“Ah, yes,” I muse. “Isn’t it funny how a bitch is a woman who won’t sleep with you, but a slut is a woman who’ll sleep with anyone else except you, which was your father’s real issue with me, I suspect.” I stand and walk to the door. “Now, is there anything else I can help you with before I ask you to leave?”

Suddenly remembering the mission he’s been sent on, and clearly nervous that he’ll be tossed out before he can fulfill it, the dominee straightens his tie and clears his throat. “I wanted to talk to you about this nonsense I’ve heard about you bringing a kaffir baby to come live with you in your home.”

“What about it?”

“It’s unnatural in the eyes of the Lord.”

“Really? It offends the Lord that an orphaned child is going to find love and comfort within these walls?” He nods warily and begins to reply but I cut him off. “Well, you know what I think is unnatural in the eyes of the Lord? Hypocrisy. This whole damn town stinks of it. And you know what? You can shove it up your sanctimonious asses.” I walk to the door and open it for him. “Oh, and on the way out, could you please take that black bag with you? It has a poor decapitated animal inside it, one of many that your devout congregants have left for us, because apparently disgusting cruelty to animals, harassment, and intimidation are all natural in the eyes of the Lord.”

I pick up the bag that I’d had Stompie put the poor civet into and hand it across to him. He instinctively reaches out for it.

“The baby won’t be safe here,” the dominee says, a note of desperation in his voice. “Who knows what might happen to him.”

“Don’t you dare threaten me,” I say, pointing my finger at his face. He flinches and steps back, and I force a sickly sweet smile. “Now, please don’t take this the wrong way, dominee, but you can all fuck right off.”

And then I slam the door in his face.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Delilah

10 October 1994

Verdriet, Magaliesburg, South Africa

Now, please don’t take this the wrong way, dominee, but you can all fuck right off.”

I couldn’t help it, I laughed. It was the first time I’d done so in months. I stepped away from my door where I’d been eavesdropping and sat down on the bed, rubbing Jez’s back.

Four months after Daniel’s passing, I still couldn’t shake off my malaise. I was in limbo, unable to grieve him properly and yet also unable to move on. How did you mourn someone you’d never known but had always loved? How did you let them go when they’d never been yours?