David ended up carrying the pathetically thin, matted kitten home under his arm, stopping off to buy cat litter on the way. When he got to his flat, he placed the creature on a folded tea towel in the corner of the kitchen. He gave it some water, which it lapped delicately, and then gave it a spoon of tuna from a tin he found in the back of the grocery cupboard. It wolfed it down, clearly hungry. He placed a box of cat litter on the floor and then told the cat to get on with it.
He went to the bedroom to listen to his phone messages. The first one was a business call, a man wanting to know if David could transport horses from Shongweni to Pietermaritzburg. David returned the call and told the man he didn’t transport live animals. The next call was from a boutique wanting a load of designer clothes to be delivered from a local dressmaker. He called back again and arranged the collection and delivery for the following week, writing down the details in his deliveries diary as he spoke. The third call was from Julian, enquiring whether the courier service had delivered the keys and deeds to the yacht.
Before David could return the call, his doorbell buzzed again. He hung up and made for the intercom. “Who is it?” he called.
“Mr Roth? It’s Kathy Barnett. Can I have a moment of your time?”
Kathy? The woman from the Umvoti Mill? “Sure,” he answered hurriedly. “I’ll let you in.”
He buzzed her in, and two minutes later there was a soft knock on his door. He opened to find her standing there. She was dressed much the same as she had been the first time he had seen her – a white silk blouse under a grey business jacket and matching skirt. Her shoes were still too high. She was holding a gift in one hand, bottle-shaped. In the other she clutched his jacket. She held it out to him.
“I just came round after work to return this,” she said awkwardly. “And to apologise for getting sick on your shoes.”
He smiled at her and took the jacket. “Thanks,” he said. “But you don’t need to apologise. My shoes didn’t mind.”
She smiled back, relieved. It was a pleasant smile. “I also wanted to give you this,” – she handed him the gift – “to thank you for helping me yesterday. I wasn’t my usual self and I probably would’ve made a fool of myself if you hadn’t been there.”
He took the gift tentatively. “It was nothing,” he said, then realised what he had said. “I mean, I was glad I could help.”
She almost laughed. “I hope you don’t mind. I phoned Ms Prinsloo. She gave me your address.”
“Not at all,” he replied.
She closed her hands awkwardly in front of her as if not sure what else to say. “Well, thank you again and I hope you like red wine?”
“Yes, I do, and thank you too … again … as well.”
This time she laughed and then looked down at her feet. The kitten had come outside and was sliding between her ankles, meowing loudly. “How adorable!” She picked it up, the black-and-white bundle purring in her arms.
David just stood there as she fondled the cat, wondering what to do next. “Would you like to come in?” he asked eventually.
She hesitated at first.
“I was about to have a cup of coffee,” David explained. “You’re welcome to join me.”
Kathy smiled. “All right. Thanks. I’d like that.”
He let her in and she went through to the lounge with the kitten still in her arms.
“Milk and sugar?” he asked, tossing the jacket over the back of the sofa and putting the wine on the dining-room table.
“Both,” she replied, cuddling the kitten to her cheek. “Wow.”
He glanced up at her, raising his eyebrows. She wrinkled her nose at the cat. “It needs a bath. It smells of diesel and I’m not too sure what else.”
“She’s new. I’ll have to get her vaccinated and dewormed as well.”
He led the way to the kitchen, Kathy following with the cat. “Excuse the mess,” he told her, even though the room was tidy. “Maid’s year off.”
Kathy smiled politely. “Have you been here long?” she asked.
He peered over his shoulder at her as he flipped the kettle on. “Moved in last month,” he told her. “Had trouble finding a suitable place, but this’ll do for now.”
She went across to the large patio that provided the view overlooking the city. “Great view,” she said.
“Yes, that’s one of the reasons I bought it.”
He fetched two mugs from a cupboard and scooped coffee and sugar into them.
“I have a flat in Umhlanga,” she told him. “I’ve got a partial view of the ocean and the old lighthouse, but I think the city’s more interesting to look at.”
He smiled at her as he poured milk into the mugs. The kitten must have smelt the milk because it struggled from Kathy’s grip and she put it down hurriedly before it scratched her.
“All right, calm down,” David told it as it demanded something to drink. He poured a little milk into a saucer as Kathy watched, a smile on her face as the cat shivered in anticipation. The kettle started to heat up.
“How long have you been working in Durban?” he asked.
She looked around his flat as she answered. “Oh, two years now. I work as a bookkeeper for De Croes and Whitman, auditors here in Musgrave, but I grew up in Howick.”
He nodded.
“You know it?” she asked.
“A little,” he told her. “I lived in Boston for a while.”
“Really?” she asked, glancing back at him. “Why did you leave?”
He didn’t know her well enough to answer and he was acutely aware of the photographs watching him from the bookshelf. One was of his daughter, Janey. The other was of May, his previous partner. She had been offered a chance in a lifetime to go back to Johannesburg and work for the Daily Sun as a sub-editor. She had asked him to go with her, but he couldn’t. Not back there. He had stayed in Boston for a while, struggling with his loneliness until his friends Anri and Mark had also left. Not long after he had rescued the couple, they had bought a farm in the Free State, deciding to move closer to one of their daughters, who was getting married. Inga had gone too, the taxi driver who had teamed up with David to save the town, expanding his taxi service to Richards Bay. Even Jones had left, Sergeant Jones now, promoted and transferred to Harrismith. It had taken David another two months to decide that Boston was too small for him. He had moved to Durban, bought the flat and started his transport company. But the loneliness was still there.
He looked across at Kathy. She was a very good-looking woman, and in hindsight he was grateful he hadn’t been able to find a driver to deliver the first consignment of machinery parts to the Umvoti Mill. He admired her long fawn-coloured hair, which hung straight and heavy to cup her face, and her full and slightly upturned lips.
“I apologise. I
