Rachel Weeping (3 page)

‘No,' Michelle said.

‘Please.'

‘No.'

‘Come on.'

‘No.'

‘Just the tip,' Chris said. ‘You won't even know I was there.'

‘You're disgusting!' Michelle laughed and pushed him away. ‘Go do something useful and get us some coffee.'

‘Fine!' Chris slumped down in the bed, accepting the fact that his early morning attempt at seduction was going to be unsuccessful today. Michelle watched as he climbed out of bed, his red boxer shorts unable to hide the fact that he had indeed been ready to go. Chris saw her looking at him and turned to face her, his erection poking through the slit in the underwear.

‘Last chance.'

Michelle reached for the pillow behind her head and threw it at him, narrowly missing the mirror he was standing next to.

‘Coffee!'

As Chris's heavy footsteps faded away down the passage to the kitchen and the bedroom returned to silence, Michelle closed her eyes. Her thoughts were racing and she urged them to be still. Even though they had been joking around, she and Chris both knew that the next day was going to be serious.

She placed her hands on her stomach and started to whisper prayers over her womb, begging God and urging her body to repair the parts that were not working.

 

 

 

Chris held the door open for Michelle while she collected her keys from the rack and picked up her laptop, handbag and an umbrella. It didn't look as though it would rain but he knew how she always liked to be prepared. He smiled to himself as he thought about his wife's eccentricities, her need for things to be organised and the contrast that his way of living brought to that.

Theirs had been a case of opposites attracting, that was for sure.

Even in the cool of the courtyard Chris could tell it was going to be a warm day. The smell of the previous night's brief thunderstorm was still fresh on the grass. He smiled at his wife as she walked through the open door and as he prepared to close it behind her he saw Rachel coming down the path towards them.

‘Morning, Rachel.'

‘Good morning, Chris. Morning, Michelle,' Rachel replied, walking a little faster to meet her employers.

‘Hey!' Michelle smiled warmly at Rachel as she strolled towards her grey Audi TT, struggling to juggle her bags. ‘There are some croissants in the bread bin, if you want, and I've left some clothes on the counter if you want anything before I send them to the church.'

‘Thank you,' Rachel said. She reached out to help Michelle with her bags.

‘
Ag, dankie
, Rachel,' Michelle said, handing the laptop case to her. ‘Oh, and we're going to dinner straight after work, so please would you lock up and put the alarm on when you're done for the day?'

Rachel nodded, smiling.

Michelle turned to kiss Chris goodbye.

‘And this?' he joked, kissing her back.

‘Can you pick up a bottle of red after work, Chris? I'm not going to have time to get to the shops after my meeting.'

‘Text me later to remind me. Where are we going again?'

‘It's Karlien's 30th and she's having an 80s party, which means I need you to swing past the party shop to pick up our costumes too.'

‘Got it. What are we going as?'

‘I told you already,' Michelle said, letting go of his collar.

‘Remind me.'

‘I'm going as Cyndi Lauper and you're going as …'

‘Marty McFly!' Chris interrupted her. ‘How could I forget? Did you get me my – '

‘Hoverboard?' Michelle said, returning the interruption as she opened the trunk. With a flamboyant gesture she pulled out a skateboard deck that was missing its wheels. ‘All sorted.'

Chris grinned and kissed Michelle on the lips.

‘You're pretty cool, you know.'

‘I know,
lief
.'

Michelle fixed his collar and, when she was done, Chris opened her car door for her. Michelle climbed inside and Chris stepped back so that she could reverse out of the driveway. Rachel was still standing at the bottom of the steps to the front door, waiting for them to leave. Michelle put the Audi in gear and then she rolled down her window.

‘Have a good day, Rachel!' she called out. ‘And thanks for putting on the espresso machine for us this morning.'

Chris got into his own car and started the engine. The sound of John Mayer's Paradise Valley filled the space as his sound system came to life. As he reversed up the driveway, he gave Rachel a wave before backing out into the suburban street and joining the throng of commuters in the Johannesburg traffic.

