What snapped me out of my coma? Probably the birds. It’ll be their dawn calls, as bright and urgent as my entire nervous system is now, which has leaped from nothingness to full alert in one. It’s a first for a girl who always thought four-thirty in the morning was the stuff of myths.
When I went to bed at twenty-past twelve I thought I’d never sleep again. That seems like about two seconds ago, so I must have gone out well and truly. Odd.
I roll over onto my back and stare at the white ceiling, giving dedicated consideration to the intriguing notion that I could relive the whole of yesterday word by word, action by action if I really put my mind to it.
Last night. On the verandah, with his arm around me. Our talk drifted here and there. We talked of nothing and everything, like never before. During that time I had no idea what was going on behind us; the party whirled on in another world. The nothing subjects I don’t recall in detail – weather, farm sounds in the night, the taste of the wine, a bit of politics I guess. The everything subjects were the conversations we should have had over the years, but haven’t. Family, friends and life. Gill and Piet, Charles and Moira. My parents and Rosie. Amai and George. Danny and Sherrie and the reasons why. Sherrie, who asked him out, was full of fun, piqued his curiosity and ego by telling him she’d long had her eye on him and with whom he’d hoped he could start a steady relationship. Sherrie, who, after only a few weeks, irritated and needled and alarmed with her bossiness and presumptuousness. Sherrie, whose mother had been persuaded to teach him to dance, with a very specific aim in mind. Sherrie, who had to be told about ten days ago, like Danny, that it was not working.
Tears, highly charged with a flood of so many emotions, force me to squeeze my eyelids down, and they run across my cheeks. It was the hope that I was single that prompted him to take the chance and let Sherrie go. I let Danny go with no such spark of hope to make it justifiable, but he took a gamble for me. He told me he felt like a complete shit for doing it to her, although he knew it would’ve ended anyway, and then he spent Friday dreading that Danny would turn up with me at the wedding. So then I just had to let him know that I’d been dreading seeing Sherrie with him, and… oh God, remember how he reacted? That was when he asked me to be his date for the rest of the evening and I swear he was still worrying that even if I said yes I’d then forget all about it and him by the next day. And that was when Tessa here took her gamble and kissed him on the mouth and said some rubbish about the best man and chief bridesmaid being supposed to pair up but then got down to business and told him she was perfectly happy to keep him if he’d have her.
And then he asked me, in the sort of voice you use when you’re struggling to combat emotion, if I realised how happy I’d just made him. He wondered what I thought of him, he asked, and what I’d always thought of him. He said, “We’ve known each other for a long time now. You’ve always been around. If I’m honest with myself, I’ve always known you’ve always been around. I haven’t a clue how you feel about me.”
I showed him how I feel and, I’m so sorry Danny, but your kiss never, ever electrocuted me like that or made me imagine things I didn’t know I was capable of imagining. It just seemed right that we left the verandah rail then and abandoned the wine glasses somewhere and got into the party proper. Our first dance. Everybody’s Gotta Learn Sometime. Him, offering me his arms and me stepping straight into them and resting my cheek against his shoulder, grinning all to myself like a village idiot. Rosie, cornering me afterwards and demanding to know why I hadn’t told her what I’d been plotting.
“But I didn’t plot anything,” I protested, perhaps a touch too loudly.
“Yeah, right,” she said. “Well Mum’s going to want explanations, I warn you. She’s still hurting about you breaking up with Dan. She couldn’t hide the fact that she was bothered that you weren’t just dancing and having a nice time, but that you’d pulled and were snogging. I told her not to be stupid. I said, ‘Come on Mother, you know she’s known him for bloody years!’ When I asked her if she thought he looks a bit like a young Bryan Ferry and she went, ‘Who’s that? One of the boys at the tennis club? I don’t recall him.’ God, she really needs to be dragged out of the fifties.”
Bryan Ferry? Maybe. A bit.
