The Drowning Lesson (14 page)

‘
Dumela
.'

The light hurts my eyes. Wedged between Adam's chest and the cushions of the back of the sofa, I can hardly breathe. His shirt has ridden up. The damp flesh pressed against my face smells of alcohol and sweat.

A second later, despair rolls back, bringing a memory of Adam lifting me from the floor and falling with me onto the sofa. He'd slept immediately; his body heat had been narcotic and I'd slept again or, rather, was tipped back into unconsciousness.

‘
Dumela
.' The quiet voice repeats the greeting.

A tall woman comes into focus, her body bent towards me, hands clasped together. Peo, the chief's wife from last night. Her slanting eyes are sombre, her mouth unsmiling. Questions scramble in my head as I nod to her. Will she be able to help? Will she find Sam for us? I won't be able to offer words to her or to anyone else; as if she can see my thoughts on my face, she disappears from view and the kitchen door closes quietly.

I am in yesterday's clothes. The clothes in which I kissed Sam goodbye, saw patients, ran home. Sliding past Adam, I put my feet to the floor: he groans and mutters, slipping back into sleep. Questions jostle for space in my mind.

Was it a man or a woman who came? Both?

The sitting room looks different: the floor feels colder underfoot. The chairs stand in a semi-circle. We've never sat like that. Perhaps we should have done. Would that have been better? Would Sam have been safer if we'd been the sort of family who sat in semi-circles to talk, rather than leaning against the door on the way out, or in the car, remarks thrown over the shoulder, from the front seat to the back?

It may be that when they came and he started to cry they put a hand across his face, blocking his mouth
.

Through the window, the spectacular landscape has condensed to scrubby wasteland. Somewhere out there the hot air shapes itself around my baby. Someone knows where he is.

I should be outside, looking in the thickets and down by the gully. Do I wait for the police, or run into the bush and search behind each tree?

As I stand, my head tingling with indecision, Zoë's voice comes in from outside; through the window I can see she is sitting at the veranda table. Alice is opposite. Two women are with them. The older has a
hand on Alice's back. The rings of a young, round-faced woman opposite flash as her long fingers pick over a pile of marula beans. Teko isn't with them, she'll be sleeping, as Adam is. As I step outside, the women look up and fall silent. The hand slips from my daughter's back.

‘
Dumela
.'

My voice sounds different, even to me. Zoë looks startled, Alice wary. Both have been crying. The older woman inclines her head. Dark moles are scattered untidily over her cheeks as if someone had thrown them at her face. The younger one is pretty; her full lips painted a brilliant pink. She looks across the garden, tapping purple fingernails on the table, a flush on her high cheekbones, embarrassed.

Zoë slides off her chair and runs to me. ‘Have you found Sam yet?'

‘Not yet, Zoë.'

Bending to Alice, I whisper, ‘Thank you for being sensible, darling. Daddy and I are going to work out the best plan. I've got to go back in and talk to him now.' I kiss her. Her lips tremble, then set in a tight line.

Adam is still asleep. He half wakes and tries to sit, but slumps again, a hand over his eyes. On the table next to the sofa, clean clothes have been laid out for me: a coloured skirt, with blue and orange circles, and a red shirt. Elisabeth or Peo: someone who knows that the act of choosing clothes to put on
would have been impossible. The kindness makes my eyes sting.

It is also possible that they hit him, knocking him unconscious to silence him, as they crouched over him in the dark, hiding in the corner of the room
.

I strip and shower, shuddering in lukewarm water, then dress in the clean clothes. In the mirror my puffy face and shrunken eyes look back at me, alien.

Adam is sitting up, though he's still half asleep.

‘What's happening?' I grip his arm, unable to wait any longer. ‘What are the police doing?'

He puts his hand on mine, his fingers are hot, slightly sticky. ‘They've put blocks on the major exit roads and sent a team to the airport.'

I should have driven straight to Gaborone airport instead of Kubung: I could have waited by the departures lounge, looking at each baby in turn before they were taken out of the country.

Adam runs his tongue round his lips. A small glass of cloudy water has been left on the table; I hand it to him, he drinks quickly, then carries on talking. ‘They're searching locally as well. Two officers are coming here this morning. No one must leave. They want to question everyone.'