Chris worked at one of the city's most prestigious architectural firms, one that was specialising in the rejuvenation of large buildings in four of South Africa's key cities: Johannesburg, Pretoria, Durban and Cape Town. He was busy overseeing multiple projects in all four cities but the ones that excited him the most were those happening closest to home. The city of Johannesburg had undergone a renaissance of sorts over the last ten years, with areas that had been derelict and filled with crime now occupied by hipsters, coffee shops and businesses. People were returning to the city they used to fear and Chris believed that in some small way the buildings he was helping renovate were contributing to this rebirth. He actually wished that he and Michelle could live in the CBD rather than the suburbs but Michelle had made it very clear that she would not set foot in downtown Joburg. She still held fast to many of the valid fears from the past. The irony was that Chris was more comfortable leaving his car unattended in the streets of the CBD than in the ones outside his house. It was his view that most of the criminals came to the suburbs when they wanted to do their shopping. The high walls, electric fences, alarm systems and security guards that filled their neighbourhood provided an illusion of safety but, in his opinion, would do little to keep danger out if it decided to come looking.

As the car filled with blues riffs, his thoughts drifted to Rachel and the years she had spent working for him and Michelle. The three of them had lived on the same property for quite a few years now – at least five, he thought, if not six – but he didn't know all that much about her. He considered himself a friendly person and had gone out of his way to get to know her – where she came from and what she wanted from life – but there was always a wall, a distance, that she kept between them and which time had not changed. He despised the ‘old way' that he had grown up with, the one where domestic workers were just maids, anonymous entities that cleaned during the day and disappeared at sunset. He had always promised himself that if he were ever to employ someone to take care of domestic work in his home, he would treat her as he would a co-worker or a friend.

He had just never factored in the idea that the desire might not be reciprocated.

By now he had left the suburban roads and was manoeuvring the car onto William Nicol, the congested four-lane road that led into Sandton. The traffic was slowly inching forward when, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed movement in the car alongside him. Looking to his right, he saw a pretty auburn-haired woman with a big smile on her face waving at him. It took a few moments for him to recognise that it was the new PA from the office. He couldn't remember her name but he raised his hand and returned the greeting. Unable to talk to each other, the woman made a frustrated face while pointing to the traffic ahead of them and Chris rolled his eyes in agreement. He ran a finger across his throat and the woman laughed. Chris laughed too and then, both of them unsure how to continue their silent conversation, he waved goodbye and turned his attention back to the road. For the next 30 minutes or so he was conscious of their cars keeping pace beside each other and that both of them were studiously pretending the other wasn't there.

Eventually, Chris put his sunglasses on and turned up his music, but he was too aware of himself to sing along to the songs as he usually did on his way in to work. He could have sworn he could see the woman glancing his way a few times, but he acted as though he didn't notice.

 

 

Rachel stood assessing the mess in the kitchen that had been left for her to deal with by the Jordaans after their breakfast. Actually, it wasn't too bad today. There were only a few bowls and two coffee cups. After stacking them in the dishwasher, she switched on the kettle to make herself some tea. She looked inside the bread bin for the croissants Michelle had told her would be there. There were two there and she took them out and cut them in half, squashing them flat so that they would fit inside the toaster. Even though Chris had shown her how to use the microwave she still had a healthy disdain for the machine after the only meal she'd tried to heat in it had exploded. Chris had told her that it was because she had used a metal container but the memory of the sparks inside the microwave left her with little desire to use it again.

Hugo was looking up at her expectantly and Rachel opened the door to the garden, shooing the dog out so that she could have her breakfast in peace. She dropped a teabag into one of the Jordaans' heavy coffee mugs and poured hot water over it, smelling the fragrant herbs as their scent wafted up towards her nose. The toaster ejected the croissants and, after buttering and layering them with jam, she took a seat at the small wooden table in the breakfast nook at the far end of the kitchen.

In the daily routine of her life, this was the moment when Rachel would pause and gather her thoughts, the moment when everything around her was still.

As she took her first sip of tea she looked across the table and through the large glass sliding doors into the beautiful garden behind the house. It was immaculately landscaped. The grass was perfectly manicured and the flowerbeds were planted at even intervals with lavender bushes in shades of purple and silver. In the centre of the lawn was a large rectangular swimming pool with one of those walls that wasn't a wall but dropped away to nothingness – an infinity pool, Chris had told her this design was called – with a view out over the northern side of the city. The view was truly spectacular and Rachel often sat on the steps at the back door at dusk before the Jordaans came home from work, watching the lights of the city come on.

Chris and Michelle only ever seemed to use the swimming pool when they had people over. For the most part it was merely decorative.