And then Gill, deliberately cheating tradition and chucking her bouquet directly at my face. She’d been beside herself to try and get me alone, or Nathan presumably, so she could interrogate either one of us or both but never managed to make it happen. But the bouquet got intercepted in mid-air by a middle-aged relation of Piet’s with a daring leap that would’ve put a Dynamos goalkeeper to shame. Gill and Piet had to leave pretty much immediately after that, and Rosie cornered me again to extract a pledge from me to ask Gill where she got those cream-coloured jeans. She did look divine in them, with the pink and cream checked shirt and the brown leather moccasins and her golden ringlets caught in a brown ribbon.
It’s nearly five. Their flight is at eight so they’ll be getting up as well.
There’s a faint light behind the sunfilter curtains now; it’s the longest day today. I roll out of bed and part the curtains to listen to the noises that are beginning to compete with the birds. From the direction of what I assume to be the milking sheds comes the insistent lowing of impatient Frieslands, the clanking of iron handles against iron buckets, the shouts of the milkers calling to each other and to their animals, and then the unmistakeable sound of a horse snorting and the dull crack as a hoof is banged on a stable door in expectation of breakfast. Somewhere a diesel engine fires up, splutters and then runs smoothly. Over it come more shouts and the screeching of gate hinges.
I open my overnight bag and pull on shorts, a loose blouse, socks and tackies. I start to drag my brush through my hair, but then I stop and touch the necklace he gave me, where it’s lying on the old fashioned dressing table alongside my earrings and my gold signet ring. I pick it up and pass it around the back of my neck, fasten the clasp in front and then twizzle it to bring the pendant back round to my throat. It’s like I can see myself doing it but with someone else’s eyes. I did this last night as well, when undressing and extracting the flowers from my hair, watching myself but deliberately avoiding trying to place an identity on this detached eye. The eye is there again this morning and it watches me put in the earrings and slide the ring onto the third finger of my right hand.
The homestead is silent. The living and dining areas are still strewn with debris from the wedding – a confused shambles of full ashtrays, empty glasses, half-full bottles, confetti and bits of flowers. It was a good party.
The French doors leading to the verandah are already open. An unknown and earlier riser than me has passed through here, into the perfectly still, fresh and cool garden air. Apart from a few very distant cloud piles to the north-west, pale pink at their tops in the rapidly lightening dawn, the sky is clear. It has that luminous blue quality that promises light and yet is still sprinkled with stars. It’s known as Nautical Twilight, Uncle Dudley once told us.
A small breeze sneaks in and is gone almost as rapidly. It brings me warm smells. Animal smells, wood smoke and fodder crops. I’m not sticking around here. I’m going to go and find out what makes a farm tick so early in the morning and I’m hoping I’ll find him.
It’s strange retracing my steps from the day I met Encore and Piet. Strange that I’ve ended up back here after leaving with Gill and Rosie, all wrapped up in my horsey thoughts, and not a backward glance. In the small paddock adjacent to the stable that had housed Encore, are two chestnut colts. They’re ignoring the strewn hay and are watching me intently. One of them nickers, his fine ears pricked and curious, but his scrutiny soon reveals the disappointing truth – I’m not carrying a bucket. He loses interest in me and does a half pirouette on his hindquarters, heading in a determined walk to the other end of the fence in search of a more useful human. At my insistent beckoning, the second one is persuaded to come over and submit to some petting, but he’s also surreptitiously keeping a lookout for his breakfast.
“I thought I’d find you here, Tess.”
Wishes do come true.
“Mangwanani, Baas. Madam.” A groom, awkwardly grasping two black rubber feed skips in one hand, swings open the timber gate with his other and is mobbed by the colts. “Hai! Endai! Go back you!”
He throws a skip in front of each one, separating them by several metres by nipping in between them and waving his arms. The darker of the two flattens his ears, makes a half-hearted attempt at turning his tail towards his companion, then both their noses disappear and the waffling and crunching begins.
“Was it you who left the house before me? The door was open.”
You shake your head; you heard me leave and followed. You point to the huge barn further down the track.
