Rachel Weeping (17 page)

Chris turned his head and looked at him enquiringly.

‘What was that about?' Hannes asked, wiping his face on his towel.

Chris didn't answer. He picked up his water bottle where he'd left it beside the door and sat down on the wooden floor with his back against the wall.

‘Home?' Hannes asked. He sat on the floor beside Chris.

‘Yeah,' Chris replied, taking a sip of water and staring straight ahead. ‘I feel like I'm living in a cemetery.'

‘How so?'

‘Michelle gets colder every day. Rachel is like a walking corpse.'

‘Are they fighting with each other?'

‘No.' Chris sighed. ‘I'd prefer that, to be honest. They're doing this passive aggressive thing of not talking to each other, which makes it really difficult for Michelle to rest. It stresses her out. And when I get home I have to listen to her bitch about it. With the way things are, I'd prefer to stay later at work than go home and listen to all of that.'

‘Hmm,' Hannes murmured. ‘I heard you went out with Anja on Thursday.'

Chris nodded.

‘Watch out for that.'

Chris nodded again, still staring at the space in front of him. Hannes said nothing further to fill the silence. Hannes was right, Chris knew and, if he was honest, he was grateful that someone else was keeping an eye on his life, even if it was his not very articulate friend from the office.

‘I'm here if you need to talk,' Hannes added awkwardly. He held his fist up for Chris to bump and Chris did.

‘Thanks, man, appreciate it.'

‘You should probably talk to someone else about your game, though. You were shit today,' Hannes said. He gave Chris a light smack on the side of his head and began to struggle to his feet.

Chris shook his head and chuckled. He gave his water bottle a squeeze and sent its contents splattering into Hannes's red sweaty face. ‘Chop,' he said.

 

 

 

Michelle had spent most of the morning alone, with Rachel being out for the day renewing her visa at Home Affairs. She decided to restore some order to her study and, while straightening the books on the bookshelf, she came across Chris's digital camera. It had been an expensive gadget, bought when Chris had fancied himself as something of a photographer.

Turning it on, Michelle was surprised to see that there was still some life in the battery. The flashing icon indicated that it had 30 minutes of power left. Michelle navigated her way through the menu until she found the photo gallery and started going through the memory card to see what she and Chris had stored on the camera. She had learned her lesson about backing up when they'd once lost all of their photographs from their holiday to France after Chris had formatted the card without asking her.

She scrolled through to the beginning of the card and flicked through some selfies of Chris pulling funny faces for the camera. Next came photographs of the two of them at a rugby match at Ellis Park, their faces brightly painted and waving vuvuzelas in the air. This was followed by photographs of a weekend away to Cape Town, a U2 concert, and a random mix of images from parties and outings with friends and family.

Michelle sped through the images until she reached some photos of the two of them at a friend's wedding. She and Chris were both dressed to the nines, smiles on their faces as they hugged each other tightly. She remembered that wedding. They had both had a little too much champagne and, after an evening of dancing, they had barely been able to keep their hands off each other when they got home. Later they had worked out that the baby had been conceived that night. Despite all her meticulous planning and all the medical assistance they'd paid for and received, the ‘most fertile' dates ringed on the calendar, Michelle thought ruefully, in the end it had been in an atmosphere of genuine love that their baby had been created. She wished they could be those people again and just erase all the things that had happened since.

Michelle sighed and continued flicking through the remaining photographs.

Then she stopped. She let out a sudden cry, high, panic-stricken. The camera fell from her fingers, bounced once and lay on the carpet at her feet, the display facing upwards. Michelle stared down at it, incapable of movement, her face transfixed in pain.

It was a photograph of Maia.

 

chapter 22

The sudden flash
of a bright light made Michelle look up, startled, from her laptop.

Maia was standing on the other side of the table. The little girl's eyes were wide open and a smile hovered about her lips as she tried to gauge whether or not she was in trouble. She was holding something behind her back.

‘Did you take my picture?' Michelle asked.

Maia nodded slowly. She tried a broader smile, then thought better of it.

‘Bring it here, Maia.' Michelle beckoned with her finger. ‘Let me see what you have there.'

Maia came around the table and handed the digital camera to Michelle. She slid nervously onto the chair beside her. Michelle went through to the photo library and suppressed a smile when she
saw that Maia had taken a photo of herself. The image showed her eyes filled with shock as she reacted to the flash.