So the police are coming at last. ‘What happened when you got there last night?'

‘They saw us quickly.' He lies back on the sofa. ‘I was called into a room with two officers. Kabo stayed
outside. It was his turn afterwards. They treated us as suspects. They kept asking the same questions over and over, trying to catch us out. It was as though they thought I'd done something to my own son.' He looks around the room, frowning, as if he were back in the station, being questioned like a prisoner in a cell.

‘They must have known it couldn't be you. When Sam was taken, you were on your way home from the conference. Teko's account must have tallied with yours.'

‘They'll talk to her this morning.' He nods towards the door as if he expects her to appear, on cue.

‘Why didn't they take her statement last night?'

‘Perhaps because she wasn't there?' He talks slowly as if to a child.

‘How wasn't she there? She left with you.'

‘She got out of the car when we stopped at the end of the drive.' Adam seems puzzled by my question. ‘She started crying, so we let her go. Kabo thought it would be easier for her to answer questions with Elisabeth for support. Didn't you see her?'

Before he has finished talking, I'm hurrying through the sitting room into the kitchen, where Elisabeth, watched by Peo, places a pink cloth on a tray, the gentle colour glowing in the dark room. She stares in surprise as I run past into the corridor beyond. In Teko's room there is a mattress on the floor, nothing else. Not the smallest scrap of paper.
The room is windowless; I snap on the switch but the light doesn't work. I've never been in here. Shame licks along with the surprise and fear. Was this how she lived, in the dark, in the same house where we had electric light, furniture, books and clothes? Laptops, plentiful food? What kind of resentment would build?

‘She's gone.'

Adam has followed me in, staring into the corners as though she could be there, pressed invisibly against the walls. Is that why she left? Because she felt invisible?

‘What does this mean?' He looks bewildered.

I know what it means. It means she could have taken Sam. That's good. Back against the wall, the bare concrete feels cool under my fingertips, a little gritty. Good, because Teko will be easy to track down. I liked Teko, trusted her. Fury starts to swell but I push it away. I need a clear mind. She will return to the orphanage she came from: that's where we'll find them. She'll keep him hidden in her bedroom until she works out what to do with him. Has she taken him because she loves him, or because she hates us?

‘She's got him, Adam.'

He nods wordlessly.

Peo and Elisabeth have put the tea-tray on the table in the sitting room; now they are outside with
the other women and Alice and Zoe. Their voices make a gentle noise, like a song on the radio, background music.

This is why Peo and her friends are here. They are doing the talking for us, the walking and the living. Keeping the house alive. The bitter tea has the green-brown taste of raw leaves; the heat penetrates deeply.

We drink our tea still standing. I put my cup down, misjudging the saucer. It tips over and a small brown circle bleeds outwards on the pink linen.

Adam's eyes are red-rimmed; a dark pink rash edges his hairline.

‘Wait for the police,' I tell him. ‘I'll go to her orphanage. That's where they'll be.'

He shakes his head. ‘I'll go. The police have questioned me. They'll want to question you next.' He replaces his cup. ‘I'll need the address.'

‘Is it connected to the hospital in Molepolole?' I stare at him, as my fingertips begin to sting with panic. ‘Or a mission centre somewhere?'

He shakes his head. He doesn't know. We've never known. We had accepted Teko at face value with no address and no references beyond the flimsy piece of paper we gave back to her. I always checked references; the au pair agency in England was renowned for its safety.

Outside, the scrubby lawn stretches to the road.
The trees glitter. In England there would be pale almond blossom by now, primroses in wet green banks. Was it because we are in such a different place that we'd ignored the rules or thought they didn't apply? Had I been so frightened of giving offence that I put my own child's safety at risk?

‘I'm leaving now.' Adam is at the door. ‘Let's not tell the police about Teko yet. If it gets out that she's got Sam, they'll go after her, then the media will latch on. She could be frightened into vanishing for good. I've got to get there first.' His lips stretch in a grimace. ‘Once we get him back, she can disappear for ever, for all I care.'

‘How will you find it?'

‘I'll find it.' Adam's face looks different, as mine did in the mirror. The slick fit of his eyeballs in their sockets seems to have loosened so that his eyes look bigger, less defended; the dry crease between his nose and his mouth has deepened. His shoulders have rounded overnight. For the first time I can imagine him as an old man.

