“How was the reunion?” Ailsa’s mum called, across the garden. She was out on the wicker furniture, enjoying the waning late afternoon sun. Stretched out on his back next to her was Ailsa’s father. He looked to be asleep, but from where she was standing, Ailsa couldn’t really tell. She walked through the grass over to them.

“It was okay,” Ailsa said, delicately.

“Was Remy there?”

Ailsa’s mother expected Remy to make an appearance at every social outing of Ailsa’s.

“No,” Ailsa responded.

“No? It was just for people in your class?”

“Yep.”

“I spoke to her mum earlier and mentioned it and she said she didn’t know about it.”

Remy would ask about the reunion too now, having been asked by her mother. Ailsa thanked her mum for this with an inward roll of her eyes. She hadn’t wanted to talk about the lunch with Andrei with anyone just yet. Or at all, ever if she could help it. She knew what Remy would say because she had thought about it too – but she didn’t want to think of the lunch that way.

Romantic.

It was most certainly the wrong idea.

Of course, she could lie to Remy and omit the fact that she and Andrei were the only ones who had showed up. The problem was, it was difficult to lie to Remy. Ailsa could come up with a decent lie – not a talent to boast about, and not something to enjoy doing, but it was certainly useful at times. But Remy had a knack for spotting a lie.

Oddly enough, Remy would call Ailsa when she needed a good excuse to get out of doing things. If Remy did not want to meet with someone (usually an admirer), Ailsa would be tasked with coming up with the excuses.

Ailsa turned to her father. Though his eyes were closed, he was absently drumming his fingers on his stomach. “Hi dad.”

He raised a hand silently.

“Hullo,” he said, after a moment.

Ailsa’s father was well known in the insurance circles, and deeply respected. You wouldn’t know it from the soft and quietly amused expression his face rested in. It was though everyone he turned to were an old friend, and he had just remembered a joke they had once shared.

Ailsa looked at him now, and noticed for the first time that his eyebrows had flecks of silver and grey. She wanted to be 3 years old again, when her father had been a friendly giant and she was his whole world.

They were a young family then, and they did not have as much as they had now. A small, neat house with a well-kept yard, a single-family car and Mercy, their house girl. Every day had started with rich milky porridge, and the nights ended with nsima and slow cooked stews.

As some housemaids do, Mercy eventually left. The family moved into a bigger house, and Ailsa had toast for breakfast. Or scrambled eggs and bacon fried by the housekeeper. Cereal. But every now and again, she remembered those simpler times; bathed in golden light, as our favourite memories often are.

Ailsa smiled at her father, and he winked back.

*

In the dream, Ailsa was lying in tall grass, and the smell of wild flowers hung heavy in the air. Above her the sky was wide and open as the centre of her palm, but it seemed wrong somehow.

Was there ever such a thing as a cloud? She wondered. As she thought, the clouds materialised before her eyes, but they seemed to be moving too fast across the sky.

“Too fast,” she said.

Someone was turning to her, laughing. Again, she heard it in a detached sort of way; like a tickle against her cheek. She was there and she wasn’t.

Light seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere – perhaps that’s what made the sky such a wrong colour – Ailsa squinted through it, and tried to make out some features on the woman’s face. It was familiar, somehow.

Then she saw it was the woman from before, the one with the coke bottle in her lap. She was closer now.

Who was she?

“Ailsa.”

Aunt Vi’s voice cut through the dream, strong and distinct.

Ailsa woke, already turning to search for her Aunt, but there was nobody. Just darkness.

For a moment, she simply allowed relief to wash over her as she steadied her breathing.

It was just a dream…

Ailsa threw off the duvet, so that whatever cool night air was present in her room could be felt against her skin. She closed her eyes, but fought the draw of sleep, afraid to return to the dream once again. This had happened before, so she knew her fears were founded in substance.

