Soul Sisters

by Lesley Lokko

  Kemi nodded slowly. ‘I’ll try not to.’

  ‘Good girl.’ Ayanda raised her glass. ‘Now, there’s something I want to ask you.’ Her tone was suddenly business-like. ‘What would you say if we made you an offer to stay?’

  Kemi looked at her in surprise. ‘Stay? What d’you mean?’

  ‘Dr Khotsoane and I were talking the other day,’ Ayanda said, mentioning one of the hospital’s many directors. ‘And we both came to the same conclusion. We’d love to have you for longer. You’d be an enormous asset to the hospital, not just in terms of your abilities – outstanding as they are, don’t get me wrong – but as a person. A team player. A role model, if you must know.’

  ‘Are you offering me a job?’ Kemi asked, not quite following Ayanda’s train of thought. ‘A permanent job?’

  ‘More than a job. A chance. A real chance to make a difference. I can’t tell you what a boost it’s been for some of our young doctors to see you at work. I’m not sentimental, you know that already, but I can tell you . . . you’ve really touched the team. We’d be honoured to have you. The money probably isn’t as good as it is in—’

  ‘Yes.’ Kemi put out a hand to touch Ayanda’s, cutting her off abruptly. ‘Yes.’

  The two women looked at each other. There was a sudden upsurge of feeling between them. Ayanda brought her other hand to lay it on top of Kemi’s. She squeezed it hard.

  ‘Welcome home,’ she said, smiling widely. ‘Welcome home, girl.’

  52

  She woke in the early hours of the morning, her head and heart pounding. She sat up slowly, gingerly. She looked down at her wrist but her watch wasn’t there. She frowned and looked around. It was on the bedside table, lying face up. She put up a hand to her aching head. She couldn’t remember taking off her watch. She usually slept with it on. She pulled back the bedsheet. She was naked except for her panties. She lay back, trying to piece together the previous evening. She remembered running into Solam and going off to have a drink . . . feeling as though she’d drunk too much . . . but she couldn’t quite grab hold of the chain of events. Fragments of it came back to her. Feeling sick, the sharp winter air, holding on to his arm, getting up to go to the toilet, and then an odd sensation of falling, and of someone watching her . . . that was all. She picked up her watch and peered at it. It was nearly 5 a.m. She swung her legs out of bed and gingerly stood up. There was a packet of paracetamol in the bathroom cabinet. She walked over to the small fridge, took out a bottle of water and walked into the bathroom. She switched on the light. Her pale, smudged face stared back at her in the mirror. She hadn’t taken off her make-up and there was an ugly crease down one cheek where she’d obviously slept on the pillow. She sat down on the toilet and pulled down her panties . . . and then she saw it. A thumb-sized, dull red bruise on the inside of her thigh. She stared at it. She must have fallen after all. She touched it lightly. It hurt. She reached for the toilet paper and then saw another bruise, this time on the inside of her forearm. She flushed the toilet and stood up, her head beginning to pound. She began examining her body carefully . . . there was a scratch mark just above her knee. What the hell had happened to her?

  53

  Kemi waited until the end of the week to break the news to Jen. She hadn’t seen much of her – she was spending long days and evenings at the gallery, trying to wrap things up before their imminent departure. At lunchtime on the Friday, a full ten days before they were due to leave, she decided she had to tell her. She picked up her phone and quickly typed in a message. Meet me at the Lucky Bean restaurant this evening. 7-ish? Got something important to tell you. There. She pressed send and slipped the phone back inside the pocket of her green surgery gown. She heard her name being called out on the tannoy. She was needed in theatre. She pushed her way through the heavy swing doors, already running. She’d learned not to waste a single moment at Baragwanath. Every second counted, quite literally.

  Jen was already waiting at the restaurant. She looked tired. She glanced up as Kemi walked in. There was an expression in her eyes that Kemi hadn’t seen for ages and it startled her. A kind of inward-focused wariness that she remembered from so long ago she wondered if she’d imagined it.

  ‘You look shattered,’ Kemi said, bending down to hug her. ‘Long day?’

  Jen smiled faintly. ‘Yeah . . . I can’t believe we’ve only got a week left. It feels too soon . . . as if we’ve only just started to get things going.’

