Rudd imagines Hansie’s mum, up early, preparing the koeksisters, while everyone else was out on the walk. As he thinks of her, his mind flashes back to the last memory he has of his own mother.

He’d been in his bedroom. All he could hear was them arguing.

He shakes his head, and tries to focus on the koeksisters again, but his stomach is twisted tight with the tension that came each time he woke to the shouting. Mainly his father, but that night his mother too. Her voice fierce as he’d ever heard … and frightened. They’d been in the kitchen, just across from his bedroom. The place his father kept his drink. The beer. The bottles. The cracking thump, like the sound of crate being dropped. A scream. Then cursing. His father cursing. Light cutting across his room from the corridor outside. Then his father’s hulk passing the open door. Still cursing. Then the light goes, and he is lying in the dark, heart thumping, barely breathing. Waiting minutes, maybe hours, for his mother to come. Like she always did. But she never did. Waiting. Waiting. Then the sound of the television. James Bond. The song about diamonds. Forever.

He closes his eyes, and tries to block out the clanging kitchen noises, thickening the memory. But they surround him. A plate crashes to the floor, smashing into the voices of his parents. He braces his arms on the counter, chin on his chest, and breathes slowly, steadying himself. Then he stands straight, and turns just in time to see the kitchen door thud back on its hinges.

Samere, the head chef, bursts into the kitchen with a woman behind him. She is slight, and bouncing a baby on her back. By her skirt there is another child, who peers out shyly. Silence swivels briefly around them, then swells into greetings and laughter. Rudd walks over and adds his own to the pile. He is relieved to have Samere’s solid, cheerful presence back at the centre of the kitchen.

“Samere, please could we have lunch on the table as soon as possible,” Rudd says, as the talk settles. “The wedding service is at 3pm sharp.”

“Yes. Tonderai has told me this,” Samere replies, crossing over to the sink to wash his hands.

“Excellent. Thank you.”

Rudd leaves the kitchen, and outside in the sunshine, he runs his eyes around the edges of the lodge, drawing up a mental checklist.

Lock up the umbrellas. Find torches. Batteries. Candles. Matches. Check fuel. Maybe that generator will start this time.

Laughter swings up from the tennis court, and in the distance the clip of a well struck golf ball. Warm in the sun, and calm again, Rudd stretches his shoulders up and back, thankful his head has cleared.

Stress. Always when I’m stressed.

“Hey Rudd?” a voice calls, from the edge of the pool. “What time’s lunch? ”

 “Shouldn’t be long now. Half an hour max. Sooner I hope.”

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023

Rudd stands in the shade of the trees by the lodge entrance. With him is James the gardener.

“Make sure everything is away. All the tools, buckets, pool equipment – anything that the wind might take. If this storm comes they say it will be very strong.”

“Yes. Tonderai told us this morning, early, early. My wife is here now. She is happy.”

“That’s great. I am so glad. Better to be …”

Rudd breaks off, as a low rumbling sound lifts out of the trees along the road down to the lodge. It grows louder and louder. Shading his eyes, he sees a dust cloud, and then suddenly, at its centre, the red mission truck bounces into view, its engine rasping through its lowest gears.

“Eish, but this driver is very careful,” says James, shaking his head, as the truck edges over the last of the culverts.

Rudd laughs. “I think it’s the new priest. First time down here. First time in Africa I think.”

The truck swings in through the gates, turns a slow circle in front of them, then stops precisely in one of the stone marked parking spaces. Rudd steps forward to meet the tall man, unwrapping himself from around the steering wheel.

“Not much of a road that,” the man says, emerging from the vehicle, and placing a Panama hat on his head. The two men shake hands.

“Apologies for the road. I’m Rudd, the manager here.”

“Pleased to meet you. I’m Father Norman. If I remember correctly we’ve bumped into each other a few times,” he says, dusting off his trousers.

“That’s right. And then again this morning.”

