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Thys liberally shook salt over his fried eggs, bacon and tomato, and Annamari bit her tongue. He always got irritable and snappy if she reminded him that the doctor had told him to cut down on salt. He said it made him feel old to have to worry about his blood pressure. And he wasn’t old, for heaven’s sake. He was only fifty-five. So was she. That sounded so old. Where had time gone? This year was already nearly over. The freezing winter mornings had given way to a pleasant crispness, and she and Thys could once again breakfast on the stoep and breathe in the clean, pure Steynspruit air. The first rains hadn’t come yet, but they would, and then ploughing would begin and before they knew it, it would be Christmas and the start of another year. She blinked. Every time she thought about the start of the ploughing season she wanted to cry because it reminded her that Petrus wouldn’t be there to oversee it all.
But the start of the new season also held the promise that perhaps the land claim would finally be settled. However, she wasn’t holding her breath. The legal process was still limping at funeral pace but Mr Venter said it was reaching its conclusion. Every appeal, every twist and turn that could been taken, had been taken. This was it. The last – the very, very last – hurdle. Whatever decision came down from the Constitutional Court would be cast in stone. Petrus wouldn’t be around to learn the result of that either – and perhaps that was a good thing. Maybe.
‘Have you heard from Arno yet?’ Thys asked, startling her out of her reverie. ‘Isn’t he getting back soon from – where did he go this time?’
She shrugged. It was difficult to keep track of all her sons’ gallivanting around the world. It seemed like it was just yesterday that De Wet had returned to New Zealand from the England tour but he was already off to India for another tournament; Steyn – now that he had his commercial pilot’s licence – was somewhere in Botswana – or was it Kenya this month? He loved his job, flying rich tourists in and out of remote game lodges while be built up flying hours, he said, so that he could qualify for his Airline Transport Pilot Licence and then apply to one of the larger airlines somewhere in the world – not South African Airways obviously – for a job.
And then there was Arno – he was her biggest worry. He seemed so unsettled and unhappy, especially now that Silver Properties had been taken over by a foreign consortium.
‘The Silverman children didn’t want to keep the company, and who can blame them?’ Arno had explained. ‘I’ll be okay. I’ve already been offered a position in the new organisation; but I’m not sure whether I’ll take it.’
‘Why wouldn’t you? What will you do? You are far too young to retire,’ Thys had joked, but he had looked at Annamari and frowned, clearly as concerned as she felt.
‘I’m going to take a couple of months to decide. I’ve barely had a decent holiday in years – not since I started working for Silver Properties. I need time to think. To figure out what I want to do with the rest of my life. I think I’m going to travel for a bit, see something of the world.’
‘But you’ve travelled all over the place. You’ve been everywhere,’ Annamari said.
‘Ja, but basically all I’ve seen are airports, hotels and meeting rooms. I want to see how other people live. Do the touristy things I’ve never had a chance to do. Just go and, I don’t know, just be. Look around. Consider my options. Have a belated gap year sort of thing. A very belated gap year!’
They all laughed but Annamari’s stomach clenched. All those years, while he had worked for Alan Silverman, she had worried she would lose her son. Now that Alan Silverman was dead, she was terrified that she could lose him anyway. She wished he had a wife, children – something that would give him stability, something to live for. He was so alone. It hadn’t been particularly hard for him in the first few months after Alan’s death. In fact, Arno had seemed surprisingly happy. He was terribly busy working with the Silverman children to keep the company going and to plan for its future. But now even that was gone. No wonder he was miserable. She hoped this trip would help him find himself. It was terribly worrying that she didn’t know where he was. Oh, she knew he was somewhere in Europe but she didn’t know where. He was just going to follow his nose, he’d said before leaving South Africa. Since then, he had phoned a few times, but he had been very vague about his itinerary. It was very frustrating and disquieting.
She hadn’t even been able to reach him to tell him that Petrus had died. Simply passed away quietly in his sleep. So he hadn’t come to the funeral.
The funeral. For the first time in her life, Annamari had felt odd, uncomfortable, almost an intruder among her own people. When Beauty arrived, looking every inch the successful, smart, young Judge in an elegant suit and high heels, her long black hair coiled into a neat knot at the nape of her neck, and her blue eyes even bluer behind square, black-framed glasses, Annamari’s heart had swelled with pride. She had hurried over to her, put her arms around her.
‘Beauty, I’m so sorry about your uncle,’ she whispered.
‘MaAnni,’ Beauty said, shrugging herself out of Annamari’s comforting embrace. ‘I see Arno isn’t here. Did you tell him not to come? Even to my grandfather’s funeral?’
‘No, of course not. We don’t know where...’ But before she could explain, Beauty turned away and was soon deep in conversation with Busi and several other young kibbutz members. “The next generation of Kibbutz Steynspruiters”, Thys always called them.
Beauty didn’t invite them to the special memorial service she arranged for Petrus in the kibbutz community hall the next day. Well, strictly speaking, they hadn’t really needed an invitation... it was just that no one told her and Thys about it. So while the kibbutz members all got together to celebrate Petrus’ life, she and Thys had watched a repeat of Masterchef on BBC Entertainment.
***
Annamari’s cell phone buzzed on the table next to her. She snatched it up.
‘Arno, hello. Where are you?’
‘At home, Ma. Got back last night. Late.’
‘Are you okay? Did you have a good trip? Where were you? Are you home for good?’
Arno laughed. ‘So many questions. Listen Ma...’ he hesitated and Annamari felt the familiar dread rise in her chest. ‘Um... Ma. You and Pa aren’t planning on going anywhere for the next few days are you?’
‘When do we ever go anywhere? Why?’
‘I have something important to tell you. I’m going to drive down to Steynspruit tomorrow if that’s okay. Should get there around three-ish, four.’
‘Of course. But why can’t you tell us now? You sound so serious. Are you sure you’re alright?’
‘I’m fine. Really. But I’d rather tell you – in person. Don’t worry. You’ll be happy. I think.’