The Perils of Skinny-Dipping (12 page)

‘
Do you think that’s a good idea?’ probed Richard. ‘There is a lot of lifting to be done and it would take you much longer on your own.’

‘
Simple,’ retorted Abbey. ‘There are plenty of people in this town who would bend over backwards for the chance to earn a bit of extra money. Why don’t we employ someone part-time, maybe three days a week, to help with the lifting and carrying that Phil used to do?’

‘
I’d have to check it with Head Office first.’

‘
Well, do that. It makes much more financial sense than sending someone else over from the UK.’

Richard looked at Abbey. It was the first time she had ever sounded so officious, and for a moment he got a glimpse of ‘Abbey the Marketing Director’. Her efficient tone worked and Head Office agreed to the request, although Abbey had a sneaking suspicion on reading the email that Richard had put it over as his idea!

After placing an advert on the notice board in the Spar, they received about fifty letters of application as well as a constant stream of people knocking on the door. Richard had made it quite clear that recruitment was his remit and Abbey was more than happy to just let him get on with it.

She returned from the Crossroads the next Wednesday lunchtime, absolutely exhausted. Isaac had helped her load the trees and had listened to Abbey vent her feelings on Phil’s sudden departure and life in general without him. Isaac had also been fond of Phil and empathised with her rather than sympathised, which she felt Darren did, not that she thought he did it intentionally; he was just doing the best he could in very difficult circumstances.

She was reversing the bakkie into the AVP plot when Richard appeared at the office door with a young lady, who looked about nineteen years old.

‘
Ah Abbey, that is good timing,’ he said leading the young lady by the arm towards her. ‘This is Boitachello and she is going to be working with us on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday.’

‘
Oh, right,’ said Abbey slightly confused at Richard’s choice. ‘Welcome.’

‘
OK, we’ll see you tomorrow then Boitachello, eight o’clock sharp.’

The girl smiled nervously at Richard and left.

‘
Now, correct me if I’m wrong, Richard,’ said Abbey wiping the sweat off her forehead, ‘but weren’t we supposed to be hiring a male to do the lifting and carrying we talked about? Remember that conversation? About a week ago now?’

‘
Well Abbey!’ exclaimed Richard. ‘You do surprise me. I would have thought you’d be the last one to ignore the Sex Discrimination Act.’

‘
Does it exist here?’ she replied, totally taken aback with his remark.

‘
Oh, while I remember this came for you in the post this morning.’

Abbey took the white envelope from him. It was addressed to Miss Abbey Harris and she knew immediately it was from the printing company she worked for in Manchester. She walked back into the cool of the office and sat down before opening it.

The letter was short and to the point.

Your career break is officially due to finish in six weeks time. Please could you confirm in writing by email/fax the date that you will be returning to work. In the meantime we hope that you are well and look forward to seeing you on your return.

Yours sincerely

Mr Colin Trump

Managing Director

Abbey closed her eyes and sighed. This is all she needed. She had known in the back of her mind that the date for her return was coming up, but had been too distracted with Phil and the wedding to pay much attention it. Darren would be away until Friday afternoon. She put the letter in her bag and decided it could wait until then.

Abbey waited until they had finished dinner that Friday evening, before handing the Darren the letter.

‘
Well, what are you going to do?’ he asked.

‘
What can I do? Is your contract likely to finish in the next six weeks?’

‘
No, and I wanted to talk to you about that.’ His voice sounded serious. ‘It looks as though it’s actually going to be extended for another four months. We’re having problems on some of the sites and it’s taking longer than we expected to get the samples we need.’

Abbey raised her eyebrows at him. ‘What do you suggest I do then?’ she implored.

‘
Well, why not ask AVP if they would be willing to extend your contract here for another six months, and ask your firm to release you until then?’

‘
Absolutely no go, not with Paradise Printing. It’s company policy that you get a maximum of twelve months career break, and I had to really exert pressure on them for that.’

‘
What about AVP?’ pushed Darren. ‘I bet they would extend your contract.’

‘
Yeah, I think they would, but that would mean resigning from Paradise Printing.’

‘
Your decision, Abbey. It’s up to you.’

‘
Not really,’ muttered Abbey. ‘I have absolutely no intention of leaving you here on your own for four months and just seeing you for a couple of weeks over Christmas. Nah, no way. I’ll email them on Monday and resign.’

She snuggled up to Darren on the sofa and watched TV, resting her head on his shoulder. To her, it was a question of importance and this man was now the most important aspect in her life.

Her mind drifted to her relationship with her father, who had always been present during her childhood, but she could count on one hand the number of meaningful conversations they had actually had. It had hurt her as a teenager, witnessing her friends’ fathers queuing up to be the taxi driver to fetch and carry their little girls while hers was always conspicuous by his absence. Her father never resisted her mother’s wishes, and if that meant disagreeing with Abbey, no matter the reason, he duly complied.

Abbey couldn’t remember her parents picking up the phone and asking her how she was, either at home or in Botswana. It was always her who made the effort to call, making sure she didn’t forget birthdays and anniversaries. Not that they ever forgot her birthday, but the ‘from Mother and Father’, handwritten inside the card, didn’t seem to convey any sincerity at all.

She compared this to the bond Darren seemed to have with his family, who not only rang on a regular basis, but also insisted on talking to Abbey on the phone and introducing themselves to the newest member of the family. Darren often spoke about his father who had died of lung cancer a few years before. He had been an archaeologist, and had taken Darren away on trips during the school holidays. Reading between the lines, she could tell they had had a close relationship and Darren’s father had passed his enthusiasm for nature and the planet onto his son.

‘
He must have been very proud of you when you graduated,’ she had commented.

