Soul Sisters

by Lesley Lokko

  PART TEN

  2004

  A month later

  • • •

  Do not fear death so much, but rather the inadequate life.

  BERTOLT BRECHT

  74

  The funeral service was held in England, at the local village church in Almondsbury, near Bristol, where Julian had grown up. Kemi stood at the graveside, too numb with shock and grief to speak. Both his parents were buried in the same parish; it was the only thing she could think of to do. Get him home. Rosemary came to the funeral, along with colleagues from all the hospitals where he’d worked, including the four clinic directors who’d flown from Johannesburg with her and Julian’s body, stored at 2°C in the plane’s hold, many feet below.

  No one knew what to say. They stood huddled in small groups, breaking apart to admit a newcomer, closing ranks when they’d gone. Kemi moved among them like an automaton, unable to make eye contact or sustain a conversation beyond the usual mindless utterances. I’m so sorry for your loss. I hope you’re bearing up. What a shock. It was Rosemary who said what should have been said.

  ‘What a waste,’ she murmured, coming to stand beside her as they made their way back to the church. ‘What a fucking senseless waste.’

  Kemi turned to look at her. She’d come with her new husband, a kindly, bespectacled man, a professor of history, something like that. The introductions had sailed over her head. Rosemary’s hair was short now, and she’d gained weight since the divorce, which was when Kemi had last seen her. They’d never had much to do with one another, Kemi steering clear out of a sense of guilt. ‘Th-thank you for coming,’ she said, her voice still hoarse. She’d damaged her throat screaming when the news was brought to her, or so Ayanda told her.

  ‘I shouldn’t say this, not now,’ Rosemary said suddenly, impulsively. She put a hand on Kemi’s arm. ‘He loved you. Properly, I mean. And he was happier with you than I ever knew him to be.’

  Kemi swallowed painfully. She couldn’t speak. They were almost at the parish door. The vicar’s wife had organized lunch after the funeral.

  ‘Here.’ Rosemary had taken off her gloves. She tugged at something on her left hand. She put it in Kemi’s palm. It was her wedding ring. ‘It’s my old one. The one he gave me when we were married, thirty years ago. I never changed it. Richard bought me one but . . . oh, I don’t know. I’d always worn this one. I changed my engagement ring, of course, but I’d like you to have this.’

  Kemi stared at it. It was similar to her own wedding ring, a plain gold band. She fingered it. ‘I . . . I—’

  ‘Please.’ Rosemary squeezed her arm. ‘Keep it. Or throw it away, if you can’t bear it. Since neither of us will have his children and I’m no longer Mrs Carrick . . . you should have it. It just seems . . . fitting, somehow?’

  Kemi bit her lip. She still couldn’t speak. Rosemary squeezed her arm once more and slipped away to join her husband. Kemi was left alone. She saw a group of people coming towards her, including Harry, her old colleague and friend. She slipped the ring onto the third finger of her right hand. It was slightly loose. She fingered it lightly, twisting it round. It was the Egyptians who’d first started the tradition of wearing a wedding ring, she remembered. It was Julian who’d explained it to her. They believed the vein in the ring finger ran directly to the heart. The Romans picked up on it, calling that vein the ‘vena amoris’, the vein of love. That’s why you wear it on the left. She could still hear his voice. Now she had his ring on both hands. It was exactly as Rosemary said. It was fitting. She would always belong to him and no other. She looked up. Harry was approaching. She looked at him through the blurry veil of her tears.

  It took her a couple of months to settle things. She sold the house in Dulwich almost as soon as she returned from Johannesburg, and resigned from her job. It wasn’t possible to live there without him. She had no clear idea what she meant to do. She listened to the will being read out at his solicitor’s without really hearing the words. She hadn’t even known he’d had a will. His shares in the clinic would have passed to her automatically, the solicitor told her, even if he hadn’t specifically directed it. There was a modest life insurance policy payout and his share of the profits of their home. His car, clothing, files, a paper he’d been working on with colleagues.

  She sat at his computer in the downstairs study, marvelling at the speed with which a person ceased to exist. His phone was gone, of course. Her mind was only able to recall fragmented details of that evening when she realized something was wrong.

