The driver brakes so hard that the car sinks into its front suspension with a light squeal. He then has the nerve to gesticulate at me through the windscreen as if it was my fault. Looking for cars, he was, not bikes.
“Look where you’re going!” I yell, glaring at him. “Voetsek!”
But I’m in too good a mood to dwell on the idiocy of motorists. I’m going to Gill’s party.
Pedal on up the hill, past the shopping centre and its Saturday morning mayhem. Waves of warm air from the hedges and bushes at the roadside wind themselves round me as I ride past, like steam from last night’s rain. The rush of cooler air on my skin as I turn to freewheel downhill again is delicious.
The left-hand side of the driveway at Makuti Park is already lined with cars, and the area behind the garages is full of them. Voices – many voices – swell from the garden behind the hedge, intermingled with music, and my excitement is gone, just like that, dissolved into shyness.
I stop, hop off my bike. If I had someone to escort me in… but I’m all alone out here, gazing over the closed gate, out of place and not sure what I have to do to get into place. There are plenty of people beyond that hedge, on the patio, in the pool, but they’re all strangers. There’s a splash, a shout, a clinking of glasses, laughter. The music goes silent, then starts up again – Mother and Child Reunion. It sounds so good but I’m rooted to the spot. Then, behind me, Gill’s voice.
“Hey! Tess! In here!”
She appears at the yard gate, to my right, a bridle in her hands, her fingers buckling a cheek piece to the head piece. She pulls a snaffle bit out of her jeans pocket and attaches it to the bridle within seconds. And behind her is Nathan, wearing jodhpurs. I haven’t seen him since he started senior school in January, even though I’m here every weekend and sometimes during the week. He looks different. I think his legs have got longer and maybe his shoulders a bit wider. He says “Hi,” but before I have a chance to open my mouth he turns and walks away towards one of the paddocks, flicking a headcollar over his shoulder.
“Leave your bike in the tack room for now. Come, we’ve got a new horse.”
She unlatches the gate for me, holds it wide.
I’ve just wriggled out of the cord of my duffel bag and started trying to pull her birthday gift out of it. No matter. It can wait. She slams the gate behind me and I trail after her across to the east-facing stable block.
“He’s only just four years old,” she’s saying as she walks, “Mum and I are going to back him. He’s gorgeous.”
The stables are empty, as usual at this time of day, except one. Moira’s in it, with the horse, and he is just that. Gorgeous.
“Tessa, meet Induna. A Zulu warrior. Like his namesake, he is handsome and full of presence. But actually quite sensible for his age.”
Induna is a bay of about fourteen hands, with a rich mahogany coat, a narrow white blaze and no white socks. Led out into the yard, he stands like a statue, ears straining forward and soft nostrils flared, intensely interested in something beyond the far hedge in the paddock into which Nathan disappeared. Gill keeps her right hand on his neck just below the fringe of black, glossy mane and scratches him with her fingertips. After a few moments he relaxes and his ears loll.
“What do you think?” Moira is leaning on the lower half of the stable door. “Would you like to help us with him?”
Gill throws her head back, laughs out loud and gives me the thumbs-up. “Don’t say a word! I take it that’s a yes?”
I never said a word. Well, I’ve been looking forward to this day for weeks and it’s just got a whole lot better.
The gift is a posh box of imported chocolates that Mummy found in Barbour’s department store, but they’ve been in my bag all morning.
“I’m afraid they may have gone soft. Better put them in the fridge straight away,” I tell Gill, who’s already torn the wrapping paper off and is turning the box over in her hands while making cooing noises.
“Ooh thanks! You’re such an angel!” She hugs me and gives me a kiss on the nose then starts picking at the cellophane wrapper. “Oh no. I’m sorry, but there’s only one option open to us. The fridge is too full. We’ll just have to eat them before they melt completely.”
A third of the chocolates are gone by the time we’ve made our way through the gate, down the steps, past the rocky slope with the lion on top and through the house. Taking my sticky hand, she leads me into a garden heaving with guests. For several minutes I get introduced to a variety of aunts, uncles, cousins and horsey friends and lose track of all their names immediately. Charles is over there, in charge of the braai, and holding court with several of the male guests. Mum would be impressed, if she were here, given that she gets all moany about the way the smoke deliberately follows her so that she can’t stand anywhere near a braai fire. This one has a monster stone chimney that’s drawing all the smoke up into the wide, empty sky.
“Miss Tessa! You must have some of my delicious relish with your sadza.”
Amai, bearing a tray loaded with platefuls of Porterhouse steaks and lamb chops, sweeps past and beams at me.
Now as far as I’m concerned, sadza is just bland, white, lumpy stuff, but I have experienced Amai’s tomato, onion and herb relish. My mouth goes juicy, and when I catch a whiff of the meat already on the fire, my insides start to rumble.