She reached for her phone. There was a text from Andrei saying he had a good time, a string of texts from Remy about her latest escapades (I ran into Wanga with his new girlfriend. Would you call it an upgrade or a downgrade? Sean says she looks exactly like me, :/) and a few messages from other people. Ailsa ignored all these, switched on her torch and opened Things Fall Apart.

She awoke to the sound of sharp persistent knocks at her door. She fumbled around for her phone. It was five am.

“Ailsa, let’s go for a walk!” She said.

This wasn’t out of the ordinary. At least once a month, Ailsa’s mother would wake up with the burning desire to exercise and eat healthily. Left out of the decision-making process but always directly affected; Ailsa would go on a 5-kilometre walk with her at 5 am, so groggy that she wouldn’t feel her fingers numbing with the morning chill. They would return with their legs shaking, as the legs of new born foals did, and never wanting to walk again.

Sometimes when Ailsa was back, she would think that this was quite possibly how some people end up staying in bed for years. Perhaps they would go on walks that were way too ambitious for beginners, and would collapse with fatigue into their beds once they had returned, only to never get back up.

As they scaled the hill towards the pond, Ailsa realised that her mum would expect her to have gotten used to the climb with her recent, frequent trips up there. She took a huge gulp of air and summoned some power from deep within, marching with the gumption of a P.E teacher. She took deep breaths. The air was faintly tinged with the smell of smoke. Someone somewhere in the distance had started a fire to warm up some water. A faceless figure squatted near a mbawula in Ailsa’s imagination, waiting for the water that would start their day, perhaps in a mug of tea, or in the form of a warm bath. All the houses in the vicinity had water heaters, but others did not extend this luxury to their servants’ quarters.

“You know Ailsa,” Her mother started, between breaths. “I could’ve been a nurse.”

Ailsa had heard this story before, but she didn’t stop her mother from repeating it. Tales from her mother’s past always interested Ailsa. Ailsa looked up to her parents, but she wondered what they had been like before they hung the moon, the sun and the stars of Ailsa’s life.

They came to the crest of the hill, and Ailsa’s mother put her hands on top of the green and black head-scarf on her head; opening up her airways.

“I went to Kamuzu College of Nursing and did orientation for one day,” Her mother puffed.

This detail had previously been omitted from previous renditions of the story. Taking it in with a short chuckle, Ailsa asked, “What happened?”

“I got accepted at Medical school.” Her mother said, as if this small fact would explain everything. Ailsa waited for more. It was clear at this point that her mother had a point to make. She would not come right out and say what she had to say, but would allow the conversation to meander gently towards the steak and potatoes of the matter.

They passed a night guard on his way home, carrying a small yellow Shoprite bag of his provisions. His eyes were downcast, but as they closed on him, Ailsa could see that his face is as wrinkled as the bag in his hands. Every smile and frown the man had in his lifetime had etched itself into his skin, leaving his face a map of lines. He seemed quite old to be working as a security guard. Ailsa hated to think what would become of him if he encountered a group of thieves one dark night. What would they do with him?

She had once heard of thieves who broke into a house, and had forced the two security guards they had found guarding it to cook nsima. The security guards were then made to eat the nsima with copious amounts of salt. Suffering from severe dehydration, the two security guards had to be taken to the hospital the next day morning. The thieves escaped with all a matter of precious items.

It wasn’t right Ailsa thought, for a man this age to subject himself to dangers such as these. But perhaps he had no choice in the matter – there was always a family to support and mouths to feed.

People like this didn’t get pensions, did they? Ailsa didn’t think so. There was no cosy retirement waiting for them.

The old security guard greeted them both the traditional Malawian way, asking how they had woken up. They returned his greeting, meeting his kind eyes.

Ailsa imagined that to him they must look like a pair of middle-aged sisters. She didn’t blame him for thinking it if it was indeed what he thought. Unintentionally, she was matching with her mother – wearing old white and orange shirts from a hospital fundraiser years ago, and black tracksuit pants that had seen better days.

“SO,” Her mother continued loudly, drawing Ailsa from her reverie, “I could’ve been a professor of nursing by now, giving lectures back at the college.” She took a small sip from her water bottle. “I don’t think I could’ve done it though. I’m far too impatient.”

