by Lesley Lokko
The door to his place was open. She walked in and put her bag on the concrete kitchen counter. She could see him on the patio, barbecue tongs in one hand, phone clamped to his ear with the other. He gave her a quick wave – ‘Two minutes,’ he mouthed. She nodded. There was an open bottle of Shiraz on the counter and a single glass, clearly meant for her. She poured herself a measure and walked over to the couch. She sank back against the cushions, took a sip and closed her eyes for a second. It was the first time in a couple of days that she’d had the chance to relax.
She woke to the feel of his hands on her shoulders, gently kneading the knots of tension that seemed to be a permanent side effect of working at Bara. She reached up and caught hold of one of his hands, pushing it against the side of her neck. ‘That’s perfect,’ she murmured. ‘Just perfect.’
‘Steak’s ready,’ he said, planting a kiss on the top of her head. ‘Medium rare, no?’
She nodded. ‘I’ll get up in a minute. Don’t stop . . . right there. Ouch . . . yes, right there.’
He chuckled. ‘Sounds like an invitation to something else.’
‘After my steak,’ she said firmly. ‘Food first.’
‘Coming up.’ He touched her neck lightly and walked back to the patio. She got up, stretching her arms, and walked to the bathroom at the far end of the space. She switched on the light but saw there was no toilet paper. She shook her head and closed the door. His own bathroom was just off the main bedroom. She walked in and switched on the light. It was marginally better stocked and at least there was a clean towel hanging on the shower door.
She flushed the toilet and walked over to the sink. There was a floor-to-ceiling mirror on one side of the bathroom and she quickly checked her appearance before turning on the tap to wash her hands. She reached for the small bottle of handwash . . . and then she saw it. The earring. She froze. There was absolutely no mistaking the small gold-and-diamond stud. It was Jen’s. She stood still for a moment. Her mind jumped back to the restaurant. Jen tucking her hair behind her ears. Kemi noticing one earring was missing. Jen’s response. It’ll turn up. She swallowed. There had to be an explanation. Jen had never been to Solam’s apartment. She’d have told her if she had. He must have found it somewhere . . . but where? She picked it up, turning it over carefully in her hand. There was a sudden loud knock at the door.
‘Kem? You OK?’
She jumped. ‘I’m . . . I’m fine. I’ll be out in a minute,’ she called, turning on the tap again. She splashed a little cold water over her face and patted it dry. Then she closed her fist around the earring and went to the door. He was standing outside, looking concerned.
‘You OK?’ he asked again.
She opened her mouth but couldn’t find the right words. She opened her palm. She watched as he looked down at the stud and then at her face. She searched for the smallest change in his expression but there was none. They stood there together in silence, looking at the earring. It was the silence that told her what she needed to know. And then he spoke. What followed was worse.
56
‘This is a surprise,’ Iketleng murmured as the waiter showed them to their table. ‘You never ring me.’
‘Not true. Now, are you happy here or would you prefer a window seat?’ Solam said, pulling out her chair.
‘No, this is fine.’ She looked around her. ‘Nice place. I haven’t been before.’
‘Food’s good,’ Solam said, sitting opposite her. ‘And they have fish,’ he added quickly.
‘Good. So, what’s this in aid of?’ Iketleng said, shaking out her napkin.
‘Why does there have to be a particular reason?’
‘Solam, I’m your mother.’
He sighed. ‘All right. I wanted to tell you myself, before you heard it from anyone else.’
Iketleng looked at him sharply. ‘What’s happened? It’s not Kemi, is it?’
Solam nodded slowly. ‘It’s complicated.’
‘What happened? I can’t believe it. You two are made for each other. What am I going to tell Florence? Or does she already know?’
Solam sighed. ‘I don’t know what she knows.’ He looked at his mother. He chose his words carefully. ‘I think that was part of the problem,’ he said slowly.
‘What?’
‘Exactly what you just said. Everyone thinks the same way you do. That we’re made for each other. The perfect couple.’
‘Didn’t you think so, too?’
Solam shook his head. ‘It’s hard to explain.’