“Charles, my man!” a voice hollers from the other side of the pool. “Where do you hide your stash of Castle? And where’s the birthday girl?”
Charles spins and shouts “Barry! You’re late as usual. We’ve drunk all the Castle, shamwari.”
Okay, I’m relieved Mum isn’t here now. I knew I shouldn’t’ve shown her Gill’s invitation the second her eyes started to rove over it and her face started transforming into the Bothered Look. When she said, “I’m not sure it’s a suitable party for you to go to Tessa. Gill is sixteen. It’s too adult for you,” I had to keep up my happy face and do some rapid thinking. Say, “It’s not really a party Mum. It’s a braai, that’s all. Like, lunch. It’s really just lunch with Gill’s family on her birthday.”
The pictures were telling her otherwise, unfortunately. Entirely my fault for producing a piece of paper with the word ‘Party’ on the same page as merrily drawn images of champagne and beer bottles and of a record spinning on a lop-sided turntable, whirling out musical notes. I should’ve just said I’d been asked to stay for lunch after riding.
I got, you can’t stay late, blah blah, Daddy and I don’t know these people, blah blah, they might be drinkers, blah blah, if you don’t like what’s going on, you call us and we’ll come and get you, blah blah, I hope they don’t disturb the neighbours with any loud music, Tessa, blah blah, Tessa are you listening?
God, she makes a fuss. She hopes the neighbours aren’t disturbed? The Owens’ neighbours’ houses are at least half a kilometre away on all sides and anyway, I’m sure I just met a bunch of them five minutes ago. And what would she expect me to do about loud music? Tell Charles to turn it down because my mother wouldn’t like it?
And after I’d got her over the invitation itself, there was the argument about the jeans.
“Jeans? No Tessa. If you’re invited to lunch you need to wear something nice and neat. We’ll buy you a new dress that will go with your pink sandals.”
I won that round too, but I had to wear the pink sandals instead of my tackies. Still, I’m noticing several women in high heels so I guess they don’t look too out of place.
So who’s this Barry? He’s small and red faced and muscly and on closer inspection he isn’t bald at all. It’s just that his gingery hair is very, very short. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen such a young man with so little hair.
“Barry!” Gill squeals. She shoves her glass of Cinzano and lemonade into my hand and says out of the side of her mouth, “Yet another cousin from one of Mum’s many siblings.”
She skids round the edge of the pool and into Barry’s arms. He’s shorter than her by half a head but he lifts her off her feet and swings her around.
She takes his hand and leads him onto the patio and over towards Charles.
There’s Nathan, standing behind the braai like a statue. First time I’ve seen him since we were in the yard earlier. He’s changed his jodhpurs for shorts and is barefoot and it’s as if he’s watching everyone from behind a screen. Here, but not here. Well, me too. I don’t know all these people milling about and I’ve never met Barry, so it’s weird, like we’re both on the outside, looking in. The difference is, I want to be on the inside with everyone else whereas he just watches from out there. I used to see him do it at school, then just melt away, so that no-one ever even knew he’d melted away.
I’m still holding Gill’s glass. The drink smells sweet and pleasant, and tempting. It is sweet, but it has a sharper sting that catches in my throat and next thing I’m spluttering, my eyes are watering, I’m spilling it on the paving stones and frantically searching around to see who’s watching me. From his hiding place, behind the braai, Nathan is.
He does nothing except raise his own glass of Coke a fraction in my direction, then he moves forward, takes a long-handled fork from a clay pot of braai cutlery and starts to poke at the fire Charles has abandoned.
Even with his eyes no longer on me, I really don’t know where to put myself. I take a step back, a step forward, I wave both my glass and Gill’s aimlessly around as I search in vain for somewhere to put them down before I spill the lot, and then I’m saved by Gill, who returns to claim hers. Barry and Charles are close behind.
“Don’t worry Barry, man, I was joking. I’ll get you a beer. God, your hair looks awful. Those army barbers are little better than butchers.”
“Ja, well, got to be done. Can’t get my flowing locks caught in my rifle, can I? In any case, they do like you to know they own you.”
The two men vanish into the house.
“Ah, darling Barry,” Gill says with something like a sigh. “He’s Uncle Graham’s son. They used to live in Salisbury when we were kids and he was always round here, but then Unc got a job in Bulawayo and they moved. He’s back up here because he’s just left school and has to start his National Service. Monday, I believe. They’ve made it a full year now.”
She goes silent, biting her bottom lip. The sun and sparkle has left her and that, together with the idea that Nathan’s eyes might still be boring into my back, makes it feel like the temperature’s dropped a few degrees.
“What’s up?”
She shakes her head. “Nothing. Look, come. Let’s help Amai get the rest of the food out. I think we’re nearly ready to eat.”