Ailsa took a chance and feeling mischievous, made a little sound of assent. She felt her mother throw her a look out of the side of eye.

“You bathe sick people and hold basins for them to vomit in and things… you need to have a calling for it.” She smiled. “I only wanted to be a nurse-” she broke off, looking up into a tree on the left side of the road, in which two brows birds sat chattered boastfully amongst themselves. “Such noisy birds,” she said, in Chichewa. The birds were momentarily silenced, as though they had understood her comment. Ailsa wondered for a moment whether her mother intimidated people and animals alike, but the birds resumed their singing.

“I only wanted to be a nurse so I would get to wear those little white caps. I wouldn’t have been happy.” At this point Ailsa’s mum directed her gaze at her daughter. “You need to be happy Ailsa. Your dad thinks you aren’t happy.”

Ailsa raise her eyebrows as she digested this.

For a few moments there was only the sound of our feet hitting the tarred road; softly crunching at the scattering of dust that has covered the road. This would all be washed away when the rains arrived; the roads would become a dark, neat grey instead of the dusty cross between grey and brown they were now.

Ailsa simply didn’t think her dad paid her much attention in this respect. Indeed, some Malawian fathers would begin to hold their daughters at arm’s length when their daughters reached puberty. Perhaps it was a fear of hormones… she was closer to her dad when she was younger; at that age, she was the perfect audience for his dad-jokes. It both surprised Ailsa and endeared her father to her to know that he was intuitive enough to pick up on this fact. Of course, she knew her father loved her, in his own gruff sort of way. He just exhibited a slightly traditional way of going about things. This was one of them; if he had asked her mother to speak to her instead of asking her about things himself.

He was a sort of permanent feature in her life; working and doing dad things like watching Formula 1 on Sundays. Changing light-bulbs around the house and falling asleep alarmingly fast when he took a nap on the couch. She really didn’t think he paid her much attention.

“Are you happy?” Ailsa’s mother demanded, impatient with her daughter’s silent reverie. It was a question but the tone of her voice seemed to imply the only correct answer would be one in the affirmative.

Nevertheless, it was an opening. It was a foot in a door she had been struggling to prise open.

“No,” she said, sounding slightly unsure of herself.

Ailsa’s mother looked sharply at her, but she could feel her holding back. “He says it’s why you didn’t do so well with your exams.”

The weight of the admission of her unhappiness was heavy enough to bear, so Ailsa did not say anything to this. She hadn’t flunked any courses. She had just not done as well as she should’ve. Her parents were accustomed to an over achiever.

“You need to be happy with what you’re doing,” Her mother emphasised. Ailsa thought back to her nursing analogy. Her mother certainly seemed happy with her job, and seemed perfectly suited to it too. She was a no-nonsense doctor. She did not lie to people, and she saw problems and did everything within her power to help people with them.

“Do you not like insurance?”

“No.”

“What then? You want to withdraw when you’re just about finished?”

Her questions were falling like manna from heaven. Ailsa hadn’t known what she was going to say to her mother and there she was doing all the talking for her.

“What do you want to do instead?” her mother continued. Finally, Ailsa faltered. For this, she had no answer.

Ailsa want to go and see the world; to stand on the beach in Cape Town or Mozambique and see the blue oceans stretching out in front of me, infinite as the sky. She wanted to study somewhere exciting and far away from things she knew, so she could learn about herself, and who she was when she wasn’t around people she knew all the time.

But she didn’t know what she wanted to do. If she looked five years into the future and she would see herself married, with kids. She would see herself working and enjoying it, but she couldn’t see what it is she was actually doing.

“I don’t know.” Ailsa said.

“You figure it out.” mum bids. “Otherwise you keep studying. I won’t let you sit around at home looking up at the sky, watching the sun and doing nothing.”

Ailsa’s mother was a short woman, but you had no choice but to admire her formidability. If she said she would not let you do something, well, you were better off forgetting about it. You would simply not do it, end of conversation.

