KWELA BOOKS
PROLOGUE
GUNDO
This calls for a celebration! I clink my whiskey glass against that of my attorney seated across from me. He came straight here from the court registrar where he collected my and Diana’s divorce decree. The gold liquid shimmers in his glass as he twirls it around in the air. He pours one shot down his throat and delicately puts the empty glass on my desk.
Diana and I are finally divorced! I don’t know how she feels right now, but I am content with my decision. She must be doing just fine. Our divorce procedure was smooth and quick – that is what you get when two adults agree to walk away from a dead relationship. We just had to go our separate ways, legally.
Our marriage of seven years has come to an end, but in fact it has been dead for the past two years.
We could bite off each other’s head over the simplest issue. But the main factor was the bad relationship between Diana and Khuthadzo. I understand that she was not happy to raise my son from a previous relationship, but after Khuthadzo’s mother, who was looking after him, went AWOL three years ago, what else could I do but take him in? I needed to raise my son. Diana made it unbearable to have both of them in the house, never seeing eye to eye. She seemed to be jealous of my boy and too hard on him. She favoured our own daughter, Ciara, and did not have a good word for my son. I often had to send Khuthi to stay with my family in Venda, just to appease Diana for a while. But I wanted my son with me. He has been abandoned once before, left without anyone to mend him. I had to step in.
My situation and priorities have changed and Diana understands that. We can’t have the same life that we used to and that doesn’t work for her. It was better to end the marriage.
A knock echoes in my office. My door flies open before I can respond. It can only be Diana.
‘Oh. You are not alone.’ Diana darts her glowing eyes from the attorney to me. He delivered her decree first, while I was on a call with a client.
‘Congratulations on your divorce, sir.’ The attorney gets on his feet and holds out his hand. We shake hands once before he leaves. Diana is standing in the corner of my office. Her face looks pale.
‘So, this is it,’ she says. She turns her glittering eyes to mine. Is it desperation I see there?
‘This is it,’ I repeat her words. This cannot be so hard on her, can it? It is not as if it comes as a surprise. We knew we would be getting the decree today. Two weeks ago the judge gave us a divorce order. Now, the formal delivery from the attorney seals our decision. There is no turning back. ‘Are you fine?’ I ask.
She lets out a short laugh and kicks off her red stilettos. I cross the room to where the bar fridge is. Diana nods when I ask if she wants something to drink.
‘A glass of whiskey,’ she says.
I pick up the bottle from the drinks cabinet and pour us a shot each. This is our toast to new beginnings. With a trembling hand she takes the drink from me.
I don’t move my eyes from her when I throw my drink down my throat. She does the same and frowns at the bitter taste.
‘I am scared,’ she mumbles. It takes a lot for Diana to open up and admit to vulnerability, so I know that she is telling the truth. She is not walking out of this marriage empty-handed, but I bet it is scary to start afresh.
‘I am always here,’ I reassure her. After all, we work together every day. Our offices are across from each other. ‘You can always come in here if you need someone to talk to.’ I am all ears and more; she knows that.
‘As if you are not going to move on and remarry.’ Her smile has always been seductive. Physical attraction was never our problem.
I huff out a laugh and say, ‘Never!’
Her eyes light up. Hope? She mustn’t hope for the impossible. We are not getting back together.
‘That means … nothing’s really changed.’
‘Nothing’s changed …’ I say. ‘Except that we’re living apart.’ She moved out of the house months ago, but we visit each other. We’re sharing custody of Ciara.
Her lips curve into a smile.
We are divorced, but we can still see each other whenever we wish to.
She sighs deeply before walking up to me and throwing her arms around my neck. She rests her head on my shoulder while I hug her.
‘We tried,’ she mumbles.
‘We did.’
When she lifts her head from my shoulder, her lips are trembling. And although I know my remaining attraction to her is just physical – I’m not in love with her anymore – it takes all my willpower not to kiss her and lift her up onto my office desk the way I might have a couple of years ago.
* * *
THANDEKA
The sun is piercing my skin as I hang my laundry on the washing line. I bet it is going to rain tonight. It always does whenever it gets this hot just before Christmas. But I don’t mind the weather, because it means the festive season is upon us and Vhonani will be coming home. I cannot wait to see my boyfriend when he returns to the village. The past six months without him have been very long – the longest we’ve ever been apart. The distance between us has been worrying me, all sorts of ideas creeping into my head, but my love for him keeps me going strong.
My baby kicks, inviting me to rub my huge belly. I can hardly believe that I’ll be a mother in a month’s time! But I think I’ll make a great mother and I know Vhonani will make a great father. He was so excited when I phoned him on the afternoon that I found out I was pregnant. And I’m overjoyed.
When Vhonani comes, we’ll go for an ultrasound. He has not been able to send money while he was away and times have been tough, but everything will be better once he’s back.
Maybe Vhonani will bring me a new phone from the city. Ever since I lost mine in a taxi to Thohoyandou four months ago, I have had to rely on short conversations on my brother’s phone and it is not the same. It is uncomfortable talking while Thulani is hanging over my shoulder wanting me to hurry up with the call. I could hear Vhonani was also not at ease. He kept our conversations short. Many times when I phoned he did not answer. When I last spoke to him, a couple of weeks ago, he said he found it too difficult to talk on Thulani’s phone but that he would be home soon and we would be able to speak face to face then.
Oh, it doesn’t even matter whether he brings a phone or not. I don’t really care about that. All I care about is our love for each other and our baby.
With the washing on the line, I take up the sewing I’m doing for my customers and make myself comfortable on the veranda. The neighbourhood kids are gathered at my gate. The little boys are playing soccer while the girls play with their dirty dolls. I don’t mind them there; they keep me company while I’m sitting here working. Soon my own child will be joining them.
‘I thought you would be at your boyfriend’s house,’ Thulani says from behind the door. I turn my eyes to meet him where he stands with a bottle of beer in his hand. He seems to have just woken up after a late night out. Thulani is forever drunk. He might be older than me, but he is definitely not more responsible. But Thulani is the only family I have left since our parents passed away, so we have to stick together.
‘Why would I be at my boyfriend’s home?’ I ask, turning my focus back to the kids playing outside the yard.
‘Well, he has been back for two days now. He passed by the lounge yesterday and bought some guys two crates of beer. I thought you would be at his house until he goes back to Johannesburg.’
I pretend not to be shocked by what he is revealing to me. In reality, I am in the dark. I am hurt.
‘Well, I will be