That evening, Joyce stumbles through the dining room door looking shaken. To Lelethu and her father’s surprise, she immediately slams the door shut and leans her weight against it. Her face is pale, wisps of hair are escaping from the bun on top of her head and her mascara is running down her face.

“He’s following me,” she says with trembling lips.

Lelethu and Solomon abandon the photographs they had been going through and dart over to look out the window. There’s nobody outside, just the two parked cars.

“Who, Ntando?” Lelethu asks.

Joyce’s eyes flick across the room before they settle on the photographs spread on the dining room table. She marches over to them, grabs a handful and begins to rip them apart.

“I am sick of all this nonsense!” she roars. “Everywhere I turn, I see him. He is supposed to be dead! Dead!”

“Stop that!” Solomon rushes to rescue the treasured memories.

“No! Make him go away Solomon!” A crazed look takes over her face.

“Who?” Solomon asks. “There’s nobody out there.”

“Your son! Your crazy son!”

“Maybe you need to lie down.” Solomon says, looking at her worriedly. “Nobody is following you.”

“I saw him!”

“Hush now, it must have been your imagination,” he says more sternly. “You ladies shouldn’t let your stokvel meetings run so late. Look now, you’re all worked up.”

He gently takes hold of her upper arm and guides her in the direction of the bedroom. Lelethu takes another sneak peek out the window and in the settling darkness, she spots the outline of a figure standing on the roadside. She doesn’t scream, she knows it is him. A few moments pass before he turns to leave.

*****

The following morning, Solomon rises with the first rays of light and installs burglar bars on all the windows. The neighbours find excuses to come outside and gawk.

Lelethu finds her mother hunched over the dining room table and offers her a steaming cup of tea. Joyce is wearing her gown, apparently reluctant to dress up as she usually does. Lelethu also notices bags under her mother’s eyes, her face pale from a lack of sleep and exhaustion.

“So you used to be friends with Baba’s first wife?” she asks cautiously.

“W-what does that have to do with anything?” Joyce bites back.

“I was just asking.” Lelethu picks her words carefully. “What really happened that night?”

Joyce draws in a deep breath. “Yes, we used to be friends. Nelly was a good woman. That was her name, you know. I haven’t said it in so long.” She sighs, looks away. “I don’t know what happened that night.”

“Why do you think Ntando is following you?”

“I was probably just imagining things,” Joyce says too quickly. “All this stress has me jumping to conclusions.”

“Haibo Ma,” Lelethu cannot hide her confusion. “Then why have you asked Baba to install all these security bars?”

“The world is a dangerous place and we can’t be too careful. That’s all,” her mother says flatly.

“Why do you feel so threatened by Ntando?” Lelethu asks once again.

“Stop asking me that,” Joyce says through gritted teeth. “Ntando is dead.”

Tell us: What do you think happened on the night of the fire?