Instead, what she feels is a sense of loss, but a muted one that doesn’t even come close to how she felt after losing her son. Romantic heartbreak is terrible but there are things more terrible than that. And though Zodwa is inexperienced when it comes to love, she’s certain that it shouldn’t be such a destructive force. It shouldn’t rip people apart and ruin their lives, or make men want to commit violence and turn the best of friends against each other. Love should be pure and untainted, like the feeling she had for Mandla when he was reaching out for her on the couch, when she knew that she would do anything to stay with him.

“I’m sorry for everything that’s happened,” Thembeka says. “But I was weak and confused. That day I kissed you . . . I meant it. I wanted to kiss you but it scared me too . . . because of what that made me. And then after what happened with Mongezi, it was easier to just tell myself I hated you than have to deal with those feelings. Do you understand?”

Zodwa nods. She does. Hasn’t she herself hidden away from who she is, degrading herself by sleeping with Ace to try to prove something to the world? She’s the last person to judge.

“Please don’t go,” Thembeka says, reaching out for Zodwa. “Stay for us.”

Zodwa steps out of her reach. “I’m sorry but I can’t.”

She will wish later that she’d kissed Thembeka goodbye.

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

Delilah

1 July 1995

Verdriet, Magaliesburg, South Africa

I’d finished packing for the next trip to the dig site at Drimolen and went in search of Ruth to say goodbye. I was about to call out for her when I heard tinkling laughter coming from Mandla’s bedroom. The door was open and I peeked inside, not wanting to interrupt whatever they were up to. Ruth was on the floor resting her back against the wall, her legs stretched out in front of her with Mandla sitting on her thighs. She had one of the curtains pulled between them and was hiding behind it.

“Where’s he? Where’s he? Where’s he?” she called in a singsong voice before pulling the curtain aside. “There he is!”

Mandla reared back with hysterical laughter as though the skit was the funniest thing he’d ever seen. He responded just as uproariously the next five times Ruth repeated it.

I wasn’t prepared for the lump that rose up in my throat just then. I couldn’t even name the emotion or pinpoint its cause. Was it sadness because I’d missed out on countless moments like those with Daniel during his childhood? Or was it happiness for Ruth because I’d never seen her that content? Was it possible to feel both sorrow for yourself and joy for someone else at the same time?