The Mall (27 page)

Slightly mollified, Rose ushered us through into the lounge.

Dan and I sank into the couch and Rose sat opposite us, back rigid.

‘Well?’ she said. Her gaze kept sliding over my body, taking in my bare feet, my dress, the hair extensions. It was pretty clear she didn’t know what to make of me.

I knew I’d need all my wits about me to get through this, but exhaustion and disorientation were taking their toll. Fortunately lying is one of the few things I’m very, very good
at.

‘I came out here on holiday,’ I began. ‘From the UK. You can probably tell that from my accent.’ I smiled at her, but she stared back, impassive. ‘Anyway, I’d
just popped into the mall where Dan works, and had parked my hire car in the car park. I was climbing out when, out of nowhere, these two men held a knife to my throat.’

‘No!’ Rose gasped.

‘I’m afraid so,’ I said, allowing a tremor to enter my voice. Dan was staring at me in frank astonishment.

‘They took my bag, my passport and everything.’

Rose’s gaze drifted down to the bag at my feet.

‘My other bag,’ I said. Shit. ‘And then Dan appeared. He saw what was happening and jumped in to help.’

Rose let out a little scream and clutched her throat. The Rat Dogs whined in unison. ‘Daniel! You could have been stabbed!’

‘I owe Dan my life, Rose. It looked like they had… plans for me as well.’

‘And this was at the mall? Highgate Mall?’ she said, her voice full of horror. ‘When? What time?’

‘Quite late. Nineish, wasn’t it, Dan?’

He was still too gobsmacked to respond.

‘Appalling,’ Rose said.

I nodded. ‘It was terrifying. I don’t know what would have happened to me if Dan hadn’t come along.’ I was beginning to enjoy this.

‘But you’ve been gone for almost two days!’ Rose said to Dan.

Dan and I shared a glance. Just two days? How the fuck…

‘Daniel! Where have you been all this time?’

‘That’s the thing, Mom,’ Dan said, ‘we—’

‘After Dan threatened them, they dragged us down to the basement and locked us in a storage garage,’ I jumped in, improvising wildly. ‘And we’ve only just managed to get
out of there.’ I held her gaze. I didn’t really give a shit if she believed me or not. ‘A security guard let us out.’

‘But… two days?’

‘Yes,’ I said.

‘Thank God they didn’t…’

‘Kill us?’ I said. ‘All down to Dan. He convinced them not to.’

‘Daniel? Is this true?’

I had to give Dan credit. He didn’t even hesitate. ‘Of course.’

‘But you must be starving! Daniel, shall I make you something to eat?’

‘We’re fine, Mom.’ He fumbled in my bag, pulled out a box of smokes and lit up.

‘Daniel!’ Rose squealed in horror. ‘What are you doing?’ She stood up. ‘I’m calling the police.’

‘It’s just a cigarette, Mom!’

I couldn’t help the snort of laughter. Rose glared at me.

‘I won’t lie to you, Daniel. I am gravely disappointed to see you… you…’ The woman couldn’t even say ‘smoking’. ‘But the police need to
know about your… ordeal!’

‘Mom,’ Dan said, ‘it’s under control.’

‘But this… this is a… Something must be done!’

‘It’s fine, Rose,’ I said. ‘We’ve already spoken to the police.’

‘Why didn’t you call me, Daniel?’ Rose said.

‘I didn’t want to worry you,’ he said. I gave him a small smile of encouragement.

She opened her mouth to speak, but Dan stood up.

‘
Enough
, Mom,’ he said, and I could tell by the expression on her face that she wasn’t used to being spoken to like that, especially not by her son. ‘Look. We
really need to sleep.’

Realising she was beaten (for now), Rose ran a hand through her highlighted curls. ‘I’ll get the spare room ready,’ she said.

‘Don’t worry, Mom,’ Dan said. ‘Rhoda can stay in my room.’

Her skin began to turn puce under the thick coating of her make-up. ‘I really don’t—’

‘I don’t want to be any trouble,’ I interrupted in the sweetest voice I could muster. She shot me a look of pure suspicion. I realised then that Rose wasn’t stupid and
I’d have to watch my step with her. But the story was the best I could come up with at short notice. And it wasn’t as if we could have told her the truth. That would have led straight
to the nuthouse.

‘Where are your things?’ she said to me. ‘Your luggage. Weren’t you staying at a hotel?’

Shit. That was the problem with lying. I hadn’t really had the time to think things through.

