Heart Scars

As Isabel Daniels was getting ready, she thought about how weird it was to have a farewell from somewhere that wasn‟t even really her home. She and her parents had been living in south-west London since the family farm, which they‟d bought rather than inherited, was „repossessed‟ in the Zimbabwean fiasco the year before – as if the supposed war vets, half of whom weren‟t even old enough to have fought in the war for independence, had any legitimate claim to it in the first place.

Growing up on the farm had been great; there was always something going on, from swimming in the dam with her brothers, Rich and Josh, to galloping her horse back and forth across the paddock. Along the dirt road adjacent to the paddock there was a beautiful avenue of jacaranda trees that she would never forget; she could still smell the sweet scent of the trees‟ small purple flowers. Their garden was huge and they had two swimming pools and a tennis court, which was used as a sheep pen when it sprouted grass and weeds from lack of use.

The manger of the farm – a wonderful, friendly Mozambiquan gentleman named Vasco – had taught the Daniels kids to ride the farm motorbikes – two 125cc Hondas – and Izzy and her brothers would sometimes ride over to the neighbours‟ farm and hang out with the kids, Paul and Sara. Once when they were young teenagers, the five of them had ridden into town together to buy beer; they were eventually caught on one of the little backroads near the country club by one of their parents‟ friends, who reported on them promptly. They‟d all been grounded for a month but were still allowed to see each other when their parents socialised, which was often so it wasn‟t too bad. There was no goodbye for any of them from that life.

Well, at least in Southfields the Daniels family had plenty of friends to give them a good farewell. Isabel was leaving the next day and going to work as a dive instructor in Koh Tao, an island resort in Thailand, and her parents were headed for a little town called Knysna, on the west coast of South Africa. Her dad, Peter, had bought a home renovations company there and he and Samantha, Isabel‟s mom, were taking it over in a couple of weeks.

Her parents had chosen Knysna because Sam‟s family had all relocated there during the land-grab in Zimbabwe. Pete‟s family also lived in South African, but in more of an agricultural area; however, understandably, Pete never wanted to farm again and Knysna seemed the better option for them.

Their farewell from London was being held at The Station, the local pub, which was almost directly across from the house they rented on Replingham Road.

“Izzy?” she heard Alice calling to her from outside the bathroom, which Izzy had been hogging for twenty minutes trying to put on her makeup, very unsuccessfully.

“Here my girl,” she replied, opening the door meekly and looking out into the passageway for passers-by. “My makeup is ricockulous; please come and help me!” She was lucky enough to have a great friend in Alice, who was greater still at makeup, and was also going with her to Thailand.

“Sure. It‟s easy to do makeup on your best friend when she looks just like Ashley Judd,” Alice said in mock condemnation.

“Just because I have long, dark hair? Two huge differences are that I have hazel eyes and I‟m half her age!” Izzy argued, swinging her layered hair behind her as if to highlight her point.

“It‟s all in the face honey, the beautiful bone structure and – duh – the body!” Alice insisted playfully, reaching for the makeup bag and ignoring the fact that, while slim, Izzy was also only about five foot six; considerably shorter than the film star.

Likening people to celebrities was Alice‟s favourite pastime, but she never compared herself, even though she had a beautiful blonde bob of curls and brown eyes as big as saucepans; in Izzy‟s opinion she drew a strong resemblance to a

young Drew Barrymore. With a hint of envy, Izzy considered how Alice was looking especially gorgeous tonight in tight navy jeans and a navy halter-neck vest, with dozens of gold bangles on one wrist and her gold D&G watch on the other. She wore black sandals with a slight heel to give her more height, even though she didn‟t need it.

“Whatever!” Izzy jokingly responded to Alice‟s last comment and then swiftly changed the subject, “Does your mom know the date you arrive home after Koh Tao?”

Alice was going to settle her in on the island – a good excuse for a bit of a holiday – and then carry on to South Africa. Her parents lived in Fish Hoek, a coastal suburb of Cape Town on the west coast, and she was planning to stay with them until she found a job and a flat to rent.

“She does. I think she repeats it in her sleep: „15th of May, 2003‟. She can‟t wait; I haven‟t been home for two years now.”

