as well go all the way and just kill her.’
‘Well, she’s not my mother-in—’ He stopped.
Sylvia cut her eyes at him. Lee reached over and stroked her breast, as if to soften what he’d said, to persuade her that it was in fact a good thing that Matha Mwamba was not his mother-in-law.
‘She was never a mother to me anyway.’ She faked a yawn. ‘Why do you care about her crying?’
‘I don’t.’ Lee put his hands behind his head, his elbows winging his thick skull. ‘I care about you and it’s possible that you inherited something from her.’
Sylvia rolled onto her side away from him. She wasn’t like her mother. She had no auto-tears to give. She had never cried for a man, not once, not even when they had broken her heart, her bones, her spirit. Cha! Occupational hazards! Sylvia was feeling ready to retire. Her whole life had been preparing her for Lee: someone who would take care of her…
And Loveness?’ Lee startled her from her musings.
‘Anh?’ she said mechanically, looking over her shoulder at him. Then she remembered that she had never used her ‘professional’ name with him – he was referring to her friend. ‘What about Loveness?’
‘You know that she has The Virus as well?’
She frowned. ‘What virus?’ she asked, though of course she already knew.
* * *
At Hi-Fly Haircuttery & Designs Ltd, time was ticking away under the tapping of fingernails on the countertop. The girls were sitting on the floor scratching dandruff out of each other’s hair. There was a low sizzling from the corner – Jacob was trying to fix an electric fan he had found in the dump. A plump coloured woman walked in, wearing heels and a skirt suit, and carrying an expensive handbag. Her face was fully made up, her auburn bob so shiny it was like a polished bowl. She stood at the threshold of the salon, blinking.
‘Would Madam like a perm today?’
‘Mm,’ said the woman. ‘I want the boss.’ Her tongue slithered over the word – she had a slight lisp.
The salon girls glanced at each other. Aunty Loveness shouted to Jacob in the corner:
‘Iwe, get your mother.’
He stood up from his project reluctantly and ducked behind the chitenge to the back of the salon. The customer stepped deeper inside but a shadow remained behind her – there was someone with her, a boy. The girls raised their eyebrows – it was the son of Sylvia’s dude, Lee. Joseph looked even sulkier than usual, his eyes on his green trainers as he dragged his feet over to a corner to sit. Sylvia flung the back curtain aside and stomped barefoot into the salon, knotting her chitenge under her armpits.
She had been out late last night drinking heavily with Lee and his colleague, Dr Musadabwe, celebrating some new discovery of theirs. She had spent all morning in bed behind the back curtain, sipping at water with Eno and Disprin dissolved in it, and thought she had made it clear to everyone that she did not wish to be disturbed.
‘You cannot tell people that I’m bathing?’ she groused at Loveness, then turned and shouted to Jacob in the back. ‘The water will get cold, just drain it.’
She marched over to stand behind the customer, who was now seated before the mirror.
‘I am the boss here. My name is Sylvia Mwamba. But my girls are very good, Madam,’ she said to the customer’s image. ‘You do not need special services from me—’ Sylvia stopped. She had noticed the reflection of Joseph sitting in the corner behind them.
‘I’d like—’ Lee’s wife croaked. She cleared her throat. ‘I’d like a relaxer, please.’
Sylvia swallowed and nodded. Mrs Banda removed her auburn wig as gracefully as possible, revealing a reddish afro underneath. Loveness stepped forward to take the wig and stretch it over a wire bust to keep its shape. When Sylvia looked up from the terrain of kink to be conquered and saw that copper helmet sitting on the stand, she blinked for a moment. She reached under her own chitambala and scratched. Then she called for Jacob, still in the back, to bring a box of Dark & Lovely relaxer from the stash there.
After a moment, he came in with it, wearing the exasperated look of a child who has been given too many instructions in a row. His eyes immediately found Joseph, who had started picking through the entrails of the electric fan that Jacob had been trying to fix.
‘Futsek, iwe!’ Jacob