We stroll along to the Indian shop because we both like the samoosas. They cost eighty cents each, so we can afford four. With the change, we get Wilson’s toffees from the jar. The man behind the counter unscrews the top and holds the jar out. I’m glad we get to choose our own, because long black hairs creep down his arms, and two of his fingers are stained yellow.
We scoff our samoosas while we wait for the train. First we crunch off a corner. These are always crispy. Then we sink our teeth into the softer pastry, which covers the spicy mince. It burns my throat a little, and by now my whole mouth tastes of onions, but it’s worth it.
Jane was right. The pineapple YogiSip is great with curry. Before we sip, we blow a puff of imaginary fire into the air, the way you frost up glass on a cold day. Two little dragons, waiting for a train.
I wipe my greasy hands on the paper napkin the samoosa man gave me.
“Train to Cape Town!” someone shouts, and here it is.
We hop into the maroon carriage. We have first-class tickets, because everyone knows that third class is only for non-Europeans. This doesn’t count for conductors, though. Jane and I sink into our vinyl seat as the train takes off, and a coloured man comes towards us saying, “Kaatchies asseblief, tickets pleece.” I used to think that this was a special branch of the police, the Tickets Pleece. Because Laetitia always says that if you’re at the wrong place at the wrong time, the police can come to you and just say “police” and then you have to show them your pass. Like on the train, you show them your train pass and then they punch it, smile and leave.
When we get to Plumstead station, Jane’s mom is already waiting for us. You can recognise her by her white hair from a long way off. I think she must be very old, to have white hair like that. Sometimes people think she’s Jane’s gran, and Jane hates that. It makes her go red in the face, and you can see her push her lips together very hard. She should really do something about her hair, that’s what my mom says. I know not to say anything to Jane about this, but I’m glad my mom’s hair is still brown and nobody ever thinks she’s my gran.
Jane’s mom gives us each a hug, which means she’s forgiven me for the Kathlix story, but I still feel all hot in the cheeks when I look at her.
Chapter 9
The brown envelope I’ve been worrying about lies on the table. Last term, Jane got into trouble with her dad for getting a C. He said she should jolly well pull up her socks, young lady. God has given her a good brain, use it.
Mom smiles at me as her fingers touch the letter.
“We’ll have to celebrate,” she says, squeezing my shoulder.
I smile.
“Well done, Lily, I’m happy. Chocolate-cake happy. How does that sound?”
Beth and Gracie are staying at home, because today is my special day.
Mom reads from my sister’s report card: “Beth needs to work harder at her obedience. She should remember she is here to be taught, not to teach. We are not in a position to reward a bad attitude. Should she improve her demeanour, Beth stands a chance at scoring an A symbol next term.”
I can’t resist. She’s sitting there, staring out the window with her jaw stuck out.
“Ha ha, Beth, looks like you’re going to trip over your own lip!”
Mom looks at me, just looks at me, and my face burns. I sit down.
“Beth, this is something I can’t reward, my sweetie. You’re just going to have to stay here while we go get a treat. And don’t tell Gracie. She’s too young for this.”
They’re both ignoring me now. My heart’s bouncing from the good marks and Mom loving me and me getting a treat. But it stops and I feel little pinpricks when I see that Mom isn’t so pleased with me after all. I think she’d have liked it if Beth scored higher marks, and she could have rewarded her.
* * *
Fanny’s is on the main road, opposite the post office. It’s the only place you can get a cup of coffee and some cake in Kalk Bay, unless you go to the Brass Bell, but that’s a proper restaurant, not a coffee shop.
The cake is dark and heavy. That’s the best. I don’t like very spongy ones. They taste like air, and make your teeth feel all blunt. No, this cake is first rate. The icing shines like the snowy Alpine slope on Gran’s calendar.
“You enjoying that?” Mom asks. It’s the first time she’s spoken since we ordered. It’s always a little difficult to find things to say to Mom, and anyway, there are so many things to think about or notice that there isn’t that much time to talk. I think she feels the same way.
I notice stuff like Mom’s hair. When she bends over to reach for her handbag, the grey stares at me like a dead campfire, with those strips of ash at the roots. This gives me a little shock. I get the pinpricks up my arm and right in the heart again, and I have to concentrate hard not to suck in air like a person saved from drowning, because it gives Mom a fright when I do that, and getting a fright always makes her cross.
The feeling I get is the same as the time I ran into Mom without clothes on, last year. I’d never have imagined that her bum was really that big and round, or that her boobs were that long and flat. I shiver thinking about the long brown nipples. Mine are little and pink, as if they came off a kitten.
“Be– I mean, Lily, did you hear me?”
I swallow. I’d been chewing this whole time while I was thinking. I didn’t even realise.
“Thanks, Mom, it’s yummy.”
She smiles, and looks very pleased to hear it. She’s staring through the window, looking at a train go by and licking the last crumbs off her spoon.
Chapter 10
Beth and I are keen for a swim, so we traipse down the Norman steps in our navy blue school Speedos, towels around our waists. Beth’s wearing a swimming cap to keep the wind out of her ears, but I’m not because of how it pulls my hair when Mom tries to get it onto my head.
I squint into the wind. It’s not a good day for a swim, really, but the tidal pool should be OK. The weather is squashing our excitement by the second. On good days we race down, our slip-slops loudly slip-slopping under us. But today our slops make a plodding, sucking sound.
We stare into a white sea. I hold Beth’s hand as we cross the street. Together, we take a huge breath before entering the subway. We run through, shoot the air out of our lungs and laugh.
Beth runs on ahead of me. On the wall of the tidal pool she takes off her slip-slops, but screeches and does a little break-dance on the spot instead of jumping into the water. It’s covered in bluebottles. Hundreds of the little stinging devils are floating in the water and clinging to the rocks. Beth puts her shoes back on. We spend the morning popping their clear blue bubbles, and beating their tentacles to a pulp with rocks. Back home, Mom chews us out for coming back with faces like cooked lobsters.
* * *
The screaming wakes me. Gracie is howling and Mom is yelling. There’s running and barking. Beth bursts into my room and shouts we’re going to have to jump. I can’t see properly; I’m confused. Mom is outside the window, shouting at us to get into the tree. I don’t understand, so I step into the passage. It’s hot, and flames are running all the way up the stairs, eating at the carpet and trying to curl around my legs. They hiss and roar. I never thought fire could make such a loud noise. Beth pulls me by the hand. She drags me back into my room, opens the window and climbs onto the sill. She stretches like a mad thing to grab onto a branch, finds one, jumps, and dangles.
People are shouting from the ground, with Mom making the most noise. Beth drops from the branch. She lands in a man’s arms and they both fall over. They yell at me to follow. I’m scared, so scared. I pull