  Kemi’s heart sank. The waiter hurried over with the menu, giving her a few minutes to work up the courage to say why she’d asked Jen to meet. A few minutes later, with a large glass of red wine in hand, she turned to her. She drew in a deep breath. ‘Jen, you’re not going to like what I’m about to say.’

  Jen looked at her and frowned. ‘Why not?’ she asked carefully.

  Kemi let out her breath slowly. ‘I’ve decided to stay,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Stay?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve decided to stay. I’m not going back to London.’

  Jen’s face fell. ‘You’re not coming home?’

  Kemi was quiet for a moment. How best to say it? ‘This . . . this is my home now,’ she said carefully. ‘Or at least I want it to be.’

  ‘It’s because of him, isn’t it?’

  Kemi looked at her, surprised. ‘Solam?’ She shook her head. ‘No, this has nothing to do with him. I’ve been offered a job . . . a permanent job—’ She broke off. ‘Don’t cry, Jen . . . please don’t cry. What is it? You’ll come back to visit . . . I’ll come to London on holiday. We’ll probably see more of each other than we did when we were both living there.’

  The reassurance only seemed to make things worse. Jen’s face was blotchy with tears. ‘But it won’t be the same,’ Jen sobbed. ‘You’re moving on . . . you know what you want to do with the rest of your life. I’m . . . I’m just . . . I just feel so lost, Kem.’

  ‘Jen, you’re not lost. It’s just taking you a little while longer to figure things out,’ Kemi said, grabbing hold of her hand. She squeezed it hard. ‘It’s not a race, Jen. You’ll find your way. I know you will. You had such a good time here . . . you’ll find something in London. Call up that friend of yours when you get back . . . what was his name? Barker?’

  ‘Parker.’ Jen smiled shakily. She picked up a napkin and dabbed her eyes. ‘Yes, he’s back in London now. He’ll have something, I’m sure. You’re right. I’m being pathetic.’

  Kemi shook her head. ‘No, you’re not. Stop putting yourself down all the time, Jen. You’re going to miss it here. That’s natural. And you don’t know what’s coming next . . . it’s normal to be nervous. You’re not pathetic at all. Not in the slightest.’

  Jen nodded and blew her nose. ‘I knew it wouldn’t last forever,’ she said after a moment. She straightened up and tucked her hair behind her ears. ‘You’re right. I just need to figure things out on my own.’

  Kemi frowned. ‘You’re missing an earring, Jen. Did you forget to put it on?’

  Jen touched her left lobe. She shook her head. ‘I don’t know . . . I must’ve taken them off somewhere but I could only find the one.’

  ‘You never take them off.’

  ‘I know. I don’t remember taking them off but this one was lying beside the bed, beside my watch. It’ll turn up.’

  Kemi gave her hand another squeeze. ‘So . . . you’re not angry with me?’ she asked anxiously. ‘For not coming back with you?’

  Jen shook her head vigorously. ‘No, of course not. You’re right . . . this is your home, not mine. I need to get back to London and sort out my own life, not try and live yours.’

  Kemi smiled. Then she noticed something on Jen’s face. ‘Jen,’ she said, alarmed. ‘Your nose. It’s bleeding. Here, put your head back. I’ll get some ice.’ She looked around for a waiter. The news must have upset her more than she was letting on, Kemi thought to herself. It had been years since Jen had had a nosebleed. When they were still young enough to have shared a room, Kemi h
ad woken up a few times to find Jen’s pillow soaked with blood. There seemed to be no explanation for the bleeds and in time, they simply disappeared. She held the napkin gently against Jen’s nose, pressing firmly until the flow stopped. ‘There,’ she said, wiping away the last traces of blood. ‘All gone. Poor you, Jen. I can’t remember the last time you had a nosebleed, can you?’

