“Oh Simi, wait. There’s Jambee. Jambee!”

Simi turns to see Marybelle signalling at Jambee, who is walking towards them with the slow, almost sideways walk of a shy animal.

She could be parking an aeroplane with all those arm movements going on. Seems to be working though.

 “Oh you look so smart in that jacket and tie. Almost didn’t recognise you.” Marybelle’s voice skips around Jambee, as she hooks her arm through his and steers him towards Simi. “Doesn’t he look handsome? Oh … Jambee, where’s Caralee?”

Jambee, blushing, smiles at his shoes, then looks over towards the trees.

“Doing photos. Over there.”

“Caralee?” Simi asks.

“One of the bridesmaids,” says Marybelle. “The one with the dark curly hair.”

Simi studies the young women posing for the cameraman. There are three of them, each in long, peach satin dresses, and each laughing, free as the wind.

“There she is,” says Jambee, pointing towards the group. “She’s talking to Jen.”

“With the long hair?”

“Ja,” says Jambee. “It’s sort of wavy.”

“She’s beautiful,” Simi says.

“Ja,” Jambee nods, his eyes never leaving the girls.

 “Your wedding next, Jambee?” Marybelle asks, winking at Simi.

 “No way,” says Jambee, unhooking his arm from Marybelle’s, and bending down to tie his shoe. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Not Caralee?”

“As if? I don’t even know if she likes me,” Jambee mumbles to the grass, as he fiddles with his laces.

“I think she does,” says Marybelle, looking over the top of his head towards the girls. “I’ve seen how she smiles at you.”

Jambee stands up and pulls at the tie around his neck. “Hope I can take this off soon. I think I might go up to the lodge now.”

Simi smiles at him. “Do you like Caralee Jambee?”

“Well, sort of, but so does everyone,” says Jambee, eyes focused on his jacket sleeves as he tries to tug out the tight creases around his elbows.

 “You’ve got to be bold then Jambee. Go and show her.”

“Show her?”

“Yes. That you like her.”

“How?” asks Jambee, eyes flying up to Simi’s face then back down to his sleeves.

“Oh, I don’t know. Get her a drink. Be kind. Make her laugh.”

Jambee, looks up again. “Maybe. One day,” he says quietly, letting go of his sleeve. He digs the toe of his shoe into the grass, then twists a lump free and kicks it down the slope.

“Be bold Jambee. Faint heart never won fair maiden,” Marybelle says.

 “Ha ha. That’s old stuff …”

“Still true though.”

“Jambee! Jambee!” Voices call up from under the trees. “We need you for a photo.”

“Okay. Coming,” Jambee shouts back. He nods briefly at Simi and Marybelle and then begins to lope down the hill.

 “Jambee?” Marybelle calls after him. “Good luck!”

He turns around to face them, both arms raised above his head.

That boy, thinks Simi as she watches him, so stong, but so unsure. Like he’s half waving, and half man-on-a-cross.

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023

 

“No, I don’t have anyone special,” Simi says.

“No? You’re so glamorous. So strong, so … so … I don’t know, confident. And I love that red wrap around your hair. You look … magnificent.”

“Ha! I know how to walk the walk. I’ve had to learn that. My parents taught me. When they tell you you’re wrong – wrong colour, wrong place – that’s what you do. Walk tall.” Simi pauses, watching the wide wonder in Marybelle’s eyes.

“I like that.”

“You’ve got to sail out there like a ship. Look your finest. Every time. Catches attention. Gets you noticed.”

“So… who’s noticed you? Somebody has.”

“Well … there was …”

“And? Please. Everybody tells me. You might as well. Not like you’re going to bump into me anywhere in London.”

 Simi lowers her lashes, and considers her inquisitor. “That’s true. Okay … so there was someone. But … it ended.”

“Recently?”

Simi nods.

“Why? What happened.”

“Well. I moved on. Maybe I’m just wary.”

“Is that why you’re here? A broken heart?” Marybelle’s eyes shine with warmth.

“No. Well my heart’s not broken. Mostly I was annoyed. He said I was a fraud. Didn’t know anything about Africa.”

“No!”

Simi laughs. “Well. He was right. Until I came here I’d only been to Morocco. Once, on a school trip. That’s why I’m here. When he left I picked somewhere properly inside Africa just to show him. And my friends”

“Is he waiting for you?”

