What I’m reading: Keith Kirsten’s South African Gardening Manual
What I’m watching: Die Hard. I love Bruce Willis!
The garden is absolutely exploding with colour. P says he can’t believe it’s the same garden. I’m so proud of it. Durban weather is the best: heat to get things growing and blooming, and lots of rain to keep it going. Allamanda, Bougainvillea, Mandevilla, Plumbago. Now I understand the saying ‘riot of colour’. The babies and I spend some time in it every single day.
But besides the garden, there was a big celebration today! The twins turned ONE! We took them to Mike’s Kitchen and they both had a free ‘kids meal’ – a vienna and some chips with tomato sauce and then an upside-down ice-cream cone with a clown’s face on it. Kate has such a sweet tooth and loves ice-cream so that was her favourite part. She said ‘green, green’ (even though the ice-cream was white). The waiters sang happy birthday to them and gave them red balloons with ribbons (which Sam promptly popped with his teeth). It was so cute, he had this shocked look and he looked at us, not sure if he wanted to laugh or cry.
It was a wonderful day. While the kids were eating P put his hand over mine and gave me this searching look, as if to see where that awful vacant person is, and I smiled back as brightly as I could. That part of me is pushed deep inside and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep it there.
A LITTLE LESS CONVERSATION
25
Johannesburg, 2021
Seth scrubs his scalp with his knuckles. It was obvious that this woman was insane, you could tell at a glance: head shorn; blood-stained. Of course, his head had been bleeding too, but… that wild look in her eyes. She does look eerily familiar. No, not familiar, but similar. Looking into her flecked irises was like looking through a mirror into some parallel universe.
‘You what?’
‘Your sister. Twin. I think.’
‘You think?’
‘This is also new to me. I still don’t know what happened to us or what is going on, but I know that we’re both in danger.’
‘Look, lady…’ he puts his hand up and takes a step back.
‘I know! I know that I sound crackers. That’s what I thought about the woman who warned me, but then she turned up dead.’
‘Who’s dead?’
‘It’s not important. What you have to know is that there is a… list… and the people on the list are being killed, in order, and we are next.’
Too many teenage summer horror movies, he thinks.
‘Bullshit,’ he says, and then, ‘by who?’
Kirsten takes the piece of paper out of her bag, hands it to Seth, who makes sure their hands don’t touch. Looks down, looks at her.
‘Lotto ticket?’
‘They’re barcodes. Of people. Look at 5 and 6. That’s us – see our birth date? Everyone above us on this list has been murdered.’
‘What happened in 1991?’
‘I don’t know yet.’
‘Where on the list is the woman, the one that approached you?
‘Number 4.’
‘So then I am 5 and you are 6?’
‘So you believe me?’
‘No, but I’m naturally paranoid and I like patterns and when I hear that someone is trying to kill me I pay attention.’
Seth’s rational side knows that the story is far-fetched, but what if this is really his twin? His flesh-and-blood sister? Standing here with her feels right. There is an unmistakable connection. Against his better judgement he flicks the safety back on.
Kirsten looks at his face, wants to touch it, but all of a sudden he grabs her arms and throws her to the ground. As she opens her eyes a body crashes down onto the pavement next to her, where she had been standing. In slow motion she watches black oil spread towards her, and just before it reaches her, Seth pulls her away from it and to her feet.
The dead man on the ground is young, twenty-something, black-clad with waxed spiky hair and smudged eyes. He lies with his mouth open towards the sky, a leg bent at an awkward angle. Seth bends over the warm body and searches his pockets. Kirsten wants to ask him what he is doing but her voice doesn’t seem to be working. Seth doesn’t find a wallet. He sees the glint of a locket, and looks inside: the smallest green rabbit glows at him.
‘Fuck,’ he says, ‘fuck!’ He rips the locket off, pockets it, grabs Kirsten’s hand, and they peel off into a charcoal alley.
A few blocks south, out-of-breath Kirsten manages to flag down a cab. Before they get into the car, Seth makes a point of checking the cab-driver’s licence.
‘You’re good at it,’ puffs Kirsten as they climb inside.
‘Good at what?’
‘Being paranoid.’
‘Ha.’
Kirsten gives the driver the address of The Office.
‘I wouldn’t have—’ she motions to the driver, ‘checked.’
‘Ja, well, it comes naturally.’
‘Being paranoid comes naturally?’
‘Yip.’
‘Bad childhood?’
‘Is any childhood not bad?’
Kirsten hesitates. ‘I’d like to think so.’
‘Yours?’ he asks.
‘Actually, to be honest, I don’t remember a lot of my childhood, especially early on.’
‘Me neither. Our brains are programmed to forget bad stuff.’
‘So you’re a glass-half-empty kind of guy.’
He shrugs. ‘Depends what’s in the glass.’
Kirsten fidgets, plays with the ring on her finger, desperate to tell him about the microchip, knowing that every minute it stays in his head is a minute’s advantage they’ve lost, but she has to weigh up the consequences. Just another half hour, she thinks, till I can show him some proof. Till then I need him to stick around. Instead she tells him about Keke.
Seth watches Kirsten talk, recognises himself in the anxious motions of her hands, the spinning of the ring on her finger. He feels impelled to do the same, but denies the urge. He pops a pill instead. She watches him do this, and without thinking, reaches for her own pills. She keeps forgetting to take them. She snaps the cap off the bottle, but before she can take one he grabs it out of her hand.
‘What is this?’ he demands.
She is shocked. ‘Um,’ she says, ‘a prenatal supplement.’
Seth studies the labeclass="underline" Dr Van der Heever, it says, PN supp 1 per day.
‘Prenatal?’ he asks, ‘so, you’re…’
‘Yes. Well, no. Been trying for a long time. No dice.’
‘Where did you get this from?’
‘Take it easy,’ she says, ‘my boyfriend filled it for me. He’s a doctor.’
‘I hate doctors,’ says Seth.
‘So do I. Ironically.’
Seth pockets the pills. Kirsten lets him.
‘How long have you known this guy?’
‘James?’ she laughs. ‘Forever.’
‘How long?’
‘Thirteen years longer than I’ve known you.’
Betty/Barbara had said to not trust even the people you love. And James had hidden the letter from her. She didn’t know what it meant, and she wished Marmalade was with them, but there was a little tapping, a little whirring in her brain, warning her to be careful.
They arrive at The Office and take the stairs to stay out of view. Kirsten leads Seth to Keke’s regular office.
‘Keke!’ she shouts, looking around. The room doesn’t look right: it’s in its normal mess but it doesn’t have the right colour. It feels like cold water is rushing over her body.
‘Has someone been here?’ asks Seth, looking at the open drawers and floor white with paper.
‘It’s difficult to say. It is usually – messy – but something doesn’t taste right.’