‘Come on, Rhoda,’ Dan said, taking my hand. ‘Let’s go.’

Without another word to his mother, Dan led me straight up the stairs and into his bedroom. Although I would have murdered for a shower right then, we both collapsed onto his single bed. And we
were both asleep in seconds.

The smoky fug in the air is starting to get oppressive. Grabbing the box of Turkish fags, I head out.

I pass Florence in the hallway. She’s angrily spraying the mirrors with Windowlene, wiping the glass clean with furious strokes.

‘All right, Florence?’ I say.

‘Ja,’ she snaps, glaring at me. I smile back at her. I like Florence. She’s a snarly old seething pot of resentment, but at least I know where I stand with her.

I wander out into the back garden, pushing the Rat Dogs back inside with my foot when they try to follow. I light up and sit down on the patio step.

I need to make a plan. I need to decide what the fuck I’m going to do next. I can’t stay at Dan’s much longer. I have no way of knowing if Zinzi still has my stuff or if
she’s chucked it out or sold it or whatever. The only good thing I’ve got going for me is that I have absolutely no desire to try and score any blow. In fact, even the thought of a
joint doesn’t appeal in the slightest.

I stub out the fag and head back in just as Rose comes bustling through the front door. Shit. If I’d known she was back I would have stayed in Dan’s room.

‘Oh, it’s you, Rhoda,’ she says, trying to look pleased to see me. ‘How are you this morning?’

‘Fine thanks,’ I say.

‘Have you eaten?’

‘Yes thanks,’ I lie. My appetite for food has gone the same way as my appetite for drugs.

She hesitates, torn between politeness and her obvious antipathy towards me. It’s the first time we’ve been alone together; Dan usually provides the buffer between our mutual
dislike.

‘Will you join me for a coffee?’ she says.

‘That would be lovely, thank you.’

She nods curtly. Her foundation is caked on thick, accentuating the creases around her mouth. Still, she knows how to dress.

‘Florence!’ she calls. ‘Please bring a cafetière into the lounge.’

I make myself comfortable on the couch, sitting with my back straight and ankles crossed, à la Princess Di.

‘This is such a lovely room,’ I say. It isn’t. It’s as bland and unimaginatively furnished as the lobby of a mid-range business hotel.

‘Thank you,’ she says, slightly thrown. I let the uncomfortable silence stretch on. We covered the basics on that first awkward morning: where I was from, what my parents did, etc.,
but she hasn’t yet dared stray into more personal areas. I’m looking forward to seeing if she’ll do so now.

Florence slinks into the room, face like a smacked arse. Whenever I see her I can’t help but stare at her skin – it’s as wrinkled and weathered as a raisin’s, and has
that leathery look to it you see in elderly sun worshippers or alcoholics.

‘Here you are, madam,’ she says to Rose.

‘Thank you, Florence,’ Rose says without looking at her. The Rat Dogs pad through, yap at me and then slump at Rose’s feet, filling the room with their stench. Florence shoots
me a baleful glare and shuffles out.

‘So. Daniel’s at work,’ Rose says, stating the obvious.

‘Yes.’

‘And have you heard from the police?’

‘No.’

‘Shame. This whole thing. The… incident. How dreadful for you.’ Her sympathy’s as phony as Jordan’s tits, and she doesn’t even attempt to sound genuine. I
begin to feel a slight smidgen of respect for her. ‘Have you contacted the British Embassy about getting a new passport?’

‘Yes,’ I lie.

She clucks her tongue. ‘I was wondering… How long will you be staying?’

I put my feet up on the coffee table and dunk one of the WeightWatchers biscuits into the coffee. ‘I’m not sure. Why, is there a problem?’ I gaze up at her innocently.
‘You must let me know if it’s a problem my being here, and I’ll let Dan know immediately.’ I blast her with a full-wattage smile and she can’t help but respond.
That’s the thing about being a miserable nonsmiling bastard: when you do, it totally disarms people.

‘There’s no problem,’ she says.

‘Good.’ I nod towards the mantelpiece above the fake fireplace. ‘Nice collection of photos.’ They are all of Dan: Dan as a baby, chubby and cheerful; Dan in school
uniform, uncomfortable in his blazer, but still grinning at the camera; and then Dan as a gangly almost-teen, acne scoring his cheeks, the smile long gone, looking every inch a magnet for
bullies.

‘Aren’t they lovely? He was such a super child.’ She pauses. ‘Rhoda, may I be frank with you?’

‘Of course, Rose. Please.’ This is going to be fun.

