Committed ©️

I know a few things about my husband.

Not damning things, just useful things. 

​

I know how he likes his supper - at eight, him seated at the south end of the table and me at the north. Between us there must sit ten decadent, albeit vacant, identical settings while stifle, ticks to the beat of my mother’s cuckoo clock.

I am to ladle out gourmets every night, always reticent but careful not to appear to have the sulks, because ‘no-one wants to come home to a fat-lipped wife’.  

He expresses his appreciation with a curt peck on the forehead, and tonight was no different.  I watched him bound upstairs and crossed my fingers, hoping that the kids were observing ‘quiet time’ in their respective rooms.

​

I don't bemoan the unromantic rules we have; he had never actually stipulated them; rather, I had inferred them from many years spent in what I call, ‘marital hostage negotiations’ . 

I believe the unspoken rules have kept him home. And happy.

What I want in return, is simple. I want my ear to be the one he sought and I want to be the 'soft place' where he beaches his burdens after every long day.  

 

I like things predictable too, especially for the kids, Rachel, aged fourteen and Timmy, aged six. Knowing what is going to happen, before it does, gives me time to mentally harness myself against the days, when suppers and breakfasts are the least of my worries; when heartbreak bleeds into my life.

He likes to buy me lingerie, provided it’s a size 'small'. He had never said he preferred me to stay petite; I just know.

Above all, I know he likes his women groomed, an impossible feat, when there is another career in the mix of things. So I faffed and titivated, became a not-so-desperate housewife and stowed away my longing to slave somewhere else, other than in our home. 

Our nights are sometimes passionate, but mostly calm, with him snoring away while I read the "Good Housekeeping" magazine. 

But all these clever neat plans screeched to a halt when I found him in our room, packing.

“I’m leaving.” He said.

“Oh?” I asked and eyed the mess he had made in his haste.

“We can talk about this tomorrow.” He slammed his suitcase closed and thrust his pillow under his arm.

“Why tomorrow?” I asked. 

“I’m bringing an interpreter with me, because I do not speak crazy.” He said and shoved past me.

“What time?” I shouted after him.

“Noon. Not a minute later.” He said and skipped into the night.

 

They arrived a minute after twelve and we sat down, yet again, at our dining table, not at north and south, and not for a meal, but them on one side and me on the other; a duel at noon.

I know that he doesn’t like to ‘spoon’, it makes him ‘too hot’. So, I wondered if the woman,  perched next to him at our table today, was granted an exception to that particular rule. Their relationship was only three months in the making, and here he was, allowing her to slide, what I assumed was a divorce proposal, towards me. She stroked the papers and I imagined the same pale hand, intertwined with his in a moment of writhing passion. Fortunately, he never flaunted his indiscretions but he didn’t apologise either, leaving me to imagine the painful details.

But this time, was different. He had never left before.

 

I forgot this one’s name so I've decided to call her ‘Crumbs’.

​

“This is your only option.” Said Crumbs, a smile circling her wide mouth like a shark around chum.

I hated my mothball name, ‘Alberta Elizabeth’, and as I looked down at it, below a line where they expected me to voluntarily sign, it pushed my hard limit but the last thing I would do, is show them the hysteria I felt bubbling in my bowels. 

This was a first.

And it will be your last.

​

“I’m not ready for this.” I said.

“We assumed as much, but the impending lockdown brought our plans forward, so be a dear and sign?” Crumbs said, several sharks circling.

I imagined a shocking pink wedding Pinterest board, featuring Las Vegas, as part of their plans.

“Be that as it may, Crumbs,” I said, “I have a counter offer.” 

Crumbs flattened the curve of her lips and sniffed. I glanced at my husband and was surprised when he overlooked Crumbs’ loathsome habit. 

I placed a hand-written offer on theirs, with a shrug,

“Just until things return to normal.” I said.

“Lizzie…” He said and crawled his hand to me across the table, in case I wanted to beg, I guessed. I quelled the temptation and chin-pointed to my offering,

“Here Crumbs, this is your only option.” I said.