As she sat sipping her tea Rachel saw Richmond, the Zimbabwean gardener, throw a cup of chlorine into the crystal waters. Richmond saw her and waved, mouthing hello to her in English before returning his attention to the water that he kept so beautifully clean and clear. His home language was Ndebele but he did have a sprinkling of rather poor English, too, which meant that the latter had become their language of choice when it came to he and Rachel communicating with each other. Richmond had been with the Jordaans longer than she had. His days were Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays, and his duties were to cut the grass, clean the pool and do any yard work that the property required. Rachel would make him lunch on those days but they generally kept to themselves, largely due, she supposed, to the language barrier.

For a few minutes Rachel watched the white powder falling into the water. Then she closed her eyes, choosing instead to picture the salty waters and the deep blue ocean she had grown up beside. The water here was dead, blue only because of the chemicals that probably hurt your eyes and made your skin dry. And even with all the chemicals Richmond put into the infinity pool, the colour of the water didn't compare to the vibrant shades of blue of the Bazaruto Archipelago. For Rachel the swimming pool was a symbol for the existence that she witnessed in the Johannesburg suburbs – beautiful and clean but devoid of life and colour.

Lately Maia had been pestering Rachel to teach her how to swim and she had promised she would, but not until she was six. She'd told her she would have to be patient and wait until the December holidays when the Jordaans usually went away on vacation. They'd stayed home this summer and Rachel was quite relieved. The real reason for delaying the lessons was the simple fact that she could not swim herself. Somehow she would have to learn before she could teach Maia. Perhaps Chris would help. Even though she had grown up next to the sea, swimming was something the tourists and some fishermen did, and she had never had the desire to venture further in to the water than knee deep. It seemed that most of the children at Maia's nursery school already knew how to swim. They had probably all grown up with pools in their own back yards, perhaps even similar to the infinity pool she was looking at now.

Taking one last sip of her tea, Rachel got to her feet and prepared herself for the tasks of the day.

 

chapter 3

Rachel stood in
the kitchen with a piece of paper in her hand, reading through the list of chores that had been left for her to complete. Her four weeks of absence had resulted in a load of work that could not feasibly be done in one day and so she resigned herself to the fact that the week ahead was going to be a difficult one.

During the time she had been away, the normal clutter in the Jordaan house had multiplied alarmingly. The list bore the clean lines and penmanship that belonged to Michelle but, when she turned the paper over, the note on the other side had clearly been written by Chris. In a decidedly untidy script, it said:
Welcome back Rachel. We had to get to the doctor for an appointment but this list will tell you everything that needs to be done. Your wages are in the envelope. Chris & Michelle.

R
achel picked up the envelope where it lay on the kitchen counter and opened it. The R100 notes were neatly stacked. She didn't need to count them to know they added up to her monthly wage of R4 500, by South African standards a very good wage, considering that all of her living expenses and Maia's nursery school fees were covered by the Jordaans. They had always been generous employers and it was because of this quality that she had been able to not only support her parents back in Mozambique but also save about R200 every month, if there weren't any emergencies.

But now their generosity felt tainted, the money that she was holding soaked in compromise.

Out of long habit, Rachel switched on the kettle and, as she waited for the water to boil, began to rinse the precariously toppling pile of dishes in the sink and stack them in the dishwasher. It looked like every item of cutlery and crockery the Jordaans owned was in that sink, while a pile of take-away cartons and pizza boxes next to the trashcan in the corner of the kitchen bore testimony to the meals they'd been eating recently.

She started the first load and then poured boiling water from the kettle into her mug, opening the bread bin at the same time to see if there was anything there for her to eat. With her routine now broken, she had found herself skipping breakfast lately, opting to lie in bed for an extra 30 minutes in the morning. The bread bin was empty. She wasn't really disappointed. She'd pretty much lost her appetite along with her routine. When she did eat it was because she knew she needed to and not because she was hungry.

Taking her customary seat at the table in the breakfast nook, Rachel looked out at the garden as she always did. Winter was definitely on the way. The grass was still green but this was more due to Richmond's watering three times a week than defiance of the season. Soon the garden would turn to shades of brown and yellow, colours that would contrast vividly with the blue of the highveld sky in winter.

Rachel was not looking forward to another season of cold. She watched a golden leaf disconnect from the oak tree that had once been its life source and flutter slowly downwards, where it joined a scattering of other leaves on the surface of the swimming pool. Where before the pool had been as clear as crystal it now had a tinge of green. She remembered Chris explaining this to her once, how it always happened after a lot of rain and also when the seasons changed.