“No. He’d met a Lola somewhere. Younger than me. I don’t mind. I never wanted to marry.”

“What? He left you! I thought you left him. Why? Why don’t you want to be with him?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Okay. So …?”

Simi wonders if Marybelle can possibly imagine life in a tower block. If she’s ever even seen one.

Light as a dandelion. Like talking to a leaf.

“I don’t know if you’ll understand this, but our neighbours, when I was little, they were always fighting. We could hear them through the wall. Then one night she came pounding on our door. White woman. Your size. Face a mess. Said she didn’t want the police. He only did it when his team lost.”

“Did what?”

“Beat her.” Simi, voice flat, looks directly at Marybelle. “She went back to him. Can you imagine?”

“No. I can’t,” says Marybelle.

“We moved soon after that. Don’t know where she is now, but I’ve never forgotten her. I can still see her. Eye swollen, nose bleeding, shirt ripped, and it was freezing. November, I think.”

“Horrible. Awful. But men aren’t all like that. You can still find someone Simi.”

“You think so?” said Simi,

“Well, not if you don’t try. Then, when you find them, keep trying.”

“We’re from different worlds Marybelle. It’s tough in the cities. Stressed. Not like here. It looks easy to be happy here.”

Marybelle looked around. “Perhaps. Maybe we’ve just got to trust in God Simi. That’s what we’ve got to do.”

How am I talking to this woman? Back in London I’d walk right on past. And I don’t want this God stuff that’s for sure.

 “Marybelle,” Simi says, taking a step away and studying the crowd, “how about we look for some more champagne?”

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023

Simi is in a daze. She takes a sip of her champagne, and examines the idea of being the only black woman at a wedding in Africa.

It’s like I’m in a film, or something. 1950’s. Bride and her father riding through tea fields on a white horse.

Mind floating between real and not real, she lifts her glass up towards the sun, and admires the fine stream of bubbles flowing up the centre. Half a glass left. She lets the last mouthful linger, and turns her attention to the come and go in the shade, where families are being arranged into photographs. Nearby, but she is not quite sure where, she hears the best man calling out names to join those under the trees. She is lost in the watching, when Marybelle bubbles up to her.

“Hi Simi. What a beautiful service. Wasn’t it great? Such a special couple. Don’t you think? Oh … look … there’s Katania. Katania! Cooeee!”

Marybelle stretches one hand high over her head in her signature wave. Katania does not respond. To fill the gap, Simi tries to draw Marybelle’s attention back.

“You look beautiful today. Such a pretty dress.”

“Thank you. I borrowed it from one of the teachers. I just love the flame lillies on it,” says Marybelle, smoothing her hand over the billow of light fabric, patterned with reds and greens. “This is our national flower.”

Simi stands back to admire the dress a little more. As she does so, a gust of wind comes through, sweeping her kaftan tight against her, and blowing empty glasses off the cocktail tables. Marybelle topples slightly on her heels, then steadies as the breeze drifts back to nothing. Waiters hurry to pick up the fallen glasses, and under the trees the photographer re-drapes Jen’s dress, and Katania re-pins the veil.

“You’ll have to be quick,” a voice calls. “This wind … getting stronger.”

“Right … everyone …”

Words snatch back, but Simi only catches a few before they fly out of reach.

 “Shouldn’t you be there with them?” she asks Marybelle.

“Who? Me?” Marybelle’s hand flies to her chest, with a laugh. “No. They make me feel like part of the family, but I’m not. I’m more like an old rug. Just there.”

Simi laughs, then wonders. “Are you married?”

“No.”

“Never been?”

“No. Came close … but no.”

“What happened?”

“He got killed in our ‘bush’ war. They said it was an ambush. I only wanted him.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

Simi stands quietly as Marybelle’s eyes bury back into the past.

“It was a long time ago. I’d just turned nineteen. It was mad here. Whole place in a mess. Terrible things happening. Lots of people left. My friends went off to uni, but I stayed. Too sad to go anywhere, so I got a job in my old school. Haven’t moved since.” Marybelle sighs, then catches hold of herself again. “That’s me. School secretary and agony aunt, forever and ever, Amen.” She ends on a shining smile.

“No man since?”

 “No. Why would I? He was the one. Now I just love everyone.”

“Good plan,” Simi smiles.

 “And you Simi? No one special?”

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023