Thys laughed. ‘You’re looking the wrong way. It’s over there. It looks like he’s getting ready to land. See. Here he comes.’
She swung around and stared, horrified, as the little toy plane raced towards the ground, faster and faster. It was going to crash. Anyone could see that. She closed her eyes, waiting for the explosion.
‘You can look now. He’s down.’
Annamari glared at her husband again, hitched up her jeans, gathered what was left of her dignity, and marched towards the white building which apparently housed the Elite Flight School. The little plane was already there, the propeller still, the door open. Her youngest son was loping across the tarmac – the apron he had called it – towards her.
‘Did you see my spin, Ma? And my stall. I love doing that.’
‘Are you crazy? Are you quite, quite crazy? What the hell did you think you were doing?’
Annamari could hear her voice spiralling out of control. She was shaking and there was Steyn, all sparkling brown eyes and a huge grin. She rubbed her itching hand on her leg.
‘Where’s that instructor of yours?’ she hissed. ‘What on earth was he thinking? How can he allow a child to do acrobatics like that? That’s what they do at air shows.’ She turned on Thys who had materialised next to her. ‘Steyn doesn’t even have his licence yet. How can they let him fly like that?’
‘I’m pretty sure he does now,’ Thys said. ‘Congratulations son. That was incredible. I’m so proud of you.’ Thys put his arms around Steyn and thumped him on his back. Annamari wanted to throw up.
***
‘But I told you, Ma. I told you I’d would be doing spins and stalls. You have to be able to do that if you want to get your private pilot’s licence. I told you.’ Steyn beamed at her and sipped his Coke.
Steyn hadn’t stopped beaming, not for a single minute. Not when his instructor came over to congratulate him; not during the drive into Bethlehem; not while they waited for the waitress to bring their celebratory lunch order.
‘I know you told me, Steynkie. But you didn’t tell me that you would flip the plane over and over so much that the engine died. If you had, I would never have agreed to you having flying lessons, even if they were a present from Arno.’
Annamari had almost throttled her oldest son when she realised what was in the envelope he gave Steyn for his seventeenth birthday: a voucher for a test flying lesson. Arno had driven down from Johannesburg especially – and had even made the appointment with Darryl at the Elite Flying School in Bethlehem. Thys and Arno drove Steyn to the lesson in Arno’s latest new car, a silver BMW. She had refused to go – which had turned out to be one of the biggest mistakes of her life. Because if she had gone, she would have stopped Arno from signing Steyn up for flying lessons, lessons – he informed her proudly – that would eventually enable him to get his private pilot’s licence. If he worked hard.
But, to her eternal regret, she hadn’t felt up to it. She had still been too upset about the phone call from Mr Venter. The claim against Steynspruit was still crawling along, he’d said. She had given up trying to get to grips with the legal intricacies of the appeals and counter appeals that had been going on for the past three years. Mr Venter had fought their case in this court and that court; he’d filed this motion and that appeal; even Beauty had acknowledged that he was doing a good job. But after each foray, when she asked: ‘So, is it over? Is Steynspruit safe?’ Mr Venter had shrugged, cleared his throat and muttered: ‘Not yet.’ All this legal toing and froing was costing a fortune. There was no way they could afford flying lessons. They had barely managed to scrape together enough to fix the roof of the house – the insurance didn’t cover “wear and tear and natural deterioration”. But, she’d stupidly thought – one little test flight, in a little plane – well, that couldn’t do any harm and the reality of it all might just bring Steyn to his senses.
But, it hadn’t and she’d never understand why she had ever imagined that it would.
‘Ma, flying is all Steyn has ever wanted to do,’ Arno had said when she’d calmed down after they’d broken the news that the single test flight had morphed into a signed contract for flying lessons. ‘The instructor who took him up for the test said he was a natural.’
‘I’m sure they say that about every starry-eyed boy who thinks flying is romantic and exciting. Anyway, it’s too expensive. We can’t afford ...’ she’d objected.
