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half of the gate.
    “Car!”
    Ilia immediately jumped into the car and sat on the passenger
seat, tongue out, panting furiously. After Kubu had driven up the
short drive, turned the engine off and walked back to close the
gate, Ilia was much calmer, just getting between Kubu’s feet rather
than imitating the pronking of a springbok.
    Kubu smiled, expecting Joy to meet him on the steps of the
brushed-concrete veranda, but he was disappointed.
    “Hello, dear! I’m home,” he called, as though Ilia’s welcome
wouldn’t have alerted her.
    No response.
    “Joy! Where are you?” Still no response. She must be occupied
with Tumi, he thought. Then he heard the baby cry. He went into the
house, put his briefcase on the couch and walked to the small room
at the back – Tumi’s room – painted with cartoon-like animals on
the wall and a bright yellow sun on the ceiling. Joy was changing
Tumi’s nappy. Tumi was complaining loudly.
    “Hello, dear.” Kubu leant over and kissed Joy’s cheek. Joy
looked at Kubu and frowned.
    “Let me get you a drink,” he said. “You look as though you need
one.”
    He walked to the small kitchen and took a box of inexpensive but
acceptable South African Sauvignon Blanc from the fridge, and
poured her a large glass. Kubu was embarrassed to serve box wine,
but the financial realities of having a baby and Joy working only
part time had taken their toll. Bottles were rare these days,
usually only when there were guests.
    He always started the evening with a steelworks. He poured two
measures of Kola Tonic into a large glass, added a lot of lime
juice and splashed on a liberal portion of Angostura bitters. Next
he filled the glass with ginger beer. Only then did he add ice. He
despised barmen who started with ice then added the liquid
ingredients. They never mixed properly.
    “I’ll be on the veranda,” he called.
    A few minutes later Joy arrived carrying Tumi, who was now
quiet.
    “You hold her,” she said.
    Kubu smiled as he took his treasure – the baby that was never
meant to be. He rocked her gently, delighting in the small hands
that clutched his fingers. He pulled a face, and Tumi smiled.
“We’re so lucky, my dear. Tumi is perfect.”
    Joy didn’t respond, but took a large gulp of wine, closed her
eyes and put her head on the back of the chair.
    “Tough day?” Kubu asked.
    Joy nodded.
    “How was work?”
    Joy still didn’t respond.
    “Well, I had an awful day. Remember my old Bushman friend
Khumanego? I told you about him. We were friends at school in
Mochudi. Anyway, he phoned. Spoke to him last about ten years ago,
I guess. He’s now an advocate for the Bushmen, advising them about
the relocation plans of the government, helping their teams in the
law cases and so on. He’s become a sort of urban Bushman. It’s a
strange mix. You should see him! His little body in Western
clothes, all too big. Quite funny, actually.” He took a big
mouthful of his steelworks, swilling it around his mouth to get the
most benefit from the tanginess of the ginger beer.
    Joy’s head was still laid back, eyes closed.
    “Anyway, he called and asked for help. Some of his friends have
been arrested for murder in the southern Kalahari. He swears they
would never kill anyone – against Bushman values. He thinks the
police are out to get the Bushmen because they’re easy targets. I
spoke to the director. He told me to mind my own business – that
the situation was under control. It was embarrassing to tell
Khumanego that I couldn’t help. I’d all but promised.”
    Joy opened her eyes and sat up. She took another drink, this
time more of a sip than a gulp.
    “Kubu, dear, please don’t go out of town unless it is absolutely
necessary. You’re going to have to spend some more time with Tumi.
I’m really struggling. I’m tired the whole time. When I thought we
couldn’t have a child, I went to work at the creche to be with
kids. But now they’re too much. Too many questions,