  Jen was quiet. There was something else, Kemi saw. She had an odd, faraway look in her eyes that meant something was puzzling her. She squeezed her hand, hard. Whatever it was, it wouldn’t be long before she shared it. That was the thing about Jen – she was incapable of deception. She couldn’t keep a secret for even a few hours, let alone weeks or months. When they first met, Kemi was astonished at the way Jen’s emotions rose straight to the surface of her skin. She wondered if it was the case with all white people – the dark blush of embarrassment; the faint pink glow of pleasure . . . even the ugly, mottled blotches of shame or anger. It fascinated her. In time, of course, she recognized that the transparency was all Jen’s. She kept hold of her hand. I’m here, she signalled with her touch. I’ll always be here. You can tell me anything. You know that.

  PART SEVEN

  1998

  Two months later

  • • •

  For me, I always wonder what’s worse: an emotional betrayal or a physical betrayal? That’s a really tough call.

  HILARIE BURTON

  54

  She stood in front of the racks of test kits, her heart thudding. She looked at the various products – Clearblue, First Response, Pregmate. She picked up a packet and walked to the counter. She paid, slipped the package in her handbag and walked out of the chemist’s. She walked slowly down Fulham Road, oblivious to the sounds of the street around her. It was a dull grey summer day, not cold, not warm, with the occasional short drizzle of rain. She felt the presence of the test kit in her bag like a lead weight, equalled only by the weight in her heart.

  At home, she carefully put the little white packet on the kitchen counter and made herself a cup of tea. She glanced at it from time to time, but she already knew what the result would be. She was pregnant. The only night she couldn’t account for in the past six months was the night she’d left the bar with Solam. Fragments of the evening kept coming back to her, none of which made any sense. A fall; a sharp burning sensation between her legs; something hitting her teeth . . . nothing that she could hold on to. She remembered his beauty and her strong sense of attraction; she’d shoved it away it immediately – he was Kemi’s boyfriend – but was it possible that drink had got the better of her and she’d lost control? A wave of shame swept over her. There was only one way out of this. An abortion. She would have to bury the evidence as deeply and thoroughly as she could. Kemi would never, ever know.

  Her phone rang suddenly, shattering the silence. She picked it up and peered at the screen. Unknown. It was probably a sales call but she needed the distraction. Her own thoughts were too shameful to bear. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Jen.’

  Her stomach gave a sudden, painful lurch. She gripped the phone and closed her eyes. It was Solam.

  There was a moment’s silence. ‘How are you?’ he asked finally.

  She opened her mouth in astonishment but found she couldn’t speak. It had been two months since she’d left Johannesburg. She hadn’t said a word to Kemi about the evening they’d spent together. Out of a cowardice she didn’t know she possessed, she’d waited for Kemi to bring it up . . . but she hadn’t. After a few weeks, she realized Solam hadn’t said anything either. She’d wondered why, but by then, too much time had passed. Kemi’s text messages were as warm as they’d always been. Nothing was amiss. As far as she could work out, Kemi and Solam were as strong as they’d ever been. Only a week or so before, they’d flown to Durban together for a long weekend. She read the text messages with a growing sense of unease.

  ‘Solam,’ she said finally, exhaling slowly. ‘I . . . I’m fine.’

  ‘Where are you?’

  She was taken aback. ‘I’m at home.’

  ‘Are you alone?’

  ‘Er, yes. Why?’

  ‘I’m in London.’

  ‘Solam, it’s not . . . a good time,’ she said weakly, looking around her as if for support.

  ‘Just give me the address.’

  Time seemed to stand still. She gripped the phone tightly to her ear. ‘14 Bishop’s Road,’ she heard herself saying. ‘Second-floor flat.’

  ‘I’ll be there in an hour.’ He hung up the phone. She stood rooted to the spot. Her mind was in turmoil.

  She opened the door. He was exactly as she remembered. Beauty beyond compare. His face was sombre, as though he too knew what was coming. She felt as though her legs might suddenly give way beneath her.

  ‘Do you want to come in?’ she asked, aware of how absurd the question sounded. Who flew from Johannesburg to London to stand on a doorstep?

  ‘Yeah. Thanks.’ He followed her in. He looked around and then his eyes came back to rest on her face.

  She flushed. ‘Wou-would you like something to drink?’

  He shook his head. ‘No, thanks. After last time, it’s probably safer not to,’ he said with a faint smile. ‘But more importantly, how are you?’ he asked.

  She swallowed. ‘Wh-what are you doing here? In London, I mean. Kemi didn’t say you were coming.’ She hesitated. ‘How did you get my number?’

