‘It’s my fault, completely,’ he was saying.
‘Thank you for bringing him home,’ my mother said. Her eyes were rimmed with red, as if she had a cold.
‘He’ll be fine – maybe a little delicate tomorrow, but he’s tougher than he looks.’
‘We’ve been beside ourselves all day – he said he was just going out for a walk.’
‘I’m afraid he’s been at the races,’ Freddie said. ‘I almost forgot.’ He rummaged around in his pocket and brought out a handful of notes. ‘He made a bit of money, actually.’
‘Well.’ My mother took the handful. ‘This might soften the blow for his father a little.’
Freddie laughed. ‘I’d better get back.’
‘Thank you again.’ She put out her hand and he shook it. ‘Really.’
When Freddie had left, my mother stuffed the money into my trouser pocket, then leaned over me, her hands resting on my knees. I had a burning sensation in my throat, and tried to keep my mouth closed to stop the smell of sick escaping.
‘Can you walk?’ she asked me.
‘I think so.’
‘Good.’
She walked next to me all the way to our rooms. I noticed that I was taller than her now, when she didn’t have her shoes on.
At the door she turned me to face her. I flinched as she ran the back of her hand along my jaw-line.
‘I suppose you think what you did was daring,’ she said.
‘No.’ I put out my hands behind me to prevent myself from falling. The door was cool under my touch, or maybe I was hot all over. I wished she would let me go into my room.
‘You can have a good life here, Theo. I don’t want to send you away again – and your school doesn’t want you back, either. You know why.’
Beads of sweat gathered along my hairline. I didn’t like to think about that afternoon, or the boy – Mark Hennessey – who’d followed me around all year, tripping me up, taunting me. Once he’d made me drink water from the toilet bowl. After the fight, none of the boys would look me in the eye, even the few friends I had. It didn’t matter that he’d had me cornered, or that all boys fought. I’d gone too far. I’d been happy when the headmaster had suspended me.
I wondered if I was going to be sick again. ‘Can I go to bed now?’ I asked.
My mother drew back her hand and hit me across the face. At the last moment I turned so it caught the side of my head, and the jolt seemed to go right through to my brain. I looked at her in time to see her hand fly towards me again and this time I caught it and held it tight, digging my fingers into her wrist.
‘Don’t,’ I said.
Her face was just below mine, her eyes wide open. Both of us were breathing heavily. I wondered if another guest, looking out of their bedroom, would think we were about to kiss.
I let her go and she stayed exactly where she was, arms hanging loosely at her sides now. A few strands of hair had escaped her plait and formed a copper haze around her face. I wanted to apologise, or laugh it off, but the longer the silence went on, the more tongue-tied I became.
‘I’m going to bed,’ I said, eventually.
‘No, it’s not too late,’ she said. I thought she must be talking to herself because I didn’t understand her words, or her voice – gentle, and sad and flat. She hesitated, then reached past me and opened my bedroom door.
I went through it and shut it behind me. My head was thumping and my body felt clumsy with shock. I thought Maud was asleep, but as I slipped under my bedsheets she rolled over.
‘I’m glad you’re back,’ she said.
Nairobi train station seemed familiar, ordinary even, the second time around. I’d been feeling the effects of my drinking for the last few days, staying in our bedroom with the blinds closed while Maud read quietly nearby. Now, the first thing I did when we entered our carriage was throw the window open.
‘Watch out for the mosquitoes,’ my mother said, but nothing more. She’d barely spoken to me since the night of the races, although once or twice I’d caught her looking at me with a new, almost uneasy expression. I didn’t know what she’d told my father, but it must have placated him, because he hadn’t mentioned my absence, and I wondered why she’d protected me, or if she was just holding it over me until I did something else.
‘Let’s hope the good weather holds,’ my father said, as we settled ourselves.
I hoped so too – I knew from reading up about it that Lake Naivasha was called after the Maasai word for rough waters.
I leaned my head against the back of my seat and dozed off. It was fifty-four miles from Nairobi to Naivasha, over three hours by train. Occasionally voices broke through – Maud asking questions, my father pointing out towns – but I woke properly only as we were sliding into our station. My father folded his newspaper and bounded up, beaming.
‘Here we are,’ he said.
Ramsay, the man my father had hired to build our new home, was late, pulling up in a dusty Buick a long time after the train had left us behind on the station platform. He was a small, squat man with a Scottish burr, and a glass eye.
‘We expected you an hour ago,’ my father said, frowning at him.
‘You’re on Africa time now,’ Ramsay said. He picked up our suitcases and tossed them into the back seat as if they were made of air. ‘The bairns will have to walk. It’s only a few miles.’
There was a moment of silence.
‘Well –’ my father said, doubtfully, but Ramsay was already laughing to himself.
‘Just a wee joke,’ he said. ‘They can sit on the luggage at the back.’
We clambered on top of the suitcases, almost slipping off when the engine started with a jolt, and travelled like that for the few miles to our new home.
Naivasha was much smaller than Nairobi. The main street was only a few shops long, and they were all shuttered. The surface of the road was even more pitted, and I held Maud’s hand tightly as the car bounced along. No one was out on the road, although occasionally we saw lights in windows, figures moving through rooms on their way to the dinner table, or to gather around the wireless, check the baby was sleeping.
It was fully dark when we turned off the road and onto a forested drive. The trees were tall and shapeless, muffling the sounds around us. Maud drew closer to me, and I squeezed her, thinking suddenly of the leopards I’d talked about on the first train journey. I thought I heard a soft snap, as if twigs were breaking under a heavy foot, and a low growl, and I was about to ask Ramsay if we could go faster but then the trees were thinning and we suddenly saw the lake spread out before us, glittering in the moonlight. Down by the water was a house, with a large garden sloping downwards to end in a jetty. Ramsay pulled to a stop ten feet from the veranda and we climbed out.
‘Here we are,’ he said. ‘Kiboko House.’
‘What does that mean?’ Maud asked.
‘Hippo House.’
‘It’s