I drag myself to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee before heading to my home office to do some work.
Right now, I would do anything, anything, to numb the pain that I am feeling. My chest is tight. My palms are sweating.
I open my laptop and start drafting emails and sending them off to the relevant recipients. I will be away from my empire but things should still be running smoothly in my absence.
‘Daddy, is that you?’ I hear my sweet daughter’s voice coming from the staircase.
‘Hey, my angel, why are you up?’ I rush to her.
‘I can’t sleep. I keep dreaming of Uncle Ronnie,’ she sobs. I scoop her from the floor and stride to the living room and sit on the couch with her on my lap. She overheard me on the phone with my mother earlier, and the worst part is that I cried with her watching me. I yelled on the phone a few times while pacing the room and ended up breaking into a loud cry.
Ronnie can’t die! No, Ronnie cannot be dead. My baby can’t be dead, I had repeatedly said before noticing her sitting on the floor, sobbing. She only heard me mention her uncle’s name and not her brother’s.
I have no strength to tell her about her brother’s death too. Not now.
‘Sweetie, Uncle Ronnie is in a good place now.’
‘But we are never going to see him again.’
‘That’s why we took many pictures with him. Whenever we miss him, we will always look at all the pictures we took with him.’
‘Is that why you take a lot of pictures of me? So that when I am gone you can remember me?’ she asks with her eyes so wide and twinkling with tears.
‘No, no, no, sweetie! You are going nowhere,’ I say and squeeze her in a tight hug. How do I explain death to a seven-year-old? I know she is hurting. I rock her back and forth until she falls asleep again.
I have no choice but to go to bed again, so that she can sleep in my arms. Diana will only come get her later this morning. Thank goodness Diana and I have negotiated the co-parenting quite well, following the divorce. When I called her about Ronnie and Khuthi’s death, she immediately offered to come fetch Ciara.
I lie in bed until I see the sun beaming through my bedroom curtains. I roll from the bed and take a quick shower before going down to my home office to finish some work.
‘Good morning, papa Ciara,’ Rosie, the housekeeper and nanny, greets as I pass the kitchen. I stop in my tracks and turn towards her. ‘Did you sleep well?’ she asks.
‘Morning and yes I slept well, thank you,’ I lie. Our eyes don’t meet. For some reason I don’t want her to see how broken I am. She saw enough of it last night when I had to call her to help calm Ciara down.
‘And Ciara … is she all right?’
‘I hope she feels better. Please prepare her luggage for two weeks. I will be going to Venda in an hour and her mom will come to pick her up after breakfast. Please don’t wake her up, she didn’t sleep well. I will call her teacher to excuse her from school.’
‘Would you like something to eat?’
‘No, thank you,’ I respond and thereafter disappear to my office.
I shut the door and start sending off more emails. I don’t want to talk about Khuthi’s death.
Not yet.
The more I think about driving to Limpopo, the more I feel like I am accepting his death! I wish I could stay here and pretend that everything is fine and the only time I will be going to Venda is to pick him up.
I try very hard to concentrate on what I am doing. When I hear a soft knock at the door, I glance at the time on the screen and realise I have been sitting in the office for hours.
‘Hey Gundo, I am here to pick up Ciara,’ Diana says, walking into my office slowly. She is looking gorgeous, as always, in her black pencil dress and red stilettos.
‘Thank you.’
‘How are you doing? Come here.’ She walks towards me with her arms wide open, ready to comfort me. I stand up from my chair and allow her to embrace me. I needed this. She caresses my back as I rest my head on her shoulder.
‘You will be all right. It will be fine. You just need to be strong.’
‘Thank you,’ I mumble, pulling myself out of her hug.
‘Just remember that I am here for you, all right?’
‘Yes … thank you.’ I clear my throat.
‘Don’t stress yourself about the office, I will make sure that everything is in order,’ she says. I know she will take good care of everything. As the corporate services manager in my company, she is more than capable of bossing everyone around. And Diana always gets what she wants.
‘I will ask one of my cousins to pick up Ciara on Thursday. She needs to attend the funeral,’ I say.
‘I will drive with her on Friday,’ she offers.
‘You are coming to the funeral?’
‘Yes. Ronnie was my favourite and even though my relationship with Khuthi was rocky, it is only appropriate that I attend their send-off. He was my son too.’
She never loved my son as hers but if she wants to pay her last respects, why not?
‘I don’t know how to tell Ciara about her brother. She is struggling to deal with her uncle’s death already.’
‘I will tell her when I see that she is fine.’
We walk out of the office to the dining room. Ciara is finishing her breakfast, so I sit on the chair opposite hers.
‘Are you all right, my angel?’ I ask and she nods. ‘Daddy is going to see you on Friday, okay?’
‘Can I go with you today?’
‘No, baby. I want you to go to school tomorrow …’ I say and she nods. She is sad.
We wait for her to finish eating. When she’s done, I help carry her luggage to the car while she follows with her mother. I watch them drive away before walking back to the house.
* * *
I have been driving for about five hours and I feel extremely tired – actually numb. I did not manage to sleep during the day and now I can feel my eyes shutting.
Earlier on I couldn’t face driving to my parents’ home. I parked the Range Rover at the filling station and sat there for hours, trying to imagine how life will be without Ronnie and Khuthi.
How am I going to survive this one?
Now I am driving on a bumpy gravel road to get to the village where my family lives. It is already dark, with no streetlights. I need my brights to see. I drive slowly as I bury myself in the memories I shared with my little brother on this road. We used to play soccer on this exact road with the kids from the other villages. He used to be the best goalkeeper; we all thought he was going to be just that when he grew up. Instead, he grew up to run my father’s lodges and restaurants in Thohoyandou and Louis Trichardt after the old man retired two years ago.
There is a woman carrying a bucket on her head far ahead in the road. I wonder why she is walking alone in such darkness. All alone.
My phone rings from the passenger seat. I glance at it and see Ciara flashing on the screen. I reach for it and urgently swipe to answer.
‘Daddy, are you there yet? Have you seen granny?’ she asks just when I answer my phone. I clear my throat and reach for the strongest voice from deep down my belly. She must not know how broken I am. Watching me weep was traumatic enough for her. I wish to erase that memory from her mind.
‘I