Fly Away Home (18 page)

Z
ak had sent Mirinda and Paolo to pick up Monica and Mandla from the airport because he had to go to the main police station in Cape Town to make a statement—his fifth so far.

“So how's my little movie star?” asked his grandmother, hugging Mandla.

“Fine,” he said.

“Fine? You go on holiday, land a role in a movie and you're just fine?”

Mandla shrugged. “I probably will never be in another one as long as I live.” He spotted his suitcase on the baggage carousel and tried to lift it off, but it was too heavy for him and he had to jog alongside it until his grandfather lent him a hand.

Monica took advantage of his distraction to explain to her mother why Mandla was not happy to be back in South Africa.

“Ah, that explains his sour face,” said Mirinda. “Come here, little man.” She grabbed hold of his hand. “You don't want to stay in America and start saying ‘toe-may-toe and ketchup.'”

Mandla shook his hand free. He did not find the matter amusing.

“Too many young kids here are putting on American accents to be cool. Haven't you heard them, Paolo?” Mirinda did not wait for her husband's reply. “I don't know what this ‘cool' is, anyway. When I was a child we didn't have time to worry what our hair looked like or if we had the right clothes. We were happy if we had shoes on our feet.”

Mandla rolled his eyes. “But you wanted more. That's why you left your little town to go to Johannesburg to become a model. Can we go now? I'm tired.”

“Ooh, Monica, you've brought back a grumpy little man,” said Mirinda.

Monica smiled but did not say a word for fear of upsetting Mandla further. All she wanted was a long soak in a hot tub and then her own bed.

In the car on the way home, Mirinda told Monica that she had taken a plate of food to Zak every night, but had often found it untouched the next day.

“We've hardly seen him,” said Paolo. “I wish I could do something to help.”

Mirinda told Monica that Francina, Hercules and Zukisa had been visiting Zukisa's aunt every weekend and her condition was unchanged. Lucy had settled into a life of domesticity she had not known for years, but the family was short of money and she would soon have to look for work. The older boy, Xoli, had started to be more civil to his mother, and Francina hoped that eventually he would start spending more time at home. Lucy's daughter, Fundiswa, never left her side, not even when she took a shower.

Zak's car was in the driveway when they arrived home, and Mirinda thought it better if she and Paolo didn't accept Monica's offer to come in for a cup of tea.

“You've got lots to talk about,” she said, giving her daughter a serious look.

Zak came to the door and Monica was shocked at his appearance. He hadn't shaved for days, there were dark rings around his eyes and he had lost weight. She kissed him hello.

“Have they found her?” she asked.

He gave a weary smile. “Yes. They just told me when I was in Cape Town.”

“That's fantastic. What happens next?”

He told her that the Sydney police had taken Jacqueline into custody for questioning, but she would be released in twenty-four hours unless he laid a formal charge of kidnapping against her.

“So what are you going to do?” Monica sank onto the sofa.

“I'm leaving for the airport now. I was just packing.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

He shook his head. “I'm sorry I have to rush off like this.”

“Don't be sorry. I just hope you'll be able to get some sleep on the flight.”

“When I get back we'll have a long talk, okay?”

She knew what he meant, but she did not know if she was ready for it.

Zak had planned to drive himself to the airport, but Monica would not allow it in the state he was in.

“I'll ask Oscar if he can do it,” she said, and went off to phone their family friend.

Oscar said he was free for the afternoon and that it would be a pleasure to help out. “Yolanda belongs in Lady Helen, not Sydney, Australia,” he said.

Monica knew that Zak would not have told Oscar—or anyone else—what had happened, but it was impossible to keep a secret in Lady Helen, where the grapevine was so short.

After Zak left, Monica lay down on her bed to rest her eyes for a minute before unpacking. The next thing she knew the doorbell was ringing and it was dark outside. Francina had come to welcome Monica and Mandla back, with a pot of lamb stew and a small covered dish of steaming hot rice.

Mandla emerged from his bedroom, rubbing his eyes. “What's that smell?” he asked.

“Aha, I thought my good South African food would catch your attention,” said Francina. “It's better than American hot dogs and hamburgers, isn't it?” She kissed Mandla hello.

“We also ate Indian and Thai and Mexican food there,” he said.

“Oh, well, lah-dee-dah, aren't we sophisticated?” said Francina, serving the stew and rice onto plates. “Take one bite of this and tell me you'd rather have a taco.”

Mandla did not comment but cleaned his plate and asked for more, which Francina gave him with a broad smile on her face.

“Tomorrow I'm bringing you good old African pap and gravy,” she said. “It's more delicious than any fancy foreign food.”

After Francina had left, Mandla took a bath, but he was refreshed after his long nap and couldn't think of going to bed at the normal time even though he had school the next day. It would take at least a week for him to get back into his normal routine. He went into the living room and Monica heard the television flick on. She was washing the dinner dishes when she heard Mandla give a scream.

“What is it?” she shouted, rushing into the living room.

“Look.” He pointed at the screen.

An American movie was on and there was no mistaking the identity of the boy getting into the car with his father. It was Steven.

Mandla turned up the volume. Steven spoke with a Southern drawl.

“He's good with accents,” said Monica.

“That's not put on. That's how he used to speak. He's from Alabama.”

“But he didn't sound like that when we met him.”

