Evadeen Brickwood - Singing Lizards

A Mystery Adventure set in Africa

Evadeen Brickwood

NLSA ISBNs 978-0-9946916-1-3 (pdf), 978-0-9946916-2-0 (mobi),

978-0-9946916-3-7 (epub)

Kindle ASIN: B013RBN4Jc

Smashwords ISBN: 978-13-11663696

Tolino EAN: 9783739323145

Book Layout: Birgit Böttner

Cover Design by Yvonne Less, www.art4artists.com.au

Image Source: ‘Depositphotos.com' licensed

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A Novel set in Africa

Why did I have to think now about Botswana? It had taken only a brief look at my steaming Johannesburg garden through the big window in the study. The tall avocado tree and pink protea bushes were still glistening from the rainstorm the night before. I tried to concentrate on my work: the translation of an urgent divorce decree.

The phone rang. “Hello.”

“Can I speak to Bokkie please?”

“Um, there is no Bokkie here.”

“But this is Bokkie’s number.”

“I’m afraid not. You must have dialled the wrong number.”

“Oh – sorry.”

“No prob — ” The man had already hung up.

I had known a Bokkie in Botswana once… an unpleasant character. There it was again. The thought of Botswana, creeping up on me.

I didn’t even know that this remote African country Botswana existed, before my sister Claire decided to work there. To be honest, I found the mere thought of Africa somewhat unnerving. Southern Africa, with its vast areas of dry and thirsty desert seemed especially intimidating. Claire didn’t mind all that. In fact, it was exactly what she wanted. Then she went missing in Africa on 16 July 1988.

M i s s i n g - such an ugly word. Oh, how much I had missed Claire! I must have been temporarily insane. Why else would I have just upped and left England so suddenly for Africa? It had taken all my courage, but I needed to find Claire, needed to see for myself what had happened.

At first I found the silence there unsettling. I was still reverberating with a western rhythm, an inner buzzing, and it took me a while to learn how to listen to the quiet…

The phone rang again. Why do people always call when you don’t feel like talking?

“Hello?”

“Can I speak with Bokkie?”

“Wrong number.”

This time it was I, who hung up. I sat down at my desk by the window and looked out into the garden. Just outside the window, a yellow weaver bird was busy stripping a palm leaf to build his nest on the tip of a bouncing branch. My thoughts wandered.

It had taken her new employer two weeks to inform us. Two long weeks! They thought she might have taken a few extra days on her short trip to the Okavango Delta. Apparently it was quite normal to be late in Africa. I didn’t know back then that time passes more slowly in a country like Botswana.

A couple of days here and there – what’s the big deal? ‘African time’ they called it. More time passed until the police in Botswana got involved. Then Scotland Yard. Would it have made any difference - the time?

Remembering the year before Botswana was bittersweet. We called each other Foompy. Even at the age of 22. I suppose that’s one of those strange things twins do when they are in their own secret world.

I am Bridget, the older one of us, by two whole minutes. We both have the same blue-green eyes, but Claire is blonde and petite (Mom’s ‘mini-me’) and I am the taller brunette, who takes after Dad’s side of the family. My face is rounder and I have an English rose-and-cream complexion. We were walking opposites really, and Claire was way ahead of me.

She always smiled and was popular. I was serious and shy.

Boys flocked around her and Claire took it in her stride. She usually had a steady boyfriend anyway. I was more of a wall flower, had my small circle of girlfriends and lukewarm affairs with boys.

She wanted to travel. California, Denmark and Peru. We had just been to Peru with our friend Liz. For an entire three weeks! I was done with travelling for a while after that, but Claire wanted more.

I was content with my life in England and knew every nook and cranny of our small town, away from the hustle and bustle of big city life. I loved everything about Cambridge. Its moss-covered roofs and the medieval feel. The carols by candlelight at King’s College, the punters in their boats below the bridges; why would I want to live anywhere else? The world was a big and scary place. Filled with things I didn’t understand.

I had my work as a freelance translator and Claire was a technical draughts person. After the trip to Peru, she was seriously planning to leave Cambridge on a 2-year contract with an international engineering firm in Gaborone, Botswana. Botswana was in the Southern tip of Africa!

There would be an ocean and a huge continent between us. I couldn’t even imagine it. And anyway — what about me?

It had all been Pierre Boucher’s fault! If it hadn’t been for his glowing stories about Southern Africa, she would never have wanted to go and live there. Claire had met Pierre Boucher years ago at college in London. He and his Tswana girlfriend had married and settled in Botswana. Claire had met up with them again in London just recently. That’s when Pierre told her about the big house in Francistown with its swimming pool, maid and gardener and all the trimmings. Not to mention the incredible landscapes and the peaceful quiet around them.