“Come on Jambee!”

Jambee begins to run.

“You’re taking forever.”

“Let’s get these photographs done.”

“They like him,” says Simi, placing her empty glass on the tray held out by a waiter who is collecting glasses off the tables.

“No more champagne,” says Marybelle, her face disappointed, as she squeezes her glass on to the crammed tray.

“Plenty up at the lodge,” the waiter smiles.

“We’d better go up then. Oh … just hold on,” Marybelle waves at a group on the edge of the trees. “Look who’s there. Simi, if you don’t mind, I’m just going to catch up with that lot. Haven’t seen them for years. I’ll follow you up.”

“Sure,” Simi replies, shivering slightly.

Sun drops like a rock here. Suddenly gets cooler. And those gusts don’t help.

She begins to make her way up to the lodge, following the trail of guests heading towards the glow of the lights. Already long shadows from the trees stretch over the grass. They lie still until the wind skims in, shaking their branches. As Simi walks, she notices a young man break away from the group in front, and come back in her direction.

It’s Tim.

“Did you like the service Simi? We didn’t do badly with All Things Bright and Beautiful, did we?”

“You did your best!” Simi laughs. “Have to say, I don’t think the priest will be recruiting any of you as choristers.”

“So picky! Serious drinking now though, and we’re good at that. Are you coming up to join us at the bar?”

“Sure. Reckon this wind will carry me halfway there at least. All the photographs done now?”

“Most of them. They’re just finishing off by the trees, and then we’ll do the last ones up by the lodge.”

“They’ll have to hurry won’t they? The light’s going fast.”

“The staff better get going too,” says Tim, pausing to watch the rush of waiters over the green, as they pack away the tables and glasses.

“How do they get everything back?” Simi asks.

“With that,” Tim points to the small tractor approaching over the bridge at the far end of the golf course. Rudd is at the wheel.

“Looks like they’ve done this before,” says Simi watching the loading begin. In minutes the trailer is piled with the tables and chairs, and the tractor begins to circle back up the track it came down.

“Seems pretty slick to me,” Tim says. “Oh good. Looks like they’ve finished the photographs.”

Jen and Hansie, hand in hand, are walking out from under the trees, with Katania and the photographer behind them. The bride’s dress catches the last of the sunlight, its ivory cream shimmering between the green of the grass, and the dark race of the clouds above.

Simi and Tim watch for a few seconds more, then continue their way upwards, with the waiters hurrying, and the last of the guests strolling, behind them.

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023

“Oh Simi, wait. There’s Jambee. Jambee!”

Simi turns to see Marybelle signalling at Jambee, who is walking towards them with the slow, almost sideways walk of a shy animal.

She could be parking an aeroplane with all those arm movements going on. Seems to be working though.

 “Oh you look so smart in that jacket and tie. Almost didn’t recognise you.” Marybelle’s voice skips around Jambee, as she hooks her arm through his and steers him towards Simi. “Doesn’t he look handsome? Oh … Jambee, where’s Caralee?”

Jambee, blushing, smiles at his shoes, then looks over towards the trees.

“Doing photos. Over there.”

“Caralee?” Simi asks.

“One of the bridesmaids,” says Marybelle. “The one with the dark curly hair.”

Simi studies the young women posing for the cameraman. There are three of them, each in long, peach satin dresses, and each laughing, free as the wind.

“There she is,” says Jambee, pointing towards the group. “She’s talking to Jen.”

“With the long hair?”

“Ja,” says Jambee. “It’s sort of wavy.”

“She’s beautiful,” Simi says.

“Ja,” Jambee nods, his eyes never leaving the girls.

 “Your wedding next, Jambee?” Marybelle asks, winking at Simi.

 “No way,” says Jambee, unhooking his arm from Marybelle’s, and bending down to tie his shoe. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Not Caralee?”

“As if? I don’t even know if she likes me,” Jambee mumbles to the grass, as he fiddles with his laces.

“I think she does,” says Marybelle, looking over the top of his head towards the girls. “I’ve seen how she smiles at you.”

Jambee stands up and pulls at the tie around his neck. “Hope I can take this off soon. I think I might go up to the lodge now.”

Simi smiles at him. “Do you like Caralee Jambee?”