‘Ma, it’s my gift to my little brother. I can afford it. Mr Silverman gave me a fantastic bonus, plus the Silver Properties share price is holding its own nicely. And once Steyn is a qualified private pilot, he should stand a better chance of getting accepted for pilot training in the Air Force after he matriculates. Otherwise, he can become my personal pilot.’
Steyn and Arno and even Thys had all laughed.
***
‘I wonder why Arno hasn’t phoned,’ Annamari said as she and Thys settled down on the couch to watch The Amazing Race. ‘Steyn has been trying to reach him all day.’
It really was strange. Usually, if Arno was busy and couldn’t take a call, he’d phone back as soon as he was free – which was seldom more than an hour or two. But Steyn’s calls, SMSs and WhatsApps with the wonderful news that he was now a qualified pilot had all gone unanswered.
‘I’m going to try again,’ Thys said, reaching for the telephone, which rang just as he was about to lift the handset.
‘Hello? Arno! I was just going to call... did you get our messages... yes, it’s wonderful. Steyn handled himself like a pro... okay, I’ll tell him. Where have you been all day?’
Suddenly, Thys sat bolt upright; his hand holding the handset whitened.
‘What?’ he said. ‘That’s terrible... when...how awful...’
‘Thys,’ Annamari whispered. ‘What’s wrong?’
But Thys ignored her and continued to listen intently to whatever bad news Arno was giving him.
‘Poor, poor Alan,’ he said. ‘The poor man. What a terrible tragedy. Send our deepest sympathy. Tell him he is in our prayers. Keep us informed... Yes... yes... I understand, your ma will too. And you take care of yourself. Good night, son.’
‘What?’ Annamari said.
‘It’s Alan’s wife. She’s... she... Last night. She’s dead. They found her in her bedroom this morning.’
Annamari felt as if she had been kicked in the stomach by a very strong donkey. ‘How? What happened? Arno never said she was sick or anything. Was she murdered?’
‘They’re not sure, Arno says. The police are apparently investigating.’
‘Oh heavens! You see? I wish Arno would come home. He must come home. It’s too dangerous up there in Johannesburg. First their daughter is kidnapped or something; then his wife is murdered... It shows you. No matter how rich and important you are, no one is safe in a place like that. Arno has to see sense and come home ...’
‘No, no liefie. They don’t know if she was... they don’t know what happened. Arno said they think she might have committed suicide.’
Chapter 40
A year later. 2013
The tall, skinny young woman, with unnaturally red, curly hair turned back from examining the family portrait on the wall above the fireplace. Annamari shifted uncomfortably on the couch. She wished Thys would come home. He was far more comfortable talking to the media than she was.
‘You are a good-looking family,’ the woman said. ‘How long ago was this taken?’
‘I don’t know. About ten – no, more than that – fourteen years ago. We had it taken for our twentieth wedding anniversary.’
‘So who’s who?’
Annamari got up and walked over to the fireplace.
‘That’s me and Thys, obviously. Then that’s Arno, our oldest son – he lives in Johannesburg; that’s De Wet; and the little one there, that’s Steyn. He’s writing matric this year.’
The woman raised her eyebrows. ‘De Wet? De Wet van Zyl, the New Zealand cricketer? He’s your son?’
Ann
amari stared at her in surprise. ‘Of course. But you knew that. Why else would you want to speak to us?’
The woman shook her head. She looked embarrassed. ‘No, that’s not why... but now that I’m here, yes, I’d like to ask you about De Wet as well. I’m not a sports writer – I actually know very little about cricket – but I am curious. What’s it like having your son play for New Zealand – especially when New Zealand is playing against South Africa?’
‘I’m sorry,’ Annamari said, confused. ‘If you didn’t come here to talk about De Wet, why did you come? Is it about Beauty?’
‘What’s beauty?’
Annamari stared at the journalist who looked as confused as she felt. ‘Not what – who. Bontle Maseko... you know? We’ve always called her Beauty.’
She sighed with relief as Thys came through the French doors. He held out his hand to the journalist.
‘Hello,’ he said. ‘I’m Thys van Zyl. De Wet’s father. And you are...?’