They had followed the road back to towards their house, and now strolled a little further to the pond.

They stretched; Ailsa’s mother looking rather like she was in an 80’s exercise video. Ailsa went through a few stretches she had picked up in high school.

“Vi would have liked it here,” Ailsa’s mother said, looking over the pond.

“Yes,” Ailsa agreed quietly. Her mother said this every time she came to the pond, but that did not make it any less true. Thinking of Aunt Vi, they both sighed.

“Let’s start home,” her mother suggested.

“Go on ahead mum,” Ailsa said. “I just want to sit here a while.”

“Aren’t you scared someone is going to come along and steal you?” her mother said. Ailsa smiled at the old joke.

“Steal a whole me?”

“No. They couldn’t steal a whole you, could they?”

When Ailsa’s mother dropped her off at school, she used to say, “Work hard” or, “be careful”… other times she would say, “See you at home”, and it took me a long time to see that these were just different ways of saying “I love you”. Somewhere along the way, this little joke had been added to the list.

Ailsa watched her mother go, and sighed. It was Monday. She had time to sit and think. Time to… look at the sky and watch the sun.

She didn’t think much of anything substantial, sitting there. Her mind wandered over the dreams she had, and she gave an involuntary shudder. In the daylight, such dreams seemed small and ludicrous, but at night, shrouded in the dark, shadows loomed, and anything seemed possible. Even those things.

She thought of how it would be nice to sit here and read a book again sometime… she would have to bring something to lie on. But she would also need to be careful not to fall asleep. Not out here in the sun where anyone could come upon her. Malawi was not a dangerous country, but Ailsa knew there were people in the world who would think nothing of hurting her, even here in the Warm Heart of Africa.

She moved her mind to her mother, and the conversation they had just had.

She thought of Remy, who was struggling with a plan for the future, just like Ailsa. But Remy seemed sure of herself, Ailsa thought. She wondered if Remy would again ask for a lift to rehearsals. She thought to the rehearsals of a week ago, when Andrei had shown up unexpectedly. And then she thought of seeing him again a couple of nights later, and again at the failed reunion. Lunch hadn’t been so bad, she concluded. She actually rather enjoyed it. Either way, she seemed to be seeing Andrei a lot these days. It was strange.

Every now and then, a car drove by, carrying its occupants to work. Not a single person slowed as they passed the pond. Ailsa watched them all carefully. In Blantyre, you knew your neighbours, and would recognise a face here and there; acknowledge them with wave as they went by. She had yet to be introduced to any of her neighbours.

Just the other week, Ailsa and her mother had attended a funeral at one of the houses. The husband of one of their neighbours had died suddenly. Peering cautiously into the casket, Ailsa studied the face of a man she had never met. It was strange that she should meet her neighbour after his demise; but there she was. They had attended the funeral because that was what people did. Death was by no means private affair. Everyone in the community contributed in some way, even if it was just with a small head of cabbage, and you did not know the deceased.

The morning still held a slight haze, and through it, Ailsa watched a man in grey round a corner and begin the descent towards the dip in the road that passed by the pond. He seemed to be walking a dog. As she watched she thought she recognised him in some way. Perhaps it was the way in which he walked? She studied him, but could not make him out until he was a good deal closer. It was Andrei, she realised.

Another proverb came to mind.

Ukatchula mkango kwela mwamba.

When you mention a lion, climb to higher ground. This was sound advice, for the lion, seemingly conjured through its mere mention, was sure to find you.

She was not sure he could see her, but she watched him as he got closer. Too late, she remembered how she looked – sweaty and wearing a ratty t-shirt with holes in it that were not there for aesthetic pleasure. If she could conjure him with her mind, Ailsa thought, then surely, she could will him away?

He stepped off of the road and onto the little path that led to the pond; cleared of scrubby grass and flattened by the many feet that had passed that way.

It seemed he was taking her advice about the pond.

