CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Ruth
27 December 1994
New Beginnings Baby Sanctuary, Rustenburg, South Africa
Dee’s words from Christmas Day are still chasing themselves around my mind when I sit down across from the social worker two days later.
Lindiwe has to repeat my name a few times before managing to pull me back into the present. “I don’t suppose you’d consider fostering another child? A healthy one?” Lindiwe asks.
“No. That’s not how it works,” I say. “It’s not like I came here wanting to foster a child and happened to find Mandla. It’s Mandla who found me and then led me here.”
Lindiwe nods. “I understand.”
“No, I don’t think you do,” I say.
I almost don’t understand it myself. How can I, when there’s no rational way to explain the attachment I have to Mandla? We spent less than two days together and honestly, what is that really? What’s forty-two hours when measured against a lifetime?
And yet, what it comes down to is that one minute I lived a life without any knowledge of him at all and then the next, there he was like magic; as if my desperate need had conjured him from a hat—abracadabra, sim sala bim—and made every dream I’d ever had come true. Of all the places he could have been left, it was on my doorstep that he turned up. That had to mean something.
Actually, it means everything.
“After a lot of soul searching,” I say to Lindiwe, “I realized there’s no decision to be made because it was never going to be a choice. Mandla belongs with me and that is that.” And it’s true. “Now, let’s finish the last of the paperwork so he can come home.”
The call is harder to make than I thought it would be. I work my way through two cigarettes and another glass of wine before I’m able to dial the number.
He answers on the third ring. “Hello?” There’s music and laughter in the background and the unexpected sound of it makes it hard to speak. “Hello?” he repeats.
“Vince, it’s me.”
He’s having a party but then why shouldn’t he? It’s the festive season and he’s rid of me. What’s not to celebrate?
“Ruth?”
I think back to the previous Christmas, our last one together though I didn’t know that at the time. We’d turned down all the usual invitations and spent Christmas Day alone together, eating gourmet toasted cheese sandwiches in bed, to hell with the crumbs. It was a damn good day.
“I can hear it isn’t a good time for you,” I say. “I’ll call back.”
“No, it’s fine.” He must have the portable phone because the noise starts to fade and then it’s quiet. He’s probably closed himself in the bedroom. “Is everything okay?”
No, it’s not. You’re having a party without me because you’ve moved on. I’m fostering a child who’s going to die soon. We’re under attack in our home. I miss you.
I can’t help but wonder who’s there. You can bet your tits that Moira Castleman has been sniffing around Vince. Bitch.
“Ruth?”
“What?”
“I asked if everything’s okay?”
“Yes, it’s fine. It’s all fine. Couldn’t be better, actually.”
“I’m glad.”
We lapse into silence and I swear I can hear bloody Moira’s hyena laugh in the background. I wish suddenly that I hadn’t shipped the framed magazine cover to myself here. Knowing it was there for her to look at would make me feel a lot better.
“Not that I don’t like hearing from you, Ruthie, I do, but is there a reason why you called?”
Shit. Here goes nothing.
I take a deep breath and swallow my pride. And then I ask Vince for quite a substantial loan.