Blindside. Wilna Adriaanse
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“It’s my house and my room and I don’t feel like talking to you tonight.”
“I’ll stop by again tomorrow.”
“Don’t bother.”
Ellie leaned her forehead against the closed door for a moment, turned, locked the front door behind her and walked to her car. As she drove away, she sent a muttered prayer off into the air.
She and her mother were like two puppets without their ventriloquist. The silence between them seemed to be lengthening as the days went by.
The report in the newspaper had read:
Colonel John McKenna, an experienced detective with more than thirty-five years’ service, was fatally wounded at about 19:00 last night at a roadblock outside Kraaifontein, when shots were fired from a vehicle. He died at the scene.
A second police officer was wounded but is out of danger after a bullet was removed from his lower spine during an operation late last night.
The car from which the shots were fired was found in Gugulethu an hour after the incident. No suspects have been arrested.
John McKenna was awarded the medal for outstanding service twice in his career. At the time of going to press, there was no comment from his family. His colleagues all expressed great admiration for McKenna.
“They don’t make them like that any more,” an ex-colleague said.
At least he’d been given a name. The family had still not commented, and weren’t planning to. What did the reporter think they were supposed to say?
Albert was in the kitchen when she arrived at his flat in Oakdale. He had bought KFC and was arranging it on a plate. She wasn’t hungry, but still longed for a kitchen that smelled delicious. Her mother had been a good cook, probably still was, but since she’d started to eat less herself, she’d stopped going to any trouble with food.
Albert didn’t cook and his stove was slowly growing a mountain of unopened mail.
He smiled when he saw her, drew her into the circle of his arms and kissed her. He groaned and ran his fingers through her hair. “Damn, I missed you. Suddenly I’m not that hungry any more.”
She stepped out of his embrace and sat down at the table. He poured her a glass of whisky with ice. She turned the glass around and around so that the ice cubes tinkled.
“Where’s your bag?”
“I didn’t have time to go home first. Besides, I want to sleep at my own place tonight.”
“There’s no way you’re going home tonight. I happen to have bought a new toothbrush today.” He sat down as well, put the chicken in the middle of the table and passed her a plate and cutlery.
She sipped the whisky slowly. Instinctively she searched for the undertones her father had taught her to taste. The green Irish barley dried in gas kilns. The subtle taste of bourbon and Oloroso sherry that came from the old kegs in which it was aged. The flowers and fruits, the vanilla and fudge. You could wake him in the middle of the night with a glass, and he wouldn’t refuse. He always said it was the reason he didn’t have a drinking problem. He loved whisky too much and couldn’t imagine a world without it.
“Are you in a shitty mood, or just tired?”
“What do you think?”
He leaned over and kissed her neck. “I know how to make you smile.”
Ellie took a drumstick and began to eat. “Have you found out anything about my dad? Who’s in charge? Did you tell them to look at the cases he was investigating?”
Albert threw his hands in the air. “Whoa, can we just back up a bit? We haven’t been together for almost a week. You rock up here, your face like a thundercloud, and treat me like one of your street contacts.” He snapped his fingers in front of her eyes. “Look at me.” He waited until she looked up. “I understand about your dad, and I know it’s not easy, but I’m not part of, or the reason for, your problems. So I don’t mind if you’re not yourself, but just don’t treat me like some distant acquaintance.”
“I told you tonight’s not a good night.” She leaned back in her chair and finished the drumstick. She shook her head when he offered her another piece.
“But you’re here now, so we might as well make the best of it.”
When she didn’t answer, he asked after her mother.
Ellie shrugged and put two potato chips in her mouth. “Cranky, uncooperative, stubborn, sorry for herself. What’s new?”
“Be careful she doesn’t hold you hostage. I remember what it was like with my father. In the end everyone’s lives revolve around them and their drinking.” She heard the sharp tone in his voice. It was always there when he spoke about his father.
“It’s not like I can walk away and simply leave her to her own devices.”
“That’s not what I’m saying, but set limits. She has to know that she has responsibilities too.”
Ellie smiled stiffly. “I didn’t know you moonlight as a counsellor.”
He smiled that easy smile that had attracted her from the start, got up and pulled her to her feet.
“If you can joke, you can do other things as well.” Steering her in the direction of the bedroom, he started unbuttoning her blouse. He kissed her neck and his hands moved down to her hips.
“Watch where you’re going. I’d hate to have my head slammed into a door frame.”
“Stop moaning.”
When she lay down beside him on the bed, she felt something stir inside her after all. Since the night Ahmed had turned up at her house with the news about her dad, her nerve endings had felt paralysed. That dead feeling you get when the dentist’s Novocaine starts taking effect. She still couldn’t taste or smell properly. Even her sense of touch seemed diminished. She was suddenly relieved, and grateful for the small flame.
His fingers felt warm on her body. The cold she’d felt at the church service hadn’t ebbed, no matter how many layers of clothing she put on. It lay deep.
She began to unbutton his shirt. When he kissed her, she pushed all other thoughts from her mind. Maybe she could forget for a while, imagine that her dad was in his chair in front of the TV, watching soccer.
CHAPTER 8
“What were you and Zondi arguing about today?” Ellie asked when she came back from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel. Her skin was still damp after the hot shower. Albert was propped up against the pillows.
“Jeez, can’t you give my brain a chance to switch back on?”
She started to get dressed.
“Are you really going to drive home at this time of night?”
“Yes. I’ve got things to do tomorrow.”
He got up, picked his jeans up from the floor and pulled them on. “I’ll make us something to drink.”
When she entered the sitting room, he had a mug of coffee in his hand. There was another mug on the table.
“It must have been serious.”
“I gave Zondi a tip. She took offence, accused me of wanting to teach her how to do her job.”
“What kind of tip?”
“I reckon she’ll tell you herself.”
“Why don’t you just tell me?”
He ran his hand over his face and took a sip of coffee. “I kind of promised Ahmed I wouldn’t talk to you about it.”
“Is it about my dad?”
“No.”