 

 

 

As they waited in Dr Pieterse's office, Michelle checked the time on her iPhone and then looked across at Chris, who was sitting in the chair next to hers. He winked at her and she gave him a small smile. She had just had her very first ultrasound and Michelle could feel the residue of the clear jelly that Dr Pieterse had applied to her still flat belly before moving the wand across it. When the fuzzy grey image had appeared on the monitor next to them, Dr Pieterse had checked the heartbeat, position, size and breathing of the baby, while Chris took photos. He wanted to save these for their announcement on social media later that day.

While they had told their parents, a couple of close friends, and his work colleagues, they still hadn't made it ‘Facebook official' and had decided to wait until after the first scan to do this. Chris wanted to announce it in an original way. They had been toying with the idea of uploading a photo of a bread roll baking in an oven or just the ultrasound photo by itself. Chris had taken the mandatory selfie of the two of them while the scan was happening and Michelle had put on a smile, even though she hadn't been feeling great.

She hadn't specifically timed their appointment with Rachel's first day back but Chris would have preferred that they were there in person to welcome her. Still, the excuse was a valid one for them to be out of the house and he could tell Michelle was relieved.

Michelle put her iPhone away and looked across the desk at Dr Pieterse, who was busy with an urgent phone call from one of her other patients. As Michelle listened to the doctor dispense advice over the phone, she wondered if she would end up being one of those patients who called her gynae constantly with every fear and false alarm. Dr Pieterse apologised to Michelle and Chris with her eyes as she continued her conversation, aware that the call was intruding on their appointment. She was one of the top gynaecologists in Johannesburg, operating from the Sandton Mediclinic, and her patience with the woman on the phone reassured Michelle that she was in good and caring hands. She had been going to Dr Pieterse for a few years now and she trusted her. She had walked them through the emotional and physical minefields that face couples who struggle to conceive. Michelle watched her as she started to finish up the conversation, her professional façade always present. The thought occurred to her suddenly that she was sharing a room with the two people who knew her body inside out, one as lover and the other as healer.

‘Sorry about that,' Dr Pieterse said as she hung up and turned to face Michelle and Chris. She picked up their file and began scanning through the notes she had made earlier. ‘I know you've been waiting for this baby for a long time so I'm going to be honest with you,' she said. ‘I'm concerned about the baby's heartbeat. It is a bit weak and your blood pressure, Michelle, is far too high.'

Michelle took in the information, waiting for Dr Pieterse to continue.

‘Unfortunately, medication is not an option so we're going to have to try and find ways of adjusting your lifestyle to assist in this. How are things at work?'

‘Work? It's busy but that's marketing for you.'

‘A lot of stress?'

‘No more than anyone else's job.'

‘Look, high blood pressure is often related to stress levels, and diet as well. Given your age and the data I have here, you're going to need to cut down on work.'

‘What do you mean? Work half-days?'

Michelle couldn't quite grasp what she was being told. She let go of Chris's hand and leaned forward, waiting for Dr Pieterse to get to the point. The doctor paused. She seemed to be trying to figure out how best to tell her patient what she needed to hear.

‘I mean stop working all together.'

Michelle sat back and tried to process the information, the shock causing her to go silent. Six months of not working? Where some people might jump at the idea of six months of house rest, for her this would be nothing less than a prison sentence. She looked over at Chris who had started to chuckle. He was busy trying to explain to Dr Pieterse why stopping work was not going to be a good idea for his wife at all.

‘You clearly haven't met my wife, Dr Pieterse,' Chris said, placing his hand on Michelle's shoulder. ‘This is the woman who took her laptop with her on our honeymoon. To Mauritius.'

Dr Pieterse didn't laugh.

‘I don't think my job is the problem,' Michelle protested. ‘I know plenty of women who work until eight months with no problem. I can't just stop
working
.'

‘Michelle, do you want to have this baby?'

‘Of course I do. What kind of a ques – '

‘Then having this baby is going to be your job now. Your full-time job for the next six months.' The doctor's tone left Michelle in no doubt that what she was saying was not a suggestion.

 

 

 

‘And I can't even drink coffee anymore,' Michelle said, frustration dripping from each word.

They were sitting at one of the wooden tables at The Whippet, a trendy cafe nestled in the heart of the suburb of Linden.

Chris took a self-aware sip of his Americano. He knew his wife was waiting for a response from him and he needed to choose his words carefully. When Michelle was in this zone she always looked for someone to argue with and when she couldn't do it with the person she was actually angry with, she would find a way to use Chris as a verbal punching bag.

‘Why don't I get you some fruit juice? Or a bottle of water?' Chris suggested tentatively.

‘You know I hate drinking water.'

