“Let’s see what Chas Fawkes has to say today. Our man from Slangkop. He’s reviewing some musical. Oh, this is good: you call it ‘a tsunami of camp …’ That’s very good. Very good turn of phrase.”
“It makes you want to see the show,” said Sharon. “What I like about your reviews is the way you give us these vinaigrettes. It’s the little vin -aigrettes that make it, don’t you think, Nina?”
“I think you mean …” But no one was listening to her.
“I wish you wouldn’t write like that,” said Mrs Fawkes. “So over the top. And that word, ‘camp’! People will assume that you’re an old queen.”
“There’s nothing old about me,” said Chas.
“And you’re not homosexual,” said his mother.
“Is there anyone else coming?” asked Fundiswa. “Perhaps we could get this meeting started. What about Emmanuel?”
“He’s otherwise engaged, serving drinks to Chas’s guests. In any case, he wouldn’t come to something like this.” Mrs Fawkes was from the old school.
“William might come,” said Neville.
“William! When was the last time he ever attended a community forum?” asked Mrs Fawkes.
“I don’t know,” said Neville. And then added, as if by way of explanation: “He was here earlier, buying chocolate.”
Chas looked over the railings of the deck. “Here he is! William!” he called out. “Welcome!”
William was tall, slope-shouldered, somewhat shambling. The sun caught his coppery hair and beard. He was wearing his standard uniform of baggy knee-length shorts and green rugby socks with trainers. The shirt – loud and island-style – was not something Nina had seen him wear before.
William smiled at everyone, but then seemed to fix his gaze on Nina. He sat beside her; she could feel his eyes willing her to look his way.
As if it weren’t bad enough, Nina thought, that she had missed the small window of opportunity one gets to lose one’s virginity, only wild-looking, oddly dressed men like this one, or worse, ever showed any interest in her. She looked across at Chas, whose soft brown hair swung down to his tanned, clean-shaven jaw, whose shirt was tastefully plain, hoping for some acknowledgement. But Chas was scrutinising William.
“Can we offer you a drink, William? Vodka, isn’t it?” asked Chas as if the clubhouse were his establishment.
“Vodka. Yes, thanks,” said William. He was eager, his hands gripping his knees as if in anticipation of fun times.
“And what do you like with that?” asked Sharon.
“Anything you have,” said William. “I mix it with anything. Cold tea, even.”
“Well, you’re in civilised company here,” said Sharon. “So I’ll give you a vodka and Coke.”
William looked even more pleased.
Neville handed out copies of the agenda, and when Sharon returned with William’s drink, proceedings began.
“We’ve got apologies from Kobus and Gareth, who you can see over there on the rocks, praying for a white steenbras to come their way. Right. Number one on the agenda this evening is streetlights. Fundiswa, this is your item.”
“Thank you, Neville. Look, my point is that I think we must apply to the city council to erect streetlights in Slangkop. It’s like living in the dark ages here, literally!”
“Ja, Sharon and I also feel that we’d get fewer thefts out of the caravans if we could actually see what’s potting after nightfall,” said Neville.
“What about the stars?” asked William. “You want to catch maybe one petty thief – if you’re lucky – in exchange for eleven constellations and stars of first magnitude? And you’ll never get them back again. Orion, Sirius, Castor and Pollux, the Southern Cross, the Magellanic Clouds …”
Nina hadn’t heard him speak at such length before. In fact, she had always thought William was something of a simpleton.
“That’s all very beautiful,” said Fundiswa, “but what about me and Nina coming home on foot on dark, wintry evenings?”
“If you let me know when your taxi drops you off at the top there, I’ll come up with a lantern,” said William.
“I couldn’t care less about the stars,” said Mrs Fawkes. “What we want is to keep our rates down.”
“Lights are very middle class,” Chas added.
“I should point out that we are the middle-class,” retorted his mother.
“The enlightened middle class,” Nina ventured. Whenever it entered her head to speak aloud at a meeting, her heart would protest violently. Why risk death when no one listened anyway? But Chas was a good audience.
“Enlightened but not illumined,” he said. He smiled and then spoke directly to her. “If you’re on our side, Nina, then the vote is decided: no streetlights.”
“I’m on your side, yes,” she said.
Though Neville had been in favour of the streetlights, he seemed relieved to end the discussion. “Good, then,” he said. “We can get cracking with the next item, which is the Cockle Place matter. The developer has asked us to withdraw our objections so that he can finish building the complex. Seems like you might soon get some new neighbours, Nina and Fundiswa.”
“The answer to that is a flat ‘no’, ” said Chas. “In fact, I would be interested in hearing legal opinion on this. We might even be within our rights to demolish the flats he’s built already.”
Fundiswa was indignant: “I can’t believe what I’m hearing! That’s where Nina and I live! Will that make you happy, if we are homeless?”
“You must have come from somewhere,” said Chas. “You could go back there.”
Nina was sure he was joking. Surely he was teasing them? Yes, she caught his wink.
“What do you think, William?” asked Chas.
William’s answer came as a pronouncement: “We can’t ask the developer to tear down the flats he’s built already. But we don’t want any more building on the site. Our objections must remain.”
“Wisely spoken,” said Neville. “Next: pests. Mrs Fawkes, you want to say something about the Egyptian geese?”
“They poo all over my lawn, which is very unpleasant. And they are exceptionally raucous.”
“I could shoot them,” suggested William. “They’re probably good eating.”
“If you’re so bloody trigger-happy, why don’t you start with that noisy bird of yours?” demanded Fundiswa.
“I’m thinking of wringing its neck,” said William. “They’re good eating,
