Dear Beneficiary by Janet Kelly

to when talking with earphones in.
    I was thinking the same but wasn’t sure how to ask our self-styled guide. He behaved as if he knew where we were going and we’d shown him the address we needed to find. He hadn’t said he didn’t know it.
    â€˜We get out here,’ said Fasina, taking the luggage from the boot and heading towards the canal before pointing to a canoe. ‘The car won’t take us any further this way. Get in, ladies.’
    I was horrified. Boating of any kind isn’t an activity I enjoy. Even first-class cruising still involves floating on a large piece of metal which, if it sinks, leaves you with nothing but miles of cold and dirty water to deal with.
    â€˜Where are you taking us?’ I asked, trying to make sure my voice didn’t squeak with concern. ‘Is this where I will find the Western Union bank and be able to get in touch with Darius?’
    Fasina didn’t reply, but marched speedily towards the canoe, with both suitcases weighing heavily at the ends of his slim arms.
    Tracey looked agitated and took out another cigarette from her handbag, lit it and stood stock still.
    â€˜Something ain’t right. I can feel it in my water,’ she said, dragging as much smoke into her lungs as she could. Her eyeliner and mascara had begun to melt and spread under her eyes, making her look a little like a tired koala – one from Essex.
    â€˜You have nuttin’ to worry yourselves about,’ said Fasina, slipping into more of an African lilt than had been noticeable when we first met. ‘You are talking to me now!’ he said with a big smile. ‘I know where to take you. Have some faith, oh, yes. Faith is good.’
    Having given up church some time ago on the grounds of hypocrisy, mine as much as anyone else’s, I wasn’t a great believer in faith. In fact I’d given up on most things faithful for some time. However, I had little choice other than to follow this man, who did, after all, seem quite pleasant if now a little distracted. And well dressed.
    Tracey wasn’t at all sure so I put on my best confident demeanour and led us both to the canoe, telling her on the way that I was sure everything was fine.
    It wasn’t easy getting either of us on board. My balance got the better of me and Fasina had to hold most of my weight, even though it’s only around nine stone, as I slipped and slid like a new-born foal into one of the seats. Tracey was wearing wedge shoes with six inches of heel, which I thought were entirely unfit for any purpose, unless working in a lap-dancing club. She’d been teetering along with some difficulty throughout our entire journey, but it had all got much worse as we reached the muddy banks of the canal.
    â€˜Just take them off,’ I said to Tracey, trying not to show my irritation with her as she settled into her seat at the front of the canoe. ‘Why you even think that things that look like correction boots are suitable for travelling is beyond me,’ I commented, pleased I’d decided to wear my sensible flats, although even Clark’s best still rendered me helpless when it came to negotiating my way off terra firma.
    â€˜These are my shag-me shoes,’ sniffed Tracey, whose blotchiness was increasing with every ounce of effort. ‘Baz likes them.’
    Probably because it means you have no way of escaping while you’re wearing them, I thought. I turned my attention to Fasina who was rubbing his arm where Tracey’s cigarette had burned him while he’d been helping her onto the boat.
    â€˜So where are we and how long will it take us to get to civilisation?’ I said, noting that Tracey’s feet, now bare, were very pale compared to the colour of the rest of her. And there were brown streaks leading from her ankles to the bottom of her mid-calf trousers. It took a while to work out it wasn’t a skin disease but the result of a home-applied fake