Crumbs fishwife-jabbed her petite midriff,

“I don’t understand why she insists on calling me that, she knows my name!”

“Lizzie, Corrine and I need your commitment today.” 

I always felt his larynx produced a kind of chocolate, that melted into one’s ear. Today it was a different kind and perhaps, laced with arsenic.

 

Dark chocolate. Bitter but sweet.

​

The Pussycat Dolls belted out from Crumbs’ Louis Vuitton bag and my mind tweaked the words, because I knew she had been recently widowed.

​

Don’t you wish your husband was dead like mine?

​

My husband bobbed a leg and avoided my stare. 

I can read your mind, ‘honey’.

Crumbs tapped her phone to life with her two-inch nails, 

“Ken darling!”, she singsonged, “so great to hear from you.”

Nail art was Crumbs' tattoo; self-expression scaled to pointy scratchers, Swarovski crystals winked. I had discovered during my ‘reconnaissance’, that she had them refilled every second Wednesday at ‘Scratch ’n Cut’. Yes, I’ve been a little naughty stalker.

​

Crumbs’ excitement cranked and she bunny-bounced on her chair. She gripped her phone with both hands,

“All of them? Really?” She squeaked.

She turned to my husband, air kissed, and mouthed, “Ken did it.”

I was surprised when he turned away from Crumbs and with a lazy arched eyebrow, steered a voyage over my short dark hair, still damp from a quick shower.  My khaki shirt was still crumpled from a recent meltdown, and subsequent nose-dive, outside the grocery store. Timmy’s ADD had steered us off course, and I had offered a scaled down explanation of my appearance when they had arrived at one minute past twelve for our noon meeting.

My husband’s earlier irritation seemed to have simmered now; his private eye-tour halted broodingly on the flutter at the base of my throat.

He called it my ‘heart button’; the one place I couldn’t control. 

You know things about me too.

Crumbs swayed as if suspended on an invisible spring.

Crumbs in a box.

“Who knew that awful inheritance would cause so much drama? Thanks Ken, you’re the best agent in the world. I’ll wait for the deposit.” Said Crumbs, and dropped her phone into her bag, like a penny into a well. A wish played on her face as she placed her hand gingerly on my husband’s and purred,

“Oh, honey, thanks for the reference. Ken found someone.”

A blush crept over his cheeks. He snatched his hand away and I nudged my document toward him, giving him a moment of reprieve.

“What’s this?” He asked.

“A list of things you want. The cars, the house, the boat, the holiday home. Everything. It’s yours.” I said.

“Things I want as opposed to things I need? That again?” He asked.

“I don’t need any of it, for a couple of weeks.” I said.

“You don’t have to do this. What about the kids?” He asked.

“You have full custody.” I said and Crumbs batted her falsies as fast as they could go.

“Full custody? What are you doing?” He asked.

“I can’t keep them in the standard that they are accustomed to, they’ll want to stay in the house, have endless good-boy and good-girl toys and access to all the wonderful things you have provided.”

He clenched his jaw.

“There’s a condition.” I added.

“Ah, which is?“ He asked.

“You have to employ me as their ‘nanny’. From dusk to dawn, every day, provided nothing stops me from coming to work. You won’t even know I was here.”

“And weekends?” Crumbs asked as she tucked her Brazilian blowout behind her ear; her hair was a liquid curtain, the shine insane.

“Crumbs, of course you can have them over weekends, unless,” I smiled, “it doesn’t suit my schedule.” 

Crumbs either had an itch she couldn’t scratch or her seat was on fire. 

That’s right ‘honey’, air kiss those exotic weekends goodbye.

 “You have a schedule now?” He asked.

“I might take a temporary job.” I said, breathing past the invisible hand that squeezed my lungs.

Swim duck, swim, be a swan. 

“Who will clean the house?” He asked.

