Soul Sisters

by Lesley Lokko

  17

  About a minute earlier, Solam had exited Claridge’s at a comfortable pace and turned the corner, lost in the music thumping through his headphones. He was oblivious to the chilly evening air, nimbly dodging the late-night shoppers who crowded the pavements along New Bond Street. After a twelve-hour flight from Johannesburg, it felt good to be out in the open air, running. He turned left onto Bruton Street, which was quieter, except for a crowd gathered about halfway down. He slowed a little, weaving lightly in between the well-dressed women in high heels and no coats – were they mad? – and was just about to speed up again when a figure came barrelling out of the doorway. He tried to avoid it but he was aware of cars on his right-hand side, and the last thing he wanted was to end up under a set of wheels. They collided. It was a woman. She gave a short cry and pitched headlong onto the pavement. He grabbed hold of her arm, trying to steady her, but the impact sent them both sprawling. He was aware of a shout and a car swerving to avoid hitting them and the commotion on the pavement behind him.

  Ohmigod! Watch out!

  Jesus! Is she hurt?

  Someone, help her up!

  People rushed forward to help them both. Solam shook his head to clear it. It had happened so quickly . . . He looked down. The girl was wearing a short black skirt with gold tassels which had ripped. One of her heels was broken. She looked absolutely dazed. He immediately crouched down to help her. A black girl, exceptionally pretty, with long straight hair parted in the middle and huge, expressive eyes. He stared at her. She was stunning.

  ‘Are you all right? I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you . . . my fault completely. I should’ve been paying more attention.’

  She shook her head, still dazed. ‘No, no . . . it was me. I’m fine, I’m fine.’ She struggled to stand.

  ‘Give her a bit of air.’ Solam turned to the crowd who were hovering anxiously around them. ‘She’s fine, I think. Not hurt, just dazed.’ He turned back to look at her, frowning suddenly. That voice . . . where had he heard it? ‘Can I get you anything . . . a taxi, maybe? I’m afraid I’ve ruined your dress. And your shoes.’

  She shook her head. ‘No, please don’t worry. I’ll be fine. I’ll grab a cab and go home. I wasn’t enjoying it much anyway.’

  A ripple went up the back of his neck. ‘What’s your name?’ Solam asked, still frowning. It couldn’t be . . . no, surely not?

  She looked up at him sharply. ‘I said I’m fine,’ she said testily. ‘Absolutely fine.’

  Suddenly the penny dropped. ‘You’re not Kemisa Mashabane, are you?’ he said incredulously, beginning to laugh.

  She shot him a suspicious look. ‘Do I know you?’ she asked coldly.

  He couldn’t stop laughing. The throng of people on the pavement began to drift away, turning back to their cigarettes and their conversations. The girl was obviously unhurt and the two seemed to know each other. ‘We spoke about an hour ago on the phone. I’m Solam. Solam Rhoyi.’

  Kemi stared up at him. Her mouth dropped open.

  18

  The man standing in front of her, looking at her anxiously to make sure she was in one piece, was beautiful. No other word would do. Even in a sweatshirt, jogging pants and running shoes, he was beautiful. Almond-shaped, dark black eyes, high cheekbones, a killer smile . . . perfect teeth. He shoved his earphones and Walkman into his pocket and held out his hand. ‘This isn’t quite how I pictured meeting you,’ he said, still smiling, ‘but it’s nice to meet you all the same.’

  She shook his hand, still stunned. ‘How . . . how did you know it was me?’ she asked.

  ‘Your voice . . . it’s pretty distinctive. Not quite English, not quite . . . you know, from back home. Our parents know each other.’

  ‘You’re South African?’ She was surprised. He sounded English.

  He nodded. ‘Raised here, though. Like you. It was my mum who gave me your number. Look, let me get you a cab so you can at least go home and change. Is it a party?’ He gestured to the gallery behind him.

  Kemi shook her head. She was trying unsuccessfully to balance on one leg. She knew she shouldn’t have worn these blasted heels. ‘No, it’s a gallery. Tonight’s the opening. Yes, I suppose I’d better go home.’ She looked down at her torn skirt. ‘I should tell my sister.’

