From Jamie Burchell’s Twitter feed:
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Jamie Burchell @jamieburchell
I’ve just met the rudest man in the whole of South Africa.
Jamie Burchell @jamieburchell
I rescued his son from being squished by a car and he screamed at me like it was all my fault.
Amanda Stanislau @stani2
@jamieburchell OMG! He sounds horrible! What happened?
Jamie Burchell @jamieburchell
@stani2 I found his toddler wandering in the street & instead of saying thanks he yelled like I’d kidnapped the kid.
Gugu Motsepeng @gugz
@jamieburchell Dude, he sounds like a psycho.
Jamie Burchell @jamieburchell
@gugz: I know, right?
Cyril Attlee @inthemiddlecyril
@jamieburchell Maybe he was angry with himself for losing the kid and took it out on you?
Jamie Burchell @jamieburchell
@inthemiddlecyril: That’s what I’m thinking too…
Amanda Stanislau @stani2
@JamieBurchell @inthemiddlecyril: He’s still got no right to go off on Jamie like that!
Cyril Attlee @JamieBurchell
@stani2 True.
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Jamie felt calmer after pouring out her indignation on Twitter and Facebook. The sympathy of her virtual friends never failed to soothe her. They didn’t question her version of events or second-guess her.
It was only her own conscience that pricked her as she remembered how she’d been just about to take Ben to visit the cat instead of trying to find out where he lived.
Obviously, she would have got around to that eventually. And obviously it was important to keep him calm and happy before she went wandering the streets with him. But she had to admit she’d enjoyed his company so much, she’d been in no hurry to find out who he belonged to.
Even now, hours later, she wanted to hold him again. She’d never clicked with a child like that, not ever. At twenty-eight, she was already an aunt and had several friends with babies, but none of them had made her feel like this. None of them had inspired her with a desire to scoop them up and keep them all to herself forever.
She pressed her knuckles to her temples. Maybe she was turning into a baby snatcher.
Her ears pricked as she heard a key turning in the lock at her front door.
“Is that you, Faith?” she called out.
“Yes, Jamie. Yes, it is me.”
The subtext was, “Of course it’s me. Who else would be letting themselves into your house at ten o’clock in the morning?” Faith had a way of cramming a lot of subtext into a few words.
Jamie bounded out to greet the housekeeper.
“So, how was your weekend?”
“It was fine, thanks. I went shopping in town on Saturday and then I went to church on Sunday. I had the grandchildren with me all the time, so I am tired this morning.”
To illustrate this, she sat down on a kitchen chair and sighed.
Then she reached out a hand to flip the kettle on.
“You had the kids the whole weekend? Where were their mothers?”
“My daughters were spending time with their boyfriends.” Noticing the tightening of Jamie’s lips, Faith added. “They are paying for their children, those fathers. They are good fathers. If my daughters neglect them, they will stop paying. I don’t mind having the children for the weekend. It’s just that they make me tired. I am too tired to polish the furniture today. I will do it tomorrow.”
“That’s fine.” Jamie’s interest in furniture-polishing was minimal. It was information she wanted from Faith, not gleaming wood. “So, listen. You know my next-door neighbour?”
“That side?” Faith pointed towards the west.
“No, not the Greek couple. The other side. The man with the little boy. Do you know anything about him?”
Faith started to heave herself out of the chair, but Jamie gestured for her to relax. “Don’t get up. I’ll make you tea while you talk.”
“Yes, I know that man. The lady who works for him is Vuyiswa. She is my friend. She lives in Honeydew, just a few minutes from my house.”
“So what do you know about him? Tell me everything.”
***
Tell us: Would you share an experience like that on social media?