‘Solam, I’m your mother. If you can’t explain it to me, who can you explain it to?’ As soon as the words were out, Solam could see the conflict in her face. Theirs had never been the sort of relationship where such things could be discussed. She’d always respected the boundaries he drew so carefully around himself. It was partly out of guilt, he knew, which gave him the upper hand, but it was also not in her nature, or her culture, which was now so different from his.
‘She’s great, Ma. She’s brilliant and ambitious . . . she’s from the right family. We come from such similar backgrounds . . . yeah, it ought to work. But I need someone who needs me, Ma. Kemi doesn’t need anyone.’
‘I see.’
‘And I did something. Something I’m not exactly proud of, but it happened.’
There was silence for a few moments. ‘I won’t ask you what you did,’ she said finally. ‘You’re a grown man and it’s not my business.’
‘No, it’s not. But I wanted you to hear it from me, not from anyone else. Least of all her mother.’
Iketleng nodded. ‘It’s not my place to judge. And you’re right . . . no one really knows what goes on between a couple.’ She twisted her own wedding ring in an unconsciously sentimental gesture.
Solam looked at her curiously. He had never really thought about his parents’ marriage. They’d spent most of their lives apart. Was it possible . . .?
Iketleng seemed to read his mind. She shook her head almost imperceptibly, though whether as an answer to his unasked question or a refusal to be drawn any further it wasn’t clear. ‘Whatever you did, I hope you will find a way to remain friends. Our families are too close.’
Solam pulled a face. ‘In time, maybe. It’s . . . complicated. Now, what’ll you have to drink? There’s a very good Chardonnay on the list.’ He bent his head, hoping she would do the same. He was about to steer the conversation in another direction and he wanted her to relax.
‘Chardonnay’s fine,’ she said, picking up the menu. Iketleng was nothing if not pragmatic. He could read her like a book. He chose his next words carefully.
‘There’s something else I want to ask you,’ he said, still studying the wine list. He could feel her attention on him.
‘What?’
‘I’ve been approached by Mbete,’ he began. ‘He wants me to move to Economic Development. They’re talking about a possible deputy minister role.’
‘I see.’
‘It’s a big jump for me. I’ll be the youngest deputy minister they’ve ever had. Can I trust him? I just need to be sure they’re not setting me up for a fall.’
‘Mbete’s no fool,’ Iketleng said thoughtfully. ‘He won’t go against you whilst your father is on the Executive. D’you want me to ask him?’
Solam shook his head. ‘No, keep him out of this.’ She said nothing, but he saw from her eyes that his decision met with her approval. ‘It might be useful in the short term. In the long run, though, the less he knows about my path in government the better.’
Iketleng nodded. ‘Mbete’s not the one you need to watch out for. It’s Mbatha. If he’s pushing Mbatha out to make room for you, you’d better hope he’s been given something good. That younger crowd are ruthless, I’m telling you. All they think about is lining their own pockets as fast as they can, every single one of them. That’s the danger.’
Solam said nothing. He felt a prickling at the nape of his neck. He pushed the uneasiness away. The first hurdle had been overcome. Th
e first and possibly most difficult.
57
Ayanda carried over two glasses from the bar. She set them down, waving away the waiter, and slipped into the seat opposite Kemi.
‘Cheers,’ she said, lifting her glass. ‘Now, tell me everything.’
Kemi picked up her glass. It had been a week since she’d found out about Jen and Solam. She’d walked out of his apartment in a daze. Derrick had come to pick her up. The following morning, she’d called in sick for the first time ever in her career. She lay in bed in the guesthouse, too stunned to speak or think.
‘He cheated,’ she said slowly, carefully. ‘He’s been with someone else.’
‘I’m not going to say, “I told you so”,’ Ayanda said after a moment. ‘But I did. And I told you that it’s just the way things are between men and women, here. You’ll never survive here if you think your relationship will be different. It’s complex. Our history is so complicated. Apartheid damaged everyone, especially our men. Was it a fling? A one-night stand? Can you forgive him?’