“On page two you’ll find a list of suitable housekeepers. I’ll interview them, unless Crumbs here, wants that honour?” I said.

Crumbs snorted and he struggled around the sound, before he asked,

“Where will you stay?” 

“You’ll pay me handsomely, I’ll manage.” I reached for my handbag where I had stashed it under the table, even if an old hobgoblin had reminded me that I will lose money if I placed my bag on the floor.  

“Wait…” Said Crumbs, darting her angst at my bag.

“What Crumbs, what else do you want?”

Other than my husband, my kids, my home, my freedom…

“Are you really leaving?” Asked Crumbs.

“My car is packed. You can shift in here tonight, if you’d like.” I said.

“You’re delusional. I’m not moving in here.” She said.

“You’re leaving the kids here? Alone?” He asked and I could see his tongue quiver where it lay in his open mouth. It was an unfamiliar sight.

“Tell her you’re booked in a hotel tonight, you can’t move back.” Said Crumbs, loud enough so that he didn’t have to repeat it.

“My mother can watch them, just until you move back in.” I licked the lie from my lips, it tasted sweeter than cotton candy.

 “Your mother!” He jumped up.

“The retirement village had an outbreak.” I said.

“What about this?“ asked Crumbs, pulling her document from beneath mine, “I called in a special favour to arrange this during a plague.” She crossed her arms over her significant implants.

“Cancel it all.” I said and once I reached the door, I flung a backward glance and saw the way Crumbs glared at him. It made me wonder how it had come that Crumbs was widowed. 

Oh crumbs.

  

I had no intention to report as a ‘nanny’. A bolt-hole, deep in the African bush, seven hours away, was my destination and as the border closed in my rear-view mirror, I sucked clean country air through a daisy adorned mask. 

There’s no going back, ‘honey’. 

The kids had been psyched when I told them of my plans last night. They looked forward to spending time with their father.  They agreed that we all had a ‘common enemy’ in our midst, and were willing to help me, 'stamp it out'. 

The house was ready too.

I finger-counted the things I had prepared, to make sure, because the grocery store incident, had thrown a spanner into my usual systematic approach.

“One. Pastries.” I said, gripping the wheel tight, “for frustration munchies.” And I knew they were her favourite kind.

“Two. Curriculums.” The kids could home-school, even if the internet was down.

“Three. Dining room.” It was no longer a twelve seater prison, it was the new school.

“Four. Locked the door.”

Everything I owned was in the main bedroom, even my hopes and dreams were in quarantine and it was bolted closed.

“Five. Donated the alcohol.”

Rachel had promised me that she would not ‘up her game’, but you never know what teenagers could do.

“Six. Damn. I forgot the Ritalin. Tsk.” 

Oh well, my husband always complained about the ‘poison’ I was pouring down Timmy’s throat. 

“Seven. Cancelled data.”

Rachel’s recent download of ‘aggressive feministic content’, as he had described it, was no longer a temptation. 

Netflix’s ‘outrageously vulgar movies’, his term, not mine, which were an ‘atrocious waste of time’, were now rendered unavailable. 

Since you can’t keep a parental pin from kids that grew up digital, I had cancelled the DSTV account for good measure.

“Eight. Photos.”

Rachel and I had printed and framed my whole life. The staircase had been transformed into a never-ending story of marital bliss, holidays and family occasions.

Don’t forget who I am, ‘honey’.

“Nine. Secret phone.”

Rachel, fearing virtual distancing as well as physical distancing, was grateful to agree to a secret phone.  

Teenagers will defend data with their lives. 

​

As the sun was setting and my lockdown home became visible at the end of a dusty sand road, I looked forward to finding lion tracks on my doorstep. In the bush, wild animals protect you from humans. I was ready to report to my ‘new job’, where the big five roamed freely around seven luxury cottages. 

The ‘brrring’ of a vintage phone resonated around the car, my new ‘colleague’ appeared on FaceTime, from where my phone was fastened to my dashboard.

“Hello Natalie, you coping?” I asked.

