Zodwa allows herself to be rocked as her mother cries. She can’t help but think that sometimes it’s easier to stagger under the weight of our heaviest burdens with our heads bowed down, just so we don’t have to witness the pain that our suffering causes those who love us most.

“I’m sorry, my child. I am so sorry.” Leleti’s crying is punctuated at intervals by apologies and self-recrimination. “I should have protected you from this . . . Forgive me, my child . . . I will make it right. Forgive me. Forgive me.”

Her mother’s tears drip onto Zodwa’s cheeks, and she wants so much to contradict Leleti and tell her that she isn’t to blame but she can’t explain any further, not without losing the tenderness her mother feels for her.

You could not have protected me, Mama. I was raped because I loved the wrong person. I still do.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Ruth

28 April 1994

Verdriet, Magaliesburg, South Africa

I thought I dreamt you,” I say after shuffling through to the kitchen, where Dee’s making a god-awful racket and generally being very inconsiderate of the throbbing in my temples. “Though it felt more like a nightmare than a dream, to be honest.”

She pours coffee and hands it to me. “Here, this should help.”

“Help what?”

“The headache and nausea you probably woke up with.”

“I don’t get headaches and nausea. I get raging hangovers.”

The comment is meant to break the ice a bit but Dee doesn’t thaw at all. “Sorry there’s no milk or sugar for it but the cupboards are completely bare. How can you live like this?”

“I only just arrived from Cape Town yesterday, a few hours before you did,” I say in my defense. “It’s not like I’m Mother Hubbard.”

“Well, in that case you should have realized there wouldn’t be any provisions and gone shopping before you arrived.”

“There wasn’t time.”

“There was time to stop at the liquor store.” Dee eyes the empty bottles standing next to the bin. “The only things in the fridge are wine and tonic water.”

“You could just as easily have stopped at the shops, Dee. I don’t see all your provisions stocking the cupboards.” She flushes but doesn’t explain why she didn’t do any shopping. Typical of her. Hypercritical of everyone else, but God help you if any of that criticism is directed at her. “At least we know one of us has her priorities straight. And thank you for the reminder about the tonic,” I say airily, getting up to fetch a ciggie and the ingredients for some hair of the dog.

“Do you really need a drink just after waking up?” Dee rinses an ashtray and plunks it down in front of me.

“Mosquitoes are the biggest killers in Africa. They claim more lives than hippos. This is just good sense. You should have one too.”