If they took the farm, what would happen to John Junior, thought Ryland. The boy loved the place and had insisted on going to Stellenbosch University to study agriculture. These years should have been glorious sunset years for him and Sylvie on the farm as he prepared to hand the reins to his son, like his Toastie had done for him and Grandpa before him.

When the kids were small they had spoken about building a house on the ridge so they could see the sea and letting John Junior and his family take the main house. There was no way they could do that any more. They would have their throats cut in five minutes flat. What he had inherited was an uncertain and terrified old age, all because of bastards like the one lying propped against the TV cabinet. This was Africa for you. Steal from a hardworking man, help yourself to his life’s work, chase his daughter to Australia, rob his son of a future … rape his wife and then cut his throat.

What was his name again? Mzwempi, yes.

“Mzwempi? Hey?”

“M … M … Mkhulu …”

“What are you going to do with yourself when all this over, hey? This is nonsense, you know.”

“Ei … ei … eina …”

“This bloody government will take you to hospital and you will be walking the streets in no time. You are right, I should just shoot you.”

He had so hoped his beautiful little Kate would have married one of the local boys. Sylvie and he had talked about it so often, to have their grandchildren with them on the farm. For a while she had gone out with that Beningfield boy. A good solid lad but when he headed off to the University of Cape Town to study, it had petered out. That was one who should have been a farmer. He was a natural, but instead he had opted for engineering. More opportunities in engineering, he said. He was living in the States now. Kate said he had married an American girl and they had two little ones. What a thing … all the kids going overseas.

When Kate had met Simon at the University of KwaZulu-Natal, Ryland and Sylvie had thought they would settle in Durban or maybe Pietermartizburg. But the honeymoon was barely over when they were gone. They were doing well in Sydney, though, and their little ones were Aussie city-slickers. The one time they had come back, the eldest, Jack, didn’t leave his mother’s side – even to come to his grandpa. Scared of the chickens. And to think that he had been a laaitie of three when he disappeared into the veld all day with the other farm boys. They had only come home when they were hungry. Times had changed.

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Tell us: Why do you think Ryland’s daughter went to live in Australia?