“You’re driving and answering the phone?” She asked with a sly smile.

“I feel like doing something criminal.” I said.

“It’s bad.” She said, answering my earlier question, her generous mouth inverted, wild hair a nest of auburn and dust.

“Well, we’re going to find the silver linings and rainbows in this darkness.” I said.

“Yes, we’ll save lives, but kill my dreams.” She said and thrust her bottom lip out. 

“Oh Nats, your ‘thing’ can still happen, only later. Thanks for inviting me on this quest.”

“Hmm. I really appreciate you agreeing to it. How did you convince Arthur?” She asked.

I swerved around some Elephant dung, the sound of his name unnerved me.

“He doesn’t know.” I said.

“He doesn’t know what? About the lockdown or this uhm…job?”

“Neither.”

“Gee whizz, he’s going to be pissed.” Natalie whistled.

“He’ll have her.” I said, and briefly saw Natalie’s hand fly to her forehead before I dodged yet more dung.

“You believe she’ll stay in your house with him?” She asked.

“I don’t mind. Her puppet has strings.”

“You are so brave. You’re nuts.” Natalie giggled.

“I know.” I giggled and terminated the call after we had made brief arrangements to meet up at reception. The signal had been good, but I knew it will soon fizzle out.

​

When I checked in, I was assured that there would be some signal, on a mound, north of the Hyena den. From there, I planned to view the cackle of Hyenas devour their catch, and also get updates about the scavenger in my home.

The Pandemic cancelled all travel plans and hotels closed their doors.

Housekeepers were told to stay home, schools closed and ‘Scratch ’n Cut’ went out of business.

I assumed Arthur’s libido was hunkering down too. Just before leaving, Timmy had reported that the monsters under his bed, were back, and I knew he was sleeping with his dad. 

Passion, poof, out the window.

Every time I suspected Arthur was wandering out of his lane, in search of new ‘novelties’, I had swallowed the ‘It-won’t-happen-agains’ and choked on ‘compromise’; my dirty word. 

Of course, he had denied the flings but he had never convinced me and I had instituted even more ‘prophylactic rules’, like the time he had to be home, the precise hour of our dinner, all whilst hoping to curb his wandering eye. In the end, the ‘compromises’ had smothered the matrimonial excitement. For both of us.

A ‘pathogen’ had chomped holes in my heart.

I was out of breath.

​

Giraffes sauntered over to the trees in front of my cottage, their rear and front legs swaying in unison.  Audrey, a fourteen-month-old cow, manoeuvred her black tongue between long devil’s thorns and curled juicy Acacia leaves and twigs between her tough fat lips. 

No thorns in your side, hey Audrey?

Warthogs grunted and dug their tusks and snouts into the red earth. They delighted in their evening snack of anything. They were wanton beggars and never passed up on a fruit flying their way. I clapped my hands for their sakes; wild animals are not pets.

Themba, the camp’s head ranger, had told me that the boars had two mating tactics, they either ‘stayed’ home and protected their females or ‘roamed’ to compete for them. I watched the oestrus sow who had recently convinced a handsome male to join the eight-strong sounder.

You’re limited to ‘staying tactics’ now, ‘honey’. 

As they trotted off, with the tufts on the end of their tails aloft like antennae, two new-born piglets squealed, not yet trusting what I was. 

‘What’ am I now?

​

The first report from home was disappointing.

I learnt that Crumbs’ hotel had evacuated and had indeed forced her to stay in my ‘ironing room’, a modified walk-in closet, as her home was in another province and as I expected, inter-provincial travel was banned. The kids had refused to forfeit their rooms, as we had arranged, and I assumed Arthur did not think it was a good example to share his room with her. 

The irony was not lost on me; the man that strayed more than a roaming warthog, did not want his kids to witness his ‘tactic’. 

My bedroom, which would have been ideal in this situation, had been mysteriously locked, the key gone and the locksmiths on lockdown. 