‘I was wondering. What is the… nature of your relationship with Daniel?’

I pretend to look confused. ‘The
nature
, Rose?’

‘I mean… are you and he…’

I click my fingers and notch up the cut-glass accent. ‘Ah! You want to know if we’re fucking each other?’

The look on her face is priceless. She’s about to speak, but then my phone beeps, making both of us jump. I check the screen; as always, the beep of a phone still has the power to put me
on edge. But it’s Dan.

‘Speak of the devil! Sorry, Rose,’ I say sweetly. ‘I’ll just have to take this.’

She’s still trying to regain her composure and just waves a hand in my direction.

‘Hi,
Dan
,’ I say. ‘What’s up?’

‘Just checking in.’ I can hear the hiss of his breath and he draws in a lungful of smoke. He sounds exhausted.

‘How’s it going?’

‘It’s not.’

‘You get in any shit for missing work?’ Rose shakes her head in disgust at the swear word and I wink at her.

‘Not really.’

‘Where are you?’

‘Having a smoke break.’

‘Where?’

‘Out back. Where everyone goes.’

‘Fuck it, Dan!’ I say, my voice rising, forgetting about Rose for a second. ‘You’re in the corridors? Behind the shop?’

He doesn’t speak for several seconds. ‘It’s cool, Rhoda.’

‘Dan, it’s totally not cool.’ I glance at Rose. She’s doing her best to pretend she isn’t hanging on every word. ‘Look, get out of there and we’ll talk
about this tonight, okay?’

‘Sure. You okay?’

‘Yeah. You know me.’

He doesn’t answer that. ‘See you in a couple of hours.’

He hangs up, and I listen to the dial tone for several seconds. I nod, smile and then say, ‘Love you too,’ just for the hell of it.

Rose flinches, as I knew she would.

I’m outside lighting up the last of the fags when Dan pulls into the driveway.

‘Hey,’ I say, as he hauls himself out of the car. He looks finished. The dark rings around his eyes are becoming a permanent fixture. ‘How was work?’

‘Fucking nightmare.’

‘So why don’t you quit?’

He shakes his head in exasperation as if I’ve just said something completely insane, and glances towards the front door. The silhouette of Rose’s body looms behind the frosted
glass.

‘I think your mum wants me to leave,’ I say.

He plucks the cigarette out of my hand and takes a deep, shuddering drag, blowing the smoke out of his nostrils as if he’s been smoking his whole life. ‘Don’t worry about
it.’

He idly scratches at the back of his neck, fingernails digging and poking under his hair and beneath the collar of his shirt. The tips of his fingers come back bloody, and he wipes them on his
jeans.

‘If you wanted me to leave, you’d let me know, right?’ I say. ‘I mean, I may be a freak, but I’m not a sponger.’

‘I don’t want you to leave,’ he says, his voice sounding a million years old. ‘And stop saying you’re a freak. You’re not.’

I raise an eyebrow at him. ‘You sure about that?’

‘Ja,’ he says, smiling at me. ‘I’m sure. Compared to everyone else we met at that… place, you’re actually pretty boring.’

‘Thanks, I think.’ I try to smile back at him, but the mention of the other mall has unnerved me. It’s the first time he’s even alluded to it since we escaped.

‘I can’t stay here for ever, Dan.’

He stares straight at me. ‘Why not?’

He chucks the fag-end into the rose bushes and slouches into the house, pushing straight past his mother and heading for the stairs. I follow, giving Rose a rueful shrug as I edge past her.

‘Dan,’ she calls after him. ‘How was work?’

‘Fine,’ he says, without turning around.

‘I’m cooking something special tonight.’

‘Great,’ he says, without slowing his stride.

When we reach his room he throws his body down on the bed and flings an arm over his eyes.

‘Dan?’ I say. ‘How often do you think about, you know, what we went through?’

He doesn’t answer for a couple of seconds. ‘All the time,’ he says.

‘Really? Because I don’t.’

‘You don’t?’

‘No. Do you think that’s weird?’

‘No,’ he says. He turns on his side and his breathing changes. Fast asleep.

I rummage in his jacket, retrieve his packet of Winstons, light up and sink back down in front of the computer.

I play a game of spider solitaire, trawl the news sites again, make another sweep of the conspiracy sites, and finally click onto missing.co.za for the third time that day.

I sit up. There’s a new face on the front page. A face that looks unnervingly familiar.

It takes me several seconds before I realise that it’s mine.