“Shame, so long,” Izzy sympathised.

“The Station is already full,” Alice told Izzy as she touched up her friend‟s eye makeup. “We didn‟t have to go to the Shepherds Bush Walkabout after all, or even to the „Slut and Legless‟ in Wimbledon.” The southern hemisphere crowd had been referring to the Slug and Lettuce bar by this nickname for years.

“Is Kyle there yet?” Izzy asked casually. Kyle Hart was also South African, very handsome and twenty-six, a perfect three years older than her.

In Alice‟s eyes Kyle was a clone of Michael Vartan, one of the lead actors in Alias, but Izzy thought he was much better looking and far more interesting. What she liked most about him though was that he was so good-natured and patient; he was always kind to people and he never spoke badly of anyone. He was also principled, but didn‟t force his ideas on anybody else.

“Heh heh, you like him, don‟t you?” Alice giggled, nudging Izzy‟s shoulder playfully.

“Of course I like him; he‟s my friend!” Izzy exclaimed in feigned indignation.

“You like him more than that,” Alice stated bluntly, giving Izzy one of her impish smiles. “When did you last see him anyway?”

“Last month. That long weekend when we all went to Brighton for my birthday,” Izzy smiled in recollection.

At the end of March she had booked Alice, Kyle and herself into Friese Greene, a backpackers lodge in Brighton, and they had partied for four days straight, finishing off with her birthday on the thirty-first.

Izzy‟s favourite memory was of a bar they went to which was underneath a nightclub, like a basement bar, and showed movies on a big screen every Friday evening. The décor was all black, silver and leather – very urban biker chic. After the film the atmosphere in the bar got progressively more dissolute; Izzy and her friends only got back to Friese Greene in the early hours of the morning, and in quite a drunken state. She couldn‟t bring herself to tell Alice, but she had been tempted to follow Kyle back to his room, an urge she excused as a result of „beer goggles‟, conveniently forgetting that she also found him very attractive when she was stone-cold sober.

She laughed and turned to look at herself in the mirror. The soft pink shade of lipstick looked good, complementing her chocolate coloured hair and milky skin tone, as well as matching her outfit, which consisted of Diesel jeans and a pink hoodie. Her eyes looked as though Alice had used a magic wand to make them shimmer. She spritzed a little of her CK One perfume on her wrists and behind her ears; all she had to do now was pull on her Ugg boots and she was good to go.

“Well, it doesn‟t matter how much I like him,” Izzy said, her voice gathering momentum, “because tomorrow we‟re going to Thailand! Can you believe it?”

“I know – hectic! I wonder what we‟ll be up to this time tomorrow...” Alice‟s whole body seemed to shiver in anticipation.

“I wonder. Thanks for the makeover sweetie,” Izzy smiled gratefully, kissing her friend on the cheek. “You‟re the best of all best friends, ever!”

Alice wasn‟t exaggerating; The Station was packed. Southfields and nearby Wimbledon are literally crawling with people from all over the southern hemisphere; South Africa, Zimbabwe, Australia,

New Zealand… And a remarkable number of them

had gathered in the pub that night to say goodbye. Izzy‟s parents sat at one of the corner tables having a drink with Bill and Shan Madison, friends from home who had also moved to London.

She reflected briefly on what a good-looking couple her parents made. Her dad had blue eyes and blond hair, and he paddled regularly to keep up his fine athletic physique. Sam had the same colour hair as Izzy, but wore it at shoulder length with a fringe. While they were both slim, Sam‟s supermodel-like legs made her that much taller than Izzy.

Rich, Izzy‟s youngest brother, was still in South Africa studying at Rhodes University, but Josh was present and accounted for, already playing a drinking game with his girlfriend Marcia and two Australian boys he worked with, Kalen and Bobby. He had moved to England well before

Izzy and their parents, and he lived and worked on the other side of London, in Hackney. Izzy was happy her brother had found Marcia; she was such a lovely girl, soft-spoken with a gentle face and traditional-style flaxen curls.