Crumbs reportedly slept on Arthur’s ‘luxury’ camping bed. I knew the rickety bed had an unfortunate hard frame and scratchy material, but Arthur had insisted, when I had complained during our last Safari, that it was ‘comfortable’ and that I ‘just hated camping’.

He was right about me. He was wrong about the bed.

​

The next night, Themba’s jeep bounced through the natural arch in the brush, and I was ready for another update.

“Crizzie, are you ready to call the wind?” He flashed his pearly whites from where he waited in the jeep. 

The merry man had convinced me that he should drive me; instead of my walking, as walking around at dusk he said, was ‘just mad’. 

I had no idea why he called me ‘Crizzie’, and assumed that “Lizzie” was a strange name. I also didn’t understand why he said I ‘called the wind’. 

“Do you think you will have good news tonight?” He hid a chuckle behind his meaty fist.

“Oh I think so Themba, things should be going sideways by now.”

I jumped into the passenger seat, where there was no door, and seconds later we danced over bumps and stones. At the den, fiery streaks of pink and orange ignited the sky and gnarly trees painted dramatic silhouettes. The African sunset soothed as it spectacled. Themba had taught me to ‘feast’ on the last hours of the day, with my ears.  I waited for the precise moment when twilight folded around me like a cool comforter, before I made the call. 

I need this.

​

“Mom?” 

I raised my phone above my head, Rachel’s image zigzagged across the screen. She wasn’t moving and I thought it was a photo for a second, but then my brain made a different connection, and she came to life.

“I’m here, I’m here.” I shouted and Themba searched in the dark for any predators I may have alerted.

“Today was bonkers, Mom. Corona’s roots are dark.”

 Bottle platinum, fresh out of stock. 

“Don’t call her that, honey, it’s not nice.” 

“Why not? You call her Crumbs? Besides, she drank your souvenir bottles.”

“Okay…” I said, mentally kicking myself for forgetting about the souvenir bottles, “you can call her whatever you want dear.” 

Rachel reported that the Brazilian blowout was ‘cheap’ and frizzy curls had sprouted.

“Oh dear.” I said and Rachel giggled.

“Mom, she found Stacey’s phone number in your black book.  Should I tell her?”

Of course she did, hair maintenance was the new national emergency.

Stacey was the previous ‘Crumb’, Arthur’s ‘travelling’ hairdresser. She was ‘available’ anywhere, anytime. 

I concluded that Stacey had styled his hair every day, for four months, until I lost the plot.

“Tell Crumbs what dear?” I asked.

“That Stacey sucks.” Rachel said.

“What?” I stopped short of inhaling my tongue and Themba reached for the gun. I shook my head and mouthed, ‘Sorry’.

“Crizzie. Crizzie” Themba said and stomped around the jeep.

“She sucks at colouring hair, remember mine?” Asked Rachel.

“Oh, okay.” I exhaled.

“Timmy hasn’t been able to sit still for one lesson and he wrote on the wall. Corona broke two nails washing it off. He found permanent markers on the dining table, did you leave them there?” She asked, but rambled on, “It was so funny because dad was upset with what Timmy wrote, but impressed with his handwriting.”

I had been to school twice, when Timmy had discovered curse words.

“What did he write dear?” 

“He wrote, ‘The virus lives with us’, you know, because I call her Corona.”

​

Shortly after the call, the Hyenas slunk from their den and whooped next to me. 

My scream boomed into the darkness and Themba did not appreciate the sound. He said that I laughed louder than the Hyenas.

I told him that Hyenas laugh in frustration and he said they did so too, when they were excited.

Themba had a point.

​

Natalie and I managed to move sixty homeless people into six of the cottages she had rented for lockdown. Local farmers donated food and hunger was eradicated in the area.

No one was sick; viruses do not survive in the bush. 

Natalie found a cache of expensive wine but had the unfortunate tendency to leave half-consumed bottles everywhere. I was about to complain about that when I tripped over a hideous Zebra hide and spilled the fine red on its head.

