It is midday by the time they park up in front of the lodge. Rudd switches off the ignition, and looks at Simi.

“Welcome. We’ve made it,” he says with a grin.

“Never thought we would. That last bit, what was that? A riverbed?”

“When the rains come it is.“

Rudd braves a laugh, as he swings open the door of the truck. As he does so, Tonderai, smart in his brown uniform, steps out of the lodge entrance, and comes over to greet them. Rudd watches him approach, catching his look of surpise when he sees Simi, but it vanishes as quickly as it came.

Introductions completed, they make their way into the lodge, with Simi, like a ship in full sail, between them. They walk through the reception area and out to the sunlit verandah, where the view stretches out in front of them.

Rudd loves this moment – the scent of cut grass, the colours, the warmth, the bird song, and the relief. He always feels the same after a drive to the airport, especially when he has to return with a guest in the cab. It’s the foreigners, the city-types, he finds the hardest. Or he did, until he met Simi. She, he thinks, is in a category of her own.

He watches her step forward toward the view, her pleasure so fresh, and genuine, that he wonders suddenly if she has ever been to Africa before. She looks the part, but seems so far from home. If she has been, he realises, she’s never stepped outside a city.

He goes to stand beside her.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Oh it is! I like this.” She gestures out over the golf course, her silver bangles glinting in the sun. “Not bad at all. I was worried on the way here, but I really, really, like this. I feel healthy just standing here surrounded by all this green. And so many trees. Are those the rooms, below the swimming pool?”

“Yes,” says Tonderai, wheeling over her suitcase. “Yours is at the end.”

Simi nods.

“Why is it so quiet? I thought you had a wedding on?”

“We do,” says Tonderai, “but the guests haven’t arrived yet. Most will be here this afternoon. You are our first visitor for the weekend.”

“I like that. Some peace while I settle in.”

“Shall I take you to your room?” Tonderai asks.

“Yes, thanks. I’ll freshen up, and then come back to sit up here, and soak it all in.”

“How about a drink, and some lunch on the verandah?” Rudd asks.

“Sounds perfect. Gin and tonic please. Do you have that?”

“Of course,” says Rudd.

“That’s a good start. Lemon and lots of ice please.”

“I’ll get that ready,” says Rudd, her smile making him smile as Tonderai leads her down the stairs.

They must be about the same age as each other Rudd realises, and the same height, although, he notes, she definitely wins on square footage.

His eyes follow the flow of her kaftan down the stairs, exotic and bright against the dark polish of the floor and the lawns beyond. It is Tonderai’s back, tall, straight, and dignified, that is the last to disappear around the corner.

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023

A cyclone? Rudd stares at the moth-eaten tar, at the emptiness, at the sun-faded bush. Here? No. Surely not? Mozambique? Sometimes. But not here. And not this weekend. No. She must have heard that wrong. She’s tired. Confused. Getting old. Never even been here before.

Simi sighs. She shakes her head.

“I should’ve gone to Victoria Falls. If I’d had the money I would’ve. Elephants. Infinity pools. Luxury. Perfect.”

Rudd knows she’s not talking to him, but he thinks he should say something. He rubs a hand through his hair.

“Everyone loves the lodge,” he tries.

 “Hmm. Maybe. I hope it’s worth it. How much longer?”

“Half an hour. Max.”

She sighs again.

Rudd wonders what his assistant manager, Tonderai, will think. He knows he’ll be expecting the lady from London to be white. The thought cheers him up.

“Not much chance of sleep is there, with roads like these?”

“Not really. I’ll take it steady. That might help.”

Rudd likes this bit of the journey – the small villages, the signs of life.

There is a roadside store ahead. An old car, pulls out from the bus-stop beside it. The vehicle is crammed with passengers. Rudd slows down. There is a juggle of heads above the back seat, and the car’s suspension is sagging, which pushes its bonnet higher than its back. He can hear a loud rattling coming from the exhaust, which he sees is swinging loose.

Rudd is about to put his foot down to overtake the car when its rear door suddenly flies open, and a child drops out. In a fraction of a fraction of a second, he brakes, Simi shrieks, and the child hangs suspended, legs flailing, as shouting adults drag it back. Then the car door slams shut, and the driver puffs on, unaware of the drama.

“What?” Simi, snapped upright in her seat, has her hands rigid on the dashboard.

Rudd whistles, his heart thumping. He accelerates to pass wide of the car.

Simi spins round to follow the lopsided vehicle

“Did a … did a … did a child just fall out?”

“Looked like it to me. But they saved it.”

“What? How many in that car? Seven?” 

Rudd checks the rearview mirror. Through its small rectangle he tries to count.

 “Maybe eight or nine? At least two kids in the front by the adults. The same, maybe more, in the back.” He sees the driver is an old man, with a pork pie hat on head.

Simi turns, eyes hot with horror.

“Eight or nine? No seatbelts?”

Rudd shrugs.

“I don’t think my heart can take this.” 

He glances sideways and sees her, head high, like a startled kudu, her hand over her kaftaned chest. He wants to laugh, but doesn’t.

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023

“Ever been to London?”

Rudd shakes his head.

“Well … plenty of Zimbabweans in London. Sophisticated. Entrepreneurs, doctors, nurses. Some in my choir. I like them. Partly why I came. Curious I suppose. I know it’s got problems, but I never expected it to feel like this. Sort of sad.”

Rudd’s fingers begin to drum on the wheel. He chews his lip, and forces himself not to point out the stuff he’s heard about London – the rain, the knife attacks, the crowded trains. Out of the corner of his eye he watches Simi. Goddess Simi. Suddenly he can’t imagine her liking the lodge at all.

She’s still talking, more to herself than to him. He doesn’t mind. Better than silence. He rubs a hand around the back of his neck to wipe away the sweat.

“Is there going to be anything fun at your lodge?”

“Fun?” He looks across at her.

“Yes. Didn’t realise it was so far from anywhere.”

“We’ve got a bar. Swimming-pool. Tennis court. Golf. Walks … that kind of thing?”

“I suppose so,” said Simi, her voice dropping. “Don’t know why I thought it would be a good idea. Detox. Healthy living. Feels like I’ve made a massive mistake.”

Body language Rudd. Be confident. Convince her. He clears his throat.

“No. Not a mistake. We’ve got stuff happening. We’ve got a wedding this weekend.”

“A wedding?”

“Yes. Big wedding. Local wedding. They won’t mind you joining in. Nobody does here. You’re the only non-wedding guest staying anyway.”

“I’m the only non-wedding guest?”

“Ja. This weekend you are. Most people come in families and we couldn’t fit any of them. Had room for you though.”

 “Okaaay.” Simi stretches out the word. “A wedding? Never been to one in Africa. Could be interesting. As long as there’s not so much of the nothing-really-works problem, the pothole-problem.”

“Well,” says Rudd, “it’ll be different. Look … over there.”

Simi eyes follow Rudd’s finger to the horizon.

 “There. Those rocks, up there on the left. Those are kopjes.”

Simi studies the lumbering parade of rock.

“They look brilliant in this light,” says Rudd. “We’ve had a lot of rain.”

“And there’s more coming.”

 “Maybe. Won’t spoil anything.”

“Oh no? Our pilot said something about a cyclone?”

“Cyclone? This weekend?”

“That’s what he said.”

“Must have meant Mozambique. We don’t get cyclones here.”

“No?”

“No,” says Rudd meeting her eyes. “Hardly ever. Not here.”

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023