Читать книгу Circus - Irma Venter - Страница 6

Cape Town, present

“The house is on the small side, but the kitchen is nice and big. The original owner was a serious baker.”

The estate agent’s long dark-blonde hair bounces as she speaks, her hands gesturing vigorously. Rock-hard calves under a yellow dress suggest she’s a regular cyclist, or takes brisk walks with the dogs, the kids and a pedometer.

“The garden is a good size as well.” She smiles at Alex, fed up with trying to extract a response from me. “The place could do with a little TLC, but that’s why it’s on the market at such a good price, especially for Durbanville. The owner left for Canada in a hurry and couldn’t be bothered to renovate.”

Alex hooks his sunglasses into the front of his shirt, motioning for me to lead the way into the house. I hear him stomp the dust from his boots before he follows me inside.

“This is the last one,” I whisper as I wait in the dimly lit hallway. Who knew buying a house could be so hard?

“I think Hayley might share your sentiments,” he shoots back, his green eyes inscrutable.

I like the city bowl. The noise, the traffic, the nightlife. Life, for heaven’s sake. The pulse, the buzz, the throng, conversations in every imaginable tongue. This place makes it difficult to breathe. Rows of streets. Rows of houses. Rows of garages. Gardens with neat lawns and rose bushes pruned into submission.

Why does Alex want to live here?

And this house is too big. What do people do with so many rooms? We’ll be on the road most of the time, in Joburg, or deeper into Africa, where the better news stories are. Who will look after this place while we are away?

I brush the long black curls out of my eyes, dig my hands into my jeans pockets to hide my frustration.

Suddenly I wish I was in Maputo, or Pretoria, instead of here, at the tail end of a Cape winter that should have turned into spring by now. In Pretoria the jacarandas have been blooming for a month.

“The lounge was recently painted.”

Kayley … no, wait, Hayley, points at the walls as if I should care about the fact that they are a generic shade of cream.

I nod and fold my arms, look around as if I’m interested. I could probably get used to anything. And if it makes Alex happy …

I gather my last ounce of enthusiasm. “When was the house built?”

Hayley frowns. “I’ve no idea. I’ll have to find out.” She waves towards the interior of the house. “Let’s take a look at the kitchen. It’s the star feature.”

I trail behind. Alex’s gait is the calm, measured movement of a long-distance runner.

The kitchen is great – even I can see that. Sleek new cabinets, a large scullery and a shiny new gas range.

A godsend if you cook and bake. If.

Why did the owner leave for Canada? Why is the house so affordable?

Leaning against the granite countertop, I inspect the tiles for traces of blood. Then scrutinise the brown carpet in the passage for similar signs of violence that may have persuaded the owner to pack up and get the hell out of Cape Town.

Hayley points at the space in front of us. “You could easily fit an eight-seater table in here. Plenty of room for the kids at mealtimes.” She leans towards Alex, laughing, as if the two of them are sharing a secret.

I wait for him to raise his eyebrows, but he turns to me instead, a question in his eyes.

Four bedrooms. A huge dining table.

Kids?

Is that why Alex is suddenly keen on suburbia?

I turn, stripped of all pretences. Walk out into the street, where the Land Rover is parked.

He’s by my side before I can get in. “What’s wrong?” At six foot two, he looks me in the eye. Tall women like tall men and I’m no different.

“You know what. Kids,” I say.

“I swear I’ve never even given it a thought. I’m just looking for space. Room to breathe.” He taps on his chest. “Farm boy. Plaasjapie. But you know that.” He runs a hand through his light-brown hair, laughs as if he’s caught me out.

“So you’ve never even thought about kids?” I look down at my Doc Martens.

He touches my arm. Slowly, gently rubs the skin on my wrist underneath the multitude of silver bangles. “Hayley said it, not me.”

“But?”

He thinks for a moment. “Not now. One day. Maybe. Who knows?”

“I’m not getting any younger.”

“You’re being difficult. Later … much later. When you’re forty? Medical science is amazing these days. And I told you. Maybe.” He shrugs. “Or maybe not. I realise it’s difficult with our history.”

“Forty? I can’t think that far ahead.”

“It’s not that far.”

“Hey, watch it.”

He smiles. “There’s nothing wrong with a bit of planning, is there?”

Hayley has followed us outside. Alex signals: Give us a moment.

She hooks her handbag over her arm. “Of course, fine. You have a chat.” She spins round on her heels and disappears back into the house.

“We’ve never spoken about children.” I lean against the white Land Rover, soak up the feeble sun breaking through the clouds. “Do you want children?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. A little girl, the spitting image of her mom, to twist me around her little finger.” He grabs my hand. “And you?”

“Our lifestyle doesn’t allow for children. We’re always on the move.”

“Well, we’re buying a house, aren’t we? Putting down roots?”

“Are we? I thought we’re buying a place to use as a base for our travels. There are lots of places I still want to photograph. Stories I want to tell.”

“Yes, true, but …” He gives a long, loud sigh. Steps closer. Meets my gaze squarely. “Ranna … let’s stop dodging the issue.”

“That’s not what we’re doing. I’m not sure and you are. My dad was a bastard. He beat my mom and she did nothing to stop him. What if I’m like him? Her?”

“My dad was a bastard too and I’m definitely not like him. And I know you, I know who and what you are. You’re nothing like your father. Or your mother.”

I keep silent.

He looks at me for a long time. Unhooks his sunglasses from the front of his shirt and puts them on.

“I’ll tell Hayley we’re not interested. You’re so spooked, you’re not listening to a word I’m saying.”