Kemi shook her head. ‘He’s not the problem.’
Ayanda looked surprised. ‘What d’you mean?’
‘I’m not stupid. Solam’s a good-looking man. Women practically throw themselves at him all the time. I see it every time we go out. Even I could see that it would just be a matter of time before something happened. He’s out of the country half the time . . . we don’t see that much of each other. Like you said, it’s what happens. At the back of my mind, I think I always knew there was that risk. That’s not the betrayal.’
‘So, what is?’
‘It’s the woman he slept with.’ Kemi took a gulp of wine. ‘I don’t think I can forgive her. Ever.’
‘Who is it?’ Ayanda looked puzzled. ‘It can’t be a friend of yours . . . you don’t have any.’ She put out a hand. ‘Here in Johannesburg, I mean. You haven’t been here long enough to make those kinds of friends.’
‘It’s not a friend,’ Kemi said carefully. ‘It’s much worse than that.’
‘Who?’
‘It’s my sister. Jen. My soul sister. That’s what we used to call each other. Soul sisters.’
‘Jen?’ Ayanda couldn’t possibly have looked more shocked. ‘How?’
Kemi nodded. ‘Yes, Jen. Apparently it was only the once, just before she left. But that’s not the worst part.’
‘What on earth could be worse?’
‘She’s pregnant.’
58
‘Ah, Julian. Some good news at last,’ Gareth McElhone, the senior neurologist at UCH, said as Julian walked into the staffroom stirring his cup of lukewarm coffee.
‘What’s that?’ Julian asked mildly. McElhone was known to his colleagues as someone who was somewhat lacking in the humour department.
‘Dr Mashabane’s coming back. Got an email from HR this morning. Seems she’s had enough of working out there.’
Julian’s heart missed a beat. ‘Interesting,’ he murmured, taking a seat opposite. ‘How come?’
Dr McElhone shrugged. ‘No idea. Main thing is, she’s back.’
‘When does she start?’
‘Week on Monday. It’ll be good to have her on the team again. She’s been missed. Now, about that patient who came in this morning. I’d like you to take a look at her, if you can. It’s clearly an aneurism but there may be some underlying cardiovascular symptoms we’re missing.’
Julian nodded, his mind already racing ahead. He was gripped with a longing of the sort he hadn’t had since childhood, a longing so acute he found his hands shaking. Ridiculous, he kept thinking to himself. Ridiculous, plain and simple. She’d been gone for nearly six months, but not a day had gone by when he hadn’t thought of her. And now she was coming back.
The night before her arrival back at the hospital, he lay beside Rosemary, stiff with the tension of holding himself in, listening to her breathing softly, gently, peacefully, in and out, in and out, cursing himself for his inability to do the same. Rosemary had no inkling of the storm that had been brewing inside him for the past nine months. As before, when he finally entered sleep, he found himself in a place of such delightfully erotic longing that when he woke in the early hours of the morning, his pyjamas were once again damp to the touch. He buried them in the laundry basket again, thrust to the bottom of the pile. He showered and shaved and kissed his still-sleeping wife, leaving the house well before the usual time. He walked through Regent’s Park, oblivious to the signs of autumn in the falling leaves around him.
There was no real reason to be in the staffroom on the fifth floor where the neurology team met every morning, but he found himself pressing ‘5’ instead of ‘4’ in the lift without realizing it. He had a full morning’s surgery scheduled but it was one of the reasons he’d left home so early. If he were to catch a glimpse of her at all, it would be there, at that time, before the morning’s caseload began. The doors opened with their usual hiss and he stepped out. He saw Fairbanks at once, walking towards the staffroom.
‘You’re just in time,’ Fairbanks called out, waiting for him to walk down the corridor to join him.
‘In time for what?’
‘You’ll never guess who’s here!’
‘Who?’
‘Dr Mashabane. Come in and join us, we’re just having a cup of tea to welcome her back.’
His heart was thudding. He hoped his voice and expression were steady. ‘Really?’ He fell into step alongside Fairbanks.