“Oops.” Natalie said.

“Oops.” I said and stepped over the stain to refill my glass. One of the side effects of a Pandemic was that stains had to wait; cleaning products were sold out.  

“You missed the call tonight.” Natalie congratulated me as she counted the remaining bottles of wine.

We had spent seventy-two hours digging an Elephant calve out of a ditch today and I had temporarily forgot my jealous obsession.

“I will reconnect Netflix.” I suggested.

“Arthur won’t approve.” Natalie hiccupped and smacked her lips, the cheap reds were sour.

“Your brother is so archaic.” I said. 

“I hate his guts. I love you more,”  She said and pulled me outside, “I am so glad you agreed to this erm…intervention.”

We sat on the deck and listened to a pride of lions that had moved into the area. Their roars shook the wilderness. 

The lions did not sleep that night.

I, on the other hand, had never slept so well, waking refreshed for my follow-up the next morning.

​

“Mom?” Rachel’s voice was off-key.

“What’s wrong, is someone sick?” I asked, her picture freezing again.

“Mom, Corona is in jail and she mutated!”

“What?” I yelled and Themba over-dramatically put a finger on his lips; he was desperate to count the new Hyena cubs.

“Mutated how?” I whispered.

“She’s changed colour.”

“Changed colour? To what?”

“She needs a sun-bed.” Said Rachel.

I liked my ‘emo’ daughter’s new-found sense of humour.

“You said she’s in jail?” I asked.

“Yeah, she and Stacey.”

“How?” 

“Suspicion of breaching the rules, she’s in for at least forty-eight hours.” Rachel mused.

“Oh dear.” 

“Dad just went to bail them out. Did you know it’s against the law to have a hairdresser come to your home?”

“Of course dear, who snitched?” I asked. 

“No idea,” Rachel fibbed, “she complains a lot and dad hates it.” 

“Oh?”

“Yeah, she told dad she’s not the teacher, the maid and the cook.”

“Oh dear.”

“The neighbours complained.” Rachel was on a roll.

“About what?”

“Corona bought illegal cigarettes and smoked it near their wall. It didn’t smell like cigarettes though Mom.”

Addiction, in the time of the Plague, must be terrible. 

“Is Timmy okay?” I asked.

“Also, her eyelashes fell out and she looks old.” Said Rachel.

Of course she did, she was twenty years older than him.

“How’s Timmy?” 

“He’s fine. He’s right here, playing board games.”

“Like Monopoly?”

“No Mom, ‘B-O-R-E-D’ games. He and dad made them up. You bounce a ball against the ironing room’s outer wall.”  

“Oh dear.” I said and we giggled.

“I miss you Mom. Please come home?”

“As soon as this scourge is under control.” I promised.

“Which one?” Rachel asked but continued to tell me her grandmother had made fun of Crumbs’ ‘muffin top’ and confirmed that the pastries were all finished.

​

I sniggered all the way home.

Themba said Hyenas made that sound too, especially when they stole the Lion’s food.

​

A fire destroyed two of the cottages and I started missing more calls from home. My sister-in-law nursed the last bottle of wine and mused,

“I heard that it is against the law to evict us during this time, even if we didn’t pay…” 

Before I could respond, my phone vibrated a familiar number and I was surprised.

 

We have signal at our cottage?

​

“Themba must have fixed the cell phone tower.” Natalie nervously explained.

“Ken?” I answered, and I put him on loud speaker. Natalie pumped a fist into the air.

“Are you two up to no good down there?” Ken asked.

“All the time.” I said.

Ken sniggered and I concluded that ‘sniggering’, was the new contagion.

“I guess my client can’t expect a deposit any time soon?” Ken asked.

“Unfortunately, babe, she’s out of luck, the charity didn’t pay us.” Natalie sniggered.

Yup. Definitely contagious.

“Her husband did not leave her much more than those seven cottages.” Ken said dryly.

“Oh dear.” I said and Natalie burped.