I'm shivering, though the heat is already hammering at my skull. Are there images crowding in Adam's head, as there are in mine? Images that I'm burying beneath a picture of Teko smiling at Sam. The picture slips. I see cut bodies, severed hands.

‘Say goodbye to the girls for me.' Adam unhooks the keys. The metallic jingle summons a memory:
Adam coming in through the door in Islington, putting his keys down, smiling, lifting Sam from me. Was I smiling, too, or was my face tense because I'd been with the baby all day and would rather have been at work?

Adam leans towards me, his hand on my shoulder. ‘See what Elisabeth can tell you about Teko. Any fragment could be vital.'

I follow him to the veranda. He runs down the steps, but turns at the car and shouts back, ‘Try Megan. Phone me.'

Megan? Muddled with fear, it takes me a few seconds to remember that it was Megan who asked her friend to organize help, which was how Teko came to us in the first place. We should be able to track Teko down through Megan. Even her name makes me feel better, bringing with it her calmness, her thoughtful eyes, her kind voice.

Adam opens the car door. Even from this distance his shirt looks creased and sweaty. He's forgotten his hat and in the humid air his hair is already sticking to his forehead. The engine starts and the car speeds down the drive, stones spinning from the wheels.

Megan doesn't pick up. Clumsy with haste, I text instead, making mistake after mistake, leaving damp smudges on the keys. Zoë runs from the table to loop her arms around my waist, glints of mauve and green sliding along each strand of blonde hair. I've never seen Sam's hair in the sun. We kept him covered up and parked him in the shade to be safe. Women here strap their babies to them, even safer. Regret and fear mount. Zoë presses her face tight against my skirt. ‘I want Sam.' Her voice is muffled. ‘Where is he?'

‘Daddy's gone to look for him now, Zo-Zo.' My voice sounds casual, implying Sam might be down the road under a tree, or in a garden sleeping, perhaps waving to the figure bending over him, in the new way he's discovered, his chubby arms moving jerkily up and down.

Zoë nods, as though I had answered her question, wipes her nose with the back of her hand and clambers back on to the chair. ‘Look at my beans, Mummy.'

We could be back in Islington and this an ordinary
Saturday morning. Zoë could be drawing at the kitchen table, wanting my approval, Adam fetching Alice from her Mandarin lesson. Sam would be on the table in his seat, close to Zoë, smiling when she looks up and grins at him. Safe. I would have been on the phone to my registrar, talking her through some problem, and absent-mindedly tickling Sam's tummy.

‘Look.' Zoë's voice is insistent.

I've forgotten what I'm supposed to look at. ‘Clever girl,' I say automatically. The green heap in front of her shines and swims.

Alice turns her head away when I kneel by her chair.

‘Daddy's gone to find Teko.'

Her face whips round. ‘Why? Where is she?' she asks, her voice thin with surprise. ‘She didn't tell me she was going anywhere.'

Tell? I put an arm around Alice. The outline of her shoulder blades feels sharp. Teko could have told her anything and I can't confront her about lying, not now.

‘I don't think Teko planned ahead, Ally. I think she left because she was upset about Sam disappearing, a spur-of-the-moment thing.'

It wouldn't have been like that, though. Teko must have planned this very carefully. I can guess exactly what happened. Having settled Sam in a car, she would have left her accomplice to wait out of sight;
then she must have gone back to collect some last-minute things. When Adam returned unexpectedly early, she would have been trapped. The driver would have had to leave without her but, tiptoeing away in the early hours and hitching lifts, she would have caught up now.

‘We think she'll be with the people she knows at the orphanage,' I whisper, though I don't tell her we think she has Sam with her. ‘She might be able to tell us something.'

‘What kind of thing?' Alice searches my face, her hands are tightly clenched.

‘She might have seen or heard something. She was the first to find out he'd gone.'

She turns away and stares straight ahead; the bright bulge of a tear slides down her cheek.

‘Just before Teko discovered Sam was missing, Ally, did you see anything unusual in the front garden?'

Alice is motionless, as if she hasn't heard me.

‘We were round the back,' Zoë blurts out in the silence.

‘The back? By the pond? But …' How could it matter now that I'd told them never to go near the pond again?

