Girl with the Golden Voice (25 page)

Bertie passed close by. Tom smiled and reached out his hand.

‘Bet you won't want to lend me the Harley again.'

‘Tom, unbelievable, un bloody believable. Pardon the French, Lucy. Look, I'd be glad to give it to you. It's in great nick. Tom, your mum …'

Maura motioned her son to follow her into the kitchen. His eyes widened as he entered. The place had been transformed into a jua kali surgery The centrepiece was the table. There was a soft covering topped by a large white sheet and at the head three strangers who just happened to be doctors, Lucy's father and two friends who were coming to the end of their East African safari.

They worked on their patient for an hour or so. Tom was stripped of his clothes, dressed in a towelling robe, white again, and investigated minutely, piece by piece. After the examination came the consultation. A catalogue of ailments was drawn up and suggestions for treatment. His left arm had a hairline fracture just above the elbow; three, possibly four, ribs were cracked; there was heavy bruising on his back and legs and lacerations on many parts of his exposed flesh although these looked worse than they actually were because the blood had dried to black gore.

‘But I'm still here!'

Lucy's father shook his head and joked, ‘You're just like one of those buffalo we saw up in the Aberdares. Tough as old boots. Must be the Kenya air and your mother's cooking. But you need a check-up in hospital and the quicker the better.'

This was Maura's cue. Tom was to have a bath, supervised by Eddie and Rollo, ‘And no nonsense, thank you!' Meantime she would phone the hospital and make arrangements. ‘And, Tom, after the bath I think it would be a good idea to find somewhere quiet. Have a rest until we go down. I think your father wants to drive us.' Tom did not argue and that was a sign to his mother of the pain he was hiding beneath a cheerful exterior.

‘Tom …' She put her hands on his shoulders and seemed about to say something but instead simply sighed, smiled and shook her head, very slowly. She snapped back to a businesslike tone. ‘Angela is running a bath, so off you go! Eddie, Rollo, mind what I said.'

Party time continued downstairs. Visitors came and went and were not too disappointed that Tom was not around in person. The talk was excited and loud with relief. Laughter and tears mingled all over the place.

Inspector John Wambui was enjoying himself so much that he was reluctant to instruct his driver to return them to Nakuru.

The Rubai family had mixed feelings about the celebrations going on all ‘round them. Sally's laughter rang out from the heart of many of the groups whose numbers swelled and diminished as visitors came and went. Julius soon became bored and anxious to get away. From time to time he studied his father's expression. Was he really pleased to see McCall junior back home and cocky as ever? He was still trying to puzzle why they set off from Karen so early. And what did Alex McCall mean when he mentioned his father's work behind the scenes? It didn't make sense. Papa was no friend to these people. But there he was smiling and nodding his head, joining in the nonsense and not making any effort to move. He seemed as relieved as the rest of them.

Envy. That was the strongest emotion hidden behind Abel's sunny exterior. It was painful to watch all these people united in genuine happiness. Their warmth and wholesomeness showed up an emptiness in his own life. He had taught himself to trust nobody. He bought loyalty and felt safer because of it. There was no pleasure in realising that it was his own power that had created this particular heartache in the first place. Control was his passion and so he hated the uncertainty of not knowing exactly what had happened in the forest overnight. How had this kid got free? Uchome would have to be ready with his answers.

Part of him wanted to scream out at these people, to tell them the truth of things. What did they know of real power? He had spent the whole of his life pursuing it. As a young man he had courted the rich and powerful, first on a local level, then on the national stage until that marvellous moment of realisation that thrusting, eager young men were courting his services. He resolved to be always watchful and calculating, to reward good service handsomely, to punish disloyalty or betrayal fast and hard. He had built up a local and international network of cooperative contacts and acquaintances, but he did not have a single true friend.

It was too late to return to the ideals of his youth. He had made his choice a long time ago. Ideals were fine for other people but too expensive for him to chase after. His concern of the moment was his indecision. It was his fault that there had not been a quick, clean job. He smelt danger here. To try to cover himself against any possible suspicion, he had been forced to choke on this saccharine sweet show taking place all ‘round him. Envy was weakness. Sally harped on about this when she told taught the children about the Ten Commandments in her stories. And Julius, when would he grow up, become tough-minded and use his advantages properly? In his heart of hearts this was what he wanted above all other things.

In spite of all this, before he left that house on the lake, he was inwardly thanking the McCall who had come back from the dead that morning. Unwittingly the white European kid had given a little shake on the reins, reminded Abel of his mission. So there was no mistake, after all. There was only profit, like always!

It was towards evening when the family of three returned to their pink palace in Karen. One long shower later and Julius was back on the road to look for some action down in the city. A bar, a woman's flat, a hotel room, Julius was an expert at finding ways to have fun. Sally and Abel enjoyed an old-fashioned hour of bedroom gymnastics before going their separate ways to their private retreats.

Sally spent a lot of time in her spiritual boudoir with her Jesus tapes and videos and her self-improvement books. She had shelves full of the stuff, mostly American. A lot of it would have been labelled New Age and far too extreme for the puritan, fundamentalist ministers of her city church. Abel put on some loose clothes and relaxed in a favourite armchair and downloaded a film which helped him to burn off the last traces of the emotional rubbish that had been cluttering his thought processes for too long.