“You gals haven’t consumed Corrine’s other asset, have you?”

​

It occurred to me that, by now, Arthur may have found out where I was.

“Ken, does Arthur know that we rented these cottages for Natalie’s charity project?” I asked.

“It was always plan B, in case you didn’t sign Crumbs’ proposal. I can’t take the credit.” Ken said and I saw Natalie hold her breath.

 

Something clicked in my mind.

​

“Whose plan B?” I sank to the floor because I already knew.

“Arthur’s.” Ken said and I dropped the phone.

​

I lay on the warm tiles next to Natalie, our eyes wide.

“I’ve done it again, haven’t I?” I asked.

“Fraid so.” She said, and gently lifted stray hairs off my sweaty brow.

“There’s no signal at the mound, is there? Never was. I imagined it all.” I said.

“You were talking to the wind, just as Themba said.” 

“And Crumbs? Is she staying in my house, just as a guest, not as his girlfriend. She’s…she’s…” I struggled with the truth.

“Your doctor.” Said Natalie and I wanted to die, “Well, she is also Ken’s client, as you know, he had rented her cottages to me, she doesn’t know it’s us though, and Arthur will be in a bit of a fix for suggesting Ken as a rental agent.” She winked.

“I had the meltdown in the parking lot, not Timmy…The kids are….” I sniffed.

“Are fine. They miss you, but I’ve kept them updated on your progress.” Natalie rubbed my arm.

“Your thing…you postponed it for my intervention?” I ugly cried now, tears dropping to the floor.

“Oh, Ken and I can wait, you guys were more important. Anyway, family comes first. We had to do something extraordinary this time, this very last time, as Arthur described it.”

​

Years later, when the Pandemic was a distant, but awful memory, and the kids had flown the coop, I lay in bed, reading reports about Natalie and Ken’s charity drives through Africa.

Natalie had been eight months pregnant when they finally did their ‘thing’ and tied the knot. They named their daughter, ‘Hope’. 

Corrine sued both Arthur and Ken. Ken’s real estate licence was suspended. Crumbs retracted her case against Arthur when her online practise went viral on his referrals, and she was able to issue many other ‘orders of commitment’, that resembled ‘divorce proposals’.  

I never signed mine and the ‘special favour’ she had negotiated, which was a bed on a psyche ward, not needed ever again.  I had successfully been vaccinated against the ‘green monster’. The first step to healing from my pathological jealousy, was to admit that I had an over creative imagination, who knew imagination could get you committed?

​

The Pandemic dunked the world in financial hell.

My mother, rest her soul, saved us from losing our home. Themba, who called his ‘Crizzie’ friend every week, was gifted the Safari camp by a mysterious charity, who had purchased the remaining cottages from Corrine. To this day, Themba reminds me regularly, that ‘lionhearted grass shoots always push through the ash of a fire’. 

Silver linings and rainbows abounded and the World was vaccinated.

 

Twice.

 

Against the virus and against themselves – the inhabitants of earth finally realised their disrespect for nature will boomerang.

​

The body next to me stirred, and the loud snoring choked to a sudden stop.

Arthur smiled and grabbed my behind, which fit snugly, in a size ‘large’.

I know you want me, ‘honey’.

I threw the reports on the plates next to the bed. Arthur had become a terrific cook, our twelve-seater was sold to pay for Corrine’s wine. Arthur had a hard time forgiving his sister for opening all 105 bottles and drinking only half, or some, from them.

“Oh no honey,” I exclaimed, “you’ve left crumbs in the bed.”

Arthur peeked at me.

“Quick, let’s remake the bed. You know how it is with crumbs, you can’t just flick them out, they find a way back in.” I said.

He sighed and helped me shake our bed free of the crumbs, left behind by our last meal of toast, cheese and wine.

We climbed back and he stroked my cheek.

“I was always very committed to removing the crumbs from our bed, and your head, you know that.” He said.

“Especially, as they were imaginary.” I said.

We sniggered.

THE END