  She came out of the shower, her hair washed and pulled back into a tight knot, ready to be blow-dried. She looked at the clock on the bedside table. It was nearly seven. She’d spent longer in the shower than she should have. He’d be back any second. She pulled a tan and dark blue jersey wrap dress out of the closet, and a pair of tan leather sandals with a small heel. She hurried back into the bathroom to dry her hair. At seven thirty, she was ready. She added a slick of red lipstick and a touch of mascara. She looked at her watch impatiently. Rosebank was less than twenty minutes away and he’d been gone nearly two hours. What was taking him so long? She grabbed her phone and dialled his mobile. It rang without answer. She picked up the novel she’d been half-heartedly reading on the plane and tried to concentrate. Ten minutes later, she flung the book aside and picked up her phone again. There was still no answer. She tried again five minutes later. This time it went straight to his answering service. ‘This is Julian Carrick. I’m not able to take your call right now. Please leave a message at the beep.’

  ‘Julian, it’s me. Where are you? I’m beginning to get worried. Call me back, darling. Love you.’ She tapped the phone against her teeth. Then she quickly dialled Ayanda’s number.

  ‘Hi, it’s me. Listen . . . Julian went to pick up the prescription but he’s not back yet. D’you think you could call your pharmacist friend and see if it’s been collected?’

  ‘Sure, I’ll call you back.’ After that, she couldn’t remember much. She waited for what seemed like hours. The dread when she saw Ayanda’s number, not his. Somehow, she already knew.

  ‘Something’s happened. I’m on my way to get you.’

  She remembered screaming into the phone at Ayanda. ‘What? What’s happened?’

  This was what happened. This.

  She flew back to Johannesburg a few weeks later. She was too drained to do anything. Her father had insisted she come and stay with them for a few weeks. She had no idea what her life was any more.

  PART ELEVEN

  2005

  A year later

  • • •

  Corruption, embezzlement, fraud? These are all characteristics which exist everywhere. It is regrettably the way human nature functions, whether we like it or not. What successful economies do is keep it to a minimum. No one has ever eliminated any of that stuff.

  ALAN GREENSPAN

  75

  Solam studied his face in the bathroom mirror. It was his face, all right. Same as ever. There was a tightness around the jaw that hadn’t been there a year ago. It was difficult to meet his own eyes. They were so dark that the pupil disappeared, darkness itself. He opened the cold tap and bent down, cupping his hands. He splashed water over his face, enjoying the coolness for a moment, then reached for a napkin. The phone in his trouser pocket vibrated soundlessly. He pulled it out. It was a message from Hélène. There was a date, 12 February, followed by the words bill immediately preceding SONA. Max. impact. He slipped it back into his pocket and opened the door. It was less than a fortnight away.

  76

  Jen pulled her smart, dark grey Audi into the driveway and switched off the engine. She got out of the car with some difficulty. She was in her second trimester and her stomach had started getting in the way of the steering wheel. ‘Twins,’ her obstetrician had told her with a smile. ‘Congratulations, Mrs Rhoyi. You’re having twins.’

  After the initial shock had worn off, she’d been pleased. Things were steadier now
. Those first few months after Euan’s birth and Julian’s murder had been amongst the worst she’d ever known. She felt as though she’d been walking around in a dark fog, unable to see anything. It took a while for the medication to kick in and even now, she didn’t know if her recovery had been down to the pills or to the fact that, for the first time ever, Kemi’s loss seemed to be greater than anything she’d ever had to bear. To say Kemi was suffering seemed to make a mockery of the word. For weeks after she’d returned to Johannesburg, she’d sat in the upstairs sitting room with Jen and Euan whenever she came to visit, neither saying anything, just watching numbly as Jen bottle-fed him or put him to sleep.

  After a couple of weeks, Jen had asked her to give it a go. She watched as Kemi gingerly picked him up or put him down, her heart in her mouth. It seemed to work. There was that first smile, perhaps a month after it happened. Then she’d come in the room one afternoon to hear Kemi singing softly to him. After that, and with surprisingly little objection, Jen persuaded Solam to add ‘Julian’ to Euan’s name. Lebohang Euan Julian Rhoyi. There would always be a special bond between her first-born child and Kemi. After her own act of betrayal, it seemed only fitting that her son should be the one to bring Kemi slowly back to life.

