6 pm
Walking her grandmother from the car into the flat was always the most challenging part of the day.
‘There you go. One step, two step,’ Tsotso found that if she counted aloud it entertained her grandmother, distracted her enough to make her compliant as they walked through the car park. The numbers seemed to enthral her. ‘That's it,’ Tsotso encouraged.
‘One, two, three.’
‘Yes.’
‘One, two, three,’ her grandmother giggled exposing dark gums and a slack tongue.
They were moving along when Umakhulu tripped on her shoelace which, Tsotso hadn't realised, she'd undone in the car. The old woman's legs crumbled underneath her and Tsotso was pulled down with her onto the hard concrete floor. Umakhulu screamed.
‘Makhulu!’ Tsotso jumped up and started trying to lift her. She was worried a car would come and run them over but the old woman refused to budge.
She checked for bleeding, there was none. A scratch on the old woman's elbow. Her screams were more calls for attention than indications of pain.
Tsotso grabbed her underneath her arms and tried to hoist her up.
‘You heavy, Makhulu,’ she grunted and her grandmother twittered like a bird.
‘Can I help?’
She hadn't heard him approaching and her heart jerked, ‘You frightened me, dammit. Don't do that!’
‘Sorry. I thought you might need some help.’
She appraised him, moved to one side of her grandmother and said, ‘Take that hand.’
Leke followed her instructions.
‘Okay, Makhulu, we’re getting up now We’re going to feed the rabbits.’
They heaved the old woman through the parking lot and up the steps into the apartment block. By the time they'd put her to bed Leke was sweating. Tsotso offered him some water and he followed her into a kitchen that reminded him of Jane's walk-in clothes cupboard. She opened the fridge door and retrieved a white plastic bottle, indicating with her head that he take a glass from the dish tray.
‘One for me too please. I'm beat,’ she said walking back out to the living room which also served as a dining room.
It was a small one-bedroom apartment on the fifth floor of the block, a slice of light from a neon sign came through the window but most of the space was drenched in the shadow of the surrounding blocks. Pushing aside a scattering of sheet music, Leke sat down on the couch and drew his legs up, he felt a soft bundle of blankets by his ankles and realised he was sitting on Tsotso's bed. A stack of books was piled next to the legs of the couch, he stretched to see the top title.
The Magic of Air: The Principles of Plosive Aerophone Design.
Something was digging into his bum and when he reached into the cushions, Leke pulled out what looked like a mini screwdriver.
‘Give that to me. I've been looking for that one. ‘Scuse the mess.’
In the corner of the room there were two strange wooden carcasses surrounded by random off-cuts and wood filings.
‘I'm moving my workshop down the road, anyway,’ Tsotso answered to a question Leke hadn't asked.
He shifted his weight on the thin cushion and the armature dug into his sitting bones, what was he doing there? He couldn't believe she had invited him into her house.
Tsotso switched on the television and put the sound on silent. Something about the mechanical way she picked up and dropped the remote control made Leke think she did it all the time, like a ritual.
‘I like to have something with me in the room sometimes, you know? TV usually works but often I can't stand what it actually has to say. This is a compromise.’
She was soft here, in the house. And yes, she was beautiful.
‘So. You'll have to excuse me I don't ever have visitors,’ she swung the glass in her hand towards the bedroom door as further explanation.
‘Is that your grandmother?’
She nodded, ‘She raised me, I never knew my parents.’
She said it so simply and her tone remained even. Leke realised he'd never actually said those words to anyone. It had always been a detail that felt like a blight on his life, an embarrassing disfigurement.
He wanted to ask her where they went on Wednesdays and Fridays but that would be admitting his guilt. She'd want to know how he knew and it would be downhill from there.
‘And you?’ she raised her left eyebrow as she scanned him. What's your story? Let's start with your name. Leke. What kind of name is that?’
‘It's Lay-kay.’
‘Lay-kay It's strange. Sounds like lekker!’ she snorted and Leke smiled.
They each studied the contents of their glasses.
Leke asked, ‘Is she sick? Your grandmother?’
‘Dementia. Losing her mind day by day. One day she wants to play with the rabbits, the next day she thinks I'm her daughter and she's scolding me for something. Mostly she's with the rabbits though.’
Leke frowned.
‘She had a hard life, this one. Her mother left home and never came back. She grew up with her father on a farm in Paarl. She has moments of lucidity when she talks to me about the five rabbits her father bought her on her fifth birthday. Fluffy black things. I think she misses them.’
‘I'm sorry.’
‘For what? Don't be stupid. There's nothing to apologise for. So,’ she put the empty glass down on the coffee table to emphasise the end of one conversation and the start of another. ‘You know everything about me now and all I know is your name sounds like lekker.’
Something triggered in Leke's head and he suddenly realised what the strange smell was.
‘Are you drunk?’
‘We go to the concerts.’
Leke thought she was ignoring his question.
‘I take her with me to the concerts. I hate to leave her overnight in Frail Care. I think she likes the music. It calms her.’
‘You go to concerts?’ Is that what they were doing?
‘Sure. As many as I can. Don't you?’
Leke shook his head. She shrugged.
‘I get a special deal with the tickets. Cousin of mine works the box office.’
Someone in a neighbouring flat slammed a door.
Anyway,’ Tsotso continued, ‘sometimes on the way out we stop at the theatre pub. Milk for her – I know the barman – and a tot for me, you know?’ she winked. Anyway No concert today, I stopped over all the same. Just a tot. Or two. They also let me play the piano since I don't have my own… yet.’
Leke sunk deeper into the couch, ‘Sorry.’
‘Stop saying that. Look, I think the visit's over. Thanks for your help. Stop following me around or I'll call the police okay?’
They rose from their seats together, Tsotso wavered and Leke held his hand out to steady her.
‘Thanks thanks. I'm fine. See you at work. Don't fucking tell anybody anything. Bunch of gossips that place. Horny bastards!’