CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

‘No,’ I said to the mosbolletjie rusk in my hand. ‘I won’t make a divorce meal tonight.’

‘What?’ said Jessie, looking up at me.

‘Sorry, I didn’t realise I was talking out loud.’

I was not going to make a divorce meal for Henk. I’d make a meal that would make him think twice about leaving, even after I’d told him the truth.

I drank my last mouthful of coffee. If you drink the coffee quickly enough, then the bits of rusk that have sunk to the bottom are not too soggy. I opened the letter from my Scottish friend – the woman with the man somewhat younger and darker than her.

Thank you, dear Maria,

That dark fruitcake (that matures with age) is very delicious. He likes it so much I gave him takeaways.

I am sure you are right, that age and colour don’t really matter. But what about language? I hardly know any French, but he speaks a little English. And we communicate a lot with our hands. Of course, that smile of his says more than the moon on a dark night. Oh look, now he has me writing poetry! Oh dear, I must be crazy, falling for him like this. But he has agreed to visit me every day now, so he must feel something too. I would like to have lunch ready for him. Something simple, like those lovely cheese scones. My energy is not so good since the operation. But I’d like to do more than sandwiches.

Maybe something interesting with meat?

Yours,

Lassie falling in love

While I thought of how to answer the lassie, I made some more coffee. Then I wrote:

Dear Lassie,

It sounds like things are moving along nicely.

Language is just words. So much can be said with food.

I dipped my rusk and chewed on it. A piece of aniseed filled my mouth with flavour.

Yes, a man likes his meat. Here is a recipe for toad-in-the-hole made with boerewors (or any other nice spicy sausage). And a corned-beef pie made with tins of corned beef and mushrooms. Both are very delicious and easy, and can also be frozen. You can serve them with bread or pap, and salad.

On my way back from work, I picked up the ingredients I needed for Henk and me. And a bunch of celery for Kosie. I chatted with Tannie de Jager from the library.

‘So did that new mechanic fix your problem?’ she asked.

‘What?’

‘I saw your bakkie turning in at that farm where he lives.’

‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Yes. No. He’s still busy with it.’

‘Did you leave it there?’

My bakkie was parked outside the Spar. I wasn’t going to try to fool a librarian. ‘No, I’m going back,’ I said.

‘I’ve heard that strange things go on out there. At his farm.’

‘Mm,’ I said, ‘don’t these pears look nice?’ I put a bag of pears into my basket.

* * *

As I walked up the garden path to my house, my chickens came to greet me. I threw them a handful of mielies from the bucket on the stoep. Their dust-red feathers fluttered as they danced around each other to get at the food. The white-eye birds watched them from the branches of the lemon tree. It was a warm, still afternoon: just the weather for braaing.

I was going to make Henk a meal that would look like I hadn’t tried too hard. Just hamburgers and malva pudding. But they would be bobotie mince burgers made with roosterkoek. And my aunt’s malva pudding was like none he’d eaten before.

I mixed the yeast, mieliemeal and flour together and then stirred in the water and kneaded the mixture until it was smooth and silky. I coated the dough with a little olive oil, then left it to rise in a warm spot on the stoep.

Then I fried the ostrich mince and added raisins, lemon rind and subtle Malay spices. And also apricot jam and lemon juice. Before I mixed in the flour and egg to turn the mince into patties, I served myself some and ate it for lunch with the salad that was on my diet sheet. Superb.

I laid a fire but didn’t light it. My braai is built up with bricks and concrete, with a counter next to the fire and a big space underneath for firewood. It is in my garden, just in front of the stoep. I put the raw patties and roosterkoek on a covered dish on the counter, then I prepared the malva pudding. Like the bobotie, it had apricot jam in it.

I showered, washed my hair and put on my white underwear, my cream dress with the little blue flowers and my smart blue shoes. Not really braai clothes, but anyway. I spent a bit longer than usual over my make-up. I noticed some grey hairs in the brown curls that curved onto my cheeks. I wondered how long they’d been there. I was not one to stare in the mirror. But today I stared. My green eyes gazed back at me. Could they see that I had killed a man? Or that I was about to lose the man I loved?

I took a diet tablet and laid the stoep table. Then I brought two of the metal garden chairs to the braai and lit the fire. I sat down and watched the autumn light become softer as the afternoon fell into evening. The lemon tree cast long shadows onto the chickens that were sorting through the compost heap. I looked out at the thorn trees and the veld. A mongoose darted from some spekbome to the gwarrie tree. There was no sign of the kudu, thank heavens. I needed to be sane tonight. No imaginings, just the truth.

I heard Henk’s Hilux when it turned off onto the dirt road. My heart beat faster as he got closer. I took even breaths, like I’d learnt in my group. Should I talk to him before or after the meal? Maybe during. My heartbeat slowed a little with my breathing, then it sped up as I saw Henk and Kosie heading along the path between the peach pips. Kosie skipped into the vegetable patch, but Henk did not stop him; he was marching straight towards me.

‘So, when were you going to tell me?’ he said, looking down at me.

I stood up, but he was still so much bigger than me.

‘What?’ I said. ‘Sit down.’

‘Or were you never going to tell me?’

‘Do you want a beer?’ I said.

He sat down, and now he was closer to my standing height.

‘I can’t believe it,’ he said, shaking his head, frowning.

‘Who told you?’ I said.

‘It’s all over the police station.’

‘What? How . . .?’

‘Dirk. Dirk told Warrant Officer Smit. They’re drinking buddies.’

My knees were shaky, and I sat down. What we said in the group was private. I could hear Ricus’s voice: ‘What we say here, stays here.’

Henk said, ‘But of course if no one officially reports it, there’s nothing we can do. It’s an embarrassment to us, as police.’

‘An embarrassment? What do you mean?’

‘This sort of stuff going on in our own back yard. And you, you not even telling me.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I was going to tell you tonight.’

‘I thought I could trust you.’

‘I was scared what you might think.’

‘Come to the police station,’ he said, standing up, taking my arm. ‘We can go now and report it.’

I felt like I was in a bad dream.

‘But there’s no proof,’ I said.

‘You will give the proof,’ he said, tugging at me to stand. ‘You can sign a statement.’

Tears welled in my eyes.

‘Henk,’ I said, looking up at him, ‘is this really what you want?’