through her. She wanted to burst out, screaming, “Why now?”
Sonja made a whining sound of protest, but Nandi refused to look at her. Her gaze fixed vacantly on the cluttered mahogany desk.
“Fine, I’ll leave. Buzz me as soon as you’re ready to discuss this. We must talk about this, Nandi.”
Half an hour later Nandi’s mind was still refusing to calm down. She hadn’t touched the paperwork on her desk. She stood up, walked around in circles, sat down and read the number on the piece of paper for the umpteenth time. She could call Chris, there and then, and get it over and done with. After all, she had waited for the moment for nearly three years.
Nandi rose from her chair again and approached the window. At the taxi rank below scores of taxis lined up in neat straight lines in their respective lots, an unlikely little enclave of order in a world synonymous with pandemonium. She imagined taxi drivers lounging lazily to the sound of Mfaz’Omnyama and Ihashi Elimhlophe, waiting for the taxis to fill up, while others debated the escalating fuel prices and the cold drink money demanded by the metro police.
So Christopher Phakathi was back in the country. Why now? Nandi asked herself again. Why not? she answered herself. He never said he was leaving the country forever.
Nandi moved back to her desk, picked up the phone and punched in Zaza’s number determinedly.
“Please don’t tell me you’re still in bed – it’s almost nine,” Nandi said. “You won’t believe what I’m about to tell you . . .” She paused. “Chris is back in town.”
“That son of a bitch!” Zaza spewed out the words as though they had been sitting on the tip of her tongue waiting patiently all along. “I had a nasty suspicion he was going to show up one of these days. What does he want?”
“I don’t know. He called the office and left his contact number with Sonja. I’m staring at it as we speak,” Nandi said. “It’s strange. I’ve been waiting all these years for Chris to show up so I can give him a piece of my mind, but now he’s here, I’m terrified. Do you think I should call him?”
“Are you out of your mind? What do you want to call him for?”
“Chris and I have unfinished business. You know many things were left unsaid and undone. We need closure over what has happened.”
Zaza sucked air through her teeth. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t mention the word ‘closure’. It’s hyped. Anyway, you’ve had closure. You’ve moved on. What more do you want?”
“I haven’t moved on completely,” Nandi stated.
“Really, tell me what’s missing.”
“Zaza, if you were in my position, wouldn’t you want to get an explanation, an apology, something from him?”
“Assuming you get an explanation or whatever you’re looking for from Chris, then what? Nothing he says is going to change what happened.”
“I thought you of all people would understand that Chris and I need to talk about the past and why our relationship ended the way it did,” Nandi said curtly. “He was mean to me.”
“A year or two ago I would have said go for it, find that bastard and make him apologise on his knees. Now I don’t see the relevance of his explanation. Things have changed. You have Thomas. You’re getting married in a few months. Chris isn’t important in your life any more. Or aren’t you happy with Thomas?”
Nandi bit her lower lip and nodded at the receiver. “You know I’m happy, but . . .”
“That man screwed up your life! Or need I remind you of what he put you through? Your memory seems to be failing you.” Zaza’s voice was raised slightly.
Did she need Zaza to remind her of what Chris had done to her? No, she didn’t need her to. Everything was still fresh in her mind, as though the whole thing had happened the day before. They were supposed to get married, she and Chris. All the preparations were in place – the lobola had been paid, other traditional ceremonies had taken place, and the wedding date had been set for the following year. Then bloody London happened.
Chris came home one evening beaming with excitement. He waved his work permit, shouted, “We’re off to London, baby! Two months and we’re out of here!”
They had talked about living abroad for a few years. Chris’s company transfer made things easier. He left first, and she was to follow after sorting out her work permit.
Chris called every day, always animated and in awe of his new environment. “This place is fantastic, baby! I can’t wait for you to get here and be with me!”
Two months came and went, but Chris said the time wasn’t right for her to join him yet. Perhaps it was best for her to come after the wedding. He said he was putting in long hours at work to gain credibility with his new bosses, plus he wanted to have everything in place for her so she wouldn’t have to work hard. Nandi was beyond herself with affection for him.
Then suddenly the frequency of his calls dropped. The excuses escalated. He was looking for a bigger apartment, or he was in bad shape financially – did Nandi have any idea how expensive London was?
One night, exactly three months after he had left, Chris called, demanding to talk. What Nandi heard came through a haze, as if she was in a state of hallucination – an out-of-body experience. He wanted the wedding called off. He said it wasn’t that he didn’t love her – she was his best friend, he could never love another woman the way he loved her. But they were at a crossroads in their life. They wanted different things, and he felt love alone wasn’t enough to sustain their relationship. He needed to use the time away to think where he wanted to be, to sort himself out, that kind of thing. He said it was hard to explain. Though who was to say how things might work out in the future? They could still end up together, one, five, ten or twenty years later, have a laugh and think how stupid they’d been to let each other go. But for now he wasn’t in a position to take things further. She was a good person, he had no doubt she would find somebody to make her happy. He just didn’t think he was that person.
After that dreadful phone call Nandi waited, hoping Chris would call to tell her he had made a mistake, he still loved her and the wedding was definitely on. She prayed, too, harder than she ever had in her life. He never did call.
Like many young people in love and under its delusion, they had been foolish and certain about their future together. They had combined their assets soon after the engagement. Without Chris, Nandi couldn’t afford the mortgage on their house and was forced to sell. She was ready to die. She had fallen in love with the quaint Victorian house in Douglasdale the moment she had laid eyes on it. It was charming, so fine and perfectly itself. She and Chris were driving around late one Sunday afternoon looking at beautiful and expensive houses, as they often did whenever they got too frustrated with their box-sized apartment in gridlocked Northriding. They weren’t looking to buy anything that day, let alone a house with a proper garden. But there was something about the old-fashioned, quiet house in the cul-de-sac that made them take down the agent’s number listed on the For Sale signpost in the garden and enquire about it the following morning. The house was their first big-item purchase as committed partners, and a sure sign of stability in their relationship.
They also lived an extravagant lifestyle filled with local weekend getaways, annual overseas vacations and visits to upmarket restaurants, and in the process accumulated large
