"My friends," I murmur softly. "My friends."
Mr Barber sits down heavily, still holding the bishop, looking shocked. I gently extricate myself from Mrs Barber's fervent embrace, only for her to grab me by the hand. I manage to manoeuvre the pair of us onto the couch.
"So, you see, here she is, after all," Vuyo says. "Safe and sound, as I told you."
"We weren't sure. We didn't know. After everything…" Mrs Barber's sentence declines into another bout of juddering sobs.
"You look different from the photographs," Mr Barber says, an obstinate flicker of suspicion flaring up. Considering they have already given Vuyo over R87,000 for various clearance certificates, passport application fees, bribes for corrupt government officials and exchange-rate commissions, and he's demanding a further R141,000, I'd say he was justified.
"Yes," I say with dignity, "I've been through a great deal." Mrs Barber pats my hand, and I lean my head against her shoulder and close my eyes as if the ordeal has been unspeakable. A contemptuous bark comes from my bag. I ignore it.
"You have brought the money?" Vuyo says.
"Well, yes, but-" Mr Barber squirms.
"Why are there buts? Buts are for goats! Are you a goat? Jerry, in three days' time, you will have 2.5 million dollars in your account."
"It's only that it's my pension."
"Our savings."
"Look at this girl, Jerry. Look at her! You have done this. You have got her away from that hell. You and Cheryl have done a good thing. A life-changing thing." Vuyo takes Jerry's face between his hands and gives him a little shake for emphasis, a cross between an evangelist and a corporate teambuilder. "And here. Your certificates from the Reserve Bank, as you requested. Everything is in order. It's almost over, Jerry."
"It's almost over, Jerry," Cheryl repeats. She glances over at me and her chin starts to wobble all over again. I imagine staples fixing my smile in place and dip my head, as if equally overcome with emotion. The whole thing is grotesque, yet some perverse part of me is getting off on it. The same way I ticked off points on a scoreboard when my parents actually believed the bullshit I spun them about my car breaking down, about needing help paying the fees for a master's degree in Journalism that I never even registered for.
Jerry is looking over the certificates, immaculately forged, complete with the holographic seal of the Reserve Bank. "Of course, I'll need to get these verified by my lawyer," he says, but it's obvious that he's bluffing. The smell of money is too strong now. It bellows like a vuvuzela, drowning out the whisper of doubt.
"Of course, yes," Vuyo says, but he allows a hint of concern to smudge those generic good looks.
"What is it, Mr Bacci?"
"Please, we are all friends here. Call me Ezekiel."
"What is it, Ezekiel?"
"It is only that it might cause a delay."
Cheryl moans.
"What kind of delay?"
"No longer than a couple of weeks. Two months maximum."
"Now you just wait a minute, we have been through enough. This is everything we have in the world. Our pensions, our savings. I borrowed money from my son! Do you realise how much it costs for us to fly out here? This is the third time!"
"You have been very understanding, Mr Barber. It's only that there is a window period. It is the end of the tax year in Ghana, and the government locks down all banking transactions for the reconciliation period."
"That's the stupidest fucking thing I ever heard!"
"Jerrr-ry…" Cheryl says.
"It is Ghana," Vuyo shrugs.
"So what can we do?"
Vuyo considers it and then allows illumination to spread across his face. "I have it. The bank has bearer bonds. I will give you bearer bonds to the value of your cash deposit. These will take a month to clear, but they are not subject to the restrictions of the government's reconciliation period. So you will be safe. And we can go ahead with the final transaction."
"I don't know, that sounds awfully complicated. Maybe we should wait."
"The waiting was the worst," I say, absently.
"What was that, dear?" Cheryl squeezes my hand.
"Not knowing if they were going to kill us. They would play games with us. Sometimes taking girls at random. Other times they made us choose, made us decide who it was going to be. And then they would take someone else instead. But you had to live with it, live with the betrayal of what you'd done."
"Oh, sweetheart. Oh, sweetheart," Cheryl chokes, her palm clamped over her mouth. "Oh baby, if that was our Mandy. Can you imagine? Oh."
"I just want to say thank you," I say, looking down at my hands clasped together in my lap.
"Oh," says Cheryl. "Oh, baby."
"Okay," Jerry says, defeated. "Bearer bonds, huh?"
"Only for 72 hours. And then the 2.5 will be cleared," Vuyo says.
While the menfolk sort out the matter of exchanging a tog-bag full of cash for phony bearer bonds from a nonexistent bank, I order tea for both of us.
"May I ask what you are going to do with the money?" I say to Cheryl.
"Buy a house. For us and the kids. Amanda and Simon and their families. I mean, two-and-a-half million bucks, you could buy a place in Malibu. But we're going to stay in Aurora, get Mandy to move back from Chicago, so we can spend more time with the grandkids. Wait a minute, here's a photo." Cheryl pulls out her phone to show me a snapshot of an unfortunate-looking baby covered in slobber and a smiley girl with pigtails and a strawberry birthmark over her cheek. "That's Archie, and this is Becky – Mandy's little ones. And Simon, well, Simon and his partner are planning to adopt."
"So cute." I hand the phone back.
"What about you, dear?"
"I will try to make a new life as best I can. It is better here in this country."
"And the orphanage?"
"Oh yes, the orphanage. Um. We have been looking at buildings. There is an old retirement home that we could convert. It's lovely. Big garden with a mulberry tree, swimming pool. Near the botanical gardens. It will be lovely." I am thinking of a version of the house I grew up in.
"It's nice to feel like suddenly you have possibilities, isn"t it?"
"Yes."
We lapse into silence.
"Did you have much trouble getting out of the camp?"
"Please, Cheryl, it is too painful to talk about." I bury my face in my hands for emphasis. Through the gaps between my fingers, I can see my bag start to squirm again. I prod Sloth with my shoe to make him cut it out.
"Oh. Of course." She puts her arm around my shoulders and pulls me into an awkward embrace, stroking my back. "There, there," she says, "There, there."
"All taken care of." Jerry is grinning broadly, like a man who has had an incredible burden lifted from his back. Doubt weighs a lot. "Can I give you a hand with this, Frances?" He hefts the rattan bag before I can stop him. "Whoof, what do you got in here, all your earthly goods?"
"Jerry!" Cheryl says, scandalised.
"Oh, sorry, I didn't mean …" and then Sloth pokes his head out and bleats grumpily.
Jerry drops the bag. Luckily, it's only five inches to the floor, but Sloth yelps like he's gone over the Victoria Falls.
"Mary, Mother of God! What is that thing?"
"Jerry Barber! You know perfectly well what that is! Oh Frances, honey, you should have told us." Over her shoulder, Vuyo is giving me a stare that says "you better fix this".
"I was – ashamed," I mutter.
"Now, baby, there's nothing to be ashamed of. It doesn't mean you're a bad person. It just means you've done bad things once upon a time." She shoots Jerry a fierce look. "You're a good girl, honey, a good girl." Her eyes brim with tears all over again.