this, as she did not want to judge Phil and ruin the close friendship that had developed.
Abbey left the office just after two. The heat was exhausting and she needed a break. She walked along to the junior school and around the back of the building to where the teachers’ houses stood. The students were still in study classes and the whole campus was quiet. She knocked on Judith’s door.
‘Hi Abbey, come in. Mind the mess, won’t you?’
The floor was covered in the familiar site of half-packed boxes and cases.
‘Going somewhere?’ asked Abbey, sitting on the arm of the chair.
Judith looked at her, sensing her mood. ‘Are you alright? I heard that Phil left today. Abbey, I’m so sorry. I know how close you two were.’
Abbey nodded, trying desperately not to let the tears start again.
‘Is he g
oing to be alright?’ asked Judith, suggesting to Abbey that Phil’s condition was already common knowledge. She wondered whether they had Richard to thank for that, who wouldn’t have missed any opportunity to convey the news to anyone who would listen. Not that being HIV positive in Botswana was unique, but people still valued their privacy and preferred to detach themselves away from their condition by getting on with daily life.
‘Yes, I’m sure he’s going to be fine. He’s promised to keep in touch and, with modern technology and science, he stands a damn good chance.’
She pointed to the boxes and looked at Judith.
‘Oh yes. My contract’s up this week, dear.’
‘Do you not want to stay on? Did they offer to renew it?’
‘Well, yes they did, but it’s this heat you know. And you have to admit, there’s not much to do here.’
Abbey suddenly wondered when Judith had turned into such a party animal that the social life in Kasane had become inadequate.
‘When do you leave?’
‘I’m booked on the Monday flight.’
‘Looks as though I’m going to lose two friends in one week then,’ sighed Abbey. ‘Would you like to come round tomorrow evening, for a farewell meal?’
Judith nodded. ‘That would be lovely, dear.’
As she walked home, Abbey realised that friendships in ex-pat communities tended to be short-lived as people moved on regularly, and was something she would have to get used to the longer she stayed. She comforted herself knowing that, if and when Darren ever left Kasane, she would be by his side.
Chapter Twelve
Phil stepped out into the warm, spring air at Heathrow Airport. He hadn’t slept and couldn’t even remember which films had been playing throughout the journey. He fumbled his way through customs and security, still not grasping the reality of the situation. A hand on his shoulder made him stop and turn.
‘Would you come this way please, sir?’ A customs officer beckoned him towards a small office. ‘Have you anything to declare sir?’ asked the man, who Phil reckoned could only be in his early twenties.
‘No.’
‘Are you sure, sir? Because we have the power to search your belongings.’
Phil put both his case and hand luggage on the desk. ‘It’s not locked,’ he said, looking at the young customs officer.
The young man unzipped the case and took each item out. Phil smiled as he remembered the argument he had had with Abbey before he had left.
‘Look Phil, these clothes stink. They have to be washed; you just never know who might see them.’
He had looked at Darren for support, who had suggested that he should just humour Abbey. They had sat out on the veranda drinking cold beers, whilst Abbey busily sorted out clothes into different piles on the kitchen floor.
He could hear in his head the comments she would make if she ever found out about his bags being searched. Abbey had no qualms about ever saying, ‘See I told you so’ to anyone. He was sure he had seen Richard turn a pale green on several occasions when Abbey’s predictions had come true.
‘Thank you, sir. You are free to carry on with your journey.’
Phil picked up his luggage and headed for the train connection which would take him directly to Sheffield.
His parents, who were not expecting him back, looked at one another as he threw his bags onto the hall floor but, much to his relief, did not ask him any questions.
Exactly one week later, Phil was sat in the waiting room at the GP surgery. He looked around at the other people waiting to be seen. Some had coughs and colds, whilst others had absolutely nothing visibly wrong with them at all.
Just like me, he thought to himself. Would they all stare at me if they knew? Would they sit next to me? He wondered what it would be like having to wear a badge saying ‘Warning – HIV positive!’
He thought of the Jews being forced by the Nazis to wear the Star of David, a sign to others that they were the cursed race. Was he part of a cursed race now? He still hadn’t told his parents why he had come back home, and they hadn’t asked. He knew he would have to eventually. But how to tell them he was terminally ill, and probably responsible for the illnesses and subsequent deaths of god knows how many others, at that moment, was beyond his emotional capability.
‘Mr Phillip Brown to room seven,’ said the receptionist, without looking up from her computer screen.
Phil walked into the office and closed the door behind him.
