Unravelled. Cheryl Ntumy S.

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СКАЧАТЬ or searching for the right words to frame the truth. But Rakwena never lets his guard down, so I have to take every word he says on faith.

      “Why would I be upset?”

      He takes a moment to reply. “Your grandfather and I are worried about Thuli. I know you think he’s lost interest, but I don’t.”

      Relief flows through me. It’s not some terrible secret after all – it’s just Rakwena looking out for me, as usual. “He’s not going to come near me as long as you’re around,” I remind him. “I can handle Thuli. I’m not afraid of him anymore.”

      He pulls me closer. “You think you’re some superhero now?”

      “Almost.” I kiss the side of his face. “Relax. Thuli is going down one of these days. We don’t have to worry about him.” I hesitate before asking, “So that’s all? I mean…you’re not worried about your…”

      “Father?” His jaw tenses. “No news is good news. Hopefully he really is dead.”

      I decide not to comment. There’s no love lost between Rakwena and his father and I know better than to press the issue. The one parent I can talk about is his mother. Mmabatho Langa is in a psychiatric facility in South Africa, and Rakwena goes to visit her all the time. She’s the only relative he speaks to; his maternal aunts have practically disowned him and his father’s side of the family disappeared when his father “died”.

      “How’s your mother?”

      “She’s OK. I’m going to see her next weekend. Can we do some work now?”

      “Sure.” I open the book.

      ***

      Friday comes way too quickly. It’s the last day of term so we’re in civvies, which means jeans and sneakers for me. Civvies day at Syringa is like the opening day of Fashion Week – most of the kids use it as an opportunity to flash their favourite brand names at the minority middle-class students. It’s supposed to be intimidating – a girl can only stomach so much Guess before she flees to the toilet in tears to cut the label off her Mr Price shirt.

      Fortunately for me, I’ve never been interested in clothes. I’m a fickle teenager. Why pay a fortune for a pair of jeans I won’t even want in a few months? Lebz, on the other hand, is a fashion slave. She turns up in skinny jeans that look as though they’ve been painted on, a flimsy top that barely covers her bra, a leather jacket, heels and a handbag so obviously expensive I can’t even look at it without feeling queasy.

      “I thought you were trying not to spend so much money this year,” I admonish her, as she slides onto the bench.

      “I didn’t buy it – yoh!” She laughs. “I don’t get that much pocket money. Papa got it for me in Italy. He got shoes for Rita – they’re so beautiful! I’m wearing them to the party tonight.”

      Wiki and I exchange glances. Wiki’s folks, like mine, are in the lower income bracket of the Syringa class system. As far as they’re concerned, sending us to the best school in town is enough – if we want to keep up with our classmates, we should get jobs. Lebz’s dad works like a fiend making bucketloads of money, and then spoils his kids rotten to make up for all the time he spends away. It’s a good thing her mother is sensible, or Lebz would have turned out like Kelly.

      “Just wait till you guys see Kencer for yourselves,” she goes on.

      “Kencer?” Wiki and I chorus.

      “Kelly and Spencer,” Lebz explains.

      I snicker. “It’s not very flattering.”

      “I know it sounds like cancer, but Botho started it and now it’s stuck. So? Are we meeting at my place for the party or what?”

      “I’m not coming,” Wiki announces.

      “What?” Lebz and I whip around to stare at him in dismay.

      “You know how I feel about parties,” he groans. “It’s the end of term! I want to stay home and watch a movie or read…”

      “You can’t miss it – Kelly throws the best parties!” says Lebz.

      “And what about me?” I pitch in. “Lebz is going to disappear the minute we walk in, and I’ll be all by myself in the jungle! You can’t abandon me!”

      “She’s right,” says Lebz, without shame.

      Wiki sighs. “Fine. But I’m bringing my laptop.”

      “Good! Mogapi’s busy today, so he can’t give us a ride, but I can ask my mother,” says Lebz.

      “Rakwena will drop us off.”

      Lebz raises an eyebrow. “He’s gate-crashing?”

      I glare at her. “No, but he’s going to drop me off, so we might as well meet at my house around seven and he’ll take us.”

      “Hm!” Lebz purses her lips. “Nice to have a mobile boyfriend, isn’t it?”

      The sound of the bell saves her from my stinging retort. All through the day Lebz rambles on about the party, her hair, her outfit – but I can’t stop thinking about Thuli. Despite what I said to Rakwena, there’s a little part of me that is afraid.

      Auntie Lydia is cooking when I walk into the house later, and the aroma of roasting chicken fills the air.

      “I love you,” I gush, as I make my way into the kitchen.

      She turns away from the stove to smile at me. “No, you only use me for my cooking skills.”

      “Not true!” I give her a half hug and lean over to peer at the pot of rice bubbling away on the stove.

      “OK, enough games now. I’m worried about your father.” She peeks at the oven, then turns her full attention to me. “It’s not normal for him to have so much work at the university now – they’ve only just opened.”

      “It’s the Salinger project.” I sigh and walk to the fridge for some water. “He’s supposed to be getting help from Ntatemogolo, but you know how it is with them.”

      Her eyes widen with understanding. “Can’t you talk to them?”

      “I’ve tried.” I slump against the counter.

      She frowns thoughtfully. “Keep trying. But for now, come and make some vegetables for the stew. I know you’re going to a party tonight, but you must eat some real food first.”

      “Auntie, you don’t want me to fit into my party clothes?”

      “Party clothes? You?” She throws an incredulous glance over her shoulder as she lifts the lid of the rice pot.

      I laugh. “I do have a few nice things, you know.”

      “Yes – the ones I made you,” she teases. “Come, come – my vegetables. There’s the chopping board.”

      I smile as I reach for СКАЧАТЬ