I turn to take Zoë's hand. ‘Did you hear anything then, Zoë? A noisy car, maybe?'

Maybe there was no car. Maybe they came on foot,
silently. In my head there are two, one reaching into the cot. Sam might have smiled at him. The other would have gone to the corridor and listened. They would be thin, hats pulled low, bare feet. Would they look cruel? Amused? Or intent, doing a job, wanting the money? Teko must have saved up for a long time to entice them to help her.

Zoë is shaking her head. ‘We banged drums. It was a concert – Elisabeth had a ticket.'

‘Was that Teko's idea, to make a loud noise?'

‘Ally said about the concert.' Zoë sounds confused. ‘Then Teko shouted something from inside.' Tears are gathering in her eyes. ‘So Ally and me went and Sam wasn't there …' She bursts into noisy sobs.

Alice puts her fingers in her ears. I kiss Zoë and stand, resting my hand on Alice's head. Her hair feels burning. I find her hat in her room, and hurry back while trying Megan again. She picks up as I reach the veranda.

‘Yes?'

‘Megan, it's Emma.'

‘Emma!' Her voice lifts. ‘I've just woken and seen your message. We're an hour behind you so I thought I'd just get Andrew up, then –'

‘Sam's gone. He was taken yesterday.' I walk down the veranda steps to be out of earshot of the girls but my legs give way and I half collapse on the bottom step.

‘Taken? What do you mean, taken?' She sounds confused. ‘Where to?'

‘I mean abducted taken. Someone broke in through the windows and took him. We were at work. Teko was supposed to be looking after him, but she's disappeared too. We need the name of the orphanage she came from.'

‘What are you saying?' Her voice is hollow with shock. ‘I don't understand any of this. Sam, abducted? I don't understand … I can't take it in. Who is Teko?'

‘The girl your friend found. We have to trace her.'

‘Where are the police? Shall I –'

‘The important thing is the name of the orphanage.' I don't care if I sound frantic – I am frantic.

‘But I don't know. David never said. It was always just “the orphanage” in his Christmas cards.'

‘What's the address, then?'

‘I don't know.'

‘How come you don't know anything?' I shout. ‘You arranged it all.'

‘I emailed him originally asking him to look for someone.' Her voice is trembling. ‘He emailed back, promising to help. After you told me you didn't need anyone, I phoned but his housekeeper said he was in hospital. I left a message for him but he didn't ring me back. I lost track. It must have gone ahead … Oh, Emma, I'm so sorry, it's my fault, then…'

‘No, I'm sorry …'

It's not her fault. David must have set it up before he went to hospital. It's not his fault either: it's ours for not checking, mine for employing someone I didn't know at all.

‘I can find out where she came from,' she says quickly. ‘I'll phone David right now. I'll get back to you as soon as I can, it may take a while, sometimes he doesn't pick up for days.' She rings off.

There is a sudden flicker of colour on the ground. A great snake is gliding towards me from the darkness under the steps. A snake here, after all this time. The skin is bright with bars of orange on grey. The scales shine as if greasy; a streak of orange-red tongue slithers in and out.

It stops as I pull my feet away. The triangular head lifts, darting to and fro. In a second it twists and disappears into the grass.

Claire warned me; she knew. I start fumbling through numbers on the phone; Claire runs an orphanage. She'll know the orphanages in Molepolole and who runs them.

‘Yes?' The South African voice is businesslike.

‘Claire, it's Emma. I texted you a while back, you'd said to keep in touch …'

‘Yes?'

‘My son's been kidnapped.' There is a shocked silence. ‘The girl who looked after him has vanished.
Adam's gone to look for the orphanage she came from but we don't know its name, so –'

‘Where is it?' she interrupts.

‘Somewhere in Molepolole. If you can give us a list, I'll phone him …'

‘Molepolole? God, I'm sorry. If it had been an orphanage in Gaborone, I'd know. Molepolole is way out of our area.' My heart falls but she is continuing: ‘… not a large place, it won't take him long. Would it help if I came over?' The words are kind and I almost weaken.

‘Maybe later. Thanks, Claire.'