Chapter Thirteen
After Phil’s departure, life in Kasane was not the same for Abbey. She felt she now had no other social outlets apart from Darren and barely left his side when he was home. Darren didn’t mind the extra attention and supported Abbey as much as he could by showering her with affection. Abbey’s life started to revolve around Darren’s work and social commitments, and she would always join him on any weekend excursions. She was keen to bring the marriage date forward and suggested they got married on the next trip to Francistown. Darren agreed, and they married in a small registry office, exactly one month after Phil had left. They had two witnesses, a waiter from the hotel and the secretary at the registry office. They did not buy wedding outfits, instead choosing to wear plain, casual clothes.
They told nobody about their plans beforehand and returned immediately to Kasane, Abbey wearing the plain gold wedding band Darren had bought from the jewellers on the day of the wedding. Although the whole incident bore no hint of a celebration of two people declaring their undying love for one another, in Abbey’s mind there was absolutely no question that she had done the right thing by getting married to Darren, and couldn’t imagine life without him.
Abbey could not muster the same enthusiasm for her work as she had done previously. Richard, as expected, had not attempted to discuss Phil’s departure with Abbey at all. Principally, she thought, because he didn’t have the communication skills to talk about anything on an emotional level, and also because he knew that Abbey would be fiercely defensive in protecting Phil’s reputation.
AVP had not replaced Phil, and Abbey and Richard had taken on his tasks and divided them equally. Abbey had argued to keep the weekly drive down to the Crossroads to pick up the new trees.
‘Do you think that’s a good idea?’ probed Richard. ‘There is a lot of lifting to be done and it would take you much longer on your own.’
‘Simple,’ retorted Abbey. ‘There are plenty of people in this town who would bend over backwards for the chance to earn a bit of extra money. Why don’t we employ someone part-time, maybe three days a week, to help with the lifting and carrying that Phil used to do?’
‘I’d have to check it with Head Office first.’
‘Well, do that. It makes much more financial sense than sending someone else over from the UK.’
Richard looked at Abbey. It was the first time she had ever sounded so officious, and for a moment he got a glimpse of ‘Abbey the Marketing Director’. Her efficient tone worked and Head Office agreed to the request, although Abbey had a sneaking suspicion on reading the email that Richard had put it over as his idea!
After placing an advert on the notice board in the Spar, they received about fifty letters of application as well as a constant stream of people knocking on the door. Richard had made it quite clear that recruitment was his remit and Abbey was more than happy to just let him get on with it.
She returned from the Crossroads the next Wednesday lunchtime, absolutely exhausted. Isaac had helped her load the trees and had listened to Abbey vent her feelings on Phil’s sudden departure and life in general without him. Isaac had also been fond of Phil and empathised with her rather than sympathised, which she felt Darren did, not that she thought he did it intentionally; he was just doing the best he could in very difficult circumstances.
She was reversing the bakkie into the AVP plot when Richard appeared at the office door with a young lady, who looked about nineteen years old.
‘Ah Abbey, that is good timing,’ he said lead
ing the young lady by the arm towards her. ‘This is Boitachello and she is going to be working with us on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday.’
‘Oh, right,’ said Abbey slightly confused at Richard’s choice. ‘Welcome.’
‘OK, we’ll see you tomorrow then Boitachello, eight o’clock sharp.’
The girl smiled nervously at Richard and left.
‘Now, correct me if I’m wrong, Richard,’ said Abbey wiping the sweat off her forehead, ‘but weren’t we supposed to be hiring a male to do the lifting and carrying we talked about? Remember that conversation? About a week ago now?’
‘Well Abbey!’ exclaimed Richard. ‘You do surprise me. I would have thought you’d be the last one to ignore the Sex Discrimination Act.’
‘Does it exist here?’ she replied, totally taken aback with his remark.
‘Oh, while I remember this came for you in the post this morning.’
Abbey took the white envelope from him. It was addressed to Miss Abbey Harris and she knew immediately it was from the printing company she worked for in Manchester. She walked back into the cool of the office and sat down before opening it.
The letter was short and to the point.
Dear Abbey
Your career break is officially due to finish in six weeks time. Please could you confirm in writing by email/fax the date that you will be returning to work. In the meantime we hope that you are well and look forward to seeing you on your return.
Yours sincerely
Mr Colin Trump
Managing Director
Abbey closed her eyes and sighed. This is all she needed. She had known in the back of her mind that the date for her return was coming up, but had been too distracted with Phil and the wedding to pay much attention it. Darren would be away until Friday afternoon. She put the letter in her bag and decided it could wait until then.
The Perils of Skinny-Dipping Page 8