by Sibel Hodge
Jazz, the girl who caused her mum’s death.
You know how it is when you listen to a recording of your voice and you think it doesn’t sound anything like you? That’s how it was when I looked in the mirror. I was trapped inside the face of a girl who wasn’t me.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It wasn’t supposed to happen. No matter how many times Dad and Katrina told me it was an accident, that it wasn’t my fault, I didn’t believe them. I knew, and I knew they knew, too.
When it was time to go to the airport we left the house with two suitcases each. Dad lugged them out to Katrina’s car and stared back at our home with a wistful expression as I wandered from room to room, saying goodbye to the memories we’d shared here as they filtered randomly into my mind, vivid scenes playing out as if they’d only happened yesterday…
The time when I was five years old and Mum patched up my knee after falling over the handlebars of my bike. The first day of secondary school, when I didn’t want to leave her and she told me she’d bake my favourite cookies after school as a bribe. When I was thirteen and James Godfrey ignored me after our first kiss and I thought it was the end of the world, Mum was there dishing out the hugs and back-patting and advice about boys. How she’d always tried to get me to appreciate her beloved jazz music, when all I wanted to listen to was pop. All the rescue animals she brought home from the vet’s surgery where she worked as a nurse. The waifs and strays she loved that I was always jealous of because she spent so much time with them.
‘Jazz,’ Dad called from outside. ‘Come on, sweetheart, it’s time to go. We don’t want to miss the flight.’
You don’t want to miss it, more like.
I touched my fingertips to my lips in a kiss and pressed them to the walls.
I love you, Mum. I’m not leaving you.
A tear snaked its way down my cheek and dropped onto the carpet.
Shuffling down the front steps, I climbed into the backseat of Katrina’s car and shut the door. I turned my head to gaze out of the window at the house so I could avoid Katrina’s concerned looks in the rearview mirror. As we drove away, I heard her and Dad chatting about the game reserve and how it had the ‘Big Five’, whatever that was. They droned on about the weather in Kenya and all sorts of other stuff that I didn’t care about. I pulled my iPod out of my backpack and shoved the earphones in so hard it hurt, drowning them both out.
Katrina pulled up at the passenger drop off point at Heathrow Airport, and I watched the hordes of people rushing around with luggage, saying goodbye to friends and relatives, hurrying off to catch their flights. I envied them. I bet they felt safe and secure in their normal lives. I bet they had no idea how things could change in an instant.
Suddenly, I didn’t want to leave Katrina. Even though I hadn’t shown her much affection since Mum died, she was the closest thing I had to her now. I wrapped my arms round her waist and buried my head in her shoulder.
‘It will be OK, you’ll see.’ She stroked my hair.
I sniffed hard, trying to stop my nose from running.
‘Jazz, you’re only sixteen. Your life is an open book, and you can write the pages any way you want,’ she whispered as Dad grabbed the luggage. ‘It’s up to you how the story goes.’ She held me tightly. ‘You know, sometimes it’s the things you can’t change that end up changing you.’ She squeezed me tighter.
‘We’d better check in,’ Dad said after he put the suitcases on a trolley.
She released me and gave him a quick hug. ‘Go on, then. Off with you both. Have a lovely adventure.’ She blinked quickly, trying not to cry.
We walked into the airport and I glanced back at her over my shoulder as she got into the car. Our eyes met, and she gave me a knowing look, like she knew the answer to some big secret I was yet to discover.
When we boarded the plane a few hours later, Dad gave me the seat next to the window. Maybe he thought I wanted to see the view as we landed in Africa, but that was the last thing on my mind. I sat down and closed the blind, not wanting to see my reflection staring back at me in all its ugliness through the glass. I stuffed my earphones in, turning my head to the blind to avoid Dad’s hurt expression and the nosy, horrified stares of the other passengers.
We arrived in Nairobi in the late afternoon, and the first thing that hit me was the heat. Waves of suffocating hot air swept over me. By the time we’d walked to passport control the sweat was oozing from every pore. I stood in line behind Dad, staring at the ground, sighing and huffing every few minutes.
