Lunga awoke the next morning feeling excited. He forgot for a moment why, and then he remembered: Busi.

He smiled to himself. Clint had sent him a text last night with both Busi’s address and phone number. Lunga had already sent Busi a WhatsApp. It was all arranged. This morning he was going to pay her a visit.

As Lunga approached her house he could hear a baby crying. Above the sound of crying he could hear Busi gently singing. After a moment the baby was silent.

It was a small wooden house, with a neat, fenced-in yard enclosing a large, leafy tree. He approached the gate and rang the bell next to it.

“Come in. It’s open.”

It was Busi’s voice. Lunga opened the gate. Busi stood in the shade under the tree, facing him. In her arms she cradled a small baby. Lunga swallowed hard. Clint had said nothing about a baby! He smiled hesitantly and opened his mouth to speak.

“Sshh!” said Busi softly, “she’s nearly asleep. Let me just go and put her down.”

Lunga stood where he was. Busi turned and walked towards to the house. She began to sing softly to the baby in her lovely, soothing voice. Adele again. Her voice was so similar it was uncanny.

Lunga looked around the yard. A swing and a slide. A little wendy house with colourful curtains. A sand pit. Scattered toys and a small black plastic scooter. A child definitely lives here, he thought to himself. And by the looks of things the baby did as well. Lunga took a deep breath. He was fond of children, he really was, but at twenty years old he liked to enjoy them from a distance. He looked back at the gate. When had Busi had time to have a baby? These days girls sometimes stayed at school right up to the end of their pregnancy, left to have their baby, and were back at school in time for their exams.

“So, you found me.”

Busi had interrupted his thoughts and Lunga blinked and smiled.

“Yep. I didn’t know you …”

“Oh, she is not mine,” said Busi quickly. “My Mom runs a crèche from here. Not normally on a Saturday, though.”

Busi smiled as she saw the relief, which Lunga could not hide, flooding his face. She laughed.

“Would you like some coke?”

Lunga accepted and went to sit down at a table set under the tree. Busi brought the glass of coke out to him.

“My mom is out, so I am looking after the baby today. Her mother has to work this morning.”

Lunga nodded. “I can see the baby likes your singing. You have such a beautiful voice, Busi. You should sing on stage more often. You were made for it.”

Busi shook her head.

“I hate it actually,” she said softly. “The other girls always laugh at me and call me fat. Even last night they said I looked ugly in that red dress I borrowed. They told me I am just like Adele. She is also fat, you know.”

Lunga was shocked, and for a moment didn’t know what to say.

“Jealousy!” he spluttered angrily. “Busi, it’s just jealousy. You mustn’t believe them. They just want to break you down because none of them can sing the way you do. Really, you must believe me!”

***

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