  He smiled again. ‘Don’t worry about that. I was in Paris for a couple of days and I just thought I’d better check on you . . . see how you’re doing. Last time I saw you, you weren’t doing so well.’

  ‘I wasn’t?’ Fear rose in her throat.

  ‘Jen . . . don’t you remember anything about that night?’

  She shook her head. ‘Not really. Did I . . . did something happen?’

  Solam looked at her. He shook his head. ‘I can’t believe you don’t remember a thing,’ he said slowly. ‘I . . . I’ve thought about pretty much nothing else.’

  Jen swallowed. ‘Was it my fault?’ she whispered. ‘Did I do something wrong?’

  He drew in his lip. He lifted his hands, palms turned outwards. ‘Look, however it started, I’m as much to blame as you,’ he said slowly. ‘I could’ve stopped myself. I could’ve stopped us both.’

  Jen’s legs felt as though they’d give way. She looked down at the ground. Embarrassment burned over her like a fever. She swallowed. ‘I’m sorry,’ she began, casting around for a chair.

  ‘Hey, take it easy . . . don’t fall over! You did that last time, remember?’ Solam jumped forward and pulled a chair out from the table. ‘Here, sit down. Can I get you something? A glass of water?’

  She nodded, but as he turned to walk to the tap, she suddenly remembered what she’d left lying on the counter. ‘No!’ she blurted out, half rising from the chair. ‘No . . . I’m OK . . . I don’t—’

  ‘Jen?’ It was too late. He picked up the packet lying on the counter and turned to her. ‘Jen?’

  And there it was.

  55

  Kemi stood in front of the wardrobe, tapping a finger against her teeth, trying to decide what to wear. Solam was back from Paris and she had a rare night off. Unusually, he’d promised to cook. Since Jen’s departure, they’d fallen into an easy routine, seeing each other when they both had space in their equally busy schedules, which wasn’t all that often. But Kemi certainly didn’t mind. She wasn’t the possessive or demanding type. Solam joked that she was even less of a romantic than he was, which was difficult to imagine. They’d laughed about it. Kemi shrugged. Theirs was a match of equals. She had just as much of her own life and career as he did. But there was something else, too, something deeper. They both carried the same stubborn streak of selfishness. Like many exile children, they were self-sufficient to a fault, able to happily exist without others, free of the complex demands of parental and sibling relationships. She understood him well. Jen had softened Kemi’s edges, allowing her to drop her guard a little,
but Solam had had no one. He was entirely his own man, self-possessed in ways she both understood and respected. They were an unusual couple in more ways than many would ever see.

  She pulled a black-and-white striped skirt off the hanger and rummaged around for a clean shirt. Without Jen’s expert eye, Kemi would happily have lived in the utilitarian combination of jeans, trousers and shirts that had served her so well for most of her life. Jen had other ideas. Nestled amongst the shirts and blazers were a number of simple but elegant outfits that meant Kemi now had a choice. Although choosing was work, she thought to herself, smiling a little. She found a pretty white silk blouse with slightly flared sleeves and a pair of wedge espadrilles – done. She laid the clothes on the bed and headed to the shower.

  The lift doors opened to the smell of steaks on the grill. She smiled. Solam’s apartment, on the fourth floor of an old industrial building in the heart of Braamfontein, was spectacular for a number of reasons. It was enormous. She’d asked him several times just how big it was – three hundred square metres? Four hundred? She could never remember the exact figure. Whichever it was, it was huge. It was also spectacularly empty. There was a large leather sofa marooned in the middle of the space with an equally enormous television screen against one of the pillars . . . and very little else. A double bed in one of the three bedrooms off the central space, a makeshift desk in another, and a giant Weber grill on the patio at the rear . . . that was it. ‘All a man needs,’ Solam said with a grin. Kemi had to agree. She was in no position to comment. She was still living in the same guesthouse her mother had organized when she first arrived. She kept meaning to look for a more permanent solution but there never seemed to be any time . . . and besides, she’d grown to like the little guesthouse, and the fact that the staff all knew her name and how she liked her eggs in the morning. No, in so many ways, she and Solam were uncannily alike.