Though she can't help us now, the thought of her on our side is something to hold on to in the midst of roaring panic. The sun is scorching. The air above the empty drive shimmers, like the start of a migraine. The door opens behind me. Elisabeth comes out of the house with a tray, holding a water jug and glasses; she walks slowly, her head bent. She comes down the steps, takes Alice's hat from me and goes back up to the table. The hat is put on, and there is a moment of gentle laughter from the women round the table.

‘Elisabeth.' I climb up the steps and put a hand on her arm as she walks back towards the door. ‘Did Teko tell you where she was going?'

‘Teko didn't talk to me.' She shakes her head slowly.

I've never seen them talking, but I'd imagined they
might chat at night round the table, swapping details from their lives.

‘Do you know why she left?'

She stiffens slightly. I am treading too close for comfort. Then, smoothing the skirt of her apron, she leans towards me. ‘She told Josiah, and he told me.'

Josiah would make a good listener; he would nod and smile. He wouldn't judge.

‘She is frightened,' Elisabeth confides, in a whisper.

‘Frightened?'

‘She thinks people will say it is her fault. She is worried she may go to prison, so she says she will run away.'

And ask Teko why the fuck she wasn't with Sam this afternoon. She should have protected him
.

I feel an unexpected stab of pity for Teko; I see her stumbling from the house in the dark, frightened by my words, crying for Sam, scared of blame.

‘Did she ever mention where she came from? She won't get into trouble, but she may have clues that would help.'

Elisabeth's head bowed in thought. ‘I ask her once,' she murmurs. ‘Teko say nowhere special.' Then she makes a little movement with her hands, taking in the house: she wants to go back, continue with the tasks of the day. Life has to carry on, though life has stalled. Food must be prepared, rooms cleaned,
curtains pulled against the sun. I put my hands together.

‘Thank you, Elisabeth, I'm grateful.'

She nods, and walks away.

Megan doesn't know which orphanage Teko came from. Try all
. I text Adam.
E says T left because scared of blame. Maybe T not involved. Be careful.

I walk up and down, up and down the drive, pushing through the scorching air. The truth is somewhere; I just need to reach it.

I surface for the second time. My father leans over the edge of the boat, hands stretched out.

Move, child. Move your arms. Kick your legs.

I bang my arms into the water, scissor my legs, dip below the green surface, swallow water, come back up.

The sun is at its height, the heat baking the scent from the little yellow-green bushes that line the drive. The cicadas' grating noise fills the air: like thousands of tiny saws. Twenty hours have passed now. My breasts ache with unused milk.

It makes sense that Teko ran away out of fear. Why would a young girl want someone else's baby when she could have one of her own? A black girl with a white baby would attract attention. She would need a network of friends. Teko didn't have shoes when she arrived; she doesn't own a phone. How could she
organize a kidnap? If Teko was involved there would have been no need to break the windows, she could have opened any door to her accomplice. Who has him if she doesn't? Esther's story slips free of its mooring and floats in front of my eyes. Perhaps he is dead already, murdered in the minutes after he was taken. Was he maimed first?

I sit on the steps again, huddle over the phone, rocking backwards and forwards, conscious that the low keening I can hear is coming from the back of my throat.

A hand touches my shoulder. A cup of tea is set down on the stone next to me. Soft footsteps retreat. I look round but the front door closes quietly.

The tea slips down, scalding my throat. Peo knows how a kind gesture can halt the slide into darkness.

Tread water.

Survive
.

Josiah is digging at the back of the house. His hat is pulled low, dusty feet wide planted on the soil.

‘Josiah, did Teko tell you where she was going?'

He shakes his head; he doesn't understand. There is a mound of soil by his feet, a rough cross at one end, two sticks tied with string; so he went to the ditch last night, found the remains of his dog and brought them back to bury.

‘I am sorry.'

He looks away. The skin beneath his eyes is
sodden. Loss swells in the space between us, and the question about Teko dissolves in the air.

As he picks up his spade again, I describe the snake, writhing my hands together. He follows me round to the steps at the front of the house. I point out the place it disappeared. He stoops to peer into the grass, fingers tightening on the spade. At that moment a white car with a thick blue stripe swings into the drive and a couple of policemen get out. Josiah disappears. The taller man looks around as he walks and, like one half of a comic act, almost bumps into a tree. The shorter, thick-set man strides purposefully; he holds an Alsatian tightly on a leash, the animal slinking close to him, as they approach the house.