“It must have been Piet’s mum. She’s probably in the dairy. I trust you slept well? Or maybe not. I hope your room didn’t spin as much as mine did every time I closed my eyes.”
Your face is open and full of something that I hope I’m reading as affection. That saying about the heart soaring? Well it really does happen. In fact, I’ve got all sorts of soarings.
“I confess that all the booze rendered me unconscious, but like you I was wide-eyed alarmingly early.”
“I’m sure the hangovers will hit us later.”
You take my hand, a little hesitantly, but I push my fingers through yours and you grin and squeeze back.
*
Rosie’s seated cross-legged on a folded travel blanket on the low wall that runs alongside the driveway, book in hand. From that distance she makes a show of consulting her watch and gives me her best disapproving face. I peg the gates open and, before getting back into the car, ask, “Were you waiting for me?”
“No,” she lies, giving the blanket a brief shake. Skellum charges in on the scene, barking and racing in circles. Pandemonium rages for a short while. I brake just inside and wait for her to slam the gates closed and tumble into the back seat, along with a dog that is all tail and tongue.
“So? He got you then? How was it? Good day? Where’d you go? Are yous two together now?”
“Which question do you want me to answer first? Yes, I reckon we are together.”
I have to pause because it sounds so bizarre when I say the words. We’re together. Me, and Nathan Owen.
“He took me to the Lion and Cheetah Park and the Spillway then all the way across to Cecil Barrett’s stud farm near Ruwa. Beautiful place.”
“The Spillway? God, it’s ages since we went there! Do you remember how we used to have cream teas at the café there with the folks eons ago, on that huge verandah?”
Of course I do. Being there today brought a serious rush of nostalgia that transported me back to another time, tripping over long forgotten memories that are hazy and somehow sharp at the same time. Me and her – very small – and Mum and Dad on the iron-framed chairs wrapped in bright plastic strips on the verandah outside the tea rooms. Chasing each other on the lawns below and staring with fascination at the creamy curtain of water spilling over the concrete weir into a deep concrete channel big enough to drive a bus along.
“The place hasn’t changed much.”
I don’t tell her about that unreal feeling of life coming around in a circle. That feeling that today I returned as the adult to a place I’d known as the child, with my life partner, buying the cream tea and, in conjunction with him, being in charge of how the day was spent.
“Mother hasn’t actually said, but I’m convinced she thinks you’re being indecently hasty and are on some dangerous rebound. I did warn you yesterday.”
Under the car port, I switch off the engine and turn to face her. I’m focussed on her and I’m hearing her words and I’m distantly assessing how I’m going to tackle Mum on this, but all the while I’m wondering what Nathan is doing at this precise moment. It’s just after six, so Amai is probably dishing up dinner. After abandoning my family all day with no explanation of my whereabouts, we – that is, the Owens – agreed that I wouldn’t stay, although the welcome was there and my whole being wanted to. Charles and Moira displayed no surprise or shock whatsoever when we returned to Makuti Park together after being missing for a little under twenty-four hours and when he said, “I’ll walk Tessa to her car,” they shrugged and nodded and disappeared. Unlike them, I am still finding it bizarre. Me, and Nathan?
It’s not a problem. I’ll see him tomorrow and he’ll be thinking of me now too. Will he watch TV or listen to some music in his room this evening? Rosie’s form disappears momentarily and is replaced by the image of him kneeling beside the elderly, plastic-coated wire record rack in the van Rooyens’ lounge late last night, leafing through the albums and studying each cover in turn, and then that fades to be replaced by the one of him and Piet, just before the bouquet throwing ceremony, playing air guitar to More Than a Feeling. So much more to know.
“You’re blushing,” she accuses me.
Well, yeah. I can still feel his lips. He called me Kitten. God, how did I get into this state?
“And another thing… Danny phoned this afternoon.”
Bubble burst – bang.
“Danny? What did he say? Who spoke to him?”
“Me. I answered the phone,” she says. “I told him you were out for the day and explained about the wedding yesterday. I felt real sorry for him because he sounded as if he knew he’d missed out on the party. He wants you to phone back tonight.”
