Even in her dreams, those Makena loved were always leaving. Those who wished to do her harm stayed. The Mungiki and the hyenas merged or took on one another’s characteristics. The hyenas sported dreadlocks and brewed chang’aa; the Mungiki skulked through the woods with red eyes. They converged on her in nightmares, fangs bared.
At other times she was beneath the market cart, hiding her eyes as the Reaper reached under the tarpaulin. The Diplomat chased her in his Mercedes and once Priscilla offered her a platter piled high with raw meat.
Night after fevered night Makena ran from them, and as she ran she searched in vain for Mama, Baba and Snow.
‘You’ll never find them,’ the Diplomat told her, leaning from his car window. ‘They’re a Tribe of Ghosts. Invisible.’
‘You’re lying,’ Makena screamed at him. ‘You have the wrong number.’
On the fourth afternoon, these dark dreams were interrupted by an overwhelming feeling of warmth and love. The hyenas were gone. She was underwater with Lucas, her mama’s friend, who lived with fishes in his cool, green cave. ‘I miss her so much,’ she told him.
‘So do I. But if they were here, your mama would tell you to keep on breathing, reading and climbing. You’ll get there in the end. Go on, breathe with me.’
‘How can I?’ Makena said. ‘We’re underwater in a cave. I’ll get lost. I won’t be able to find my way out.’
‘All you have to do is look up. Kick hard. Swim towards the light.’
Makena awoke with a start. She was in a little library, surrounded by books. A woman was curled up in an armchair by the window, reading. The afternoon sun streamed in through the window, turning her tangled hair to flame. When she noticed Makena was conscious, she sat up so suddenly that her novel tumbled to the floor.
She smiled and said something in a British accent. Makena didn’t catch it.
She came closer. ‘I’m sorry about the hammock. We ran out of beds. Are you thirsty? You must be. Your temperature was through the roof. I’ll get you some water.’
She started towards the door. Makena had a panic attack. She struggled upright in the hammock, pain spiking in her chest. ‘Don’t leave me! Don’t leave me!’
The woman rushed to her side. Makena thought she heard her say: ‘I’ll never leave you. Ninakupenda. I’ll be here for you always, I promise.’ Then the fog swooshed in and Makena was powerless to resist it.
The nightmares were never as bad after that. The fox came more frequently and once Makena dreamed she was back at Tambuzi Rose Farm in the foothills of Mount Kenya. She and her mother were walking hand in hand through the packing shed. Makena found it odd to think that by morning, the roses would be on planes bound for the tables of princesses, pop stars or presidents in places as exotic as London and Mount Fuji, while she, a mere human, might never have the means to leave Kenya.
The roses had names like Ladykiller, Patience, Charity and Café Latte. Makena’s favourite was Beatrice. Princess Charlene of Monaco had her own special rose, a ruffled confection of pink, salmon and apricot. Makena went from rose to rose, pressing her nose to their silky petals. Scents of jasmine, freshly picked apples, raspberry, vanilla and old-fashioned sweets filled her nostrils.
Her heart pinged like an elastic band. Happy, happy, happy.
When she stood up, Mama was gone and the shining fox was at her side. It spoke without words to her heart. ‘I’ll never leave you, Makena. Ninakupenda. I love you. I’ll be here for you always, I promise.’
Six days later, Makena surfaced suddenly and completely. She blinked twice. The rainbow colours of the books flooded her vision. The fire-haired woman had gone from the chair by the window. In her place was an elegant young Kenyan, tapping a message into her phone.
‘Where’s the nurse?’ Makena asked, her voice croaky from lack of use.
The woman jumped up. ‘You’re awake! I’m so glad. For a while there, we thought we’d lost you.’ She came towards the hammock, smiling broadly.
Makena didn’t smile back. ‘Where is she?’
‘You must mean Helen. She barely left your side after they found you. She even slept in that chair. She and Edna are the directors of Hearts4Africa. They’re the ones who saved you – and me also, many years ago. They run this wonderful orphanage and now I do too. I’m Serena.’
‘But where’s Helen now?’ Makena persisted. ‘She said she would be here. Can you call her?’
Serena looked uncomfortable. ‘I can’t, honey. She’s gone away.’
‘When is she coming back?’
‘She’s not. Not for a long time. She had to return to Scotland. That’s where she’s from.’
A white-hot rage filled Makena. On a shelf between the books was her empty jam jar with its tatty label. Beside it were the photos of Mama and Baba, which someone had put in a frame. Like her parents and Snow, Helen had promised to be there always. Makena had heard her. Now she too had gone.
‘The only happy endings are in books,’ she said furiously. ‘They don’t happen in real life. It’s all a big fat lie.’
Serena reached for her hand but Makena snatched it away and tucked it beneath the blanket. ‘That’s not true. This is a happy ending right here. You could have died, Makena. You had cholera. Thanks to Helen and Edna, you have your whole life in front of you.’
Makena glared at her. ‘You don’t get it, do you? I don’t want to be alive. They should have let me die.’
‘You’ve been through a lot. So many of our girls feel the same when they arrive. Give us a chance. In time you will see—’
‘If life is so full of happy endings, where is Snow?’ demanded Makena. ‘My friend, Snow, have you found her?’
‘Helen said you talked about her in your sleep. The albino girl? We’re concerned for her safety too. We’ve made some enquiries, but there’s no news yet.’
‘What about my mama and baba? Are you going to turn back the clock and bring them back to me?’
‘No, but—’
‘Is Helen here like she promised?’
‘No, but—’
‘Do you think someone will adopt me?’
‘We will try to find you a family, of course. But after the age of four or five—’
‘I know. Who would want a twelve-year-old, right?’
‘It’s harder but that doesn’t mean—’
‘Forget it,’ said Makena. ‘I don’t want anyone. They’ll only leave. That’s what grown-ups do. They leave. Friends too. Everyone leaves.’
There was a long silence. Serena said tiredly: ‘You should eat something, Makena. Can I get you some soup?’
Makena turned her face to the wall.