  ‘I’ll go,’ Solam offered immediately. ‘You just stay here for a second. I’ll find her. Have you got a coat? You must be freezing.’ He looked across at the crowded room through the enormous glass window. He grinned suddenly. ‘She won’t be hard to spot. There aren’t too many like us in there.’

  Kemi shook her head. ‘Oh, no . . . she’s not . . . she’s not my real sister. I mean, my biological sister. Oh, it’s too complicated to explain. She’s in there, somewhere. She’s got red hair, quite tall. Her name’s Jen.’

  ‘I’ll find her.’ He looked at his sweat-stained jumper. ‘I’d give you this, but . . .’ He gave her a quick, rueful smile.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry. I’ll get a cab and wait inside. I don’t live far away.’

  ‘Give me two seconds. And I insist on paying for it.’

  Kemi smiled weakly, too tired to argue. Her knee was throbbing from where she’d hit it on the pavement. She longed to get home.

  19

  Everything was going so well! Jen could scarcely believe it. The tiny gallery was packed! More and more people seemed to arrive every minute. No sooner had one group left than another arrived. She ran back and forth from the tiny galley kitchen to the front room, making sure glasses were topped up, coats were safely fetched or stored, and that the key buyers were being looked after. Her feet ached. There were only two waitresses on duty. She looked around for either of the gallery assistants but they were nowhere to be found. Just like bloody New York, she thought to herself in exasperation. No matter how refined things appeared, she was still the dogsbody, the lowest person on the rung; the person whose job it was to make sure everyone did theirs, and her own as well. Federico and Isabella were at the front, doing what they did best – charming the pants off everyone – whilst she was at the rear, emptying champagne glasses and ashtrays, despite the stringent NO SMOKING signs.

  ‘Excuse me . . . are you Jen?’ someone said behind her.

  She turned around. A tall, extremely handsome young black man, dressed somewhat incongruously in running gear, stood in the doorway to the tiny kitchen. ‘Yes, I’m Jen.’ She wondered who on earth he was.

  He sensed her confusion and smiled, revealing a row of stunningly white teeth. He shook his head. ‘No, we haven’t met. I was out jogging and collided with your . . . with Kemi. She’s broken a heel, unfortunately. I’m just going to put her in a cab and make sure she gets home safely. She’s fine . . . just a bit shaken, that’s all.’

  ‘Oh my God!’ Jen put up a hand to her mouth. ‘Is she all right?’

  ‘Jen! Will you get a move on! There’s a whole group of people without drinks!’ It was Carolyn, one of the assistants who’d been strangely absent all evening. Jen whirled round in embarrassment. The gorgeous young man, whoever he was, was quick to react.

  ‘Don’t worry about Kemi. You’ve got your hands full. I’ll make sure she gets home safely.’ He flashed a smile and was gone. Jen’s mouth was still open.

  ‘Jen!’ Carolyn hissed at her, more urgently this time.

  ‘I’m coming,’ Jen said through gritted teeth. Christ. Would it kill her to pick up a tray?

  20

  He was as good as his word, waving her protests aside with such good grace that she just had to give in. Within minutes, he’d found Jen, her coat, her handbag and a cab. He was clearly someone used to giving orders.

  ‘You were pretty rude over the phone earlier,’ he chuckled, as the cab sped towards Fitzrovia.

  She felt her face grow hot. ‘Sorry,’ she said ruefully. ‘It’s my mother . . . she’s always giving out my number.’

  ‘Mine too.’

  There was a quick smile of understanding between them. ‘Sorry about that,�
� she said after a moment. ‘I’m not usually that . . . well, rude.’

  ‘I bet you are.’

  She turned to look at him, frowning in protest. ‘No, I’m not, I promise. I’m very well behaved.’

  He grinned. ‘All the time?’

  She felt her face grow even hotter. Was he . . . flirting with her? ‘Yes,’ she said primly. ‘All the time.’

  He grinned. ‘I doubt that very much.’

  He was flirting. She felt her face grow even hotter. She wasn’t used to his easy manner. Most men found her too intimidating to flirt with. ‘I . . . I’m just . . . busy most of the time.’

