In the street below, headlights throws patterns on the buildings. Like an elastic band, they stretch and snap. Red and green join the display as the traffic light changes. Locked up here in the dark while the lights of people going places are passing by on the ground makes me feel lonelier. Eventually, they abandon me, and only the headlights of an occasional taxi shines up the road.
Hopping from the bed, I slam a hand on the light switch. The brightness hurts my eyes. I close the blinds, anything not to see the freedom outside and feel the isolation creeping up on me. After my parents, I didn’t keep many friends. Little by little, I stopped calling and meeting up with old classmates and girls from the office. I told myself it was because I got on better with guys, but the friendships I made with Shona, Keeya, and Lesedi in Zimbabwe belies that statement. I didn’t want to expose myself to hurt. I didn’t want to get close to anyone. Now, as I find myself friendless and alone, I regret that decision.
It’s futile to try and sleep. I switch on the kettle and make a cup of tea. Just as I turn on the television and select a local news channel, a knock falls on the door. I give a start. Dropping the remote on the bed, I pad over to the door and peer through the peephole.
Damian.
I’m surprised to see him. It’s close to midnight. My stomach twists into a ball. Does he bring bad news?
Yanking open the door, I ask, “Is it Ian? Is something wrong?”
He enters, carrying a brown paper bag in one hand, and shuts the door. “Don’t worry. Nothing is wrong. I apologize for coming so late, but I reckoned you wouldn’t be sleeping. Josie is teething.” His smile is proud. “We were battling to put her to sleep.”
“Is she all right?”
“She will be.” He takes a bottle of wine from the paper bag and puts it on the desk. “I thought you might need a drink.”
“Thanks. That’s kind. And thanks for putting me up here.”
He leans against the desk and crosses his ankles. His stance reminds me so much of Ian it’s like a knife twisting in my stomach.
“Any idea where you’ll be going?” he asks.
“I’ll figure it out.”
He scrutinizes me. “Russell said you want to do it on your own.”
I shrug. “I have contacts and the means. I’ve never relied on anyone but myself.”
He crosses his arms. “I can respect that.”
“What did the lawyer say? Did he see Ian?”
Damian’s expression darkens. “Ian doesn’t like to play ball. He never did let others join his games as a kid.”
My heart squeezes. “What does that mean?”
“He’s not keen on letting my lawyer dictate his behavior, even if it’s in his best interest.”
“What’s going to happen?”
“We’ll do our best to get him into the Joburg prison. That’s where I have the most contacts and where I can secure the best conditions for him.”
Biting my nail, I consider him for a moment before I broach the subject on my mind. “You were on the inside. You know the workings. How easy is it to get out?”
Straightening, he shakes his head. “No one gets out. The systems are too sophisticated these days.”
“What about Leon? If he can create an app that cuts a key by scanning the keyhole, can’t we use that?”
He gives me a patient smile. “It’ll take more than getting through a few doors.”
I rub my neck muscles that are sore from tension. “Surely, there must be a way.”
“If there was a way of breaking him out, I would’ve already set a plan in motion. I spent six years on the inside. If I could’ve broken out sooner, I wouldn’t have hesitated.”
I don’t want to listen to negative statements any longer. I have to cling to hope, even if it’s just the hope that they’ll let him see visitors.
Damian takes a padded envelope from his inside jacket pocket and hands it to me. “I came to give you this. Ian wanted you to have it.”
I search his eyes as I tear open the envelope and shake out the content. A velvet bag slides onto my palm. My lips part on a silent gasp.
The diamonds.
“Everyone is looking for these,” I say when I finally find my voice again. “How did he get them to you?”
“He mailed them from Rustenburg. They were delivered this morning.”
When did Ian mail them? When he left to check the perimeter alarms? He’d been away for a long time, but not that long. It doesn’t make sense. I wish I could ask him.
“You’ve got good stones there,” Damian says. “What are you going to do with them?”
“I haven’t thought about it. I thought we’d lost them.” Anyway, the stones were never my objective. It was an impulsive act fueled by anger.
“If you need a buyer, let me know. I can recommend someone in France.”
Jostling the bag, I measure its weight in my palm. “I’ll remember that.”
“I better go. I remain at your disposal should you change your mind about getting help to skip the country.”
“For how long can I stay here?”
“Two days. More than that becomes a risk. The other people living here may notice you.”
“What do I do with the key?”
“Leave it with Simon in reception.” He takes a pistol from his waistband and hands it to me. “Ian told me you know how to use this. It may come in handy.”
“Thanks.” I check the receiver. The serial number has been scratched off. “Say hi to Lina for me.”
“Take care.” Offering me a last, strained smile, he lets himself out.
The minute he’s gone, I turn my attention back to the television. Ian’s arrest is all over the news. The news anchor, who reports from in front of the Johannesburg High Court building, reckons the trial could take place in as little as a week.
When my two days are up, I don’t flee the country as I’m supposed to. I leave Damian’s apartment building, walk across the street, and book in at the Braamfontein Hotel. The room is on the second floor. It has a big bed with a soft mattress and a plush carpet.
I read every morsel of news about Ian’s trial I can get my hands on. It’s taking place in two days from today, on Friday.
In the afternoon, I leave my room to buy food from a store down the road. Venturing a little farther, I locate a clothing store where I buy a yellow dress and matching shoes. At an African hairdresser not far from the hotel, I find a selection of wigs. Choosing one with layered red hair, I also buy nets and pins to use under the wig. At a department store, I buy cosmetics and false eyelashes.
On the day of the trial, I get up extra early to work on my appearance. When I’m done, I don’t recognize myself in the mirror. The woman looking back at me has red hair and brown eyes. The contact lenses are a cheap fashion accessory available at any pharmacy.
My stomach is in knots when I take my fake ostrich leather bag and leave my hotel room. The courthouse is only two kilometers from my hotel, but I don’t want to risk wandering around the city. Instead, I take a taxi.
Ian’s trial is public. The media is crowded outside when I arrive. I hang behind a group of people, mostly Phantom fans who came to witness the trial, until the doors open and we’re let inside. I follow the group through the security check and give my fake ID for scanning. I look different than in the photo, but I can always claim I dyed my hair.