Blindside. Wilna Adriaanse

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СКАЧАТЬ in the opposite direction. Some distance from the corner she spotted Brenda. She was wearing a short black skirt, gold patent-leather sandals and an eye-catching black-and-green top. Brenda had always been a good dresser. The minute she saw Ellie she started walking away, but Ellie lengthened her strides and fell into step beside her.

      “Come on, Brenda, you owe me.”

      “That’s the problem with you lot. I can never repay my debt. What do you want?”

      “Seen anyone interesting?”

      Brenda kept going. “Aren’t all men interesting?” she asked, wide-eyed.

      Ellie had to smile. “True.”

      “I haven’t heard anything. At least, nothing new. Same old, same old.”

      “You’re an old hand, Brenda. Men like chatting to you.”

      “Yes, but most of the time they’re talking shit. It’s not like they tell me their business. It’s only when they can’t get it up that they brag about the money and the contacts. You know what men are like.”

      “What about the foreign girls? Do you know any of them?”

      “They stick together, mostly, but some of them look for company now and then. Especially the Russians. The local girls don’t like them. The men love those grey eyes, and the only English they know is ‘yes’.”

      “What do they say when they talk to you?”

      Brenda raised her eyebrows. “Do you really think they can describe in full sentences what’s going on where? Shit could be happening right in front of them and they wouldn’t know what it is. They don’t know the context.”

      “But you understand the context. And that’s why I’m asking you … Anything would help.”

      They stopped at a traffic light and waited with the rest of the pedestrians for the light to change to green. “I’ll keep my eyes open, but I can’t promise anything.”

      “Thanks.” Ellie took a two-hundred-rand note from her pocket and pressed it into Brenda’s hand.

      “Don’t come asking around here any more. The girls get ner­vous. If they tell their pimps, it could get dangerous. Give me your cell.”

      Ellie handed over her cellphone and Brenda pushed a few buttons. “Call me at this number if you’re looking for me, but don’t make a nuisance of yourself.”

      “Thanks.”

      Ellie stood watching Brenda’s departing figure. Slender, straight. Too pretty and too smart for the streets. Her ancestors’ divergent bloodlines had given her an interesting face. Delicate nose, intelligent eyes. A full mouth tilting up at the corners, as if she were perpetually amused. A complexion like rich milk chocolate. At their first meeting a year ago Ellie had asked her why she worked on the streets. She had shrugged. “My mother taught me never to beg. It doesn’t matter what job you do … as long as you do it well. But don’t beg.”

      “But you could …”

      “What? What do you think I could do? I didn’t even finish Grade 10.”

      “Aren’t you afraid?”

      “Life is full of risks. If you don’t know that, you’re in the wrong job.”

      “How old are you?”

      “How old would you like me to be?”

      Ellie had shaken her head. “I’m not one of your clients.”

      “Somewhere between twenty-five and thirty-five. If I can believe my mother.”

      Watching her walk away now, Ellie had the same feeling she’d had then. Brenda’s body might be thirty, but her eyes were much older.

      “I’m not a child. You don’t have to babysit me.” Her mother stood with her hands on her hips. Her hair was no longer as neat as it had been the day before at the funeral.

      In the recent past Ellie had often caught her dad looking at old photographs. Her mom, smartly dressed, laughing. Well groomed. Over the years her smooth complexion had lost its glow and her eyes had grown weary. Her mouth no longer laughed as often.

      “I need to know that you’re not going to be irresponsible.” As she spoke the words, Ellie felt like laughing at the absurdity of it. What did “irresponsible” mean to her mom? The adult part of her knew her mom had no control, but the child inside her wanted her mom to be able to choose. How hard could it be to decide not to drink today? Rika McKenna didn’t find it hard to say no to food, after all.

      “Are you seriously going to stand here and talk to me about being irresponsible?” Her hands fluttered between them. “To me, who wouldn’t know if he was dead or alive for nights on end! Who begged him not to take risks – did he take any notice at all? And then you came along and joined the police too. As if you didn’t know better.” She gave a brief laugh. “Please, spare me the lecture.” She pointed at her head. “I’m up to here with the two of you.”

      “It’s no use getting angry with me.”

      Her mom turned on her heel and went to her room. Ellie heard the door slam shut. When she went after her, the door was locked.

      “Mom, open the door.”

      “It’s my house and my room and I don’t feel like talking to you tonight.”

      “I’ll stop by again tomorrow.”

      “Don’t bother.”

      Ellie leaned her forehead against the closed door for a moment, turned, locked the front door behind her and walked to her car. As she drove away, she sent a muttered prayer off into the air.

      She and her mother were like two puppets without their ventriloquist. The silence between them seemed to be lengthening as the days went by.

      The report in the newspaper had read:

      Colonel John McKenna, an experienced detective with more than thirty-five years’ service, was fatally wounded at about 19:00 last night at a roadblock outside Kraaifontein, when shots were fired from a vehicle. He died at the scene.

      A second police officer was wounded but is out of danger after a bullet was removed from his lower spine during an operation late last night.

      The car from which the shots were fired was found in Gugulethu an hour after the incident. No suspects have been arrested.

      John McKenna was awarded the medal for outstanding service twice in his career. At the time of going to press, there was no comment from his family. His colleagues all expressed great admiration for McKenna.

      “They don’t make them like that any more,” an ex-colleague said.

      At least he’d been given a name. The family had still not commented, and weren’t planning to. What did the reporter think they were supposed to say?

      Albert was in the kitchen when she arrived СКАЧАТЬ