She thought about rising to meet him, but decided against it - it might look as though she was startled by his presence. Even if she was indeed started, she wanted to seem non-plussed, as though they met here often. It was too late to feel embarrassed about her appearance.

She turned and smiled kindly.

“Hello,” He said, returning her smile.

“Well, hi.”

“This is Pete,” Andrei said. Ailsa almost looked around for another person, but quickly realised Andrei was referring to the dog, which was standing patiently at his feet. It was a little black dog; she wasn’t great at differentiating between breeds but it was rather fluffy.

Ailsa didn’t approve of giving dogs human names. She believed it would inevitably lead to some great misunderstanding or a person who shared the name of the dog taking offence. But she looked at this dog and thought “Pete” was quite the perfect name for it. This dog indeed looked like a “Pete”.

“Hello Pete,” Ailsa said, and then to Andrei, “Fancy meeting you here,”

“It’s Kismet,” Andrei said. “It’s serendipitous.”

Ailsa raised her eyebrows slightly. He sounded rather like a certain politician friend of her father’s; a man with a big nose who was notorious for his bombastic speeches. But Andrei was only trying to be funny, and when she realised this, she laughed.

“Sit down,” she suggested. “It’s weird talking up to you.”

He perched on the uncomfortable stone. Ailsa felt bad for making him sit on this stone, with its slightly pointed top, but she hadn’t known he was going to be there.

“That rock is a little uncomfortable,” She started.

“It’s alright,” Andrei said. “It’s a rock, it’s going to be uncomfortable either way.”

He looked out over the pond. Ailsa watched him.

“You were right,” he said, “This is beautiful.”

This rather warmed him to her. For someone to have travelled around the world and to have seen beautiful sights – ones more beautiful than this small pond in the middle of a suburb – and still find beauty in the pond was endearing. Some people became immune to beauty, and she was glad he wasn’t one of them.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, and Ailsa came to the conclusion that she quite liked him. She had never been sure, but there, sitting in a comfortable silence and not having to say anything, she suddenly didn’t mind him. He was nothing like his brother either, as Remy had thought.

Pete sat rather regally at Andrei’s feet, and now eased himself lower into a more relaxed position.

“Are there fish in there?” Andrei asked.

“Hmm. I don’t know,” Ailsa replied. “I think so,” she said. She was sure she had seen some boys fishing in the pond at one point, but it could have been a dream.

Her mother had been impatient to leave, and having no time to find her trainers, she had simply stepped into a pair of crocs. Ailsa slipped her feet from her shoes, rose and went closer to the water.

She carefully placed her left foot out and into the cool water, one hand held out for balance. As she took a careful step forward, Andrei’s warm hand unexpectedly closed around hers.

Surprised, she turned to look at him. He gave her a strange smile, and stepped forward too.

That was the first time she felt butterflies.

He held her gaze for a while, and she wasn’t sure what to think. And then they were looking down at the water, watching little silver fish swim around, glinting like tiny diamonds in the sunlight.

They waded a little further. Ailsa turned back to look at Pete. He was watching them quietly, ears alert to the different morning sounds around him.

Andrei’s shoes were even less practical than hers, Ailsa noticed. He had come in flip-flops.

Andrei slipped his fingers between hers. They were palm to palm now. Ailsa wanted to look at him, and to ask what was happening, and why he was holding her hand, but she only looked down. After some moments, she chanced a glance at him out of the side of her eye. He was still looking at the fish, but he let his thumb move gently over the back of hers.

Perhaps it was a reflex, Ailsa thought, as her pulse quickened in response.

Andrei continued to play with her fingers.

When they returned to their shoes, Ailsa let his hand fall. It was no use getting caught up in something fanciful like this.

The three of them walked slowly back to the intersection, and then Andrei and Pete turned one way, and Ailsa walked the other, unable to think of anything but the way her hand had felt in his.

By the time she emerged from the shower, Ailsa had half-convinced herself that he had only held her hand to help her maintain her balance. It couldn’t be anything else.

It just couldn’t.