Zodwa’s first lesson in motherhood is that it’s a condition that cannot be reversed. A mother who has lost her child is no less of a mother; if anything, her maternal instincts are made even sharper since what she nurses is heartache and regret and, just like she would a baby, she carries them strapped to her back at all times.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

Ruth

10 May 1995

Verdriet, Magaliesburg, South Africa

I pour a glass of wine, filling it up to the brim, before putting on my cheeriest voice and slapping on a wide smile. “Gather around, everyone!”

Everything’s fine, everything’s fine, everything’s fine.

It isn’t a large group and they’re all already standing around the trays of catered snacks in the dining room, but don’t think I haven’t noticed everyone checking their watches and shooting looks at the door in the hopes of escaping. Jesus, it’s not like I haven’t wanted to do the same. Mandla has been crying steadily for the past hour. He was quiet for the two hours before that but that’s only because he was napping.

My boy seems to be allergic to me, despite the fact that I’m constantly wearing latex gloves and never get to touch him skin to skin. It doesn’t matter what I do, he screams his head off whenever I’m near him. To be fair, he also screams his head off when I’m not near him, so it’s a no-win situation. It’s been just over four months since I brought him home, and during that first tough week, I told myself things had to get better.

I tell myself the same still.

Needing to inject some enthusiasm into the goddamned event, because it looks more like a wake than a party, I bounce Mandla on my hip and call out, “It’s time to sing ‘Happy Birthday’!”

Dee and Riaan shuffle closer. She leans over the cake, which I’ve only just unveiled. It’s a triple-decker lemon sponge iced with lemon–cream cheese frosting.

“Wow,” Dee says. “That’s quite a creation. It looks more like a wedding cake than a child’s birthday cake.”

I ignore her sarcasm, reminding myself that she’s here under duress and is going to find fault with everything. “That’s because it is. I got a boutique confectionery shop in Sandton to make it to order. It cost a fortune getting them to drive it out here but it was worth it, don’t you think?”

Riaan scratches his head. “Shouldn’t the cake have ‘Happy First Birthday, Mandla’ written on it? And a Disney character or something cute like a teddy bear or toy train?” He eyes the mini-Mandla cake topper like he’s never seen anything like it.