‘Next,’ a Kenyan customs officer called out in a loud voice.
I felt Dad tugging my arm, steering me towards the booth with him.
The man flicked through my passport as I stared at my trainers.
‘Look at me, please,’ he said.
I glanced up, focusing on a spot above the queue next to ours so I wouldn’t have to look directly at him. I knew what he was thinking. The passport picture didn’t look anything like me anymore. That was the old Jazz. The Jazz who people said was beautiful. The Jazz who obsessed about hair and designer fashion and the trendiest makeup to share with her friends.
I shuffled uncomfortably from foot to foot, feeling his scrutinising gaze drilling into me. I heard an elderly woman in the queue next to me say to her travelling companion, ‘And I bet she used to be so pretty, too.’
I could feel my temperature bubbling up to boiling point. She hadn’t even tried to whisper it!
The customs man shook his head with a pitiful stare and stamped the passport, handing it back before he picked up Dad’s.
After we got our luggage, I followed Dad into the arrivals hall where we were supposed to be met by Richard, Mum and Dad’s friend and the owner of the reserve. I stayed behind Dad, cautiously taking in the smells and sounds and bustling of people carrying all sorts of oddly shaped luggage.
Dad spotted Richard and waved at him from across the crowd. He was in his late fifties with curly grey hair and a grey beard. He wore khaki shorts, his pockets bulging, and a khaki shirt. He had a deep tan and wrinkles at the corners of his sparkling blue eyes.
He grabbed Dad in a bear hug. ‘Nathan. It’s been too long. Far too long, my friend,’ he said with a kind smile.
Dad nodded and patted his back. ‘Well, you’re a sight for sore eyes. You haven’t changed a bit.’
Richard rubbed his stomach. ‘Was I grey and fat sixteen years ago?’ He laughed and turned to me, but I’d already lowered my eyes to his dusty, worn boots. ‘And you must be Jazz. The last time you were here, you were still in your mum’s belly.’
I nodded so I didn’t have to say anything.
He bent his knees, lowering himself to my eye line so he could catch my gaze.
I looked away before I could see the signs of disgust.
‘She’s a bit shy,’ Dad whispered, as if I wasn’t standing there hearing him crystal clear.
I could’ve punched him. Shy didn’t even begin to cover it.
Seeing I wasn’t going to look at him, Richard stood upright again. ‘Well, it’s nice to meet you finally. I always hoped Nathan and Leigh would bring you out to see us before this.’ He held his hand out.
I averted my eyes, reached out and shook it. ‘You, too,’ I mumbled.
‘I’m so sorry about your mum. We loved her a lot,’ Richard went on.
I didn’t reply as thoughts of Mum filtered into my head again.
‘Well, let’s get going.’ Richard took my two suitcases and pulled them along behind him with determined strides. ‘We’ve got to get on a short flight before we get to the reserve. The pilot’s ready and waiting for us.’
After heading back out onto the airstrip, we arrived at a small, battered private plane that looked like it was about a hundred years old. I wondered if it was safe enough to get us all the way there. It certainly didn’t look like it, but then what did it matter if the thing crashed? Maybe it would be a good way out of my life. Sometimes I felt like I’d fallen overbo
ard into a dark swampy river and a tide of hopelessness was dragging me under. Maybe I should just let it.
As we flew away from Nairobi and out into the country through pockets of bumpy turbulence, I stared out the window at the increasing bushland. Flat plains of dry earth, interspersed with trees, bushes, and village settlements with huts made of mud and grass. Nearing the game reserve, Dad pointed out herds of elephants, zebra, giraffes, and antelope down below with the excitement of a teenager. I wiped the sweat from my forehead with the palm of my hand and watched them all scatter away as the plane zoomed over their heads.
‘Nearly there,’ Richard, who sat next to the pilot, shouted over his shoulder at us.
Dad put his arm round my shoulder. ‘How’re you doing, sweetheart?’ he whispered in my ear.
‘I’m hot,’ I mumbled.