“Yes. Your visit was quite a surprise.”

“For me too,” says Rudd. “Anyway, I’m very pleased you’re here, and I know they’re waiting for you, so I’ll take you to freshen up quickly then we’ll go out to them.”

 “Excellent, thanks. This dust gets into everything.”

“And it’s no good trying to shake it out,” Rudd laughs.

As they crunch in over the gravel they pass James raking twigs off the grass by the entrance.

Father Norman calls out to him, with a tip of his hat. “Quite a wind last night.”

 “Good morning sir. Yes sir,” says James, the long easy strokes of his rake unbroken, as they walk past him into the lodge.

The wedding party is waiting by the bar. Katania, the first to catch sight of Father Norman, rises to her feet as he approaches. Rudd stands back and watches the introductions, then he leaves them to their planning and heads off to the kitchen to check on preparations. As he pushes open the doors the air swirls over him, rich with the aroma of the slow-cooked sauce, simmering in the two large saucepans on the stove. Beside the food hatch waiters, neat in their brown uniforms, pile plates and cutlery on to trays.

Rudd walks in further, to the cooler part of the kitchen. Here the large fridges stand like wide, steel pillars, with the metal gleam of a scrubbed counter top between them. Along its surface, in ordered trays, golden twists of koeksisters are laid out to cool.

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023

Simi, heart tight with rage, watches Katania raise her coffee cup to her lips.

This woman. She shakes me up like popcorn. Sitting so special on her little mind throne.

Simi tears her eyes away and breathes in slowly. Fresh, sun-brushed air threads through her, cooling her. Shoulders back she fills her lungs again, letting the green soothe into her. Then she picks up her cup, and takes another sip, her eyes reaching over the rim and into the distance. She holds them there, firmly, trying to ignore Katania, but the new sugar in her tone draws her back.

“Such a tricky situation. Perhaps I sound a little harsh but Jen will come round. You’ll see. And, by the way, I am sorry Mick’s not here. I love him dearly, but with this new priest, I think it might be for the best. Now, if you’ll excuse me. I can’t sit around here all day waiting for Jen.”

Simi flicks her eyes back across the table and sees Katania getting to her feet. As she steps away, a voice trills over the grass.

“Simi … woo hoo … Simi!”

Simi turns with her cup still poised, to search out the voice. There, at the top of the steps to the golf course is Marybelle, in a big, floppy-brimmed staw hat. She is on her tiptoes and waving one arm in a wide, generous arc, back and forth across the sunshine.

“Good morning Simi – I hope you slept well!” she calls. “See you at the rehearsal … I’m off to do some yoga with our yoga guru. Catch you later!”

Like a sunflower thinks Simi, returning the wave, as Marybelle, one hand holding her hat in place and the other blowing kisses, descends the steps behind a bare-chested young man with long hair.

Katania’s voice chips over Simi’s shoulder. “No idea why those English like long hair. That’s the best man’s brother. Trust Marybelle to be hooked by every passing yoga guru … oh, hi Jen darling, hello Hansie.”

Simi swings around to see the couple pull up some chairs, while Katania takes back her old seat at the head of the table. Simi smiles but is barely noticed.

Right. This is probably my chance to get away.

“Jen says Mick can’t make it, is that right?”

“Don’t worry Hansie. I’ve found a solution. There’s a priest from London here, who seems perfect. He’ll be up soon to meet everyone.”

“Jen said.” Hansie nods, but his body does not relax.

As the silence tightens, Simi scans the golf course in the vague hope that Marybelle might suddenly abandon her yoga teacher. But there is no sign of her, so Simi finishes her coffee and stands up. She is about to explain that she is off to get her sunglasses, when she realises that she has become invisible in the standoff. Katania does not look at her, and Jen and Hansie, fingers entwined beneath the table, are too busy searching each other’s eyes for alternatives, to see her. Simi slips away quietly.

Good luck to them. Tied together, happy as a pair of laces.

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023