‘You know you shouldn't have taken the camera,' she began in her reprimanding voice, but when she saw the little girl's face fall, she relented. ‘Never mind. We won't tell your mother. Come and sit on my lap and we'll take a photo together.'

Maia scrambled onto Michelle's lap and grinned up at her, happiness restored by Michelle's tone and the prospect of doing something fun. Michelle extended the camera and pointed it towards the two of them, putting her arm around Maia's shoulder and pulling her closer as she prepared to take the photograph.

‘Now look into the camera – see, right there? – and say cheese.'

‘Cheeeeeese!' Maia said and Michelle took the photo. This time when the flash went off Maia giggled hysterically and only stopped wriggling and laughing when Michelle turned the camera around and showed her the image. Maia had her eyes shut tightly, her chin turned up to the ceiling, her small white teeth in a fixed grimace. They both agreed they could do better.

‘One more!' Maia said.

‘But this time you need to look into the camera and smile.'

The next photograph came out much better than the first and the two of them laughed at the way they looked.

‘Do you know what they call this?' Michelle asked the little girl.

Maia shook her head.

‘A selfie.'

‘Can we make another selfie?' Maia asked.

‘We'll do one more and then I need to work,' Michelle said, holding the camera up while she waited for Maia to climb up closer to her. This time they pouted like fake models and the moment was captured in a flash of white light.

 

chapter 23

Maia smiled innocently
back at her as Michelle knelt down shakily to retrieve the camera from the study floor. The memories of that day came rushing into her mind like a tumultuous flood. Hands trembling, she flicked rapidly through the photographs she and Maia had taken together, each one a stab in her heart. Hidden below all the layers of stifling guilt she had carried for so many months was another emotion, one which she had not allowed herself to acknowledge until now.

She missed Maia. She missed her terribly.

Michelle had grown accustomed to the little girl's presence in the house over the years. She had been there when Rachel brought her home from the hospital in a taxi. She had bought toys and treats for her. Although Rachel tried to keep Maia from encroaching on their space in the house, it was inevitable that she would leave her mark and Michelle didn't mind. In fact she enjoyed finding the odd crayon or toy in the kitchen or behind one of the couches. Maia had occupied a special place in their lives. She especially missed the way the little girl's face lit up whenever Chris walked into a room.

As if it sensed that something was wrong, the baby turned inside her, causing Michelle to flinch in discomfort. She closed her eyes, breathed in deeply and exhaled slowly, trying to calm herself down through doing some of the breathing exercises she'd learned at the antenatal classes. When her heartbeat started to stabilise she opened her eyes again. She held the camera up so that she could look at the images once more, each one a finger pointing at her accusingly, confirming her guilt.

Michelle's thumb slid over the delete button and she watched as the icon of a trashcan appeared over the photograph of Maia, the options
‘delete photo'
and ‘
cancel'
below it. Her thumb hovered over the button that would confirm the action that would cause the image she was staring at to disappear for ever.

She pressed delete.

The photograph vanished instantly but was replaced by the next one.

Maia had her head cocked to the side and she was smiling shyly.

Delete.

Michelle moved through each of the photographs, picking up speed as she went.

Delete. Delete. Delete.

The action grew easier and soon she was rushing with the determination of a forest fire. The photographs of Maia quickly disappeared, as well as those Michelle had taken of them both. She didn't stop when she came to the blurry ones Maia had continued taking as she wandered through the house.

When she reached the final photograph Michelle paused. Her scorched earth policy was nearly complete. She didn't remember Maia taking this last one. It was a photo of her, sitting at the table with her cellphone against her ear. The expression on her face was one of pure excitement and delight, her free hand covering her mouth.

It was the phone call that had changed everything.

Michelle hit the delete button one last time and the photograph disappeared into darkness. She navigated through the camera menu, selected the format function and deleted every trace of that day from the memory card.

She couldn't take this any more. If Chris wasn't going to put an end to this toxic arrangement, then she was going to find a way to do it. She just needed a strategy. She needed to think.

Michelle placed the camera on the desk and left the study. She walked down the passage to their bedroom, where she sat at her dressing table, staring sightlessly at her reflection in the mirror, one finger tracing the intricate pattern on the lid of her jewellery box. The box had been a gift from Chris for their third wedding anniversary – hand crafted in leather. Chris was traditional like that. She took out the set of diamond earrings that had been another gift from her husband. The earrings were simple but expensive. She realised that she hadn't worn them in years. Holding them up to her ears, turning her head first to one side and then the other, she saw how they sparkled in the light from the window. Chris used to tell her she was beautiful. She didn't feel beautiful any more, inside or out.

