Chapter Fifteen

It’s been three weeks since the funeral and I’m still in Johannesburg. Sbu’s dad and Muzi left a week after the funeral. They sent Thandeka and Kayise over a few days after that. I haven’t been able to interact meaningfully with anyone. My daughter probably thinks I don’t love her. My baby bump is growing at a ridiculously rapid speed. It was almost invisible on the day of the funeral and now it’s my most prominent feature. I have no appetite despite having two babies growing inside me. I have no strength. I have no willingness to do anything.

“Ndlovukazi, you have a visitor.” Thandeka says, peering into my bedroom. “It’s your aunt, Gontse, she’s in the living room with Somahhashi.”

I get up slowly and gradually make my way downstairs. Aunt Gontse looks so beautiful. I can see by the looks on their faces that she and Sbu have been discussing me.

“Baby girl.” She says as she gets up to give me a hug. I don’t say anything, I just sit on the couch and stare at the wall.

“She’s been like this since the funeral.” Sbu says. “She doesn’t sleep, she doesn’t eat. All she does is cry. I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“Ntando, baby girl, your dad’s lawyer has been trying to get hold of you.” Aunt Gontse says.

“I know.” I say.

“You do know that the reading of his will is centred around you… it won’t happen unless you’re there.” She says.

“I don’t deserve anything. I don’t deserve…” I say.

“Sibusiso, can you give us a minute please?” Aunt Gontse says and Sbu heads upstairs. Aunt Gontse joins me on the couch and throws her arms around me. She holds me close while I bawl.

“Listen. You need to stop blaming yourself. You didn’t kill your father.” She says.

“But if it wasn’t for me… he wouldn’t have been arrested…” I say.

“Getting someone arrested and killing someone are two very different things, Ntando. There are people who have been in maximum security prison for over twenty years. It’s just unfortunate that your father died in a holding cell but it is not your fault. It is not your fault, you did not kill S’phiwe.” She says.

“My mom hates me. She blames me.” I say.

“I know. But it’s not your mom’s forgiveness that you need… you need to forgive yourself. Ntando, you have so much to live for. So much going for you. You’re a Queen. Hello? You’re almost 22 and you have a whole kingdom that’s waiting for you to lead it. You have a daughter and two unborn children. They need you.” She says.

She’s right. I do have a lot to live for and I do have a lot going for me… but I feel guilty that my dad’s life was cut short because of me. That the last memory I have of my dad is that painful image of him beating my husband up and then being handcuffed and put in the back of a police van. The police that I called. He was so hurt. He was so disappointed. Forgiving myself is too foreign a concept right now. I wish I could turn back time. I wish I could have just one more conversation with him, make him understand that I didn’t want for any of this to happen. That I love him with every fibre of my being. But I can’t have that moment with him. So what should I do? Just deal with it? Get over it?

“Some things are easier said than done. I just need time.” I say as I get up from the couch and head back upstairs.

I’m in the kitchen later that day making fruit salad for Kayise and myself when my phone rings. Sbu, who has been playing head of security, immediately answers it when he realises it’s the gate.

“Hello?... Who?... Hold on…” he says before covering the receiver and turning to me with a frown on his face. “It’s Thuto.”

“Let him in.” I say, absent-mindedly. I hear Sbu grunt before returning to the call and instructing the security guards to open the gate. A few moments later, while I’m chopping apples, there’s a gentle knock on the door. Sbu jumps up to open it.

“Heita.” Sbu says, I think he’s deepening his already deep voice. Men and competition, I tell you.

“Sibusiso.” Thuto says, also deepening his voice. “Is Ntando home?”

“Yeah, my wife is here.” Sbu says. If I had the energy, I’d find this amusing. “But she’s not feeling well so… keep it brief.” He moves out of the way to let Thuto in. Thuto comes in bearing flowers and a gift basket.

“Hey.” He says when he sees me from behind the kitchen counter. “I heard you’re not feeling well.”

“I’m not sick, Thuto. I’m grieving.” I say when I notice the ‘get well soon’ teddy bear inside the gift basket.

“I know… I just thought this bear was cute…” he says and then comes the awkward silence. No surprises there, considering how our last interaction was. And also considering that Sbu is standing there behaving like a bouncer. You could give a guy three kids and he still wouldn’t trust you.