His old self-confidence was back. Tonight he expected to make another little pile of money, but for the moment he was excited by something else. He would begin a new fitness regime. Half an hour before his bathroom mirror had reminded him that he was becoming too fleshy around the stomach and the hips. There was a marbling of fat clearly visible across his pectoral muscles. To stop this decline dead in its tracks, he would start boxing lessons again, get into the pool early and push weights every other evening. It was time for a big leap forward and he must look the part. He smiled at his naked reflection and waved. ‘Good evening, Mister President! Ah, yes, I do like the sound of that.'

He knew that he had won a big battle, the first victory of his new age. He was ice-cold again in his thoughts that he had allowed to trouble him for too long. If he decided in the near or distant future that it was necessary to dispose of one or more of the McCall tribe, he would take care of the matter himself. Now that was a square idea in a square hole. Later that night he looked forward to returning to the battlefield of the mind and another contest with his invisible foes across the oceans.

om had put up with a first night in Nairobi Hospital. When Dr Angelo Conti insisted on a second, he was not pleased.

‘Okay, more tests, I can understand that, but why can't you take them now and phone the results?'

‘It doesn't work like that.'

‘But I want to sleep in my own bed.'

‘You will. Soon, I hope.'

‘See, you'll have me in for a month.'

‘I don't think so.'

‘I did two nights in a dirty jail up in Kakamega and now you've got me in this clean one down here.'

‘What's the problem, Tom?'

‘Boredom. I read the paper, walk about a bit and stare at the walls.'

The doctor had been busy with charts and sheets, but now he fixed his whole attention on his patient's complaints.

‘Look, you could let me out for a few hours. I'll be a good boy.'

‘Like where?'

‘A trip ‘round the game park?'

‘Too bumpy!'

‘I know a family who have stables, just up the Ngong Road, near the racecourse.'

‘Don't trust you. You'd get up on something.'

‘A restaurant! Can't get into trouble there …'

‘Too many people around. And you'd have a couple of beers. Too dangerous. You're on medication.'

At last, they came to an arrangement. The Nairobi Club was less than half a mile away.

‘I'll drop you off. I'm going down into town. Promise me, no alcohol. And back before dark. Take a taxi.'

It just so happened that there was a cricket match on at the club. Some touring team, escaping an English winter, were playing the club eleven. From the big upstairs lounge there was a complete view of the pitch. He watched for a while before going over to the desk to check on the English newspapers. For an hour he was transported back to the Oundle library as he worked his way through the sports pages of
The Times
and
The Telegraph
. A waiter came across to ask if he wanted to have lunch in the downstairs restaurant. Since his lunch three days before he had not eaten a single proper meal. Two pieces of cold hospital toast and a small helping of scrambled egg had done little to fill the empty spaces in his stomach. Lunch would be a wonderful idea. Thank you very much.

As he was working his way through a club sandwich, the full mixed grill, he was joined by some unexpected company. On the carpeted floor he had not heard them approaching from behind. He looked up into two smiling faces that were vaguely familiar.

‘May we join you?'

Tom glanced around the dining room. There were plenty of empty tables. But the two city lawyers had recognised him from his pictures in the papers

‘Fine. I'll be finished soon.'

Tom was flattered when they introduced themselves. Paul Miller and Daniel Komar were names he knew well. They were founder members of the new political party. Serena had been going for six months but had not yet been allowed to register.

He remembered a light-hearted family argument on the day when their foundation had been splashed across the front pages of
The Nation
and
The Standard
. He and his grandmother had been excited by what they saw as the best hope for Kenya since Uhuru. These people were going to smash through the tribal and racial chains that were holding the country back. The pair had been beaten down by cynical swipes from his father, Bertie and the Buckles. To the surprise of his mother who had never before sensed any political leanings in her eldest, Tom had followed their progress closely. And now they wanted to know about him. Miller shook his head in disbelief at the story of Tom's survival.

‘Man, you're one in ten thousand.'

‘Unless they meant it to work like that. You know, a big scare.'

‘Yes, but, Daniel, there was a big investment here. Eight men. Eight and two cars.'

Tom was fascinated to hear his experience talked about as some important event. His expression was serious. Miller noticed.

‘Tom, is that all right?'

Tom nodded.

‘We don't want to sound morbid here. It's just that Daniel and I see a lot of this … stuff, much more than you read about in the papers …'

Komar completed the idea. ‘As they say in New York, it goes with the territory.'

‘The government still won't register us.'

‘We don't like it, but it must mean that KANU don't want us around.'

‘We're a threat and when they even smell a threat, out come the bully boys with their pangas and their guns. Half the time the police are in it up to their necks. We read this morning that John Wambui brought you home in person.'

‘Yep. He couldn't do enough for me.'

‘Except catch the mob that grabbed you.'

‘Funny you should say that. His last words to my mother as he was leaving were, “Don't worry, Madam. I promise my boys will catch up with them, and soon!”'

The two lawyers threw back their heads and laughed.

‘We know him well. John Wambui, quite a pleasant fellow, but Inspector John Wambui, a different kettle of talapia!'

Half an hour passed congenially and, as they left for an afternoon in court, they gave him their cards. ‘We've enjoyed meeting you. Sorry for all your trouble. Now in the new Kenya … Anyway, good luck.'

Tom returned to the upstairs lounge and sank into one of the deep leather armchairs. He started to ponder on what the lawyers had said but soon drifted off into a pleasant doze. He woke with a shudder, not quite sure where he was. He remembered the cricket match and decided to watch from outside and grab some fresh air at the same time.