It felt extra quiet in the house today for some reason. Rachel had said she wouldn't be back until late afternoon. Maybe she wasn't going to Home Affairs or whatever she'd said she was doing. Maybe she was going to an interview. Anyone could see that Rachel didn't want to be here any more than Michelle wanted her to be here. Perhaps Rachel was also about to take matters into her own hands.

A glance at the clock in the kitchen told Michelle it was still early. She took a key off a hanging rack beside the microwave, silencing the voice in her head by reminding herself of the end goal. This was for the greater good. If Michelle needed to be the person to rip the band-aid from the wound, then she would do it.

Outside there was a chill breeze and Michelle pulled her jersey closed. She inserted the master key into the lock on Rachel's living quarters, then hesitated. Even though she knew she was safe, she looked over her shoulder to make sure that she was alone. Once inside the room, she paused to let her eyes become accustomed to the gloom. She was keenly aware that she was an unwelcome presence in someone else's personal space, but she suppressed the feeling resolutely. She walked across to the small chest of drawers in the corner and pulled open a drawer. She felt through Rachel's clothes for where she might keep her valuables.

Nothing.

She stepped back and thought for a moment. Rachel did not have very much in the way of belongings and she was very tidy. Then her eye was caught by something underneath the bed. Michelle sat on the edge of the bed and felt about under it with her fingers until she coaxed the object out. It was a red tin, scuffed with age, with a brand of biscuits on the lid. She took it across to the table and opened it. The tin was filled with papers and cards. What sounded like loose coins rattled along the bottom. She lowered herself onto one of the wooden chairs and began curiously to sift through the tin's contents.

The first thing she saw was a photograph of Rachel with what must be her family in Mozambique. The faces were not familiar, of course, but Rachel had talked to her and Chris about her relatives there. Michelle put the photograph on the table and flipped through the rest of the papers and other items. The papers she put to one side, with the family photo. Michelle didn't really know what she was expecting to find but the tin didn't hold anything very inter-esting: old identity documents, some receipts, a blank Lotto card, a dirty old shell. As the tin emptied, so the pile beside her elbow on the table grew. Underneath all the paper stuff was a thin pile of R100 notes. As Michelle took them out a crumpled piece of paper slipped from the pile on the table and landed on the floor. She bent down to pick it up and when she saw what it was, any guilt around what her intrusion in this room meant vanished.

She sat leaning back in the chair for a few moments, getting her thoughts in order. Then, shaking her head and frowning, she put Rachel's things back in the tin just as she'd found them. She returned the tin to its place beneath the bed. Then she left the domestic quarters and walked back to the house, picked up her phone and dialled Chris's number. As she waited for him to answer, she went over the story that was now scripted in her head. She breathed in deeply, waiting, calm.

‘Hey.'

‘Chris,' Michelle said, her tone telling him that this was not a regular call merely to check in, ‘I need to talk to you about something.'

She started talking in a measured voice. It was important that Chris understood exactly what she was saying and didn't interrupt her. She didn't want him to put this conversation down to raging hormones, as he'd been wont to do lately whenever she was upset about something.

When she'd finished, for a few minutes Chris didn't say anything. Michelle could sense him thinking down the phone line. Finally, he sighed and spoke.

‘Michelle, how do you know that – '

‘You know I'm not the kind of person who misplaces things,' Michelle said, cutting him off. She gave him another moment to process things. She had anticipated that Chris would be resistant to dealing with the situation and that she might need to apply some pressure to get him to move. Chris needed to be the one who dealt with this, not her. She lowered her voice, allowing empathy to come to the forefront. ‘You also know we can't let something like this slide,' she said, her tone reasonable, even sorrowful. ‘If we don't deal with it now, Chris, she'll just think she can do it again.'

‘What do you want me to do? Fire her?'

‘Chris, it's time.'

The line went quiet again and Michelle waited.

‘Okay,' Chris said reluctantly. ‘We'll talk to her when I get home. If you're right, we'll let her go.'

 

 

 

The afternoon sun had just started to dip when Rachel reached the Jordaans' street. The journey back from Home Affairs had taken longer than expected due to an argument between two rival taxi organisations and she had been forced to wait until order had been restored. With no child to rush back to, Rachel walked slowly, her body and soul tired from the challenges the week had brought.

