The minute she hears Mrs Le Roux-next-door start to shout and wail, Ma moves to protect us.
‘You children stay indoors! That woman may have the right to free speech in her backyard, but not in earshot of my children!’
Clad in the impenetrable armour of her refinement, Ma stalks outside, positions herself between the plum trees and the back fence. Her thin little legs are poised for flight, tensed and quivering in the direct line of Mrs Le Roux’s fire.
‘Mrs Le Roux, lower your voice! Control your language, please!’
In response, a torrent of abuse pours out of the window. Ma’s voice trembles.
‘Mrs Le Roux, your behaviour is intolerable!’
The hounds of hell are duly released. Ma’s neck and shoulders stiffen in the slipstream. Her nostrils flare. Her voice drops. Finally, exhausted by the river of vitriol streaming across the fence, she shoots her final arrow.
‘You’re drunk, Mrs Le Roux – drunk again! You’re a disgusting degenerate! I’m going inside to telephone the dominee and the police!’
Ma knows this is a battle she’ll never win. She tosses her head, sucks her mouth into a grim little drawstring, and turns on her heel. Ignoring the plum branches pulling at her hair, she marches back inside.
‘Jennifer!’ she roars. ‘Get out of that cubby house! Go to your room this instant!’
Ma’s got eyes in the back of her head.
Sandy Is Late
‘Sandy? Where are you, boy?’
Sandy wakes me every morning. Licks my face, dives under my bed. I lean over the side of my mattress. Little tufts of red hair hang from the bedsprings and move under my weight. I run down the passage to the loggia where he likes to sleep on the cool slate floor. He’s lying near the door to the lounge, his head stretched out in front of him. ‘Sandy? Wake up – why’re you still sleeping?’
I sit next to him, put my hand on the soft puppy fur under his neck.
‘Sandy? What’s the matter, boy … Wake up … Ma – come here … come quickly, there’s something wrong with Sandy – he won’t wake up, Ma!’
I put my arms around him. Isak rushes into the loggia from the garden. He kneels on the floor, slides his hand under Sandy’s chest between his front paws, and leans down to look at his face. I can hear Ma’s heels clicking down the passage. Marta and Sara come running in from the kitchen.
‘Hau, M’Pho,’ Isak says. He sighs and shakes his head. He sits back on his heels, and his hands are gentle on mine.
‘Let him go, M’Pho. Sandy is late.’
‘What d’you mean late, Isak?’ I look up at him. ‘Late for what? Hey? Wake him up, Isak … Tell him to wake up. Please, please – wake him up!’
‘No, M’Pho, I can’t. Sandy is gone.’
Behind Ma, Marta sighs. She walks forward, kneels next to us.
‘I don’t understand, Marta. Ma, what’s the matter with Sandy?’
Ma closes her eyes and presses her hands against her mouth. When she speaks to me, her face is pale and her voice sounds full of tears.
‘You know Sandy was very old, sweetheart. I think maybe he was very tired last night and, when he went to sleep, he just forgot to wake up again …’
‘Sandy died in the night, love. I’m sorry … I’m so sorry.’
She shakes her head, looks at Isak. He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand.
‘Isak?’ He nods. ‘I’ll give you a blanket,’ Ma says.
She puts her arm around my shoulders.
‘Come, love. Come with me – let’s go and find a blanket to wrap Sandy in.’
‘I don’t want to leave him, Ma. I want to stay here with him. Why won’t he wake up, Ma?’
Marta presses the hem of her apron across her face.
‘Hau, M’Pho, Sandy is gone to heaven. Modimo … God will look after him. He was a good dog.’
Sara nods. ‘He was. He was a good dog …’
Ma gives Isak my old yellow baby blanket. He digs a deep hole behind the cubby house. Lines it with a potato sack. Slowly, tenderly, he lowers Sandy into the hole. I can’t bear to look. Isak’s crying. Sandy was his friend for even longer than he was mine, but he was my best friend.
‘Hau, M’Pho.’ Isak puts his hand on my head. ‘We will miss him. He was a good friend. A true, good dog.’
Ma buys an apple tree. Isak plants it on top of Sandy. Ma’s sure its fruit will be lovely and sweet.
I hear Sandy everywhere. Find memories in wisps of red hair under my bed, caught in my clothes, lying on the loggia floor. His messages of love.
‘I miss Sandy, Ma. I miss him.’
She puts her arms around me.
‘I know, sweetheart. We all do.’
‘Go and put on your sandals.’ Ma’s handbag hangs from her arm. She holds the car keys in her hand. ‘I have to drive to the station. You can come with me.’
‘Why’re we going to the station, Ma?’
‘We have to go and collect a special delivery – it’s just arrived on the train.’
Our feet crunch and slide on the dusty gravel outside the station building. Inside, the cream walls are cool. The stationmaster points down the platform towards two men on either side of a porter’s trolley, their backs to the shining tracks. I look at their faces. Look again. They look exactly the same.
‘Ma – their faces are exactly the same …’
‘They’re identical twins,’ she whispers. ‘They are exactly the same.’
The men stare at us.
‘Why don’t they say hello, Ma? Why’re they just looking at us?’
‘Shush. They’re … different. Just greet them. Be polite when you see them, understand?’
‘Have they got the same names too, Ma?’
‘No.’ Her voice is hard. ‘Their names … they’re called Hitler and Hess.’
I look up at her.
‘I don’t like them, Ma.’
She squeezes my shoulder, and takes my hand.
Ma points to a box on the trolley.
‘We’ve come for the special delivery,’ she says.
Pitiful yelps and scrabbling sounds are coming from the box on the trolley.
‘What’s making that noise, Ma? Can I look inside?’
She nods. I stand on tiptoes. Peer inside. Jumping up on its hind legs, the small pink tongue of a miniature Sandy slides wet across my mouth.
‘Ma, it’s Sandy! Only little … oh, Ma – can I hold him? Please?’’
I lift him out of the box. The puppy’s stubby tail swishes.
‘Oh, isn’t he sweet?’ Ma rubs his throat gently. She looks at me. ‘Say hello to your new puppy, sweetheart.’
She smiles.
‘Why don’t you call him Sandy, too?’
I nod. I close my eyes. Hold him tight. Breathe his