Category Archives: Creative writing

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Story postcard – debating elegance (2)

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Does not belong here? She seeing something I’m not seeing?

“Are you serious? Jen looks so happy to me.”

Katania, a pitying smile on her lips, leans back, stroking again the flat sheen of her hair. The silent caressing and the clinking of the gold bangles, irritate Simi. She is pondering her own hair options for the wedding when the coffees arrive. She tips in two sugars and stirs, then raises the cup. She holds it lightly between her fingertips, both elbows on the table.

Those nails, Simidele. Loving the colour. Bold is good. Need it to survive all this green … and white.

“Well,” Katania sighs, giving her hair a final pat, “Jen’ll be stuck here for a while at least. I made the same mistake I suppose. She’ll come to her senses. Now just have to calm her down about this priest.”

Simi blows across the surface of her coffee, her mind switching from her nails to the priest, and wondering how Katania has the right to pick him from the tea factory in the first place. She says nothing for a while, but then she decides to put her query out there. She begins, cautiously.

“Choosing the celebrant … it’s not really …” she puffs another breath across the hot liquid, “your problem?” The coffee ripples slightly. She lowers her cup back to its saucer and looks directly at Katania. “Surely the choice is up to Jen and Hansie?”

“Oh please! What do they know? They’ve never been married before. I’ve had two weddings and I know what matters. The photographs. The looking fantastic. The videos. It’s so important to do this stuff better than everyone else. You want people to talk about your wedding. The beautiful show. Have you ever been married?”

“No,” says Simi.

Never. Came close once. Think I’ll keep that to myself.

“No wonder you’ve no idea what I’m talking about. A wedding is a special part of any woman’s portfolio. It matters.” Katania, impatience jingling, picks up her teaspoon from her saucer.

Simi tries to look away, but her gaze is hooked by Katania’s sharp scooping of froth, and by the parade of little cream pouches towards her scarlet lips. Three abrupt mouthfuls later she is done. She returns the teaspoon to its saucer, and dabs at her mouth with a napkin, her eyes catching Simi’s.

“You’re not the only one who won’t see it like me. These farmers – no disrespect, I love them all – but all they do is crops, rain, cattle. They have no idea of what life is really about.” She leans towards Simi, and drops her voice. “Jen’s a bit mixed up in it, but it’s just a phase she’ll grow out of. Hansie is not her forever-man. There’ll be others, but the right sort of people want to know what they’re getting. Believe me, it’s a tough, glittery world out there if you want to be where the money is.”

You telling me about that?

Anger, a new anger, begins to drum through Simi.

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023

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Story postcard – debating elegance (1)

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Simi tries to ignore Katania, and begins to eat her pancakes. She slices into the pile. It bounces, soft and yellow, with maple syrup oozing darkly between the layers. She loads her forkfuls carefully, securing each with bacon.

She is in savoury heaven, until Katania touches her lightly on her arm. She looks around, and meets the green eyes.

“So tricky, don’t you think? How do you tell these young girls that this kind of thing isn’t the end of the world?”

Reluctantly Simi puts down her knife and fork and clears her throat. Just as she is about to say something, a shadow falls over the table.

“May I get you ladies some more coffee?”

Simi, relieved, smiles up at Tonderai. “Perfect. Strong and black please!”

 “Of course,” says Tonderai, smiling.

“A cappuccino for me,” says Katania, not bothering to look up.

Simi watches Tonderai walk away for as long as she dares, then turns back to Katania.

“The thing is,” Katania says, “there’s not enough sophistication here. You know what I mean? Elegance. People who decorate space.”

“Decorate space?” Simi raises an eyebrow.

“Who exude presence. Are you following?” asks Katania, eyes stalking off to inspect other guests. She waves a hand despairingly towards a clump of hot birdwalkers who’ve gathered to admire the view. “See what I mean? T-shirts and shorts, at a resort? In the Eastern Highlands? This is not Kariba.”

They look happy. Confident. Nothing looks better than that, Simi thinks. “What’s Kariba?” she asks.

Katania sighs. “Never mind. Anyway, I don’t know why I even expect you to understand.”

Annoyance ripples over Simi. “It’s a wedding, not a beauty contest.”