‘Tracy Jacobs. Daily Express in Johannesburg. But I think there’s been a bit of a misunderstanding, Mr van Zyl, Mrs van Zyl. I didn’t contact you to talk about De Wet, although I think it’s a fantastic story and everything. And Bontle Maseko – you mean that incredible woman who has just been appointed to the Western Cape bench? What has she got to do with you?’
Thys looked at Annamari and frowned. ‘Beauty – Bontle, grew up on Steynspruit. But now I’m confused.’ He turned back to the journalist. ‘What do you want? You told my wife on the phone that you wanted to speak to us about De Wet and now you say...’
‘No,’ the journalist said. ‘I never said that. When I spoke to you, Mrs van Zyl, I simply asked if it would it be okay if I came out to your farm to speak to you about a story I was working on.’
Annamari remembered that she hadn’t really paid much attention when the journalist phoned. Lots of journalists phoned, especially since the New Zealand squad for the South African tour had been announced. She’d been making bread and the timer was buzzing – if she hadn’t got the loaf out of the oven it would have burned – and it was so hot in the kitchen, even with the back door open. So when the journalist asked if she could come out to Steynspruit the next day, she had agreed without further thought.
She and Thys were so proud the media was taking such an interest in De Wet. He had worked really hard, and had had to be so patient while he waited to qualify to represent his new country. But she had always known that his talent would see him through, and she’d been right. The moment he got his New Zealand citizenship, the New Zealand selectors hadn’t hesitated to draft him in to the Black Caps squad. And they hadn’t been disappointed. De Wet was doing brilliantly; even the South African media praised him. There was none of that nasty undercurrent as there was with Kevin Pietersen, who was now playing for England. But perhaps that was because De Wet was very tactful about why he had gone to New Zealand in the first place. When asked, he always said it was because he had been given an opportunity to learn more about milk farming in one of the world’s top milk producing countries – and the rest had just happened.
‘So if you didn’t want to speak to us about De Wet, or Beauty – it’s still strange for us to think of her as Justice Bontle Maseko – what do you want?’ Thys asked.
The journalist fished in her handbag and withdrew a tatty-looking shorthand notebook. ‘I’m working on a backgrounder about Alan Silverman.’
Annamari bit back her gasp and looked at Thys. Thys looked at her, then glared at the journalist. Neither of them said anything. The silence lengthened.
‘Did you know him? I came down to Driespruitfontein because I found out that this was his home town. That he went to school there.’ The journalist looked at them anxiously.
Still they said nothing.
‘Anyway, I was in the Wimpy eating breakfast and I met this old woman...’ She stopped and flipped some pages in her notebook. ‘Yes, here it is. Estie Viljoen. She said she hadn’t really known him or his family – just that they owned the General Dealer store. I got the impression she hadn’t liked them very much.’ She looked at them expectantly. Annamari looked away. Thys was silent.
The journalist rushed on: ‘Yes, well, she said you were very close to Alan Silverman and would know all about him. Anyway, she gave me your phone number. I’m sorry about the misunderstanding, but I honestly didn’t intend to mislead you.’
Annamari clenched her hands. She swallowed hard. She felt nauseous. Why on earth hadn’t she questioned this journalist more closely before letting her loose in their home?
‘It’s okay,’ Thys said. ‘But I don’t know how much we’ll be able to help you. We went to school together. That was a long time ago. I hadn’t spoken to Alan since...well, probably since school. I was living in Bloemfontein when he went overseas and I hadn’t seen or spoken to him after he returned, so I really can’t tell you much about him.’
‘Oh, that’s fine. I really wanted to try and find out what he was like as a boy, a young man. You know – to try and see if there was anything, you know, that would have ... that could explain... that could help us understand him, the man he became...’ Her voice faltered under Thys’ piercing gaze.
Annamari’s heart lifted. Thys would never indulge in gossip, which was obviously what this horrible journalist was after. Thys would throw her out... and then she’d be able to breathe again.
