Clare Houston - An Unquiet Place

‘Who was that?’ managed Hannah, not believing what she was hearing.

‘Gisela Badenhorst. She died last year. A fierce old lady, stalwart of this church. Strong as an ox until her granddaughter Marilie was killed. Marilie was married to the Barlow boy, Alistair. Have you come across the family?’

Hannah was crossing the road to the square, heading for home but so deep in thought she didn’t look up when Kathryn called across to her from where she was packing the last of her cooking equipment into her car. When Kathryn raised her voice and yelled like only a girl from the Flats could, Hannah stopped and changed direction towards her.

‘Why didn’t you tell me about Alistair’s wife, Kathryn?’ said Hannah, coming to a halt right in front of her, her eyes flashing, mouth tight.

‘I didn’t think it was important. You said you weren’t interested in him.’

Hannah slumped against the car next to Kathryn, resting her head on the window frame. ‘I’m not interested in him. I’m interested in his farm, and now it turns out he married into Rachel’s family. Every which way I turn, I bump into him. And he’s so mean to me.’ Aware that she sounded petulant, she looked at Kathryn, who was visibly struggling not to smile.

‘The twins are with their grandparents and I’m starving. How about you cook me some supper?’

Kathryn parked her car outside Hannah’s gate and they walked up the back steps to the kitchen door. Bending down to stroke Patchy, Kathryn promptly sneezed. ‘I love cats so much and I can’t be near them – isn’t that the most unfair thing you’ve ever heard?’

‘Right up there with world hunger and wealth disparity,’ said Hannah dryly, though her mouth tipped in the beginnings of a smile as Kathryn laughed out loud and said, cheekily mimicking Hannah’s earlier tone, ‘ You’re so mean to me .’

Kathryn settled herself at the kitchen table with a glass of white wine and watched Hannah move around the kitchen, putting together omelettes and salad.

‘So I’ve got a journal written by a girl called Rachel Badenhorst from Silwerfontein. She’s separated from her family and goes to a camp called Goshen. The mother, grandfather, and children go to another camp, Winburg, I think. The father and two brothers are on commando. One of those brothers is Wolf, and I found his grave today in the Dutch Reformed church cemetery, along with his wife and son. Another grave there could be their father’s, but Rachel just calls him Pa.’ Hannah talked as she grated cheese and pulled sundried tomatoes from the fridge. ‘I’m not sure if Danie Badenhorst is Pa. And I don’t know how to find that out.’ She piled the filling and fresh rocket into the pan and folded the omelette in half. Pulling two plates from the cupboard, she slid the omelette onto one plate and set it in front of Kathryn. ‘The dominie, Morné, told me that Silwerfontein was the Badenhorst farm until Gisela Badenhorst married a De Jager.’

Kathryn nodded, looking up from her plate. ‘I knew Gisela. She died last year only. She was an amazing lady, strong but fun. She farmed on her own after her husband died, until Karl was old enough to take over.’

Hannah kept her eyes on the pan, finishing the second omelette. ‘And Karl was Alistair’s father-in-law?’

‘Yes, Karl and Esme are still on Silwerfontein… well, kind of. They have a house in Wilderness in the Cape, and Esme prefers to be there than in Leliehoek, especially since Marilie was killed.’

Hannah sat down at the table with her plate and took a sip of wine. ‘And Marilie was married to Alistair when she was killed. Is that why he’s so awful?’

Kathryn sighed. ‘Hannah, he’s not awful. He’s a mess. A lot happened around her death, and he’s had a very rough time. Don’t be too hard on him.’

‘I’m not hard on him – he’s hard on me!’ She pushed her half-finished plate away. ‘He won’t give me access to Goshen, and now I find that he’s inextricably linked to Silwerfontein too. I can’t win.’

Kathryn put her knife and fork neatly together on the plate. ‘Look, Karl is a nice man. See if you can meet him and ask him about his family. Maybe there are letters or photo albums or something that will help. Alistair doesn’t have to be involved.’

Hannah tilted her head to the side, deep in thought.

Kathryn put her hand on Hannah’s arm to draw her gaze. ‘Hannah, just be careful of his wife, Esme. She’s bitter and can be nasty.’ Hannah saw Kathryn’s expression intensify and her eyes become deeply serious. ‘Be ready for an attack.’

A chill raised the hair on Hannah’s arms and she shivered. Glancing behind her at the closed door, she shook off the feeling, then leant across the table and poured them both another glass of wine. Wanting to lighten the mood, she raised an eyebrow at Kathryn. ‘I have a slab of Lindt dark chocolate in the cupboard. Could you bear it? Or do I need to eat the whole thing by myself?’

The opportunity to meet the De Jagers came sooner than Hannah expected. She was finishing up in the shop when she heard the beep of a car remote. A large white BMW had parked outside the shop. A personalised number plate read, ESME, in green letters. The doorbell tinkled and a petite woman came in. She was dressed in skin-tight jeans and a small vest, and looked to be in her late fifties. Her peroxided hair was cut short in the back and blow-dried into a bouffant style in the front. The smell of hairspray and musky perfume filled the shop as she clattered into the reading room on high wedge sandals. A few minutes later, she appeared at the till with a stack of romance novels. She tapped with long acrylic nails on the counter and didn’t make eye contact when Hannah introduced herself. Hannah dawdled over ringing up the books, wrestling with how to start a conversation.

She blundered in: ‘I’m interested in the South African War history of the area and I’ve heard your family goes back generations here.’

‘My husband’s family,’ said Esme, her tone dismissive as she stretched one hand to examine her nails.

‘Would it be possible for me to come to the farm and chat with your husband?’ Hannah ventured, gingerly.

‘We’re far too busy. We’re off to Wilderness soon, so…’ A bored expression settled on her face.

Hannah, feeling a strong dislike creep over her, pushed, ‘Are there perhaps Badenhorst records or memorabilia in the house? Family’s important, after all.’

Esme’s eyes froze over. She leant over the counter towards Hannah and spat, ‘You know nothing about family! Fokken stay away from me.’ She stormed out of the shop, beeped her car open, and threw the novels onto the passenger seat. Hannah stood in the doorway, watching the car disappear in a spit of gravel. She focused on a figure standing outside the supermarket. His face turned to her, pale.

Alistair strode across the street, taking the stairs two at a time. Stopping on the stoep, one hand gripping the balustrade, eyes dark, he said, ‘What the hell just happened?’

Hannah, still shocked by Esme’s outburst, and now feeling a slow slide of guilt, crossed her arms across her waist. ‘I just asked her about the old Badenhorsts and if there were any family records from the war.’

Alistair thumped his fist against the pillar of the stoep. ‘You said you’d drop it!’

‘No, I did not!’ Hannah pushed herself away from the doorframe, her hands clenched at her sides. ‘What’s your problem, Alistair?’

His eyes narrowed. ‘You’ve been here what – a week? And you think you have the right to poke into other people’s lives. You know nothing about us!’