She waved to them all and then saw Kyle coming over. She‟d always thought it was just a movie thing, but Izzy‟s knees nearly gave way and she had to catch her breath; she had never seen him look so good. He was wearing flawlessly fitted jeans and a white long-sleeved T-shirt, and his short honey coloured hair was styled in a fashionably scruffy manner.

“Good evening Miss Daniels,” he said in his pretend British accent, and bowed ceremoniously. His smile was full and genuine.

“Ah, Mr Hart, a pleasure,” Izzy smiled and curtseyed graciously. Both started laughing and gave each other a warm hug.

“You look stunning, as usual,” Kyle said, lightly touching her hair.

“Why, thank you kind Sir,” Izzy said, drawing out the British act to distract from her initial reaction to him; she was still reeling. “As do you, Mr Hart.”

“So, you‟re outta here?” he asked rather than said, almost as if he wanted to be corrected. His eyes seemed to darken momentarily from their usual shade of hazel green.

“Yes, but it‟s only for a couple of years…” She pulled a childish pout, as if she was sorry to leave. And she was sorry to leave him and her other friends, just not London. The cold and damp had seeped into her bones and was stealing her smile, turning her into a glum Pom.

“Mmm… A couple of years – so short!” Kyle declared mordantly, forcing the smile back onto his face.

“You‟ll see; they‟ll fly by. Anyway, how‟s your work going?” she asked, changing the subject artfully.

“It‟s cool. I was sent to shoot some owls the other night.”

“Shooting owls again, huh?” Izzy smiled and winked at him.

“Photographing… And you knew that,” he said and pointed his finger at her admonishingly, but he was also smiling.

“I did, but just ‟cause I‟m so clever,” Izzy joked in a boastful tone and Kyle‟s grin broke out, laid-back and gorgeous as ever.

“Speaking of which, how‟s your writing course coming along?” Kyle asked. Until recently Izzy had been working as a proofreader for one of the London publishing houses and her interest in English literature had been sparked, which in turn led to her taking on a creative writing course.

“I love it! And because the course is via correspondence, I can still study while I‟m in Thailand.”

“Perfect! Come, let‟s get a drink,” he said and held out his hand to lead Izzy to the bar.

“Let‟s,” she replied and took the proffered hand enthusiastically.

A little later, Kyle and Izzy sat at her parents‟ table, laughing at Sam‟s impression of an English youngster trying to chat her up at work:

“Awright luv? Give us a kiss den,” she mimicked deftly.

“I preferred it in Zim, when you were a housewife!” laughed Pete, only half joking. Izzy‟s dad preferred everything about their life in Zimbabwe, and Izzy couldn‟t say she blamed him; she often missed it too.

“Housewife my ass, Pappy; she was more of a golf pro!” Izzy interjected proudly. She had affectionately been calling her dad „Pappy‟ for years, for so long she couldn‟t even remember why anymore. And aside from her mom being one of her best friends, she also felt very proud of her for being selected to play for the Zimbabwean ladies golf team a couple of years ago.

“And she was the best at both,” Pete said, his arm encircling Sam‟s shoulders as he kissed her affectionately.

“And don‟t you forget it, Mister!” his wife said, gently poking him in the side and then kissing him back. They were young, fun parents and their three children had been lucky enough to grow up in a home full of love and laughter.

The evening passed too quickly. Izzy was beginning to wonder if she could leave after all; she would miss her friends and her family so much! As they do in England, the pub officially closed at eleven o‟clock but Oliver, the manager, let them stay longer; he had been friendly with Izzy and her parents for a while and he didn‟t want to say goodbye any time soon.

Instead of tearful goodbyes, Izzy and Kyle snuck out of The Station at about half-twelve. Kyle gently kissed Izzy goodbye on the cheek and she dashed home over the road. All her packing was done and all she had to do in the morning was get up, shower and do her teeth, and voila: ready for Thailand! None of that was done that night however; she didn‟t even remove her makeup, she just undressed and fell appreciatively into her comfy, warm bed.

Her dreams were confused that night, but revolved around the last day she‟d been home on the farm in Zimbabwe. Images of her father being shouted at by black men at the gate converged with his voice telling her she must pack a bag; if she didn‟t leave, the „war vets‟ would shoot her. He was staying behind and she was so scared…