Chapter Twenty
‘No worries, I mean that’s fine. I completely understand.’ My voice practically twinkles with artificial brightness as I cling to the handle of the classroom door. Closing it in small increments, I add, ‘There’s no need for apologies, Mrs... er... umm...’
‘Umm Abdullah,’ interjects the littlest Fatima—I have three Fatima’s in my class—supplying her mother’skunyaor honorific title.Mother of Abdullah.
I got theummbit right, I suppose.
Fatima’s mother continues to murmur her apologies, repeatingasifas I continue closing the door.
‘See you tomorrow. Let’s hope your driver isn’t late.’Again. My cheeks ache from smiling but finally I manage to lean against the closed door. ‘School hours aren’t pro-rata, you know!’
Worryingly, the door screeches open from its swollen frame, but it’s just Huda’s assistant, the improbably named Baby, who’s fifty years old if she’s a day. She shuffles into the room, balancing a large, black box across her forearms. Sleek and glossy and wrapped in a cerise ribbon, it’s a gift box of the very luxurious kind.
‘Missus Kate, Huda tell me I must bring this to you.’ She shakes an admonishing finger having placed the box on my desk. ‘She say also to tell online shopping is not velcome for delivery at the school.’
‘I haven’t... never mind. Thanks.’
I haven’t ordered anything and definitely nothing as expensive looking as this. I run my fingers across its lustrous surface as Baby closes the door behind her. Even with the absence of a card, I know it has to be from Kai. Feeling excited—who doesn’t like gifts—I ignore the niggling sense that I should take it home before opening. Why I feel the need to be circumspect, I couldn’t say. Possibly its size? But I’m just a little bit too giddy to listen to nagging, sensible thoughts, so I lift the lid.
Inside is lined and layered in deep pink velvet. It’s an almost erotic colour, evocative of a certain sort of flesh. I run my hand across the plush fabric, revealing a sudden slash of black, which seems to be a silken scarf of some kind. The ends unfurl through my fingers, falling to my desk and I notice one side is embroidered.
In delicate ivory against stark black silk it reads:Welcome, bondage, for thou art a way, to liberty.
‘Miss Katherine, my taxi is here. I will see you in the morning time.’ Sadia bustles into the classroom, reaching for her purse. My heart is suddenly in my throat as I shove the ends of the scarf back into the box.
‘Ho-ly! Sadia, you gave me a fright! Yeah, see you tomorrow. Have a great arvo, I mean afternoon.’ I stand in front of the box with a rictus grin.
‘Are you feeling well, Miss Katherine? Red like a tomato you are being again. You have the fevers?’ Arm outstretched, she braces the back of her hand against my forehead.
‘No, I’m fine. It’s just a bit hot in here... ‘Cos I’ve had the door open. Yes, that’s it!’ I fan my face feebly, still worrying about the box as I duck to avoid her hand.
‘It is the cold water,’ she asserts. ‘No good in the hot season.’
‘What isn’t?’
‘Cold water drinking gives the fever and body chills. I see you drinking from the cooler,’ she reproves, pursing her lips. ‘Room temperature water is much better for your well beans.’
‘Shut the fu—front door!’
She glances quizzically over her shoulder. ‘But it is closedalready?’
‘No, I meant, what a surprise!’ It’s almost as though my hands are auditioning for a spot on kids TV.
‘It is a most diwicult time of the year for well beans,’ she adds in a motherly tone.
I bite the corners of my mouth, desperate not to laugh. ‘I’ll be sure to give warm water a go,’ I assure her. And I will. With a teabag. Because who wants to upset their well beans?
Her brows knit with scepticism and a lack of satisfaction. She sniffs loudly, beginning to gather her things, still muttering about the evils of cold water as she reaches the door.
‘I will off the lights?’
She wants to murder the lights?Ohh. ‘No, I’ll...off them myself on my way out.’
As she closes the door, I sag against my desk.I may well off myself.
At home, I eye the box from the kitchen apprehensively, wondering how long before I submit to curiosity. Eventually, I kneel down, lift the lid and pull on the scarf for a proper look. It’s not a small scarf, not the kind you wear—not that you would with this wording—but it’s more than long enough to say, wrap your waist a couple of times. Or maybe tie something. Or someone.
When I said he tied me in knots, it wasn’t an invitation.