  ‘You’re a doctor, aren’t you? Like your father?’

  She nodded. ‘Surgeon, actually.’

  ‘Ah. Aren’t you all sociopaths?’

  She looked at him in surprise. ‘Whoever told you that?’

  He laughed, flashing those impossibly white teeth again. His physicality was disarming. She was uncomfortably aware of his thigh next to hers. ‘Relax. I’m only joking. It’s what they all say.’

  ‘You shouldn’t believe everything you hear.’

  ‘I don’t.’

  They stared at one another for a second. Kemi was the first to look away. ‘So, what do you do?’ she asked politely, wishing her voice didn’t sound quite so prissy.

  ‘Me? I’m in banking.’

  ‘Ah. I should’ve guessed.’

  ‘Do I look like a banker?’

  She pulled a face. ‘No. But I don’t suppose I look like a surgeon, either.’

  He smiled faintly. ‘Yeah, well, there’s that. What d’you think he thinks of us?’ He gestured discreetly towards the cabbie.

  She was surprised. ‘What does it matter?’

  ‘Ah, I was right.’

  Kemi stared at him again. His manner was both off-putting and intriguing. She’d never met anyone quite like him. ‘Right about what?’

  ‘You. You’re . . . prickly. Feisty. You’re no pushover.’

  She felt the heat in her face again. She turned to look outside the window, unsure how to respond. ‘I’m not very good at this,’ she said finally, reluctantly.

  ‘Good at what?’ There was a knowing amusement in his voice.

  ‘Small talk. You know, chit chat. This.’

  He chuckled. ‘Relax,’ he said again. ‘You’re doing fine. Considering you tried to kill me earlier.’

  ‘I did not!’

  ‘Could’ve got me run over, racing out of the place like that. I never asked you . . . what made you bolt in the first place?’

  She began to laugh. ‘Horseradish,’ she giggled. ‘I ate a prawn that was thick with horseradish.’

  He smiled. ‘Well, it’s a pleasant surprise,’ he said. ‘And a relief.’

  ‘How d’you mean?’

  ‘Well, you know how it is. Parents say, “oh, you must meet so-and-so . . . he’s great, she’s great” . . . and then you meet each other and you can’t stand each other. Happens all the time, especially to people like us.’

  She was intrigued. ‘People like us?’

  ‘“Exile kids”. We don’t know whether we’re coming or going. People think we’re so cosmopolitan and easy-going, but we’re not. We’re just confused. We’ve no idea who we are, half the time . . . the other half, we’re trying to be someone else.’

  She was silent. He’d hit the nail so hard on the head it was painful to hear. The cab turned off Tottenham Court Road. She was nearly home. She turned to him. ‘It was really nice of you to bring me home. I’m fine now, honestly.’

  He looked at his watch. ‘I’ve got a meeting in about half an hour,’ he said, pulling a quick face. ‘Otherwise I’d ask you to dinner. Are you free tomorrow? I’m only here for a couple of days before I head back. Let me take you out. Just so I can say sorry properly and tell my mum we’ve met.’

  Kemi hesitated. The cab slowed to a stop. The Christmas tree in Fitzroy Square was in front of them. She suddenly thought back to the couple whom she’d spotted the week before. Yes, it had been so long since she’d shared anything with anyone. She opened her mouth. ‘You’ve got my number,’ she said simply. He made her nervous.

  He chuckled, reaching across her to open the door. ‘Then I’ll see you tomorrow. Eight o’clock. Now that I know where you live.’ He signalled to the driver to continue. ‘Eight o’clock,’ he repeated. ‘And wear a pair of sturdier shoes.’

  She watched the cab speed off, too stunned to respond.

  21

  It took Jen a moment or two to work out that it wasn’t her alarm clock shrieking its head off – it was her phone. She fought through the thick layers of sleep, her head pounding. She’d taken one of the bottles of leftover champagne home with her, polishing it off in the cab before stumbling up her front steps. She rummaged around in the duvet for the damn thing, willing it to stop ringing. Morning light showed through the crack in the curtains. She looked across the room at her clock. It was 8:03. Who on earth was ringing at 8.03 a.m. on a Sunday? She peered under the bed. Ah, there it was!