“Take a seat, I’ll get you a drink.” I say eventually. “Sbu, honey, will you feed Kayise her fruit salad?”

“Where’s Thandeka?” Sbu asks grumpily, obviously he doesn’t want to give us some privacy.

“You sent Thandeka to the mall, remember?” I say and he tries to protest. “Sibusiso. Your little princess is hungry.”

He eventually, but very reluctantly, takes the bowl from me and heads upstairs while Thuto makes himself comfortable on the couch. I join him shortly with two glasses of juice.

“I’ve been thinking about you lately… thinking about how I’ve contributed to much of the pain you’ve gone through in these past months.” he says.

“Nonhle told me the truth… I realise that none of this was your fault.” I say. I don’t want to dwell too much on my conversation with Nonhle because it all happened on Christmas Day and I’m trying very hard to put the events of that God-forsaken day behind me.

“Does this mean you forgive me?” he asks.

“There’s nothing to forgive… although, I do wish you could’ve trusted me enough to tell me when this whole thing started.”

“You’re absolutely right, I should’ve. I’m sorry.”

“Like I said, there’s nothing to forgive. We’re good.” There’s silence again as we both take sips from our drinks. When did Thuto and I get to this point? This awkwardness, not knowing what to say to each other? At some point, I was in his bed… and now… we’re practically strangers. Of course, other than the fact that I could be carrying his kids.

“So…” he says. “Katherine tells me you’re expecting twins.”

“You call her Katherine now?” I can’t help but laugh. I used to be the only one in the squad who called Katie by her full name, and only to tease her.

“I’m nervous…” he giggles. “Listen, I’m sorry that I didn’t come to your dad’s funeral. I… I just didn’t know how you’d react and I didn’t want to dishonour your father’s memory.”

“You are apologising a lot for someone who’s only been here for ten minutes.” I laugh. I’m trying so hard to make this less awkward. “It’s okay, Thuto. I wasn’t keeping record of who came and who didn’t.”

“So, how far along are you?” he asks and I can tell that that’s exactly what he came here for. Now I’m becoming uncomfortable.

“Just a little over three months…” I say, taking a generous swig of my juice. He looks at me for a while, waiting for me to swallow. “Before you ask me stupid questions, they’re not yours. These are royal babies.”

He rolls his eyes and take a sip.

“If you’re sure, I’ll take your word for it.” he says.

“I really appreciate you stopping by, Thuto, but as you know, I’m not really feeling great. I’d like to go and rest upstairs.” I say, already on my feet and ready to usher him out. He takes his time getting up, looking at me with disbelief.

“You’re kicking me out?” he seems hurt.

“No… I just would like to go and rest. That’s all. Goodbye.” I say as I head towards the door and hold it open for him. He walks slowly and stops in the doorway.

“You can lie to me and you can pretend and live a lie all you want… but the truth always finds a way of coming out. Hold on to your royal fantasy… while it lasts.” He says before leaving. He’s so dramatic. What was I thinking having an affair with an actor? A light-skinned actor, even? I can never catch a break, honestly. Just as I’m dealing with one demon, another one arises. All I want is for these babies to be born, dark-skinned and gorgeous, so I can prove Thuto wrong.

*****

Wednesday, 19 February 2042. We are gathered in Sandhurst for the reading of my dad’s will. The same reading that was supposed to happen a week after the funeral but because I was still sulking, it has had to be delayed by a month. Only my mom, Mamkhulu and I are here. Good. Mamkhulu didn’t include me in her will, so my dad didn’t include her kids in his. My mother is still not talking to me and the lawyer is running late. So, one can imagine the thickness of the tension with which this living room is covered. Eventually, there’s a knock on the door and Advocate Relebogile Turner walks in frantically.

“Dumelang. I am so sorry I’m late. My car broke down on the way here and I had to wait for roadside assist.” She says before taking a deep breath.

“Relax, it’s okay.” Mamkhulu says, helping Advocate Turner with her files. She’s shaking. She’s either really terrified of Mamkhulu or there’s more to the story than she’s letting on.

“Okay, thank you all for coming. I believe in the vicinity we have Mrs Kgomotso Mnguni-Zwane, Mrs Nokulunga Mnguni and Mrs Ntandokazi Ngubane?” Advocate Turner says.

“Queen.” I say.

“Excuse me, what was that?” she asks.