  Kemi came out to the patio to meet her. She’d bought a bungalow in Parktown North, one of Johannesburg’s older, more graceful suburbs. She didn’t want to live in the sterile, security-obsessed northern part of town, where Jen and Solam – and almost everyone else she knew – lived. It was a 1940s flat-roofed bungalow that she’d gutted and turned into a beautiful two-storey house, though it had one of those reed-filtering pools that Jen shuddered at whenever she saw it. It looked dark and creepy, not sparklingly turquoise and shiny, like their pool.

  She kicked the door shut with her hip. It was February and unusually hot. She was almost tempted to slip into the pool. She walked carefully across the lawn. The two golden retrievers, Pablo and Lola, bounded happily towards Jen.

  ‘Pablo!’ Kemi shouted. ‘Down!’ He was the most affectionate animal Kemi had ever encountered. ‘Down! Come here, boy. Come on, there’s a good boy.’ Pablo turned away reluctantly, obviously hoping for a reward. Lola, who was less energetic, trotted along beside Jen, happy to see a visitor.

  ‘I’m all sweaty,’ Jen said, hugging her. ‘I feel as though I’m being boiled alive.’

  ‘Well, there’s always the pool. Come in, it’s cooler inside.’

  They went into the kitchen. There was a huge bowl of roses sitting on the counter. Jen buried her face in them. ‘These are gorgeous,’ she said, breathing in deeply. ‘Where did you buy them?’

  ‘I didn’t. They’re from the garden. Tea? Or water?’

  ‘Can I have both?’ Jen looked around. ‘It’s lovely in here,’ she said, admiring the bright colours. ‘Fresh. I love these colours.’

  ‘Thanks. The decorators did a great job. How’s your new place coming along?’

  Jen pulled a face. ‘It’s a bit over-the-top for my tastes, to be honest. Solam loves it. He can’t get enough of gold taps and built-in wardrobes.’

  ‘Presidential tastes. That’s where he’ll wind up, wait and see.’

  ‘God, I hope not. I can’t think of anything worse.’

  Kemi put a jug of water on the counter and fetched two glasses. ‘Really?’ she asked, sounding dubious. ‘But isn’t that what he wants?’

  ‘It might be what he wants,’ Jen said dourly. ‘But I certainly don’t want to be a president’s wife.’

  Kemi said nothing but turned back to the freezer. ‘Ice?’ She dropped a few cubes in Jen’s glass. ‘That’s a long way off,’ she said. ‘It’ll be years before he’s ready for the top job. Anything can happen in that time.’

  ‘How’s the clinic coming on?’ Jen asked. ‘I’m bored of talking about Solam.’

  ‘We’re nearly there. The plan is to open on his birthday. What would have been his birthday. That’s just over a month to go. Did I tell you Rosemary and her husband are coming out?’

  ‘He’d smile at that,’ Jen said. For a moment they both said nothing. Jen looked at her without the simulated horror that hides embarrassment in the face of terrible tragedy.

  Kemi smiled. ‘Yes, he would. His two wives.’

  ‘Do you want Solam to be there? Or will that bring too much attention?’

  Kemi pulled a face. ‘Part of me would rather it was a quiet affair, you know? Just the directors, me, Rosemary. And you, of course. My father wants to come. But I also know the attention will be useful, especially with fundraising. That’s what I spend most of my time doing these days. Julian said I was good at it.’

  ‘Of course you are. You’re good at everything,’ Jen said. ‘Well, if you do want him there, let me know. These days even I have to book in time with him through his secretary.’

  ‘Isn’t that just the life of a politician? I look at my parents . . . I don’t know when they even saw each other last.’

  Jen sighed. ‘I suppose so. Goes with the territory.’

  ‘A politician’s wife,’ Kemi said slowly. ‘Funny, isn’t it? Me a widow, and you a politician’s wife. It’s not quite what we planned, is it?’

