Open Writing

Ingrid awoke on Thursday morning with the hadedas cawing in the gum trees on the northern edge of the estate. The promise of the day ahead filled her with pleasure. She lay in bed for a few extra minutes, savouring the taste of adventure. Opportunity had been handed to her on a plate, and she was determined to relish every morsel of it.

In view of what she anticipated, she dressed more formally than on previous trips to Johannesburg. Instead of khaki culottes, she wore a butter yellow skirt and blouse set that accentuated the honey tones in her hair. Again, instead of tying her hair back with a scarf, she left it loose, using a couple of gold combs to keep it off her face. Finally, when she was satisfied that the effect was both feminine and fetching, she applied eye make-up and dabbed perfume liberally on the pulse points at her throat and wrists.

Except for the fact that she had to stop twice to fill up with petrol, the trip was routine. A countrywide switch from leaded to unleaded fuel had resulted in a critical shortage in certain areas. Someone had said on the news that people who were travelling long distances in the next few days ought to keep their tanks over half full to avoid getting stuck. Given that the traffic was fairly heavy, as many holidaymakers were departing early for the Reconciliation Day long weekend, Ingrid wasn't about to take any chances. Today was important and she was determined to cooperate with whatever force was preparing her way.

This thought, coming to her as she cruised through a particularly flat stretch of countryside on the East Rand, gave her cause to wonder. A year ago, before Warren had become ill - indeed, before Tracey had fallen pregnant - Ingrid would have been quick to assert that God was directing her steps. However, that was before her world had come crashing down around her. Now she wasn't so sure. She was beginning to look at life differently and notice that things weren't as congruent as she would like them to be. Roses had thorns and supportive mother-in-laws harboured ugly secrets. Maybe there wasn't even a God in heaven after all. Maybe the truth was that everyone had to make it on their own, and you only found that out when you were grown-up enough to handle it.

By the time she eventually reached Johannesburg and took the familiar off ramp to Carl's place, a strong wind had begun to blow. Ingrid, feeling her hands gripping the steering wheel till her knuckles were white, told herself it was because negotiating the bends with the empty trailer demanded intense concentration. It certainly wasn't because she was feeling guilty … and here her thoughts switched to the signposts along the route.

Meier’s Wholesale Nursery was on the south-eastern side of the city. According to Alice, it had been established by Carl’s father some thirty years earlier. Back then, the property had been surrounded by farms and accessible only by a dirt road. Now, thanks to the urban sprawl of recent years, it occupied a prime position in an affluent residential area. Not only was it bounded on all four sides by a high white wall but the entrance sported a pair of handsome electric gates.

A guard signed Ingrid in, noting her car registration number and reason for visiting. This was new, she thought. However, as she drove in and saw the number of trucks, bakkies and smart cars in the parking area, she guessed that news about the Christmas sale had got out and people were rushing to buy the last of the stock. Ingrid breathed a sigh of relief that she had reserved their share. Presumably, Carl would have kept her selection aside and would be expecting her.

She parked her Polo and got out, instantly regretting her decision to wear a skirt. The wind snatched at the light fabric, forcing her to bunch it around her thighs and make a dash for the shop door. Several ladies moved aside hastily as she clattered in - gasping as if she were some country bumpkin and not a special friend of the owner. Well, she thought, they would soon realise their mistake.

Someone said, “Mind the tree”. Ingrid put on brakes but it was too late. The daintily decorated miniature Christmas tree in its ridiculously insubstantial tub toppled, then fell onto the floor with a sickening crackle of branches and glass ornaments. She froze in horror. Silence descended on the showroom.

"Leave it, lady." The woman behind the counter was well dressed with sleek grey hair arranged in a bun. Eyeing Ingrid coldly, she said in a tight voice, “I’ll call someone to clear the mess.”

Feeling utterly humiliated, Ingrid stepped away from the offending Christmas tree and retreated to the other side of the shop. It took several minutes for her to regain her composure. A youth with a wheelbarrow came to remove the Christmas tree. The woman with the bun resumed her place at the counter and continued serving customers. A person who could have been a lady or a man scribbled a signature on a cheque and shouldered a glitzy handbag. Three black women in overalls and boots pushed trolleys bearing various shrubs and trays of seedlings in the person's wake. Several men with caps carried bags of fertiliser over their shoulders towards an awaiting truck. Everything was busy, as it should be. However, of Carl, there was no sign.

Anxiously, Ingrid wondered what to do. Should she just collect her stock and leave? Surely he wouldn't miss an opportunity to see her - not after all the times he had asked her out before?

From behind, a pair of hands gripped her waist. A husky voice said in her ear, “Hi there, gorgeous!”

Ingrid swung around. Carl’s angular face smiled down at her. His narrow, dark eyes glistened with appreciation. With thick, long eyelashes fluttering, he murmured again, “hi, gorgeous, were you looking for me?”