‘This is going to be great.’ I could hear the smile in his voice.
‘Hmmm,’ I said, thinking the exact opposite.
‘A new start, Jazz.’ He pulled me towards him, kissing the top of my head.
‘There’s the airstrip.’ Richard pointed to a long, dusty track in front of us in the middle of a wooded area.
‘Surely we can’t land there,’ I whispered to Dad. ‘There’s no tarmac.’
Dad shrugged. ‘This is Africa. They have to make do with what’s available.’
I gripped the arm of my seat.
OK, maybe I was just joking about wanting the plane to crash.
After a bouncy landing, Richard, Dad, and I made our way to a dirty green Land Rover parked up alongside the airstrip.
God, how much longer till we get there?
I was hot, sweaty, tired and thirsty, and the journey seemed like it had been going on forever.
‘Only another twenty minutes, then we’ll get you settled. A nice cold drink and a shower will sort you out,’ Richard said cheerfully as I clambered in behind Dad, carefully positioning myself so Richard couldn’t look at me in the rearview mirror.
We bumped along a dusty track until we came to a tarmac road and we drove through a town.
‘This is Jito,’ Richard said to me. ‘It means river in Swahili. We’re lucky on our reserve because the river snakes through our land. Lots of watering holes for our game, and even in the driest times it’s never completely dried up. Our turning is just a little further, but if you carry on this road there’s a tribal settlement, then you’ll come to our neighbouring reserve of Mumbi, and then onto the Masai Mara National Park.’
Ten minutes later, we drove off the tarmac onto a large dirt track for a few minutes and came to a metal gate and a wooden sign that announced our arrival at Kilingi Game Reserve. The reserve was fenced off with five metre high electric fences.
Richard unlocked the gates and we drove through.
‘Look, Jazz.’ Dad pointed out of the window. ‘There’s a warthog with some of its young.’
I stared in the direction he was pointing and saw a large animal with tough, blackened skin and long tusks hurrying away from us, her babies squeaking and scampering to keep up. I didn’t share Mum and Dad’s enthusiasm when it came to game animals. I mean, fluffy kittens and puppies and rabbits were OK, I supposed, but what was so special about a warthog?
‘Those are the resort buildings.’ Richard pointed off in the distance at some wooden buildings with wicker-type roofs. ‘That’s the reception, lounge, dining room, and bar. The swimming pool and spa are behind that.’ He pointed to the right at some smaller individual buildings with balconies. Some were freestanding with others built into large trees. ‘Those are the guest accommodation, but I’ll take you on a grand tour later when you’ve freshened up a bit. Let’s head for your quarters.’ He turned to look over his shoulder at me and I stared at the floor. ‘Just a word of warning for you, Jazz. There are a lot of dangerous animals out here, not to mention snakes and insects that could be deadly. Don’t wander into the bush on your own, OK?’
As if I’d even want to wander around in this crap hole.
I nodded.
Richard took a left turn off the track and headed away from the buildings for another five minutes until we came to a small, basic-looking one-storey wooden building, built in the same style as the others he’d pointed out. It had large windows and a veranda with an outside seating area that overlooked the vast Kenyan plains.
The Land Rover rumbled to a stop and he and Dad leaped out. I picked at my thumbnail as I sat there staring at what was going to be my new home.
Dad had signed a year’s contract, so we had to stay here for at least that long. We were in the middle of nowhere in oppressive heat. I seriously doubted that the house was going to have any mod cons, like air conditioning. It looked pretty unlikely there would be any internet connection here, either. Was there even a TV? And on top of that, there was no way I could avoid people if I was going to have to bump into guests every day when I cleaned their rooms. Dad had made it clear I was going to have to help pay my way.
I took a deep breath and stepped down from the Land Rover, wishing the year was already over. But if I knew then what I know now, I wouldn’t have been so quick to wish my life away.
Chapter 3
‘Your new home.’ Richard nodded towards the house with a smile and strode up the few steps onto the veranda, carrying my two suitcases with ease.
Great.
I kept my head low and followed him and Dad.
