Black Mischief by Carl Hancock Page B

sent her frizzy black hair bobbing attractively. The heavier built Sonya, younger, with the handsome head of thick auburn hair bustled along, swinging her arms across her body and swaying her hips in rhythmic counterpoint.
    Maura raised a hand to the bus, guessing where those young, friendly faces might be going. It reminded her of the many times she and Alex travelled to support their boys in their matches with the other prep schools scattered up and down the Central Rift. In eight hours these same children would be returning home on this same road, weary from their matches and the long journey at the end of a good day’s sport, a very ordinary day.
    Out there with morning air still fresh, the task that lay ahead of them had an awesome menace about it. All the support in the world could not deliver any real help. They turned left at the corner. Up ahead they could see the lodge at the end of the Rubai drive. Inside the fence of the estate, heavy machinery was at work converting scrubby bushland into parkland. They stepped onto the tarmac road and changed their shoes. Each supported the other as they swapped tackies for something more suitable. It was their first physical contact. They paused before going on and made eye contact.
    â€˜Last chance to change your mind, Maura.’
    â€˜Wouldn’t miss this for anything. I’m terrified.’
    â€˜You don’t have to do this. Out here I can see we haven’t got a lot to go on. But I hope and I believe. Not because I have to …’
    â€˜I can get us in there. Sally, she’s got a good heart. And he loves her. That’s our chance.’
    â€˜Hold my hand. The power of two.’
    They moved on and Sonya dried her tears.
    â€˜Maura, I’m still not sure whether I’m in Wales or Nairobi, but I’m so desperate, I’ll do anything. But there have been threats, so many.’
    â€˜Threats?’
    â€˜We talked a lot. Simon was convinced it was the articles and books. He’s been writing them since long before the children were born.’
    â€˜I know. I read a lot of them. He’s got the gift.’
    â€˜At first, everyone loved his work: Down to earth doctoring for today’s Kenyans, Stories from my casebook . Those days seem so far away. We were so naive. Then came the change.’
    â€˜He stopped writing.’
    â€˜For a long time. It was little Noah’s fault. We were on our way home from Nakuru. It was a Sunday evening, the usual heavy traffic. I was still two weeks from my time with him. Suddenly Noah sent the message that he couldn’t wait any longer. We were just past the bumps in the road, you know, the old tollgate this side of Gilgil. There was no real pain but I knew. I would, wouldn’t I?’ She smiled. ‘I remember saying I wish Dr Satchwell was here. David calls him the best baby puller in Africa. It’s funny to look back now. Simon got more and more agitated. “I am not having my son born on the side of the road! Hang on! Got an idea. We’re going into Naivasha. There’s a hospital.” Those were his last words until he almost crashed the car as we turned into the hospital car park! Maura, he loves life so much. I’m so blessed. Just talking about him. There will be a miracle.’
    â€˜I wish Tom was here. He’s a proof …’
    â€˜Please, God.’
    * * *
    â€˜No, we don’t have an appointment, but if you’ll just let Memsahib know that her good friend from Londiani has come to call. You did say that she is in?’
    â€˜I will check. One moment, please.’
    The tall young man in the dark green uniform disappeared briefly into his office and returned with a pleased smile on his face.
    â€˜Ladies, a car will be coming. Two minutes!’
    â€˜We can walk.’ Maura was already leading Sonya through the gate. ‘My friend and I love gardens. We’ve heard that you have made a new one here. We can have a peep