Katania swats the comment away. “Oh please. Anyone can make an effort. Add a little elegance to the world. All the time. Look at me. And I’ve just met that priest – Father Norman. Down in the pouring dust of that tea factory, he looked elegant.”

Simi suddenly feels naked without her eyelashes. “Is this the priest you’ve found to take the service?”

“He’s perfect. Tall. Clean. No t-shirt. He’s going to look brilliant in the photographs. The forever photographs … well, maybe not every photograph judging by this lot. But you know what I mean? He’ll be right there in the middle of it, like a god.”

“A bit above his pay grade,” Simi mutters.

Katania takes no notice. “I know we don’t really need a priest, but I want him just for the way he looks. Don’t know why Jen’s bothered about us knowing him. Priests and weddings are like plumbers and leaks.”

Simi chokes. She dabs her mouth with a napkin.

“Katania, weddings are supposed to be about what’s in here.” She places her hand on her chest. “Not all the bling. Anyway look at this place. This is the earth. These are proper people. Earth people. We might not …” Simi stops.

Oh my, listen to me. Green Queen. These are not my streets. I don’t even know them. Earth people? Like I’m from another planet.

“That’s my point,” says Katania, eyes flashing. “My daughter does not belong here.”

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023

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Story postcard – sunshine and shadows (2)

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“Just have to hope it’ll get better, not worse, hey. Oh great. There’s Tim. Excuse us ladies, I need to catch him.” Hansie, plate of food in one hand, makes his way back through the tables towards the dining room, where Tim is herding the last walkers in to collect their breakfast.

Simi, pleased with her choice of pancakes and bacon, sits down. As she does so she hears a voice calling across the grass behind her, a voice she recognises as Katania’s.

“Oh there you are. At last. Such a stressful morning.”

“Oh. Hi,” says Jen, watching her mother warily. “Why so stressful?”

As Katania pulls out the chair at the head of the table, Simi looks at the pair of them, one soft as a pillow, the other, tall and thin as a knife.

“Good morning. No breakfast?” Simi asks.

“No. I never have breakfast.” Katania’s eyes dismiss Simi and focus on her daughter. “Your uncle can’t come. Some storm or something. Got half a message first thing. Can’t tell you how furious I am. Mick knows this is your big day …”

“But why?” Jen’s eyes are wide green with worry. “Why can’t he come? Is Uncle Mick okay?”

Katania waves one hand dismissively. “Oh, he’s fine. He’s not ill or anything. Just doesn’t want to get stuck here. Says he needs to be with his colleagues in Beira because of the storm. It’s so annoying.”

Storm, Simi wonders. She feels uneasy, unsure whether to leave the table, or stay trapped in the family drama.

“Just as long as he’s okay,” Jen says softly.

“Oh he’s fine. Anyway, it looked like it was all going to be a disaster, but then I had a brainwave. Thought there must be a local priest, and turns out there is. I’ve met him. He’s perfect. Problem solved.” Katania leans back, shaking her hair down the back of the chair.

“What?” asks Jen. “Who? We don’t even need a priest. Are you really sure Uncle Mick can’t come?”

“I am,” says Katania, straightening up again.

“Can’t a friend do it?”

“Who Jen? Do be sensible. I’ve been through everyone here. There’s no-one. Trust me. This priest will be perfect. Such presence.”

“What’s his name?”

“Father Norman.”

Jen pushes her bowl of fruit away and gets to her feet.

“I’m going to find Hansie.”

“Okay,” says Katania, waving a bangled wrist towards her daughter, “I’ll wait for you here.”

Jen makes her way back through the breakfast tables, while Simi, reluctant to abandon her pancakes, scans the tables hoping she might be able to attract a stray birdwatcher looking for a perch. But she has no luck, for the last of them flutters past, excitedly seeking out friends. Simi sighs and picks up her knife and fork.

Better just eat quickly.

“So tricky,” Katania says, taking off her dark glasses and puting them down on the table. She leans back, eyes closed, tipping her chin as high as it will go. Then she runs her fingers through her hair, sunshine flicking off it, as she traces her scalp down to the base of her neck.

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023