Endgame. Wilna Adriaanse

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СКАЧАТЬ I think we’re genetically programmed.”

      “Mel?” Antonie’s voice interrupted their conversation.

      Melissa rolled her eyes. “I think his greatest fear is that I’ll run away and leave him with the kids and the house and the dog and the gardener and the maid and his mother. In the lounge!” she called.

      Antonie came in. “What are you doing here?” He stopped when he saw Ellie. “Ellie, my goodness. I didn’t know you were here.” He came over and kissed her.

      The two toddlers followed hard on his heels. They took one look at Ellie and clambered onto her lap. “Ellie bring me present?” three-year-old Mia wanted to know, while her little brother eagerly held out his hand.

      “As you can see, they’re being raised for the streets. Antonie, talk to your children. My gosh, you’d think they don’t know how to behave.”

      “It’s not nice to beg, you two.”

      Ellie got up and took two packets of sweets from her backpack. “Ask Mommy if you may have some.”

      “We’ve already had supper,” the little boy said.

      “Take your sweets and go watch some TV,” Melissa said.

      “Coming from the psychologist who teaches other parents not to use the TV as a babysitter,” Antonie remarked drily.

      “Desperate times call for desperate measures. And please phone Mr Delivery. I haven’t made supper.”

      “I can smell that.”

      Ellie got up, laughing. “Your wife is going to cook you a wonderful meal. I must go.”

      “How are you?”

      “In one piece.”

      “You look good.”

      Through the years Ellie had always felt sorry for Antonie. Though he certainly wasn’t to blame that his best friend broke off his engagement to her all those years ago, he still couldn’t look Ellie in the eye. Perhaps the two of them should open a bottle of wine one day and clear the air. She liked Antonie and thought Melissa couldn’t have found a better husband. And she definitely didn’t hold him responsible for the fact that his friend had got cold feet.

      “You can’t go now. Join us for supper,” Melissa protested.

      “I must get home. It’s been a long day. I’ll call you, come over for a weekend.”

      Ellie said goodbye to Antonie and hugged Melissa. “Take care of your husband. He’s a Prince Charming.”

      Melissa kissed her cheek. “Look after yourself and come back soon. I miss you. And switch your phone on more often.”

      When Ellie turned into the street, she looked back at Antonie and Melissa in the doorway. The picture of Antonie with his arm around his wife hit a tender spot under Ellie’s ribs. She had never told Melissa that she prayed fervently their marriage would last. She needed an example. Her friend’s normality anchored her when the world threatened to spin out of control.

      Nick washed his plate and cutlery. On his way home he had remembered to buy coffee and milk and had added a few ready meals to his shopping basket. The picture on the packaging had looked enticing, but he couldn’t really remember what the food had tasted like. There was too much on his mind. And tonight there was one thought in particular that he couldn’t shake.

      He took out his phone and sent Clive Barnard a message.

      Do you have McKenna’s number? The one I have seems out of commission.

      It took a while for Clive to reply. No. Why are you looking for her?

      I want to ask her something she might remember from her time with the Allegrettis.

      Sorry. Can’t help you.

      Nick was in bed when he remembered something. He switched on the bedside lamp and picked up his phone. He googled medical practitioners in Cape Town’s northern suburbs. After a search of the pages that came up, he found what he presumed was the right one.

      It was one of the senseless things he had done after inspecting Ellie McKenna’s home. He had found out the identity of the girl in several of the photos in the house. Melissa Calitz. He had just remembered. His source had told him that she was married to a doctor and lived in Tygerberg Hills or Welgemoed.

      He saved the surgery’s number on his phone. He’d call in the morning.

      He phoned the hospital, but Patrice’s condition was unchanged. He closed his eyes and let the events of the weekend run through his mind like a movie. When nothing new came up, he went further back. He tried to think of conversations he might have had with Allegretti in the past week or two, conversations whose context he might understand only now. But nothing came to mind.

      It was the turtle doves, Ellie realised when she was properly awake and could make out the sounds. A shiver ran down her spine. The clock at her bedside said three. Her Irish grandma had always talked of the witching hour – when witches and spirits were at their busiest.

      Night-time belongs to owls, not doves. Could a cat be bothering them? A snake?

      It went quiet. No more night-time sounds – not even from the house. It was a silent old house, this house on the hill. Sometimes, just after sunset, there was a creak or two, almost like a sigh. She liked the place. After five months they understood each other’s fads and fancies and had settled into peaceful coexistence. She felt safe. The thick old walls were strong, the roof didn’t leak. As the sun moved northwards into autumn, the windows seemed to widen. Let in more of the sun’s rays.

      There had been no owls tonight, she realised. She liked the owls. She had been glad to discover the family in the outbuilding behind the house. She wanted to believe the story that owls carried messages from the other side, so she listened for them every night. Sometimes she stood on the porch to watch them hunt. Unlike other birds, they flew almost noiselessly. She had read up about them and learnt that their feathers broke the air turbulence into smaller currents, muting the sound. Soft velvety down stifled the sound even more. Silent hunters of the night, shy observers of the day.

      The turtle doves fluttered a moment longer. A few cooed before the silence descended once more. Instinctively her hand searched under the pillow until she touched the cold steel.

      Every morning, when the sun threw a streak across the wooden floor, she promised herself it had been the last time. Once or twice she had even managed to get into bed and close her eyes, but at some point she’d always get up again to take her revolver out of the safe and put it under her pillow. Even then, sleep didn’t always come.

      She got up. In the kitchen she switched the kettle on, then went back to her room to put on warm socks and pull a sweater over her head. The room she had furnished as a study was on the other side of the house. The desk lamp flickered a few times when she switched it on. Piles of paper lay on the desktop. Some in files, but mostly loose pages, heaped together. She could find her way through the paperwork with her eyes closed.

      She heard the kettle switch itself off and got up to make tea. With the mug in her hand, she sat down at the desk, gazing at the large sheets of paper fixed to the wall. There СКАЧАТЬ