Richard swung the flyscreen door open and it emitted a loud creaking sound. Setting the suitcases down, we stopped behind him.
I glanced around the long hallway with wooden floors which had several doors leading off either side, until my gaze rested on the thing that I’d been avoiding for so long.
A mirror.
I caught sight of my face. The pink and puckered scars that crisscrossed my pale skin. They were everywhere.
I gasped and jerked my eyes away, tears welling up once again. You’d think after all this time I’d be all cried out, but they never ceased to rear their ugly heads and threaten me with an overwhelming sense of loss.
Dad dropped his suitcases and I felt his hand gently rubbing my back. Even though I kept my gaze locked on the floor I could feel Richard’s enquiring eyes questioning Dad’s.
‘Since the accident, we don’t have any mirrors in the house,’ Dad explained to Richard.
‘I see,’ Richard said thoughtfully. ‘Well, I can do something about that.’ He took the mirror off the wall, strode out to the Land Rover and came back mirror-less. ‘Let me show you the rooms and I’ll leave you to get settled. Bedrooms are up here.’ He strode up the end of the hallway towards two doorways as I shrank into the wall, pressing my hot forehead against the coolness of it.
I glanced into the living room. There was a large navy blue sofa in the centre, facing French doors onto the veranda. A ceiling fan whirred away above us. A wooden coffee table and wooden sideboard with a lamp on top were the only furniture. There was no TV. How was I going to fill my days and nights?
I walked to the French doors and stared out. Dry patches of bush mixed with longer green grasses covered the plains. In the distance, I could see the river Richard mentioned, and the silhouettes of drinking giraffes. There were pockets of thick trees and vegetation all around. The sky was bright blue and so perfectly cloudless it looked like it had been painted for one of those posters advertising exotic holidays. I saw a herd of elephants with a couple of calves in their midst. I stared at them until they became blurry shapes and I heard Richard call out a goodbye.
Dad appeared behind me, staring at the grey specks. ‘Wow, our first day here and you’ve seen elephants already!’ He rested his hands on my shoulders. ‘People pay thousands to stay here and see them. I’d say that made you a pretty lucky girl.’
My muscles tensed.
Lucky? What planet is he living on?
‘Come and check out your room.’ He grabbed my hand and led me to what would be my bedroom.
It was sparsely furnished like the lo
unge. A wooden double bed with mosquito netting draped around it that hung down from the ceiling. White cotton sheets. A small wooden bedside table and a wooden wardrobe. A ceiling fan. No TV.
‘There’s no TV here,’ I said, walking towards the window that led out to more endless boring bush.
Dad chuckled. I hadn’t heard that sound in a long time. ‘Who needs a TV when you’ve got all this to look at?’ He swept a hand towards the window. ‘Let’s get unpacked and then Richard’s going to meet us at the lodge and give us a tour. Looks like it’s changed a lot since I was last here. There’s a water cooler in the kitchen if you want a drink.’
‘I don’t want to go to the lodge.’
‘You’ve got to do it some time and it might as well be now. I’m not having you hiding out in this house for the next year. And besides, you’ll be working up there so it will be nice to get to know everyone, won’t it?’ He paused. ‘Look, these people aren’t going to judge you, they’re our friends.’
‘They’re your friends, not mine.’
He sighed. ‘This is a fresh start for us. Let’s begin to enjoy it.’ And with that his footsteps disappeared into his own bedroom next door and I heard him opening the cupboard doors and unpacking.
I took the photo of Mum that always had pride of place next to my bed from my backpack and kissed it, putting it down on the bedside table. Moving the mosquito netting out of the way, I flopped onto the bed with my head resting in my hands, staring at a black spot on the floorboards that looked like a squashed bug. Even though I was thirsty, I couldn’t bring myself to go into the kitchen. I wanted to stay here in the sanctuary of my room. Forever. Maybe I’d die of dehydration. Who cared anyway? Dad certainly didn’t. All he cared about was those stupid animals of his. But then, who could blame him? If I was him I wouldn’t care about me, either.
****