Chris sighed and picked up the menu, scanning what was on offer so that he wouldn't have to carry on with the conversation, but he could feel Michelle glaring at him. He glanced up at her and registered immedifately that, as he'd suspected, his wife was unimpressed by the fact that he wasn't engaging with her on the matter.

‘What?' Chris said and Michelle shook her head at him.

‘What are we going to do? You know we need both our salaries to make it through the month. There's no way my company will give me paid leave for that long.'

‘I don't know,' Chris replied, putting the menu down. ‘I'm sure we'll find a way to make it work.'

‘That's a great attitude,' Michelle fumed, sitting back in her chair.

The waitress approached the table and asked if she could get them anything to eat. Chris looked over at Michelle, who pointedly ignored the question. He ordered a bacon and egg tramezzini and handed the menus to the waitress. Then he looked at Michelle again. He could see how her emotions were swirling below the surface and he tried to imagine what she was going through. Looking down, he noticed the grey dog that had inspired the name of the cafe weaving its way through the tables, dodging busy waiters and looking for a customer willing to part with scraps from their plate.

‘I think Dr Pieterse was pretty clear,' Chris said, his tone gentle and empathetic.

He waited to hear the pebble hit the water. He watched Michelle's face carefully. When she looked up at him, her eyes were glistening with the tears that she refused to let fall.

‘It's easy to say when you're not the one who has to do it,' Michelle replied. She was making an effort to keep her voice steady.

‘Don't make it like that.'

Michelle looked away. Chris leaned forward, placing his hands on her knees in an attempt to break through the wall she was putting up and allow her to see his heart.

‘We'll find things to help you pass the time,' he told her. ‘We'll – ' But his sentence was cut off as the waitress arrived with his food. Chris thanked her and as soon as the plate was in front of him began vigorously to apply salt to his tramezzini. ‘Are you sure you're not hungry?' he asked.

Michelle shook her head.

Chris picked up one of the warm slices and took a large bite. Michelle was right; they couldn't live the way they were living on just his salary. The truth was that Michelle had always earned the higher salary and, while Chris had never had a problem with this as far as his pride was concerned, he could see how they had worked themselves into a tight corner. If Michelle was physically unable to earn a living ...

But money, Chris knew, wasn't going to be the only problem.

Rachel hadn't come up in their conversation yet, but he knew that she was part of the reason for Michelle being against the idea of being house bound. While he couldn't blame her for feeling the way she did, he also couldn't think of how to find a way around it. They could not fire Rachel and they definitely wouldn't be able to support her if they hired another maid to take her place.

His iPhone beeped as he took another bite. He checked the message. It was from one of his colleagues at work. He smiled while he thought of a suitably clever response.

‘I'll let work know tomorrow,' Michelle said gloomily.

Chris glanced up briefly from his phone, his thumbs still typing, and nodded.

‘I'll have to wrap up the French campaign before I hand it over but I'll tell them I'll work on that from home.'

 

 

Rachel looked around the clean kitchen one last time and then at the clock on the wall. It was 5pm. She had been waiting all day for the front door to open so that she could get through her first encounter with Michelle, and yet here she was still, anticipating that awkward moment with increasing anxiety. With little more to do now, she decided to go to her room. She turned on the lights in the passage, locked the security gate and front door behind her, and started walking up the path towards the driveway.

A glance into the courtyard as she went past reminded her that she had forgotten to bring the trashcans in from the street. She hurried up the driveway to the side gate. The two large trashcans, which had been emptied earlier that day by the municipality, were propped against the pavement. The Jordaans lived at the end of a street that was boomed off for security and the entrance to the neighbourhood was protected by a security guard at all times. The road was lined with old jacaranda trees whose purple flowers transformed the neighbourhood when they heralded the arrival of spring, a look they'd discarded a while back. Rachel reached the trashcans and was about to roll them back inside when she heard a voice behind her.

‘And?'

She smiled and turned at the familiar voice.

‘Hello, Maria,' she greeted her friend. ‘I didn't see you there.'

Maria was from Malawi and she worked for the family who lived next door to the Jordaans. Loud and built like tank, she was the polar opposite to Tapiwa, the thin woman who was standing next to her. Tapiwa came from Zimbabwe and she worked a few houses to the left of the Jordaans. She usually let Maria do all of the talking. As with Richmond and Rachel, English ended up being the common language among the three women, but time and familiarity had resulted in the transfer of certain phrases from each of their first languages. The mixture was comfortable and they were easy in their communication.