Across Time and Space

By Mala Naidoo

Would you risk your long-held dreams for a secluded estate beside an olive grove, a creative paradise, and a mysterious, irresistible newcomer? Set in London and Florence,  Meryl, a budding writer, and Michael a human rights lawyer, become entangled in a world of international crime. Life will never be quite the same. Will they pick up from where they left, despite the various characters who managed to enter their lives, or will they let go of the safety they once found in each other's arms?

A contemporary story of fractured pasts, intriguing encounters, insularity, professional harassment and the capacity to live for others.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mala Naidoo
• Release date: Feb 26, 2018
• ISBN: 9780648137740

Mala Naidoo

Mala Naidoo is an Australian author. She was born in South Africa during the apartheid era which is the impetus for her fictional stories. Mala believes literature speaks through the values and culture of its characters, instilling understanding when readers connect to a moment in time, an event or conversation that brings clarity to daily existence. Mala Naidoo is the author of Across Time and Space, Vindication Across Time, Souls Of Her Daughters, Chosen Lives, and The Rain - A Collection of Short Stories.

Book preview

1

Glittering sunlight infused the car as it sped along the freeway with cheetah-like ease.

Meryl was travelling on her own for the first time in her forty years on the planet, something she did not freely admit to herself or others. Her desire to walk in the footsteps of her literary heroes was the unmistakable tug that led to this day. She had been on literary tours before with friends – this was to be her journey, exclusive to mind and soul.

Silence dangled in the air.

Although Michael had leave available, Meryl was resolute that she had to do this on her own, her claim to a junket unfettered by others. She had longed for this journey for many years.

---

Two Weeks earlier…

‘I would really like to take this trip with you M, I know I sound like a stuck vinyl, I know I won’t be bored with all the tours and self-created trips you’ve planned.’

‘I know you will do everything in your power to enjoy what is really ‘my thing,’ Mike, please understand, this is something I have to do on my own, in order to fulfil my undisturbed curiosity, and my need to move forward with my professional plans. It will be wonderful to return home to you.’

‘Three months is a long time… especially after all this time to… together.’

‘You have a landmark case coming up Mike, you could use the time without distractions; we can Skype and face-chat every day. Please be happy and accept that this is me needing this time alone, and not me abandoning you.’

She cupped his face in her hands, his deepened frown was now a permanent fixture on his troubled face.

Meryl turned on the radio, a crackling disturbance on the airwaves made her turn it off. The unmistakable weight of silence hovered like a steel cloud between them.

‘Don’t forget to walk Ted every morning - it is his routine, he will destroy the house if you forget,’ she chirped. ‘He’ll be so happy to see you in the evenings. I’ve stacked enough dog food in the garage to last at least two months. Make sure you eat the food I left in the freezer and don’t rely too much on junk food, Mikey.’

‘Okay, M will do, you can always remind me when we chat, if you call that is. Three months…’ he groaned.

Meryl insisted that Michael drop her off at the airport without coming in with her. He obliged like a child parting from a mother on his first day at school, he hugged Meryl hanging on for fear of the sheer drop below.

‘Come on Mikey, time will fly, if it does not work out, I will be home sooner.’

Meryl waltzed off in her usual playful way, her bouncing head of dark brown hair glistened in the light as she pulled a face at Michael. She twirled through the airport doors, turning around in a grand bow to Michael.

---

Michael crawled along in dense traffic, he turned on the radio to James Blunt’s nostalgic voice and romantic cries! He loved the lyrics and often sang along in the car, with Meryl adding in a line or two.

‘Hell, who needs this now!’ he thought as he turned the radio off.

How would he spend the days ahead? He had grown too comfortable with Meryl attending to all his needs, foregoing much of her own wants over the years.

The case coming up was one he had not quite tackled before - a case on racism in an elite private school in a leafy suburb on the North side of town. He had enough information to pull the case together, except, strangely, his client did not want anything other than a reviewing and revising of the discrimination act to ensure that such humiliation and torment perpetrated by bullying was prohibited.

