The Estate

By LL McStrane

Living on an upmarket estate on the North Coast sounds idyllic doesn’t it?

However, The Estate is more like a bad social experiment. The only thing many of the residents have in common is perceived success and the appearance of wealth.

Add lax security, sex, drugs and free flowing alcohol, absentee husbands , bored housewives and spirited oldies,

All of them with too much or too little money and loads of free time on their hands.

Throw into the mix three very wealthy university friends with murky pasts and what do you get?

You can’t make it up.

Check the news: it’s already happened!

• Language: English
• Publisher: LL McStrane
• Release date: Nov 5, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005502881

Book preview

Part One

BEFORE BEFORE

1

It all began that January morning when I visited the Ballito Police Station. Something I used to do every Monday morning in the good old days when I still worked for The Broadcaster.

Detective YT Pillay and I settled into a leisurely chat over a cup of very dark tea, thick with Cremora and utterly unpalatable without a shot of something strong enough to blow off your head, confiscated from the cells.

Pillay cleared a lumpy chair of a huge pile of dockets and placed them unceremoniously on the floor, added to the multitude of other piles of incidents that had destroyed and disturbed many, many lives in our area. These contributed to the crime report, even though they were heavily censored and sensitised so as not to disturb our sensitive readers. Of course, only those reports that wouldn’t hinder the huge flow of tourists and holidaymakers into this coastal paradise on the North Coast of KZN, and the unprecedented vomit of development happening here. They make interesting reading.

So we settled in, going through the numerous gruesome, sometimes predictable, but mostly mundane happenings of the week. I remember one Christmas when tensions were high and drink flowed more than normal. A mother and daughter cooking in a hot, cramped kitchen, tempers flaring; the daughter had stabbed her mother eight times, killing her. How do you come back from this, calmly resuming normality?

When the call came, the shrill ringing, like an alarm, broke through our pondering.

I swear Pillay, clutching the receiver, went white, and I knew this would be no ordinary story.

I could do with a good story now that I was no longer properly employed.

2

Florence

Florence pushed away from the shore. Promise leant over the side, grabbed a handful of weeds and pulled. They didn’t give. She pulled again, harder this time. The boat jerked.

‘Hey, what do you think you are doing? Be careful or you’ll tip us in.’

‘Nothin’. Weeds just stuck. Here, you try.’

Florence leant over and grabbed the nearest cluster of weeds.

‘Let me show you how it is done. Damn weeds,’ she mumbled to herself.

She grabbed the rake, leant further over the side and heaved at the weeds. The weeds came loose. She fell backwards onto Promise, who let out a scream fit to wake the dead.

‘What the hell is your prob–?’

The look of horror on Promise’s face cut her short. In the bottom of the boat, among the weeds, was a human head. Or what had been.

***

The day had not started well. It was only Tuesday and it had been a bad night with her sore throat and the insane wind that blew dust everywhere and aggravated all her allergies.

Somehow, she was always getting sick. She wasn’t sure what it was, but everything made her tired. It was 5am and dawn was still a while away. Looking in the rusted pocket mirror, Promise rubbed her eyes, pointlessly dragged a comb through her hair and slipped her uniform into the tattered backpack she had had for years. No money for a new one now that her ugogo was dead. Fortunately, she didn’t have far to go to work. Just two taxi rides and a short walk.

As she waited with the others by the side of the road, she considered her alternatives in life. Basically, there were none. She was stuck in this cycle of poverty with no way out. Voting for the ANC had not benefitted her or any of her race. They talked one way and walked another. She was resigned to her fate; there was no way to change it.

Finally, an hour late, the taxi came into view, horn blaring, driver yelling and the conductor adding to the cacophony with his high-pitched whistling.

Although she recognised the driver, she was aware that it wasn’t their regular taxi.

This one was very dodgy looking, but she’d been waiting for ages and was going to be late. What choice did she have? Not having the energy to push and shove, she was the last person to be squeezed in and found herself stuck with the front seat. The one no one wanted.

Promise hated sitting up front. The passenger door didn’t close properly, so she was ordered to put on her seatbelt. Too weary to argue, she complied and it was just as well she did.