‘Listen here,’ Thys said. ‘I know what the newspapers said about Alan. I find it very hard to believe. But the poor man is dead... he died months ago. Don’t you think it’s time to let him rest in peace?’
‘I just want to get to the truth. What he did...’
‘That was never proved,’ Thys hissed.
‘Ja, well, everyone thinks he was guilty. What do you think?’ the journalist asked. ‘Is there anything you can think of, what you knew about him that would have, or could explain the way... well, what happened to him?’
‘No. Of course not,’ Thys said, sharply.
The journalist flushed. Annamari almost felt sorry for her. She knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of a Thys glare.
‘Look,’ Thys went on in a more conciliatory tone. ‘I’m sure you are only doing your job. But all I can tell you is that the Alan Silverman I read about in the newspapers was not the same Alan Silverman who I grew up with. Wait here. I’ve got something to show you.’
‘Did you know Alan Silverman too?’ the journalist asked as Thys left the room.
Annamari swallowed. ‘Not really. Not as well as Thys,’ she muttered.
The journalist got up and walked over to the family portrait. ‘I never realised Arno van Zyl was your son,’ she said, staring intently at the photograph. ‘You must have been very young when he was born.’
Annamari almost choked. ‘Yes. We were. Thys and me. Very young.’
‘I met Arno during the inquest – you know – the one into Brenda Silverman’s death. And I saw him a couple of times after that, at the Silverman house. Yair Silverman – Alan and Brenda’s son – we’re sort of friends and that’s ... oh, Mr van Zyl, what’s that?’
Thys returned and handed the journalist a Driespruitfontein Hoërskool magazine. ‘This should give you some idea of the kind of boy Alan was. See? He was the best cross country runner in the province, back then. He was extremely clever too, and generous and kind about it. He helped us – Annamari and me – with our maths. I would never have passed matric if it hadn’t been for him.’
Annamari felt her face burn as the journalist turned back to her. ‘Oh, but you told me you didn’t know him.’
‘I... he helped me with my maths. But we weren’t friends, not like him and Thys.’
The journalist stared at her and then flipped through the magazine, pausing when she came to the cross country team photograph. Annamari found herself holding her breath, and praying that the journalist would leave – just get up and go.
‘I have to ask,’ the journalist said, pulling at one of her red curls, ‘were yo
u related to Alan Silverman? I mean, you weren’t cousins or something, were you?’
Chapter 41
2013
Annamari forced herself to stand up, although her legs felt like rubber. She picked up the empty mugs and headed towards the kitchen as Thys barked a short laugh.
‘No, that’s ridiculous,’ he said, reaching over to remove the magazine from the journalist’s hands. ‘He was Jewish. As far as I know, he had no family other than his parents and his brother.’
Annamari gently placed the mugs into the sink and drew in a deep breath. This was terrible. She was certain the journalist was going to say something about Arno... and Alan. She had obviously noticed. What if she asked Thys about it? She hurried back to the lounge, and sank back onto the couch, determined to head the journalist off if she did actually ask the unthinkable.
Thys was still singing Alan’s praises. ‘Did you know his brother was killed on the border in the war? I think that had a huge effect on him, although he didn’t speak about it much. I know they were very close...’
‘So you don’t believe Alan Silverman was ... you know. You read the stories,’ the journalist interrupted.
‘No! I don’t know. I just find it hard to believe. Alan was no angel – but he was no different from any other boy. And you know what they say about he who is without sin casting the first stone? I don’t know if the stories about Alan are true. However, it is not for us to judge but to find the strength and courage to forgive.’
Annamari blinked hard and turned away as the journalist looked towards the family portrait. Annamari held her breath.
‘I know you have come a long way and I’m sorry we can’t tell you more,’ Thys continued. ‘But perhaps your trip need not be totally wasted. I think we may be able to give you a good news story. Different. Not what you came for. But good.’
Annamari looked at Thys in surprise. He winked at her. What was he up to now?
The journalist turned away from the portrait. ‘Sounds interesting. What’s it about?’
When Time Fails Page 21