  ‘Hello?’ she croaked. It was probably Kemi. She remembered dimly the calamity of the accident on the pavement and the gorgeous young man who’d taken her home. Perhaps she was phoning to tell her something? It wasn’t Kemi, however. It was Federico, her new boss.

  ‘Did you lock up last night and put on the alarm?’ he was shouting. She struggled awake. What was he saying?

  ‘Yes, yes . . . of course I did. What’s the matter? What is it?’

  ‘Are you sure? Did you lock up after you?’

  A cold bolt of fear ripped through her. ‘I . . . I think so . . .’

  ‘You think so?’ His voice suddenly went cold. ‘We’re here with the police. You’d better get here now.’ The phone went dead.

  She sat bolt upright, fear pushing the pain in her temples to one side. Her heart was pounding. For a second she thought she might be sick. She struggled to recall her last moves as she frantically looked around for a pair of jeans and a sweater. Was it possible she’d actually forgotten to lock the door? She grabbed her handbag and her coat and ran out into the road.

  22

  Whoever was downstairs at the front door was pounding on it as though trying to break it down. Kemi could hear the dull thuds through the walls. She closed her laptop with a snap and walked to the intercom. ‘Who is it?’ she called out, grabbing the key from the rack. It was Jen. She was sobbing uncontrollably. Kemi flung open the door as Jen came up the stairs.

  ‘Whatever’s the matter?’ she asked in alarm. Jen was sobbing hysterically. She wasn’t even wearing a coat. ‘What’s wrong? What happened?’

  Jen couldn’t get her words out. Her teeth were chattering but with something other than the cold. ‘Gone,’ she kept repeating as Kemi led her inside. ‘All gone.’

  ‘What’s gone? What happened? Where’s your coat, Jen?’

  ‘P-p-paintings . . . everything. Computers, phones . . . everything! They cleaned us out and it’s all my fault!’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘The g-gallery . . . I forgot to lock the door last night. Thieves got in and everything’s gone. Everything!’

  Kemi looked at her, aghast. ‘You forgot to lock the door?’ she repeated incredulously. ‘The front door?’

  Jen’s head went up and down. Her face was blotchy, made ugly through her tears. ‘I don’t know how . . . I just forgot. Federico rang at eight o’clock and made me come down to the police station. I’ve never seen anyone so angry. I thought he was g-g-going to h-h-hit me,’ she stammered, tears coursing down her cheeks.

  Kemi hurriedly led her into the kitchen. ‘Here, sit down. I’ll get you something. Just have a seat.’ She pulled out one of the chairs. ‘Go on, just sit for a moment. I’ll be right back.’ She ran into the living room and opened the sideboard. She hurriedly poured a small shot of whisky and carried it back through. ‘Here. Your teeth are chattering. Have a sip – just a sip – and calm down. Tell me exactly what happen
ed.’

  Jen lifted the glass. It clattered loudly against her teeth. In between gasps and sips, she managed to get the story out.

  23

  Kemi listened to her with a sinking heart. How much had she had to drink before locking up? Kemi wondered. Even in the thirty or so minutes before she’d stumbled outside and bumped into Solam Rhoyi, Kemi had seen Jen lift one glass of champagne after another as she rushed around the room, trying to keep everything together.

  She let Jen sob herself into exhausted submission and then very carefully led her into the living room and onto the sofa. ‘Here,’ she said, pulling up a blanket and covering her. ‘Just rest for a bit. Don’t worry, darling. It’ll all be insured, I’m positive.’

  ‘He fired me,’ Jen sobbed, hiccupping softly, like a child.

  ‘Well, you did say you were worried it would turn out to be a bit of a dead-end job.’

  ‘I know, but it was still a job! What’s Father going to say?’

  ‘Don’t tell him,’ Kemi said reasonably. ‘You’ll find another one. Just chalk it up to experience.’

  ‘That’s all I ever seem to do,’ Jen moaned. ‘One bloody bad experience after another.’

  ‘That’s absolutely not true. Now, I bet you haven’t eaten anything yet. Did you have breakfast?’