Just minutes into the journey, their deranged driver crashed into the taxi ahead of them, which was yielding to the truck ahead in the circle. No damage done, to the taxi at least. The usual chatter from the passengers stopped abruptly. As one, they all held their breath.

Promise hoped against hope that the driver would calm down. Something about him seemed twitchy. His movements were unsteady, jerky almost. Maybe he hadn’t had his fix that morning.

She’d had enough stress, thank you. Her life was shit enough as it was. No more drama, please.

Apparently that was not to be. The taxi, creaking alarmingly, having negotiated the circle, hurtled off into the oncoming traffic intending to pass the taxi in front.

Promise closed her eyes and braced herself for the inevitable slamming on of brakes.

Their nerves shredded, the passengers screamed at the driver. Pandemonium broke out. Passengers shouted; some screamed. The driver retaliated by blaming the passengers for distracting him.

Promise couldn’t wait to get out of that death trap. For the first time in her life, she was looking forward to work.

But it wasn’t over yet. As the taxi moved at lightning speed towards the shopping centre, it took the bend too tightly and the passenger door flew open.

If it hadn’t been for the belt, she would have been thrown out onto the highway and flattened by the relentless flow of vehicles behind. She’d seen that happen before. The driver slammed on brakes, stopping without warning on the busy road, to a chorus of infuriated horn hooting by other motorists.

A passing traffic cop stopped and gave him hell. Too dazed and terrified, the passengers didn’t say a word. The driver was almost frothing at the mouth, incandescent with rage. Quite why, Promise couldn’t understand. Finally, the taxi slowed as it approached her stop, and she yanked open the door. As she leapt out, the door crashed to the ground behind her. Without a backward glance, she ran, the driver’s screams beating in her ears.

What a way to start the day. On a more philosophical thought, she supposed she should be grateful that no shots had been fired and she was uninjured.

3

Florence

‘Sawubona, Promise. Unjani?’ greeted the guard at the gate.

Promise sneezed in reply and croaked a ‘how are you?’ in response.

‘Kwaze kwayisono,’ he said. He was one of the nice ones. Not one of the ones who thought you were out to steal or worse, those who thought you owed them a ‘favour’.

She pushed her way through the rotating workers’ entrance and made her way up the bougainvillea-lined path. So much for the indigenous rule. Today was going to be a hot one. Best walk slowly. Fifteen minutes later, she was in the landscape offices.

‘Hi Promise. I need you and Florence in the boat on the lower lake. Those weeds are clogging the flow. And make sure you wear protective clothing this time.’

‘Yes, Kieran.’

Kieran took a long, hard look at her. She certainly didn’t look well. Promise had lost a lot of weight recently and she was always getting sick. Now that her grandmother was dead, the pension was gone and all she had was this meagre income. She couldn’t afford to take time off work. But today she looked worse than ever.

‘Florence? Where is that woman? Promise, go take a look.’

Promise left the air-conditioned office and looked down the path.

‘She just coming now,’ replied Promise and sneezed loudly.

Florence heaved her bulk through the doorway and collapsed heavily into one of the rickety plastic chairs.

‘Usushiywe isikhathi; you’re late.’ Promise repeated in English.

Florence shot her an evil look. ‘Can’t help bad feet, bad ankles, bad everything.’

In her youth, Florence had made full use of her early good looks and curves. Most of the other women despised her for her behaviour with the men. It was rumoured that when she was younger, she was the talk of the town. Now, in addition to working on The Estate, she ran an informal high-class brothel. If you wanted a party, you called Florence and she would organise a taxi load of girls to be delivered to your door. Despite the passage of time and half-heartedly holding down a respectable job, she was not averse to turning the odd trick for favoured regulars even now. Some men liked their girls curvy.

She had lived most of her life in the province, but she was not prepared to speak Zulu. Unless it was a business transaction, she preferred English. She felt it gave her an extra touch of class. Especially as she knew it made the other workers feel insecure.

‘We goin’?’ Promise reached for the elbow-length gloves and short-handled rake that they would need to pull the weeds from the pond.

‘You get gloves for me?’

Promise resented Florence’s status within the landscaping department. She resented being treated like her lackey. Especially as she was the one who did the lion’s share of the work.

They emerged from the relatively cool dimness of the office into the brightness of a mid-November morning and made their way down to the bottom lake.