*
Tammy’s nice. She’s shorter than Gill, although they’re both sixteen, and she has long, curly fair hair in a high pony tail. Her face is round and all parts of it are moving, like she’s on constant high alert, and she talks fast like Rosie. Her pony tail and her fringe are straight right now though, and dripping pool water, and she’s hanging onto the tractor tyre tube from the outside, pulling it down under her arms so that me and Gill have to wriggle round a bit and lean away from her to balance it. We bob about on the tube and talk dogs. Gill says she’ll visit Tammy’s house on Tuesday after school to meet the new puppy and then Tammy asks me about Skellum and Gill admits she never wanted another dog after Captain died. Tammy closes her eyes and sighs, “Oh! Yes. Captain. Darling Captain.”
I think these two have known each other for a long time.
Tammy gives the tube a spin to the right by kicking with her legs and the sun is reflecting off the water into my face, the laughter and the music in the air is all around me and the world is good.
Then the water under us erupts, Tammy gets rolled aside and all three of us are dumped, with the tube on top of us. When I surface, Gill is trying to wrestle it from those two tediously annoying boys who were flicking their towels at us earlier. She’s laughing, but if I were Gavin or Josh I’d take note of the warning in her eyes that she’s far from happy.
Then, from nowhere, Nathan’s in the pool with us.
“The girls got it first, guys.”
He leaps up over the tube so he’s lying across it and his nose is about two centimetres from Gavin’s. Gavin slides back underwater and is gone. Josh thinks about it a bit longer but after Nathan’s placed a hand flat on top of his head and pushed him down he gives up too and backs off, spluttering.
“Oooh, long lips, boys!” shouts Gill, and gives Nathan a soft punch on the shoulder.
But we’ve had enough of swimming anyway. Josh and Gavin are back on the tractor tube before my feet have cleared the water, Gill and Tammy ahead of me. Who are these kids anyway?
“Neighbours,” says Gill. “Two properties down. Their folks are ever so nice but those boys are a pair of little shits. I didn’t want them to come. Shame they didn’t have something else to do today hey?”
Is Nathan still swimming? No. No sign of him. The Ghost of Nowhere again.
We eat far too much ice-cream and several slices of birthday cake and then go to help the grooms bring the horses in for the night. Nathan is there in the background again, filling water buckets. Tammy’s different around the horses – calm and smooth as silk. I get instructions, but Tammy just knows exactly what Gill needs her to do. She must be a pretty good rider, her father being a racehorse trainer and all. Drifting back to the house, arms linked with Gill and Tammy, I’m on top of the world again.
But, like midnight for Cinderella, six o’clock is the end of my ball. Daddy’s appeared in the doorway, seeking me, nodding at people, smiling, but with that slightly blank look you give complete strangers. It’s Charles who collects him, guides him over towards me where I’ve been trying to pretend I haven’t seen him. They don’t quite make it though. It’s a good thing I told Charles what Dad does for a living. As long as they keep swapping stories about roads and dams and piling and stuff I get to enjoy myself a bit longer.
The shadows have stretched all the way across the lawn; the patio is the last place still in the sun. Gill’s Aunty Cath, who’s very wrinkly but has been whirling about so much she’s managed to occupy most of the dance area, puts on Clair, turns the volume up, abandons her G&T and grabs her husband’s hand. I guess me and Gill and Tammy will have to sit this one out.
Dad’s sidling towards me. I can see he wants to keep on talking with Charles but duty is calling and Mum will have given him a time limit for sure. Gill says, “Dad, I can’t deal with Aunty Cath and Uncle Rupert smooching on the dance floor for the rest of the night. Please put something more upbeat on after this and keep her away from the turntable.”
Dad shakes her hand very formally and asks, kind of pointlessly, “So you’re Gill?” and wishes her happy birthday and tells me we’re ready to go.
“I wish I could stay.”
She gives me a hug and whispers in my ear, “There’ll be lots of other parties, Tess. And one day you’ll be able to make your own decisions about what time to go home.”
Aloud, as I’m led away, she promises, “Now I’ll see you on Tuesday afternoon, yeah? We’ll start on Induna.”
Just as Dad’s reversing out into the main driveway, Barry emerges from under the open garage door, a cardboard box full of clinking bottles in his arms. I’ve forgotten where Gill said he was going on Monday. He looks a bit drunk, but Daddy’s not paying him any attention.
*
“How was your grown-up party then?”
She’s having a tug-of-war with Skellum in the kitchen and I can barely hear her voice above his deliriously happy growls. That puppy lives only to have his chin scratched by an idle hand; I reckon time will prove that Daddy has failed monumentally in his mission to own a ferocious guard dog. Skellie loves everyone and he’s perfectly prepared to welcome all of them to our property. He does yap enthusiastically when someone passes by, and more so if they stop at the gate, and Dad points this out to Elijah at every opportunity with comments like, “Always call one of us if any of your friends come to visit. We can control the dog before they come in.”