‘We haven’t seen you around in a while,’ Fairbanks said, as they both entered the staffroom together. It was just the opening Julian needed. He was able to say, quite calmly, that he’d been away on holiday the previous week, so that when he caught sight of her, it was as if he was engaged in a conversation with a colleague, and was surprised to see her.
‘Oh, hello . . . I just heard you were back. Lovely to see you.’
She looked up. Her face was the same, he noticed immediately, though there was a sudden tightness around the eyes. She’d lost weight. Her cheekbones were sharper, and that little hollow at the base of her throat between the clavicles was more pronounced. Around her mouth were tiny lines of tension, which relaxed as she smiled. ‘Mr Carrick! How are you? It’s really nice to be back.’
He held out a hand. Her touch sent a small thrilling shock through him. ‘Mark was just telling me you’re back with us. Well, it’s good to see you. We must chat about your adventure some time. It’d be interesting to hear how things are out there.’
She nodded eagerly, it seemed to him, but before he could say anything further, someone else came over to talk to her and he turned away, elated. He chatted to Fairbanks for a few minutes. Luckily no one asked him what he was doing amongst them and he slipped out without anyone noticing, and began to whistle lightly as he walked back down the corridor to the lift.
59
They were sitting so close that their heads were almost touching. They had been there since six o’clock. It was nearly ten. Kemi had bumped into him on her way out of the hospital’s main door and they’d fallen into step walking up Grafton Way. They’d started chatting about this and that . . . by the time they reached Warren Street, it seemed the most natural thing to duck into the bar at the hotel on the corner and order a drink. He carried the glasses over to the corner table and sat down opposite her. The thread of conversation they’d started outside was picked up again. She found his questions so thoughtful. The shared professional language between them calmed her. It gave her something else to focus on.
‘Will you have another?’ he asked, pointing to her glass. ‘A small one? It’s still pretty early.’
She nodded. Yes, well, why not? There was only the empty flat to go back to and the telephone that never rang. The welcome she’d received from her former colleagues had touched her more than she was able to express. No one had asked her why she’d cut her appointment short. There was only pleasure at her return.
‘A small one.’ She smiled her thanks.
‘Be back in a sec,’ he said, getting up. She watched him walk towards the bar. After Solam’s almost overwhelming physical presence, Julian was a relief to be around. Solam consumed the very air around him. Julian was the opposite. He was quiet and self-contained. She couldn’t imagine him getting angry or throwing his weight around . . . not that there was much weight to throw. He was of average height, slim build, grey-haired, with light blue eyes that shone from behind his wire-framed glasses. A serious face, deep grooves than ran from nose to chin, a faint salt-and-pepper shadow of stubble. She looked up as he approached, two small beers in hand.
‘Thanks.’ She curled her hand around the base. ‘I’m not keeping you, am I?’ she said, suddenly worried. She’d spent most of the evening talking about herself.
‘Oh, goodness no. I’m . . . I’m just enjoying listening to you,’ he said quickly. ‘It sounds fascinating. I’ve never been to Africa. But . . . if you’ll allow me to say something out of turn . . . there’s something else, isn’t there? There’s another reason you came back. And please just tell me to mind my own business,’ he added quickly. ‘I don’t mean to pry.’
Kemi was silent, struggling between the desire to tell someone and the knowledge that he was her superior. She had always been so careful to respect the boundary between her professional and personal life. Sometimes the distance she created was mistaken for aloofness but her cautiousness had served her well. Jen’s betrayal had cut her to the bone and there was no one to tell. Her mother was only interested in Solam . . . why on earth had she thrown everything away? He’s just a typical man, for goodness’ sake! What did you expect? She didn’t know how to tell her that it wasn’t Solam’s betrayal that hurt . . . it was Jen’s. Florence simply couldn’t understand. Even Ayanda’s brisk sympathy did little to assuage the pain. And now here was Mr Carrick – Julian, she corrected herself – offering her a shoulder to cry on and a sympathetic ear . . . nothing more than that. She opened her mouth, and suddenly she couldn’t hold back.