Chapters (39)
- Cover
- Title
- Author’s Note
- Glossary
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Acknowledgments
That stung. Clare hadn’t realised how upset her friends would be by what had happened to her, what she’d done to herself. She should have anticipated it—particularly given the way her father had responded—but she hadn’t. Unlike the friends she’d made when she arrived at university, Maryanne and Buhle had known her for decades. She’d assumed they’d try to understand. At least ask the kind questions caring friends ask one another. Try to help. Be there.
“Yes,” she said, collecting herself, “it’s a lot to deal with.”
“Ja. I just . . . I just don’t know what to do. Maryanne is—”
“No, listen,” said Clare, but she wasn’t sure how to say what she wanted to say. How humiliated she felt about letting her friends down. How embarrassing it was to go from being the one who supposedly had everything under control to the one who was completely out of control—and whose appearance was a billboard to the fact. Buhle and Maryanne didn’t know what to do. Neither did she. The only thing she could do was to protect them from further embarrassment. She’d done this to herself. She was the one who should pay the price.
“It’s okay. We’ll get together when, erm, you guys feel better,” she said.
“What? No, Clare. That’s not—”
“It’s okay, Buhle. I’ve got lots to sort out over the holidays. Tell Maryanne I hope she feels better.”
She’d ignored her friends’ repeated attempts to contact her after that, telling herself she was doing so for their benefit. They were ashamed of her. She was ashamed of herself. Even if they had been interested in finding out, how could she explain what had happened to her? She didn’t know. It was just easier for everyone if she didn’t inflict her misery on her friends.
Faye had emptied her daypack, rolled it up and placed it under Clare’s knee to support the injured joint. Initially, it had felt comfortable. Now the canvas dug into her flesh. And, while the pile of leaves Faye had arranged for them to rest on were more comfortable than she’d expected, Clare was now stiff and longed to move, but she daren’t. Everything ached. The most intense pain, though, came from inhaling and exhaling. Who knew that breathing could cause such agony? She wondered how she would make it back to Heuningbos.