The consequences for the bully should be severe enough to stop it from happening to another unsuspecting victim. She was a softly spoken woman who was obviously traumatised by five years of unrelenting harassment. She was resolute that her students were not to be questioned as they were oblivious to her situation, their education was paramount to her. She said she preferred not to involve her doctor who treated her for the anxiety and depression she went through during this time.

Michael could not come to terms with why the administration of the school chose to support the bully, the racist – was this the bigoted way teachers were treated while espousing and instilling compassion, tolerance and understanding in their students? He knew the school well; it was his elder sister Michelle’s alma-mater. She continued to attend reunions and extolled the wonderful place the school was in the late seventies. He wondered whether he could ask Michelle some questions about the school without spiking her curiosity regarding his sudden interest.

He was exhausted, many sleepless nights had taken their toll. He was relieved to be home, the home he shared with Meryl these past six years. Ted rushed up to him with his tail in a wagging frenzy, only to be met with an apathetic pat on the head, ‘Good boy Ted.’ His mind gyrated around a thousand things.

A cold lamb roast dinner and a half-finished glass of wine lay on the coffee table with the television running as Michael and Ted slept through the night on the couch.

---

Meryl was comfortably ensconced in her seat on flight BA777, first stop London to catch up with her beloved uncle Ben, then everything else was to happen when it happened. She felt the butterflies in her belly, the exhilaration of going into the somewhat known yet unknown territory. Ben had encouraged her as a child through letters back in the day, to chase her dreams, live in the moment.

She spent eight years working at the publishing house on the South side of the city. She developed this gnawing, deep within her soul, to write her own novel, to sit in the creator’s seat writing stories embedded in her subconscious world.

She knew Michael would not take too kindly to the change to their plans. With no promise of an engagement ring, they spoke about getting married and having children – no time frame – her biological clock was ticking, she was dubious whether she would be married with children in the next three years.

Michael was still forging ahead to get further up the ladder in his field, ‘a dog eat dog world’ he complained. She grew up caught in the middle of her parents’ acrimonious divorce. She contemplated what she would be like were she to be Mrs. Morrissey. Would that change her fun-loving, zany personality? Would she lose her identity? Her grandfather instilled pride in her heritage. She remembered with fondness his tales of his time at sea: Oh Meryl it was a hard life, my child, but the adventure was what soared through my veins and the memory of those days fill my sleeping and waking dreams.

Her Moorecroft side, the paternal side of her family, was deeply embedded in her psyche and Grandpa Joshua and Grandma Beth were the only parents she knew. Her mother was found dead in a hotel room in Casablanca. The newspaper headlines made her blood run cold each time she saw the almost brown, folded newspaper that Grandpa Joshua kept ‘safely’ in the hallway draw, this was something she tried desperately to erase from her conscious thoughts. Here she was trying to catch the star, the star, of her destiny. She grew up surrounded by books, the classics, that offered her refuge from her own harsh reality as she immersed herself in the lives of her beloved characters living in the places they inhabited - Bath, London, Casterbridge, Pemberley. In the world of books, she felt safe, while the house of her parents’ marriage burned and collapsed around her. Her father’s work as an esteemed heart surgeon took priority in their marriage. It was no surprise to her grandparents, her Uncle Ben in England and her father, that she was keen to be an editor.

2

Michael had a meeting at 10 am with the high school teacher whose credentials came up squeaky clean, outstanding teacher, loved and respected by students, produced outstanding results, was considered highly professional, trusted and respected by the parent body. Why did the school choose not to support this woman? He had a lot more questions to pose to his client.

He set out on a fuzzy morning, powdery puffs of rain barely soaking up anything it fell upon.

Outside in the gloomy greyness of the day with the rhythmic spluttering of the blocked drainpipe outside his office, stood Marcia Ntuli. She smiled, her eyes downcast almost afraid to be acknowledged. There was an iridescent simplicity about this woman which Michael found unnerving at first – it was almost as though she had surfaced from some unknown world. They walked silently into the building with Michael pondering how and where to begin with a discussion on the intimate details of harassment with a woman who seemed so locked in, lost, distant and preoccupied.

‘It’s the school holidays now, is that right? Going anywhere?’ Michael hoped this would break the ice of their first interview.