Promise pulled on her rubber boots and waded into the shallows. She parted the reeds and pulled out the small rowing boat they used to get into the deeper water. She was already starting to sweat and pulled the uniform hat further down her forehead.

‘Come more this way,’ commanded Florence.

The boat tipped perilously as she heaved herself in. She let out a wheezy sigh and sat back, taking up one of the paddles they used to push the boat into the deeper water.

‘Suppose I be pulling weeds then?’

Florence arched an eyebrow in response.

Promise climbed in and sat facing her. In a few lazy strokes, because Florence never did anything in a hurry, they were on the other side. She leant uncomfortably over the side of the boat and dipped one gloved hand into the water. The weeds came up without too much effort. There wasn’t much to hold them down. She leant further over and pulled with both hands. The water was muddy and only the odd ripple suggested there were fish.

In a few minutes, the boat was full and Florence managed to rouse herself long enough to get them back to shore to unload.

Then back out again. Fill the boat. Back to shore...

It was dull, tedious work, so Promise broke her silence. Florence, despite her laziness, could be very entertaining.

‘So, good weekend?’

Florence let out a dirty laugh. ‘You better believe it…’

The sun rose higher in the sky; the pile of weeds on the bank grew bigger.

Promise was developing backache from leaning uncomfortably over the side.

‘One more and then it’s lunch?’ she asked.

4

Promise

‘One more and then it’s lunch?’

‘One more and then it’s lunch?’

‘One more and then it’s lunch?’

Florence pushed away from the shore. The image kept repeating itself in Promise’s mind. She kept seeing that... thing. She couldn’t stop seeing it.

It had been her scream that had alerted the passing security guards. They must have called the police. Promise was struggling to remember what had happened after the guards had tried to pull the boat ashore.

One more and then it’s lunch echoed in her head. Florence pushing away from the shore. The sun beating down.

If only she could turn back time. She was cursed. What had she done to deserve this? Didn’t she work hard enough?

Was she being punished for something that had happened long ago? She was only an innocent child at the time. Hadn’t she promised her grandmother that she would be good? And she had been good. She had tried so hard. She couldn’t stay here. She had to get away. Her legs wouldn’t move. It was her fault. The black spirits had controlled her. They would put her in prison. She should have gone with her sangoma calling.

Something inside Promise snapped. Her mind unravelled. The head spun towards her, the eyes spinning around and around in their sockets.

This couldn’t be happening. She put up her hands to block the sight. Blood dripped down her arms. Inside her head, a baby was crying loudly for its mother. Once more and then it’s lunch kept ringing in her head.

She screamed. Threw off her boots; threw off her gloves. And ran. Ran as fast as she could to get away from there. Ran as if pursued by the Devil himself.

Florence, on the other hand, knew exactly what she had done to deserve this. Not enough time spent communing with her ancestors. They were the reason for her success in life, for her good looks and savvy, streetwise ways. She needed to go and see her sangoma, Dr Dotdok. He would cure her of her bad luck. An umthakathi had cast a spell because they were jealous of her. She looked at Promise’s retreating back. Hmm, she wondered. What has Promise been hiding then?

***

Taxi drivers Busizwe, Najeem and Big Boy settled back on their makeshift paint tin stools outside The Estate gate. Conductor Jon was tasked with making their special tea. This green tea, bought in Stanger, refreshed, calmed and miraculously strengthened them, they believed. Settling in for a good gossip, they waited for their next load of passengers. The next minute, a high-pitched scream, more like a keening, ripped through the morning calm. What the hell, thought Busizwe, lifting his mug to his lips.

Moments later, Promise came hurtling out of the gate, oblivious to the shouts from the security men. She jumped into his Born to Please Taught to Tease Toyota HiAce taxi.

He knew trouble when he saw it, but, always ready to rescue a sister in need, he jumped up, dropping his mug on his foot, and ran to his taxi as Promise slammed the door shut with both shaking hands. He sped off, leaving Najeem, Big Boy and Jon standing gaping, all wondering what the hell was going on.

5

Babies

The teenager looked down at the liquid brown eyes of the perfectly formed infant in her arms. Barely two hours old and his beautiful lips seemed to be blowing kisses at her.

She