Dread, soaking into my bones. In many ways it would’ve been easier if we’d broken up with a huge fight and heartfuls of ill-feeling. I’d be able to just refuse to speak to him again. As it is, I feel obliged to make contact for the sake of good manners.
“I’ll phone him,” I tell her – wondering if I’ll really have the guts – and yank the key out of the ignition. “Although I’ve had a great day with a wonderful companion and I don’t know what the hell I’m going to say to him.”
She climbs out of the car, hauling Skellie with her and watches me take my overnight bag and plastic-covered bridesmaid dress from the boot.
“Nathan suits you much better than Dan. You have the same silly interest in horses, but it’s not just that. It’s… I can’t describe it without sounding… I don’t know. I haven’t a clue what I mean. I barely know him so I really shouldn’t be passing judgement. Why haven’t you gone out with him before? If you’re after my approval, Tee, you’ve got it.”
“I’m not after your approval my darling but thank you anyway.”
She’s grinning and elation is trickling back into my veins, but it rapidly recedes again at the thought of what I have to do tonight. I’ve no doubt I’ll put it off for as long as possible but in the end I won’t escape it.
*
The phone only gives three rings before I get the scraping sounds of someone picking up. Mrs Proctor. Damn. Now what the heck do I say?
“Oh, Tessa?” Her voice is not only guarded but accusatory to my guilt-twitching ears. I start stumbling and mumbling, both brain and tongue tied.
She knows what I want anyway and cuts through my indecisive babble. “Hold please. I’ll call him.”
We exchange a few strained pleasantries about health and he asks about the wedding. I’m safely into a description of Gill’s dress when he interrupts, abruptly and breathlessly, in a low voice that makes me visualise him hunched over the phone, his back to wherever his family is.
“Look Tessa, my sweet. I accept all you said about problems we had with you competing at shows and all that, but I realise you have to ride your horses and I can’t change that. I miss you, Tess. Can’t we see each other again? Just occasionally at first, you know? Break us in gently?”
He gives a short, nervous laugh, presumably at his own use of the equestrian term, then rattles on. “We can sort of go to the movies, like, you know, and have coffee afterwards, or something hey? Say Friday evenings? Not every Friday perhaps. I do miss you so much. I don’t do anything or go anywhere and I have nothing to work for at university now. Oh God, that sounds like I’m sliding into a decline, doesn’t it? I still work hard but I get the feeling it’s all for nothing. I’d planned so much for us. I’m sorry about that time at the nightclub too. I didn’t… I love you. Can’t we…” He runs out of steam and I’m in tears and feeing like a right bitch.
There’s nothing I can say that’s remotely appropriate. After a few moments, he pleads, “Oh Tess, speak to me.”
I glance around, brush a finger under my eyes, wipe my cheeks with it and sniff. Mum, Dad and Rosie are in the living room behind a partly closed door, laughing. Dallas will be on by now.
It’s got to be said. Or rather, whispered.
“Danny. Danny, listen. There’s no easy way to tell you this, and it’s a line that’s been trotted out over and over but I can’t think of any other way to put it. I’ve started seeing somebody else.”
Blankness. Emptiness. We’ve been cut off. Damn again – that’s all I need. Bloody unreliable phone network.
Thoughts race. I’ll have to call back. Should I call back? What’s he thinking? Did he cut me off rather than the PTC? I didn’t hear a click. I can’t blame him. My transition from one boyfriend to another has, in truth, taken place over an indecently short time. He’s probably guessing I’ve been two-timing him.
“It’s only since yesterday,” I say aloud to myself and a small and pathetic word comes at me out of the emptiness. He’s still there.
“Who?”
I tell him. Again he comes back a couple of moments later with just one word.
“Why?”
My only desire now is to put the phone down. My mouth says, “I’m sorry,” without much input from my brain.
Now he really has gone, with a soft and sorrowful click. I slink to my room, feeling that somehow I’ve failed.