“It’s Queen Ntandokazi Ngubane. You said Mrs.” I say and my mom lets out a dramatically loud sigh.

“Can we just get on with this? We really don’t have time for theatrics.” My mom says. Theatrics, that’s a big word Nokulunga.

“Right… okay, there are personal letters addressed to the three of you which you can read in your own time.” Advocate Turner says as she hands each of us an envelope. This envelope sends shivers down my spine. These are my father’s final words. Except, they won’t be a true reflection of how he truly felt about me at the time of his death. He probably hated me. This letter is from a good time. Before I chose my abusive husband over my father. Before I had him arrested. Before he died in a holding cell. He was only 48 years old. He was too young to die. He was too good to die in jail.

“Ntando, are you okay?” I hear Mamkhulu asking.

“Oh… yes, sorry. I… I must have…” I can’t even formulate the words.

“It’s okay. Relebogile, can you just read it from the beginning?” Mamkhulu says and Adv Turner clears her throat.

“This is the final will and testament of S’phiwe Mnguni.” Adv Turner begins. “As I mentioned earlier, S’phiwe left notes for the three of you but included in your note, Kgomotso, is a message for your second husband Trevor Zwane. Right, to date, S’phiwe Mnguni has a net worth of R34 550 000. R28 250 000 being the worth of this house and R1 000 000 being the worth of his two cars combined, depreciation values having been taken into consideration. Therefore, his monetary assets add up to a total of R5 300 000. These cash assets are a combination of the contents of Mr Mnguni’s bank account, his life insurance pay out and his pension fund. The will is as follows:

To my first wife, Kgomotso, the love of my life, I leave 50% of my insurance pay out. I know it’s not much compared to how much you already have, but it’s a symbol of my love for you.

To my second wife, Nokulunga, I leave my pension fund pay out, the money that is in my bank account and the house in Sandhurst. I also leave you my cars. You are also entitled to my salary for a full year after my death. This should help you sustain yourself.

Lastly, to my only child, my darling daughter, iNtandokazi ka baba. To you, I leave the remaining 50% of my life insurance pay out. 10% of which should be put aside for my granddaughter, Kayise Ngubane.” Adv Turner stops. Is that all? We sit in silence for a moment while she packs away the document and extracts another one from her file.

“Okay, these are the values of your respective inheritances: so S’phiwe’s monthly net salary is R42 567,56. This amount will continue to be paid into his account until December, amounting to a total of R553 379,71 including his 13th cheque. Nokulunga will have full access to it. Nokulunga will also have full access to S’phiwe’s bank account which is currently sitting at a balance of R524 678,45 after his credit card has been paid off. And lastly, his pension fund amounts to R1 500 000. This means that, incuding the house and the cars, Nokulunga’s total inheritance amounts to the value of R31 828 058,16 – of which R2 578 058,16 is in the form of monetary assets.” Adv Turner says before handing my mother a document. Just like that, Nokulunga is a millionaire who owns a mansion in the north of Johannesburg and two luxury cars. The same mansion that Kgomotso bought when she and my dad got married. Funny.

“Alright, S’phiwe’s life insurance policy amounts to R3 800 000. This means that Kgomotso is entitled to a total of R1 900 000.” She hands Mamkhulu another document. “And Ntandokazi is entitled to R1 900 000. However, R190 000 must be set aside for Kayise Ngubane until she reaches the age of 18.” She hands me another document. Imagine that, my father – on a good day – only left me a million rand. If he had had the chance to update his will after the whole Christmas ordeal, he would’ve cut me off completely. The lawyer leaves shortly after the reading of the will, leaving the three of us in a very heavy, very awkward silence.

“You two can get out of my house now.” My mom says as she elegantly walks to the kitchen. Mamkhulu giggles.

“Don’t mind her, Ntando. She’s been dying to say that to me. You know, because I’ve said it to her so many times.” Mamkhulu says.

“As if we don’t have houses of our own.” I say as I get up. “Bye-bye, MaNdlovu.”

She obviously doesn’t respond. Mamkhulu and I walk out. She stops for a moment and looks back at the house before getting into her car.

“S’phiwe and I made so many memories in this house.” she says. “I could write a book about it.”

“Maybe you should.” I say. Oh, how I’d love to be cast as the mighty Kgomotso Molemo in a movie about her life.

“Maybe I will.” She says and then gracefully gets into her Maserati and drives off.