“Well, sort of, but so does everyone,” says Jambee, eyes focused on his jacket sleeves as he tries to tug out the tight creases around his elbows.

 “You’ve got to be bold then Jambee. Go and show her.”

“Show her?”

“Yes. That you like her.”

“How?” asks Jambee, eyes flying up to Simi’s face then back down to his sleeves.

“Oh, I don’t know. Get her a drink. Be kind. Make her laugh.”

Jambee, looks up again. “Maybe. One day,” he says quietly, letting go of his sleeve. He digs the toe of his shoe into the grass, then twists a lump free and kicks it down the slope.

“Be bold Jambee. Faint heart never won fair maiden,” Marybelle says.

 “Ha ha. That’s old stuff …”

“Still true though.”

“Jambee! Jambee!” Voices call up from under the trees. “We need you for a photo.”

“Okay. Coming,” Jambee shouts back. He nods briefly at Simi and Marybelle and then begins to lope down the hill.

 “Jambee?” Marybelle calls after him. “Good luck!”

He turns around to face them, both arms raised above his head.

That boy, thinks Simi as she watches him, so stong, but so unsure. Like he’s half waving, and half man-on-a-cross.

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023

 

“No, I don’t have anyone special,” Simi says.

“No? You’re so glamorous. So strong, so … so … I don’t know, confident. And I love that red wrap around your hair. You look … magnificent.”

“Ha! I know how to walk the walk. I’ve had to learn that. My parents taught me. When they tell you you’re wrong – wrong colour, wrong place – that’s what you do. Walk tall.” Simi pauses, watching the wide wonder in Marybelle’s eyes.

“I like that.”

“You’ve got to sail out there like a ship. Look your finest. Every time. Catches attention. Gets you noticed.”

“So… who’s noticed you? Somebody has.”

“Well … there was …”

“And? Please. Everybody tells me. You might as well. Not like you’re going to bump into me anywhere in London.”

 Simi lowers her lashes, and considers her inquisitor. “That’s true. Okay … so there was someone. But … it ended.”

“Recently?”

Simi nods.

“Why? What happened.”

“Well. I moved on. Maybe I’m just wary.”

“Is that why you’re here? A broken heart?” Marybelle’s eyes shine with warmth.

“No. Well my heart’s not broken. Mostly I was annoyed. He said I was a fraud. Didn’t know anything about Africa.”

“No!”

Simi laughs. “Well. He was right. Until I came here I’d only been to Morocco. Once, on a school trip. That’s why I’m here. When he left I picked somewhere properly inside Africa just to show him. And my friends”

“Is he waiting for you?”

“No. He’d met a Lola somewhere. Younger than me. I don’t mind. I never wanted to marry.”

“What? He left you! I thought you left him. Why? Why don’t you want to be with him?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Okay. So …?”

Simi wonders if Marybelle can possibly imagine life in a tower block. If she’s ever even seen one.

Light as a dandelion. Like talking to a leaf.

“I don’t know if you’ll understand this, but our neighbours, when I was little, they were always fighting. We could hear them through the wall. Then one night she came pounding on our door. White woman. Your size. Face a mess. Said she didn’t want the police. He only did it when his team lost.”

“Did what?”

“Beat her.” Simi, voice flat, looks directly at Marybelle. “She went back to him. Can you imagine?”

“No. I can’t,” says Marybelle.

“We moved soon after that. Don’t know where she is now, but I’ve never forgotten her. I can still see her. Eye swollen, nose bleeding, shirt ripped, and it was freezing. November, I think.”

“Horrible. Awful. But men aren’t all like that. You can still find someone Simi.”

“You think so?” said Simi,

“Well, not if you don’t try. Then, when you find them, keep trying.”

“We’re from different worlds Marybelle. It’s tough in the cities. Stressed. Not like here. It looks easy to be happy here.”

Marybelle looked around. “Perhaps. Maybe we’ve just got to trust in God Simi. That’s what we’ve got to do.”

How am I talking to this woman? Back in London I’d walk right on past. And I don’t want this God stuff that’s for sure.

 “Marybelle,” Simi says, taking a step away and studying the crowd, “how about we look for some more champagne?”

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023