‘It’s a short break, I have a lot to finish here and of course I have to look for a new job too,’ Marcia answered.

Michael told Marcia to take a seat and asked if she had any objections to being recorded during their session. She graciously conceded, saying, ‘I only have one truth in this matter, the only truth of my experience.’

She proceeded to talk with a dewy, wistful, forlorn look about the five years of hell under the criticism of a co-worker who suggested that she was educated in ‘a third world country’ insinuating that she did not have a proper education, constantly asking, ‘did you go to school under a tree?’ She shuddered when she remembered being told, ‘you look like you’re from Auschwitz, dressed like that,’ on a school outing, and the list went on and on. Quite suddenly, she added, almost as if she wanted to avoid sharing this, that while sitting at lunch outside with other staff members, the offender said that her ‘skin was quite thick.’ For a fleeting second, Michael saw the glimmer of a smile creep across Marcia Ntuli’s face, when she added as an aside comment, ‘I had to grow a thick skin to survive this!’

Michael asked why Marcia did not complain much earlier on about the harassment, she shrugged saying she ‘felt privileged to teach in this top end school’ and ‘was afraid she would be fired.’ Michael listened on in disbelief. How could such a highly regarded professional feel so helpless in a country where democracy supposedly reigned and racism was against the law! Well, he was a human rights attorney and should not be flabbergasted, he reminded himself. Five years of harassment was too much to record and reflect upon in one session, and Marcia looked drained after the hour long consultation. He thanked her for her honesty about a very painful experience and walked her to the door noting the day and time for her next session.

---

Meryl arrived at Gatwick airport to a rather chilly London morning. She called her uncle Ben who picked up the phone in a sleepy voice. ‘Have you arrived already, dear, dear I should get dressed before you get here or you might get the fright of your life and think it’s the ghost of old Marley at the door greeting you!’ he chuckled, adding ‘bye for now.’

She loved his wicked sense of humour, he had a way of making her feel so relaxed and happy. Her London cabbie was waiting for her as Ben had promised. For all his years he still paid attention to detail and the needs of others. He had made his mark in London society, having arrived there as a boy of eighteen. She remembered his sweet tooth and love of Indian sweets. She asked the driver to divert to the nearest and most recommended Indian sweet store.

Little did she imagine that she would be bombarded by a barrage of sweets that she was unfamiliar with. She remembered some that Ben loved and decided to stick with the familiar choice of jeleibi, luddo and barfi.

She cradled a box of these delectable sweet treats as she pressed the buzzer to Ben’s home and consulting rooms. The Indian cab driver said, ‘Werrry lowweleyy arrrea thiiis!’ You lucky you not pay to stay ha!’ She smiled, thinking what an odd intrusion into privacy which one would not expect in London. She paid the cabbie only to be told, ‘the mannn’, ‘lowwely, lowwely pairrsson’ had paid him when he booked.

‘Ben the old rascal,’ she thought, adding, ‘yes he is very special to me.’

---

Ben opened the door, cravat and beret neatly in place with a smile that lit up the gloomy London sky.

‘I am so happy you are here, darling! Come in, come in, I have a pot of tea on and then we can decide what to do for breakfast.’

She was home, the passage walls, memorabilia of Ben’s life, past and present welcomed her like a doting grandmother. She sucked in her breath, plonked herself on the only available space on the large couch in this Victorian sitting-room and smiled up at Ben. Books, books, glorious books, she loved that Ben’s home was like a vintage library-come-museum.

He laughed saying, ‘look at you, you look so snug and satisfied after a long flight and you haven’t had any tea yet!’

Ben chatted on about his childhood, a life-time ago, saying that grandmother mooted for his London education for no other reason than to break up an apparent love-affair which she deemed ‘unsuitable’. This was a somewhat sore point with him, being stung by the separation of young love.

The conversation drifted to Shakespeare’s life and works and the love they both shared for the works of the bard lived on until 2.30 am The ghost of Old Hamlet was firmly put to bed after an enlivened discussion on whether the presence of the ghost might not appeal to later audiences or was it Hamlet’s conscience confirmed, or perhaps his friend