This would be the last time that she would make the journey to Home Affairs with the security of an employment letter from the Jordaans, and her mind was reeling. How was she going to get cash to send home if she didn't have a job? As she walked along the street she saw Tapiwa sitting on the grass on the sidewalk, staring out at the traffic. Even though she wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone, Rachel made her way towards her and flopped down on the grass.

‘Did you get it?' Tapiwa asked.

‘Yes. I have another six months.'

‘How was it?'

‘Like it normally is.'

Tapiwa accepted Rachel's answer, knowing that they didn't need to go into detail about the experience they were both more than familiar with. Tapiwa reached into her bag and handed Rachel a packet of crisps, which Rachel accepted with a weary smile.

‘Your body looks tired, my friend,' Tapiwa continued.

‘I'm glad,' Rachel responded, placing a crisp in her mouth. ‘It's no longer hiding what I feel like inside.'

The women sat in silence, idly watching the home-going cars driving past them, a silence that would have been filled by Maria had she not been away visiting family in Malawi that week.

‘I haven't seen you at church in a while,' Tapiwa said.

Rachel nodded and smiled weakly, an expression which was response enough for her friend. The truth was Rachel hadn't been back to church since the funeral. The idea of travelling that far to listen to a man tell you to be more and do more was simply too much for her to handle.

‘The pastor was talking on Sunday…'

Before Tapiwa could continue, Rachel heard footsteps behind her and turned to see Chris standing in the street, his work jacket in his
hands.

‘Rachel,' he said, interrupting their conversation. ‘Could you come to the house when you're finished? Michelle and I need to talk to you about something.'

Rachel nodded and turned to say goodbye to Tapiwa while Chris strode home ahead of her. Rachel made her way down the driveway but before she had a chance to head to the main house she noticed that Chris and Michelle were waiting for her outside her room. Something was out of place. Rachel approached her room slowly, trying to work out what was going on.

Chris came straight to the point. Without meeting Rachel's eyes, he said: ‘A pair of Michelle's earrings has gone missing.' He cleared his throat. ‘Have you perhaps seen them anywhere?'

Rachel shook her head. She was puzzled. Michelle had many pairs of earrings. Which set was he referring to and why was he asking her? The only time she ever saw her employer's jewellery was when she dusted Michelle's dressing table and she hadn't done that in a few weeks now.

‘I'm going to have to ask you if I can search your room,' Chris said, trying to be firm but clearly struggling.

Unsure what to make of this unusual tone for Chris, Rachel nodded shortly and took out her keys. She went inside, with Chris and Michelle right behind her. The room was as she had left it that morning, the air a little musty from it being closed up all day. She stood quietly by and watched as Chris looked around. He looked very uncomfortable, and when he asked her, awkwardly, to open the drawers that contained her clothing so that he could conduct his search, he looked abashed and still couldn't meet her eyes. When he went through to the bathroom to check the medicine cabinet, he left Rachel and Michelle alone in the room. The two women stood in silence, looking away from each other.

Chris came back empty handed and stood looking around him, much as Michelle had done a few hours earlier. Then he knelt down and looked under the bed. When he stood up he had Rachel's biscuit tin in his hand. He looked up at Rachel for permission and she nodded, watching expressionlessly as he pried the lid from the container and began to go through its contents.

Rachel knew that it was only a matter of time before he came across the ultrasound and she braced herself for Michelle's response. She looked down at her feet. She heard the sound of Chris pausing and his sharp intake of breath and she looked up. Chris was holding up her guilt. She also saw huge sadness in his eyes. Without saying a word he passed the ultrasound to Michelle, who took the photograph from him silently, her eyes still avoiding Rachel's. Michelle made no comment at all at the discovery; she didn't even look surprised.

Rachel looked back down at the floor as Chris continued going through the tin, but she felt less tense now. Her wrongdoing had been exposed. They couldn't know that some of the R100 notes at the bottom ...

‘Rachel?'

Chris was holding out his hand. Cupped in his palm were two shiny objects that Rachel had only ever seen in Michelle's jewellery box. For just a second she was confused. Then, suddenly, she realised what was happening to her. This was Michelle's way of getting rid of her. She would have known Chris would never fire her so Michelle had needed to find a reason that left him with no other choice. Theft was inexcusable and, with her foreign status, there would be no trip to the courts or CCMA for her.