Open Writing

Brian paused, then suggested, “We could do some shopping, if you like.”

That gave Ingrid an idea. Looking over at the half made chicken pie, she thought quickly. There would be enough leftovers from tonight’s meal to feed Tracey and herself tomorrow. Bongi could feed the dogs for her if she and Brian returned late. Hesitantly, she asked, “Where exactly in Johannesburg are you going?”

“Sandton,” replied Brian. “I have a colleague who works closely with the AIDS drug distribution programme. What would take weeks going through the regular channels he can do in a matter of hours. I’ve spoken to him already and we just have to pick up the package from his rooms. Why, what did you have in mind?”

“Well,” she said thoughtfully, “there’s this wholesale nursery on the south-east side of the city which supplies us with roses. We got some stock from them before Christmas which my mother-in-law believes came from a dodgy grower. She’s been threatening to take them back. If I could save her the trip –”

“No problem,” he repeated. “How many plants are we talking about?”

“Only about fifteen, I think. No more than twenty, anyway.”

“That’s fine,” Brian said. “They’ll easily fit in the back of the Land Cruiser. You can be in charge of making them comfortable. Plants don’t really fall into my field of expertise.”

Ingrid laughed. “I quite understand,” she said happily. “It will be great to get that chore done. Thank you. We’ll just have to bag them – what time do you plan to leave?”

They made the arrangements and Ingrid hung up, feeling strangely excited.

Alice was in her office, switching off equipment and preparing to lock up for the night. She looked nonplussed when Ingrid announced that she was going with Brian to Johannesburg the following day, but brightened on hearing that he was prepared to come back via Meier’s Nursery. Ingrid assured her she would see to the bagging of the bushes in question and let Carl know to expect them.

“No,” Alice insisted. “Leave it to me. You’ll need to get ready. I’d rather do it and keep my mind off that wretched tea party I'm supposed to be attending tomorrow afternoon.” She glanced up. “I take it Olivia told you about it?”

Ingrid nodded. “Yes. And so did Tracey. I must say, I’m impressed that she's finally summoned up the courage to meet her birth mother.”

Alice sighed. She walked around, straightening piles of paper with the look of someone about to face the gallows. She said through gritted teeth, “I suppose it has to be done. I’ve been having sleepless nights thinking about what we ought to do. Thank goodness Olivia will be there to make the introductions.”

It was disconcerting to see how old her mother-in-law suddenly looked. Her skin had lost its usual healthy glow and her short, tinted hair was showing grey. Moved by pity for her, Ingrid took a seat on the sofa. “Actually, Mum, I couldn’t think of anyone better to do it. Olivia’s known Nadine since birth. She and Ken are amazing people.”

Mum followed Ingrid's example and lowered herself into her executive chair. “I know,” she admitted. “She told me that you went to her when you found out about the connection between Nadine and Benson.” Her lower lip quivered. “I’m sorry, Ingrid. I should have been the one to tell you. I’m sorry for not telling you in the beginning, when we first got to know each other. And I’m sorry for what it’s done to you and Warren. It was unforgivable of me.”

Gently, Ingrid said, “You and Dad did what you thought was best in the circumstances.”

But to her surprise, Alice shook her head regretfully. “Not Dad, darling. It was my idea to adopt Tracey as our daughter. He would have done differently, but his attitude was that, no matter what action we took, we had to agree on it. So he backed down and supported me. Not once has he accused me of being wrong. Ever since we took the decision, we’ve shared the responsibility – for lying first to Tracey and then you. And of course,” she added miserably, “the longer we protected Warren, the more the burden of responsibility grew.”

Ingrid could see that darkness was falling outside. A Night Jar called from somewhere behind the garage. The smell of frying onions drifted in from Alice’s kitchen where her maid, Emily, was preparing supper. She picked up the framed photograph of Warren from Alice’s desk and gazed into the boyish face. Grimly, she said, “Don’t forget, the blame was shared three ways. I can see why you had to keep up the pretence, but Warren could have told me. He didn’t have to hide the truth from me for all these years.”

Again, the older woman sighed. “Oh darling, we had no idea, when you came along, that you and Warren would marry. Once you had accepted the structure of the family, it was hard to think about explaining. I expect Warren was afraid you would run away. I’m sure I would have, had it happened to me.”

Ingrid cast her mind back to the May of 1990 when she had first come to the town. She had been so desperate for happiness then. Since her own family had let her down by not demonstrating kindness or support for her high moral standards, she was quick to latch onto the security which the Steeles had seemed to offer. Would it have been different, she wondered, if they had told her the truth? And if so, what would she have done instead? She didn’t know.

Nor did it matter now. She was where she was, and for her children’s sake, she must be grateful. Steelesbury had given her an amazing fourteen years. If that was to change with Warren remaining long-term in hospital, at least she had found what she had been looking for.