“Simi … oh, hello.”

Simi turns to see who Marybelle is greeting. She expects it to be the doctors coming back to their seats, but it’s not. It is Jen, Hansie and Katania who approach the sofas.

“There you are. We’ve been looking for you,” says Hansie.

As they come closer, Simi sees Katania twitch a patronising smile towards them. “You ladies were marvellous,” she says. “Mind if I sit down? My feet are killing me.”

“Sure,” says Ruan, pulling up a chair for her.

“And you are?” she asks before sitting, looking first towards Dr Miriam, and then turning to the pilot.

“I am the pilot. Douglas Makanda. That young lady is Dr Miriam Muzenda.”

Katania acknowledges the information with a nod. “I am Katania Stone,” she says. Her bangles jangle as she raises her right hand and places it briefly on her chest, before gesturing towards Jen. “This young lady is my daughter, Jennifer, and her new husband, Hansie van Graan.”

“Congratulations,” says Douglas Makanda.

Katania sits down on the chair Ruan has provided. She crosses her legs slowly, turquoise trousers clinging. Simi wonders wearily how she manages to look so pristine every time she sees her. The white of her blouse is ghostly in the dark, and a broad gold hairclip gleams when she turns her head.

Simi adjusts her kaftan, aware suddenly of the lingering smell of sausages. Carefully, she raises her good hand to check her hair wrap, and is relieved to find that it is still holding its position, at least as far as she can tell. She tweaks it slightly, just for the sake of doing something, and as she does so notices the newly-weds slipping away to join the smokers sheltering outside, under a remaining patch of roof.

She swings her attention back again and hears Katania questioning the young doctor. “Are there more of you? Someone told me there were four of you.”

“Three of us,” Dr Miriam replies.

“And one pilot,” adds Douglas Makanda, grinning.

Marybelle chips in. “The other two doctors have just left. They were telling us how terrible it is out there.”

“Awful, simply awful,” agrees Katania. “So sad that I won’t be able to help any more tomorrow.”

“Why? Are you off somewhere?” Marybelle asks.

“’Fraid so. Desperate shame, but Jean Jacques can’t stand the thought of me stranded in this chaos. He’s sending a helicopter to take me to Harare. His driver and car are waiting there.”

Simi tries to hang on to the conversation, but her mind starts to spin, mulching ideas into fragments and then scattering them just out of reach. She is vaguely aware that Aneke and Ruan are chasing helicopters, hoping for a ride. That Marybelle is talking about Jean-Jacques. Jean Jacques? Simi ponders, then connects. Katania’s man. Somewhere remote. Africa. Mining. Something. Simi struggles to focus. She wants to know. How did he hear? How did he arrange a rescue? She sits forwards, clutching the wrist of her sore hand against her chest.

“I just know …. wouldn’t like me to be stuck … he’d want this. Hansie and Jen sorted it …. insisted. He’ll pay … don’t want him worried.” Katania’s smile, sweet as a slice of lemon, holds until Aneke asks the question again.

“Any space for us?”

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023