She looks at her reflection in the rear-view mirror, touches the new streak of grey at her temple (Silver Floss).
‘We have the same hair, and eyes,’ she whispers to herself.
She feels a welling up in her chest, an inflating of her ribcage, and breathes deeply to stay calm. Warm tears rush down her face; she is used to the feeling now, even welcomes the release. In the last few months she has made up for a lifetime of not crying.
The woman looks so peaceful, so at ease with the world: a trait Kate wasn’t lucky enough to inherit. But she wasn’t always like this, she thinks, she also had her dark days.
James had kept an eye on the Chapmans for the last twenty years, even kept a file, which he had left in his SkyBox for Kate. She found the access code in the Hansel & Gretel book he had bought for her a lifetime ago. It had been there all along. The file contained a comprehensive log of the Chapmans’ lives: the different jobs they held, the close friends they had, the holidays they went on. The grief counsellor they consulted. They never moved house – they still lived at 22 Hibiscus Road – as if they thought if they moved, they would lose all hope of the twins finding their way home.
Anne Chapman still visits the river almost every day, the spot where she used to sit in the shade while the twins splashed around, and then later, their subsequent children: another son and daughter, born five years after Kate and Sam, spaced three years apart. The children, now grown, visit often, and the family looks like any normal, happy, loving family. It would be difficult, seeing them laughing and joking at family dinners, to guess at their sad and fragmented past.
Kate’s yearning crowds the car. How she would love to meet her mother, grasp her hand, taste her cooking, ask her about the years before the kidnapping, and after. But looking at her, seeing how contented she is, how restful her spirit seems, she knows she can’t do it. It would be like smashing a shattered mirror that had taken decades to put together. Its hold is tenuous, gossamer, and she won’t be the one to re-splinter it.
No fresh heartbreak.
She has a new life, thinks Kate, like I do now. She thinks of Seth at home in Illovo with Baby Marmalade: how good he is with him, how gentle. Seth who wanted to keep his Genesis name, instead of ‘Sam,’ said it didn’t suit him, and he was right.
He has a new life too, despite not changing his name. She pictures what she guesses they are doing now, sitting on the couch in front of the homescreen, Baby Marmalade asleep in his arms, Betty/Barbara the Beagle snoring in her usual spot, her snout on Seth’s lap. The wooden floor littered with nappies and wipes and teething rings and toys.
A different kind of family, James had said.
An unusual family, but a family nonetheless: waiting for her to return home, and anticipating its new addition.
She thinks of her Black Hole, which is still there but has been sewn up to the size of her skin-warm silver locket. It’s the smallest she can ever remember it being, but it yawns when she thinks of James.
She watches her mother pack up, shake the blanket, fold it, put it away, and start walking back in the direction from which she came. Kate reaches for the door handle, then stops herself.
No, she tells herself. No. But when that feels too harsh, she allows herself a concession, thinks: At least: not today.
After a few steps, her mother turns on her heel, looks directly at the car in the distance. Kate can’t see the expression on her face. A moment goes by; she turns back and continues her walk home.
Kate takes a few breaths with her head back and her eyes closed, then snicks her safety belt in and starts the car, swinging it into reverse. Her back is aching again, her ankles puffy. She adjusts her position, rubs her swollen belly.
‘Time to get you back home, little one.’
Born seven months apart, her babies would be almost like twins. A different kind of twin.
She pops the car into Drive, and puts her foot down.
A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR –
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Janita
More Books by this Author
• Bridge Gate (A Short Story)
• Sticky Fingers (coming soon)
• The Underachieving Ovary (coming soon)
• Grey Magic (coming soon)
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
My thanks: –
To Mr L, for your generous mentoring, and most of all, for giving me the courage to embrace the writing life.
To my writing group, The Rotten Writers, particularly Dave and Shirley, for improving my work.
To my better half, Michael, for allowing me time to write, even when it is not easy, and to my two adorable monsters, James and Robin, who were not yet conceived when this book was.
To Bernadette, Nolakhe, and Thabisa, who took care of said monsters while I scrambled to get the words down.
To my mom, Sue Thiele, unwavering in her love of books (and me).
To my dad, Keith Thiele, and his better half, Gill, for proof-reading the manuscript and weeding out the errors.
To my business, Pulp Books, for bankrolling my writing time.
To Julia-Ann Malone at SAFM for believing in my stories.
Copyright
Copyright © 2015 JT LAWRENCE
All rights reserved.
WHY YOU WERE TAKEN
Published in 2015 by Pulp Books
Company Reg No 2007/161215/23
Parkhurst, Johannesburg
South Africa 2193
https://pulpbooks.wordpress.com/
JT Lawrence has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this work.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical or electronic without written permission from the author.
ISBN-13: 978-0-620-65557-6 (Print) ISBN-13: 978-0-620-65558-3 (ePub)
Cover design by author @pulpbooks / Polygon art by @monkee-boy
Set in Bell MT