Darren smiled at her. ‘Yeah, it was a good day. My mother’s got photographs somewhere. I’ll ask her to find them and send them over.’

Darren had asked Abbey about her parents, but she always managed to change the subject early into the conversation. She didn’t really know how to explain to him the wall of silence between them, or their lack of interest in her life. After she had told them about her decision to take a career break to work for AVP, they had voiced they concern and disapproval, calling her naïve and reckless. After that, the subject of her ‘little adventure’, as her mother had referred to it, was never mentioned again. Darren sensitively stopped pursuing this line of questioning, knowing full well that all would be revealed at some point in the future.

Abbey also compared her parents’ marriage with her own and was confident it would never go the same way. Her parents had slept in separate bedrooms since Abbey was thirteen years old, and seemed to exist in a pre-determined routine which involved shopping, eating and household chores. She could not remember them showing any affection towards each other, or her for that matter. Physical contact of any sort had been non-existent and something both her parents still avoided.

Her life with Darren included laughter, spontaneity and, most importantly, a genuine love for one another. Darren was her rock, her confidant, and her lover. He provided the stability in her life that nobody else had been able to offer. In fact, if she was honest with herself, she knew that his life had completely consumed hers.

Chapter Fourteen

Abbey sent the emails to Paradise Printing and then to AVP as soon as she got into work on Monday morning. The reply from AVP came back before lunch, offering Abbey a new contract until the end of May the following year. She was sure she had made the right, if not the only, decision open to her, but felt slightly apprehensive about leaving her secure and well-paid job, which had provided her with a comfortable standard of living for a number of years.

Putting that out of her mind, she busied herself with the paperwork that had piled up in her in-tray. There were over one hundred trees to be planted this week and she needed to organise with the secondary school to obtain at least twenty volunteers to help with the task. Getting the students from the school to volunteer wasn’t a difficult job. The work was always carried out in the late afternoon, and the volunteers were allowed to go home after lunch the following day as a reward.

Abbey looked at the stock sheets. According to her, there should be at least fifty-five trees in their compost bags outside under the shading, waiting to be planted. She paused for a moment, and then got up to do a manual stock take. After three counts and forty-five trees later, Abbey gave up. She checked the stock sheets again to see if she had made a mistake. She hadn’t and she made a mental note to mention it to Richard when he came in. Richard had been behaving even more strangely than usual, making excuses to go home early and come in late. However, Abbey had no interest whatsoever in Richard’s out of office activities, and was always glad to have the office to herself.

Richard queried Abbey’s concern about the missing trees when he returned, and carried out yet another manual stock.

‘
Maybe they’ve been stolen?’ Abbey suggested.

‘
Maybe you picked up the wrong number last week at the Crossroads? I told you it was a big job to do on your own.’

‘
Hey, don’t put this one on me, Richard. I made no mistake and, believe it or not, I can actually estimate the number of trees on any delivery quite accurately, without counting them. And I know how many saplings I need to order without having to rely on a computerised just-in-time stock system!’

Seething at his immediate doubt in her abilities, she rang the supplier and changed the number for the new delivery for the coming week.

Wednesday morning arrived and Boitachello was waiting at the gate promptly at eight o’clock.

‘
Morning Boitachello,’ said Abbey. ‘How are you today?’

‘
Fine Mma, how are you?’

‘
Fine,’ replied Abbey, smiling at the usual civilities that had to be gone through in Botswana, before any business could ever be conducted. Not that she thought badly of it; on the contrary, she imagined people would get along much better if they adopted the same manners at home.

‘
You’re coming with me this morning,’ said Abbey, picking up the keys for the bakkie and motioning to Boitachello to climb aboard.

They drove in silence, listening to the music playing in the CD player. Abbey sang along happily as the wind teased through her hair.

‘
Are you enjoying your work?’ asked Abbey eventually. Boitachello smiled and nodded. ‘What did Richard, sorry Mr Morrison, ask you when you applied?’ quizzed Abbey, wondering what interview criteria Richard had used in his selection process.

‘
He didn’t ask me any questions,’ replied Boitachello.

Abbey shot a look over the cab. ‘Oh. How did you get the job then?’

‘
My mother knows Mr Morrison,’ explained Boitachello nervously. ‘She is his maid, and he is very good to us - I mean her.’

Ho, ho, ho, wait til Phil hears about this one!
thought Abbey smiling, already hearing Phil’s sarcastic comments in her head.

Whatever reservations Abbey had had about Boitachello’s ability to do the job soon disappeared, as she proved herself to be a hard, reliable worker. They had the bakkie loaded in no time and, although Abbey was not enthusiastic to stay and eat brunch at the café as she had done in the days with Phil for company, they did however stay for a quick coffee before heading back to the office. They arrived back at Kasane a good forty-five minutes earlier than usual. As Abbey drove down the main street, she noticed a bakkie driving towards her, half filled with tree saplings.

‘
Who was driving that bakkie, Boitachello?’ asked Abbey, pulling over. ‘Do you know?’

‘
I think it was Mr Permelo,’ replied Boitachello, ‘from the Savuti Lodge’.

Mr Permelo’s underhand ways in managing the hotel was common knowledge in town. He was also known for his temper, and part of the fixtures and fittings in his office included a sjambok. Sjamboks were widely used in Botswana and were a combination of a large whip and a stick. She had seen the shopkeepers chase the children with them if they got to close to the stock outside the shop, or begged too often from the tourists. Mr Permelo’s stood permanently by his desk and, according to the hotel employees, it was used on a regular basis. Phil had also told her that he was an avid gambler, and that he had stabbed a man in the chest, just missing his heart, after losing one thousand pula in a poker game.