Free The Boy Next Door by Irene Sabatini Page A

takes his hand away, but I still feel the pressure and heat of it. I want to put my hand on my shoulder, where his was.
     To keep it there.
    “Listen, man, we should try and arrange a way to meet.”
    “Like an appointment?”
    “Jeez, I’m not a doctor. I mean meet like friends.”
    He puts his hand through his hair. “Asch man, forget it. It’s just… I’ll see you when I see you.”
    “You can write something maybe, put it in the letter box.”
    “What, so your mother can find it, no ways.”
    “Not if you put it in at night, anytime after six. A small piece of paper.”
    “With the appointment? Date, time, location.” And he smiles. “Okay, works both ways, you do the same your end if you want
     to meet up.”
    “Yes.”
    And my heart jumps and skips.
    Rosanna gives me a funny look when I come in. Mummy is still not in.
    Ever since Rosanna became pregnant, Mummy has become short-tempered. The more Rosanna’s stomach grows, the shorter Mummy’s
     temper becomes. Rosanna should have gone back to the village to have the baby. But now with all the problems in the rural
     areas, it is not safe. When she saw Rosanna’s stomach, Mrs. Ncube said that this was surely a big healthy boy growing in there,
     as heavy as anything, pulling Rosanna’s stomach so far down. That evening Mummy gave me a slap when I asked her for the keys
     of the pantry so that I could get a new packet of sugar out, and then she locked herself in her room.
    Rosanna will not say who the father is.
    “Who is going to support this child?” shouted Mummy. “How can damages be paid when there is no culprit. Ba-Lindiwe you must
     throw her out.”
    Whenever Mummy addressed Daddy by “Lindiwe’s father,” it meant that a very serious request was being made and Mummy was calling
     upon Daddy as head of the household and my protector to act. Even though Rosanna was Mummy’s relative, once she had come to
     our place she became part of the family under Daddy’s guardianship.
    Daddy said we must be charitable.
    “We are not a charity!” shouted Mummy.
    Mummy wanted to know where Rosanna was getting the money to buy all the fancy maternity wear and shoes from Bata. And what
     of all the bags she kept bringing back from Babyrama, Woolworths, and even Meikles. Mummy told me to keep an eye on her and
     not to leave anything lying around.
    “With the excuse of this pregnancy, she is doing nothing. ‘I am tired,’ ‘my feet are hurting,’ but not too tired to go shopping.”
    Rosanna is fairer skinned than Mummy and her face isn’t marked by dark patches because of using Ambi Fade skin lightening
     cream. Rosanna doesn’t wear a glossy black wig like Mummy, but her short hair is neatly plaited in rows. She is also taller
     than Mummy, and before she became pregnant the boys at the shops called her Miss Coca-Cola and made smooth movements with
     their hands to illustrate the shape of her figure. Rosanna didn’t pay them any attention.
    “I don’t like her change of attitude at all. She is acting as though she is the mistress of this house. When Mrs. Ncube came
     yesterday and I asked her to fetch a glass of water, she actually started saying ‘but I’m…’ and I gave her such a look that
     she thought better of it. Even Mrs. Ncube was surprised. That’s what happens when you act in a Christian manner, people take
     advantage. She must watch out. I won’t stand for any nonsense.”

16.
    We are at
Chipangali by the lion enclosure. The lions have been fed, and they are lying down, their jaws matted with blood, sleepy
     eyed, content. But they still make me nervous. Something, anything might provoke them.
    I have the lighter in my pocket. I want to give it to him. I want him to know that I am on his side.
    This is the furthest we’ve driven off and we met one roadblock. The policemen told us to get out of the car. They checked
     the boot and under the seats. They asked us where we were going. They said we should not go any further