The trees opened onto a flat, wide stretch that ran parallel to the river. Geoffrey walked downstream to where the rope hung. Remarkably, both sections of the cable had survived the flood. The lower line had ensnared a messy orb of logs, reeds and branches, which, pulling the rope taut across the water, seemed to taunt the river as it was tossed back and forth.

Geoffrey sat down, his feet dangling over the bank directly opposite the ropes. It was where the group had briefly assembled after the crossing, thanking their lucky stars, God and whoever else they might’ve believed was involved in saving their lives.

There was something hypnotic about the way the water hit the entangled mass and tugged at the rope. Staring at the bobbing debris, he almost missed the pair of blue duikers who gave him a quick look before scampering into the dark shadows of the undergrowth on the other side of the river.

Nineteen

Nineteen

“Faye is afraid of her own shadow,” was Derek’s refrain. Yet, here she was, walking through the wilderness alone. And not for the first time, either. Two days ago, she’d made her way back to Heuningbos to Clare, and the next day she’d headed out to find her when she didn’t return from her walk.

That’s not to say that Faye didn’t move cautiously as she headed through the forest for the Bloukrans River. Her eyes scanned left and right, taking in the red and white alders, Cape Chestnuts and yellowwoods, and noting the shadows and how they moved. Where the trail traversed open patches of veld, she took in the bunches of fluffy white flowers that lined the way and the musty scent of buchu. Faye watched for the solid forms of buck, pigs and baboons in the bush and, where the rays shone weakly on the ground, for sun-bathing snakes. Vigilance was good in the bush, she told herself. It didn’t mean she was afraid, did it?

Faye only discovered she was inclined to be fearful when she met Derek. She remembered the first conversation they’d had about it a year into their marriage when he told her he was going on a white river rafting weekend with his work colleagues.

“Nice,” she’d said. “A team-building thing?”

“Not really. More of a company outing. Partners were invited but I knew it wouldn’t be your thing.”

“Oh?” She looked at him, confused. “Why not?”

“Two days of white river rafting? You’d hate it. It would terrify you.”

“What? Why?”

“You told me how easily afraid you are and how much you dislike the feeling,” he said.

“I did? I don’t remember—”

He’d wrapped his arms around her and drawn her to his chest. “It’s okay. You don’t have to be superwoman. I’ll take care of you.”