I woke up the next morning at around noon. I don’t think I’d ever slept this late, but I’d been out all night. I walked downstairs to find my mother sitting in the lounge. I didn’t bother to say hello until I heard her talking to someone. And then I saw who she was talking to.
“Where’s Zac. Is he all right?” I asked. The last time I’d seen police was the day the doves cried.
My mother turned slowly, avoiding eye contact. “Zac’s fine. He’s in his room. These gentlemen are here about the vandalism.”
“What vandalism?” I asked quietly.
“My billboard. Some criminal painted over the entire thing. Painted me into the background, as if I was invisible. Can you believe it?” She turned back to the police. “And as I was saying, that advertising space cost me fifty thousand rand! And now someone in Cape Town is running around destroying public property. It’s disgraceful.”
One of the policemen nodded. “We’ll definitely look into it, but these things rarely get solved. Unless someone actually saw who did it.”
“Well, someone must have seen something!” Her voice went up ten octaves. “Billboards don’t just get painted over by ghosts.” She swooshed her arms in the air and her golden bangles clanked together loudly. The sharp sound made me feel sick. “If I were you, I would start looking into rival real estate companies.”
Oh crap! “Mom, I doubt it’s that,” I said, coming forward.
“Of course it is. It’s corporate sabotage!” She raised her voice even more. “It has to be a rival estate agent. They’re probably jealous that I’ve just arrived and already have the top listings, or . . .” She looked very thoughtful for a while. “I’d look into my ex-husband, too, and his fiancé. Definitely his fiancé, she cannot be trusted, that one. I took half his money in the divorce and I know they’re not happy about it.”
“Mom. I’m sure it’s not Dad.” I looked at the policeman and shook my head, panic rising inside me. “It can’t be my dad. He lives in Joburg. It’s not him,” I assured them.
Okay, in retrospect, this had been a very bad idea. But I hadn’t been thinking straight. Last night I’d just lost control; the bottle lid had popped open and everything had burst out.
“It’s probably the Cape Town Bansky,” one of the policemen offered.
“Why do you say that?” my mom asked.
“They struck again last night at a museum. They like to make political and social statements, perhaps they’re protesting the billboard. I know some of the residents didn’t like it when it went up, said it detracted from the natural beauty of the environment. There was even a petition signed to get it taken down. So maybe it’s that.”
“Well, whoever it is, I won’t stop until I bring them down,” my mom said. Her voice had taken on a low, ominous tone now.
I rushed upstairs and went to the online Cape Times. And there it was. Everywhere. Natasha’s face was smeared across every social media page there was.
“‘Did Cape Town’s Banksy strike twice last night?’” I read one of the headlines out loud and adrenaline poured into my veins, making my heart beat faster. I took a deep breath and continued, skimming over a few sentences until I came to the important bits.
Cape Town’s very own Banksy chose to bring attention to a missing girl last night. Natasha Lewis was taken from outside her home six months ago and is still missing. Her family became frustrated by the lack of progress on the case and took it upon themselves to put up missing posters, but didn’t get any new leads. They said that since this morning, the help line has been ringing nonstop with people offering to assist in the search, and a few people have even provided new leads for the police to follow. Her parents are grateful to the artist who chose to highlight their daughter’s plight, but this time the city of Cape Town is hitting back. A police spokesperson said that they would make it their priority to find whoever did this, because this time the artwork was done on a national heritage site, the Iziko South African Museum. They have also said they will be painting over the mural even though various activist groups, including Women’s Voices, a group dedicated to bringing attention to gender-based violence, have said that they will do whatever it takes to stop them. Their leader, Lodi Mbeki, said that they applaud whoever the artist was. And a few kilometers away in Clifton, a huge billboard for Palm Luxury Realty was also painted over. The billboard caused some controversy when it was put up on the picturesque street, blocking the view. Residents even signed a petition to have it removed. Could Cape Town’s Banksy be concurring? The cost to advertise on the billboard is fifty thousand rand, and the latest advertiser, Barbara Palmer, can’t be happy . . .
There was more, but I stopped. I was officially in serious trouble. I carried on flicking through social media—Natasha’s and Rose’s faces dominated, along with small pictures of my mother’s billboard here and there.
My phone beeped and I looked down at it.
VICKI: Seems like Cape Town’s Banksy struck twice last night. Are you okay?
LORI: Shit. I don’t know. My mom has called the cops. They’re here at the house and apparently I painted a heritage site!!!!
VICKI: I think you should probably hang up your spray paints for a little while until this blows over
LORI: I will! I will!
VICKI: I had a cancellation tomorrow at two, do you want to take it?
LORI: Okay. See you then
VICKI: Take care of yourself. And for what it’s worth . . . I think it’s bloody cool what you’re doing
I sat in my room for a while, and stared out my window at the sea. I felt very out of my depths here; I’d never done anything like this before. I’d always been a good girl. Never a rebel. And now look at me, literally wanted by the police.