  Jen looked down at her stomach. ‘I don’t think I really had a plan, to be honest. But it sounds better than what some stranger called me the other day. I overheard her as I walked by.’

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘A trophy wife. That’s the last thing I ever thought I’d be called.’ She looked around the room. ‘That’s beautiful,’ she said, pointing to a new painting. ‘When did you buy that?’

  ‘Last year, at the art fair. It’s been sitting at the framer’s for ages. Yes, it’s rather lovely.’

  ‘It’s really you. This place is lovely. You’ve really turned it into a home.’

  Kemi nodded. ‘It gave me something to do at first. That and the clinic. But I enjoy it.’

  Jen looked at her watch. ‘I’d better run,’ she said. ‘Traffic back to Sandton will be hell.

  ‘I’ll walk you to your car. Pablo’ll be sad to see you go. He loves it when people come round. Doesn’t happen often enough for his liking, I’m afraid.’

  77

  The vote on the amendments to the new economic policy bill was scheduled to take place at noon, with the President’s State of the Nation address the following day. Hélène’s timing was absolutely spot on. Solam sat in his usual place in the National Assembly, two rows behind the front bench, his eye on the monitor in front of him.

  The gallery was more crowded than usual, due to the contentious nature of the bill being passed. It was ironic, he thought to himself, as they waited for the Speaker to call the house to order so that proceedings could begin. The Democratic Party was opposing the government’s attempts to broaden the black economic empowerment policy that the ruling party had introduced a decade earlier. He and Hélène had decided to make it appear as though the bill was the proverbial straw that broke his back, yet privately, he was entirely in favour. She’d offered him the position of Shadow Home Affairs Minister in return for his defection, claiming his age would be a factor against him. He wanted more, much more. If there was ever a time to strike a hard bargain, it was now. He knew that the next few minutes were the most important of her political life.

  ‘Order, order! Members, take your seats, please. We are due to begin.’ The Speaker banged his gavel loudly. Groups broke up. People began to shuffle towards their seats. The bill was about to be debated. Solam felt the knot of anticipation tighten in his gut. He knew exactly the moment he would stand up and walk across the floor. First there was a message to send. He looked at his phone sitting on the ledge in front of him. He’d written it minutes before entering the chamber. It was short and to the point. Deputy. Otherwise, it’s off. He looked across the Assembly to where she was seated in the front row. He pressed send. He saw her react. Her private mobile phone was never far from her person. She slipped a hand into her jacket pocket and, turning slightly a
way from the person next to her – the incumbent – she read the message. There was a moment’s hesitation, then his phone vibrated. He looked at the screen.

  This wasn’t the deal.

  Deals change.

  Need to consult with party members. Not my decision alone.

  Yes or no. Your call.

  He could see her hesitating. He’d outplayed her. If she didn’t respond and called his bluff, she would have to explain the text messages. His party would demand his resignation if their dealings were exposed. But he had insurance in the form of the photographs. He was no fool. He was in what the Americans liked to call a ‘win-win’ situation. His phone lit up.

  Fine. But I’ll announce after the next party caucus.

  Deal. And this time it’ll hold.

  He looked across the room at her. She returned his gaze evenly. He liked that about her. Nerves of steel. She knew what would come next.

  The press scrum was unlike any other. As soon as he stood up and heard the gasp from the benches, he knew with a certainty that was absolute, unmoveable, that things would never be the same. The sound went over his skin, like wind over water. ‘Order! Order!’ The Speaker bleated out his call, astonishment clear in his voice. Solam walked over calmly and took the empty seat on the opposition bench, three seats down from its leader. And then the pandemonium. All hell broke loose.

  He heard Buthelezi’s voice struggling to make itself heard against the din. ‘Floor crossing,’ he shouted into the microphone thrust in front of his face. ‘It’s like the H1 virus because it robs the political system of all honour . . .’ He jogged lightly past. As soon as the reporters saw him, they abandoned their posts and ran after him, a pack chasing its prey. Hélène’s official car was waiting at the foot of the steps, engine running, the back door open. He jumped inside and the car pulled away, leaving a trail of reporters hurrying after it until it powered through the gates and turned into the street.