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Annamari wept, muffling her sobs in the pillow. She could hear Thys and Arno murmuring quietly outside the door. She wanted them to think she was asleep. She couldn’t face them. She couldn’t face anyone. Dr Fourie had given her an injection which was supposed to make her sleep but she was still wide awake, adrenaline and panic counteracting whatever had been in the syringe. She closed her eyes and forced herself to breathe deeply and rhythmically as the door squeaked open. She heard Thys whisper: ‘She’s asleep.’ She heard Thys cross the room and close the curtains. She heard him make his way back to door, heard it squeak closed. She allowed herself to weep again.
Her thoughts chased themselves around and around in her mind. It was the shock, the absolute horror as recognition had dawned that had caused her to faint. She had never, ever fainted in her life. She gingerly fingered the lump on her head, on the side, towards the back. She must have hit something as she fell. She didn’t remember. She vaguely remembered Arno lifting her, carrying her into the house, into her bedroom. And then Dr Fourie had arrived and he’d looked in her eyes and taken her blood pressure and given her an injection. He’d told her she might have a slight concussion and to take it easy for a couple of days. She heard him telling Arno she would be fine. He was wrong. She would never, ever be “fine” again. She had a bit of a headache but it was nothing, nothing compared to the pain sitting somewhere in her stomach, her chest.
‘What on earth could have made her faint like that?’ Arno had asked.
‘Perhaps she stood up too quickly and her blood pressure dropped?’ Dr Fourie said.
‘I don’t think so. She was standing at the top of the stairs waiting for us; and then she went white, and sort of groaned and fell.’
Dr Fourie said he couldn’t be sure but if she got any worse, he’d run some more tests tomorrow in his rooms and if necessary, send her through to a specialist in Bethlehem.
‘I wouldn’t worry. These things happen. I don’t think it’s anything too serious, but tell your father to phone me if he’s concerned about anything.’
Not too serious? It was a catastrophe. Tears seeped passed her closed lids. She willed them to stop. She had to think. She had to do something before it was too late. What if she was too late? What if they were already engaged? Or worse – married? Had there been a ring on the girl’s finger? She hadn’t noticed. And even if they weren’t engaged or married... they couldn’t stay together. They just couldn’t. She had to stop them.
Anger, deep and visceral, rose in her throat. What on earth was wrong with the boy? Why did he always fall for the wrong girls? Why did he always do this to her? ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Annamari,’ she muttered to herself. It wasn’t Arno’s fault. It couldn’t be his fault. It was just a cruel, spiteful, twist of fate. She shivered. Thys always used to say there was no such thing as fate. He always used to say that everything was God’s will. Was this God’s way of punishing her? Surely not. Surely even an angry, wrathful God would not use Arno – who had done absolutely nothing bad in his entire life – to punish her? She wrapped her arms around her ice cold body and stared at the large damp spot on the ceiling.
***
Annamari swallowed two Panados and dragged herself off the bed. She opened the curtains. The sun had not yet peeped over the Malutis, but the sky was beginning to lighten. The silhouettes of the remaining three poplars mocked her. The others had all succumbed to a variety of mishaps over the years – high winds and fire, usually. Last year, two had been struck by lightning and had come crashing down, blocking the entrance to Steynspruit.
She sat down on Thys’ side of the bed and buried her face in her hands. She had no more tears. Thys had probably slept in the spare room, so he wouldn’t disturb her. He had crept in to their room regularly throughout the night to check on her and she had feigned sleep. But she hadn’t slept at all. Not a wink. Her eyes felt as if they had been sandpapered. There was a dull ache behind her eyes, but nothing that the Panados wouldn’t take care of. She got up and walked to the window again. She looked out. And shuddered.
Arno was walking along the path towards the school. His arm was around the girl’s shoulders; his head was tilted towards her and she was laughing up at him. Annamari watched, mesmerised as they stopped and faced each other. Arno bent his head to her as she raised her face to his. They kissed. A long kiss. Annamari knew she shouldn’t be watching them like this, spying on them really, but she couldn’t look away. The kiss ended, and Annamari let out the breath she hadn’t realised she was holding. They walked on, out of sight but Annamari knew where they were going. Behind the school was a path that led up to the ridge. There was a large, flat rock up there that she and Thys often used to sit on, sipping hot chocolate and listening to the silence of the veld as they watched the sun rise. But they hadn’t been up there for years. And after this morning, they probably would never go again. In fact, after this morning, Thys would probably never come in to their bedroom again either.
She desperately needed a mug of strong coffee. To fortify her before she had to face her husband. Wrapping herself into her old red winter dressing gown, she tiptoed down the passage to the kitchen, her bare feet silent on the wooden floor.
Thys looked up at her as she came through the door. He was at the table with a mug of coffee in front of him. Wearing a rumpled T-shirt and a pair of tattered black exercise shorts. He looked terrible. Grey and drawn. Old. He looked, she thought, as awful as she felt.
‘Morning, Annamari,’ he said. ‘Are you feeling better? Would you like some coffee?’
Annamari nodded and seated herself on the stool farthest from where Thys was sitting. Thys took the pot of coffee off the stove and poured some into a mug – black and strong.
‘Would you like a rusk?’
She shook her head and cupped her hands around the mug. She lifted it to her mouth, her eyes fixed on her husband. He looked back at her and then looked down at his coffee, so intently that Annamari wondered if he was seeing something in the black liquid.
The silence stretched between them, taut, brittle, fragile. Sweat started to trickle down her back. Her forehead was wet. She had been stupid to put on her winter dressing gown; cuddly and comforting it might be, but it was way too warm for a spring morning.
She got up and opened the back door, then the windows. Still Thys said nothing.
‘Did you sleep okay?’ Annamari blurted as she resumed her seat across the table from him.
‘Not really.’
‘Oh.’
Silence shrouded the kitchen. She loosened the belt of her dressing gown, allowing it to fall open. It was cooler, but she was still sweating. Thys continued to stare at his coffee.
‘Thys,’ she started.
He looked at her. He didn’t move.
‘Thys... I need... I have to ... there’s something...’ She stopped. She didn’t know where to begin. All night she had tried to find the right words, the best way to tell him, gently. But there was no best way. And there was nothing gentle about telling a man that the son he had loved and nurtured for thirty-six years wasn’t his son. There was no way to say it. But she had to. She had no choice. After thirty-six years of lying and prevaricating and pretending, she had come to the end of the line. And the end of her marriage. And her life. Because Thys would hate her, and who could blame him? And Arno would probably never speak to her again. She was going to lose her husband and her son. Probably all her sons once De Wet and Steyn also heard what she had done... And it would serve her right.
She put down her mug. She gulped in a huge lungful of air. She gripped the edge of the old table. She tried again.
‘Thys... I have to tell you something. Something I should have told you years and years ago. I wish I didn’t have to do this. I wish it could be different. You are going to hate me, and I don’t blame you. But you have to believe me when I tell you that I love you. I have always loved you. What I did was... stupid. I don’t have any excuse except that I was young and ... and reckless ... and really, really stupid.’
She couldn’t go on. She clasped her hands and stared at him, desperately. He didn’t move. He didn’t say anything. The silence was painful. She cleared her throat.
‘I don’t expect you to forgive me. I wouldn’t forgive me if I was you. I hate myself for the pain I’ve caused, for what this is going to do to you... and to Arno...’ She faltered. She couldn’t go on. She couldn’t find the words. She couldn’t tell him. Tears she had been trying so hard to control streamed down her cheeks.
‘Annamari,’ Thys said. ‘Annamari, I know.’