He thinks his new Chenjera Imbwa sign is the business and is convinced it guarantees that all strangers, especially black ones, will be very wary of our savage imbwa. But I’ve seen Skellie loving being petted by Elijah’s family and friends when Dad’s not about. I think his bark just says, “I live here! This is me and I see you!” Needless to say, I keep this to myself.
“I wanted to stay,” I yell at Rosie. “You should’ve seen the size of the steaks they were cooking. And the cake! You’d’ve loved the cake. And there was dancing.”
At the dinner table I say nothing about the party, Charles and his stash of lager, or the music and tell my family instead about Induna and Gill’s programme of work for him. I describe the stages of breaking a horse to saddle. Mum and Dad make out like they’re interested but Rosie’s staring into space while she chews. I’m in the middle of emphasising the importance of teaching a horse to strike off on the correct foreleg in canter, when she bangs her fork down on the table.
“What are you on about? Can’t you ever stop talking about horses? And don’t pout like that. It’s true.”
“All right, I’ll shut up, so there. I don’t care.”
“It’s very interesting, my love,” says Mum, and Dad goes, “Yes, I see your point,” but I ignore them.
“You’re always going on about the rules of hockey, and long jumping techniques! I’ve even heard you trying to tell Elijah the best way to bat in rounders. I’m sure he was fascinated. Sport is your interest. Mine is horses.”
“Enough! You can carry on arguing later. Eat now. Eat, and listen. I’ve been hatching a plan. How about a weeks’ holiday at Kariba at the end of August, when school breaks up?”
Daddy’s looking immensely pleased with himself and I can’t think why. Kariba?
“Kariba?” Rosie says slowly. “Why? Oh I get it. So you can do fishing. Mmmmm.”
She rolls her eyes. “All my life…”
That’s Uncle Dudley’s fault. He’s not like Daddy. In fact, he’s not the sort of guy Daddy should be hanging out with at all. He’s very short – not that that’s the problem – but he’s clearly utterly annoying. Dad says things like,
“I don’t know how he does it. Even in October he never undoes his tie or rolls up his sleeves and he never has any bloody sweat patches,” and
“The last of the tender drawings was printed off at 4pm and Mike was having kittens. Mayhem. Augustus was hopping around waiting to take the stuff to the post office. Even secretaries got roped into folding drawings and that bloke Dudley went off and made himself a cup of mint tea,” and
“His handwriting is so perfectly legible. I can’t even read my own calculations. He must be a bloody android or something.”
Dad watches rugby and football and wrestling and his office is a mess. He’s got no right to tell us to keep our rooms tidy. In summer he’d go to work in shorts and a vest if he thought he could get away with it. That first time he announced he was going fishing with this guy Dudley at Prince Edward Dam none of us believed him. Well, Prince Edward Dam yesterday, Lake Kariba tomorrow.
“I suggested we stay at Caribbea Bay Hotel. Dudley, Andrew and I can do a spot of bream and tiger fishing while you girls do your own thing.”
“‘You girls’?” Mummy is looking a bit too keen. “Still, it does sound okay. I could do with a holiday. I’ll ring Pauline.”
So I’ve met the rest of the Foster family only once but I know they’re superhuman beings. They manage to fit sessions of every sport known to man into a week of work and school, Uncle Dudley is very active on the kids’ school PTA and Aunty Pauline is on committees for all manner of obscure societies and charities. She squeezes all the meetings into her week between ferrying the kids to their various activities. I can’t imagine what a week with such whizz kids, all sporty and keen and good at everything they do, will be like and I’m not sure I want to know.
There are so many places in the world… I want to say, but Rosie beats me to it.
“So you get a promotion, Dad, and all that talk of luxury safaris in the Kruger and taking the Blue Train to Cape Town has come down to a fishing trip at Kariba? I don’t believe it! Why can’t we go to – I don’t know – London? Visit Aunty Julia?”
It’s true. He’s an Associate, which means he’s more important than before, and he bought Mum a brand new Datsun 1200 and got fully fitted carpets throughout the whole house. He’s talked at length about amazing holidays around South Africa but so far he’s deflected all our pleas for a trip to England.
“You don’t want to go to rainy old England when there’s a wonderful country like South Africa next door. England’s a dismal place, girlie. It amazes me that Northern Ireland has actually voted to remain part of it. No, you don’t want to go there.”
“Besides,” he adds, setting aside his plate and standing up, “I can pay for all of you to fly halfway round the world but if we can’t get enough foreign currency to have a decent holiday wherever we go, there’s not much point, is there?”