Mandla gave Monica a look of impatience. “He had a voice coach to help him get rid of it.”

“Oh,” said Monica. So it wasn't only Mandla who had an accent that needed to be eliminated. She thought of her mother, who, after moving to Johannesburg, had worked hard to remove from her speech all traces of her small-town upbringing in the Karoo desert.

“Are you going to watch the movie?” asked Monica.

Mandla's frown reinforced her realization—too late—that this was a stupid question.

“You need your sleep. School starts tomorrow.”

“I'm not tired yet.”

Although it was bedtime in South Africa, Mandla's body was on United States time, where it was early afternoon. Perhaps the movie would relax him and he'd be able to fall asleep. She told him that she was going to take a bath and would check on him afterward.

“Don't you want to watch Steven?” he asked.

“He's not as good as you,” she replied, and again she realized she had said the wrong thing.

“Yes, but he's the one with a career in movies, I'm not.”

“Mandla, I told you I'd take you to any audition you wanted to go to.”

“Yes, in Cape Town.”

She was too tired to go over this again with him.

“I'll see you in a bit,” she said. He looked so small and frail sitting there in the blue light of the television that she wanted to put her hand on his soft cheek, but he would shrug her off and she was not in a state to take rejection.

After her bath she found him fast asleep on the sofa, with Steven's movie still playing on the television. She switched it off and scooped him into her arms to carry him to bed. He stirred when she put his head on the pillow, but then turned over and went back to sleep. She leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. Her little boy was disappointed with his lot in life at the moment and there was nothing she could do about it. Hopefully school would take his mind off it.

She looked at her watch. Zak had been flying for three hours now and would only arrive when she was waking tomorrow morning. What could Jacqueline have told Yolanda to make her leave her father in South Africa?

Monica lay down on the bed and heard an owl call outside. A warm summer breeze drifted in through the open window. She had planned to go through all the mail Zak had not touched, but before long she fell into an exhausted sleep.

 

The next morning Mandla shook her awake.

“You turned the alarm clock off again and went back to sleep,” he moaned. “I can't be late on the first day of the year.”

Monica dragged herself out of bed. “Why are you wearing the sneakers I bought you in Houston?”

“Because they're cool,” said Mandla, pronouncing cool with a decidedly American accent.

“Cool they may be, but they're not part of your school uniform. Go and put your school shoes on now.”

Mandla stalked off, muttering about “boring old South Africa.”

After dropping him at school, Monica went straight to the office and if she hadn't been carrying a gift bag she was sure Dudu would have jumped into her arms.

“Was it that bad?” asked Monica.

“Oh, Monica, I'm so tired. I was fiddling with the stories until midnight and then still had to do the layout. If Gift comes in here waving this issue at me, I'll scream.”

“When was she here?”

“Last week and the week before that. I know there are mistakes in the stories. I know they're not all newsworthy. I'm not a journalist.”

“Dudu, I'm sorry. Here, I bought you something to say thanks.” Monica handed her the gift bag. “Mandla picked these out.”

The bag contained a bottle of perfume for Dudu and a pair of American jeans for each of her three children.

“They'll love these. Thank you.”

Monica knew that she owed Dudu for more than taking the reins of the newspaper while she was in the United States. For months, Dudu had been covering for Monica while she moped around. A bottle of perfume would never be enough to repay her.

Monica sat down at her desk to sort through a pile of mail. Dudu had warned her that the letters to the editor might upset her, but she was not prepared for the accusations some of them contained.
If you're letting things slide here because you're going back to your glamorous job in television, then you'd better come clean with your readers,
an anonymous individual had written. Another said that the word in town was that Monica had gone to Johannesburg to audition for a position as a talk-show host on TV. If these people only knew the truth about her exit from the world of television reporting, they might not be so suspicious. She had filled in at the news program
In-Depth
for a reporter who'd gone on maternity leave, and when the woman had decided not to come back, the producers had given her permanent job to someone they thought more suitable than Monica.

She picked up the issues of the
Lady Helen Herald
that Dudu had written and began to scan them from front to back. Dudu's grammar could not be faulted, but her stories read more like school essays than news or feature stories. Someone with less loyalty than Dudu might have refused to take on duties she had neither been hired for nor felt confident doing.

When Dudu came into her office midmorning with a cup of tea, Monica jumped up and gave her a hug.

“What's this for?” she asked.

“I think you know,” replied Monica. “And I want you to take a few days off, at least until it's time to lay out the next issue.”

“But the telephone starts ringing at eight-thirty sharp.”

“I'll be here on time from now on.”

Nothing had changed in Monica's personal life, but she could not continue to take advantage of her coworker. Under duress, Dudu went home to nap.

That afternoon Zak called Monica with good news. Jacqueline had agreed to hand over Yolanda's passport to him, if he promised not to press charges.

“And what have you decided to do?” asked Monica.

“She's the mother of my child. I can't send her to prison.” His voice was flat. Zak was beyond tired.

He said that Yolanda would be crushed if her mother decided to stay in Australia without her. It would seem that she had chosen her husband over her own daughter. Knowing Jacqueline's history of weakness when faced with temptation, Monica feared that Yolanda would have to make the difficult choice between remaining with her in Australia or returning to South Africa with her father.

“So how did Jacqueline get Yolanda to go in the first place?”