The Rose Between The Worlds

The Interview

I didn't sleep.

How do you sleep when tomorrow decides if your son eats?

Wisdom woke me at three in the morning, coughing again.

That f*****g window.

I pulled him against my chest and held him until the coughing stopped. His little body was hot, his curls damp against my neck.

"Is it tomorrow, Mama?" he whispered sleepily.

I kissed his forehead.

"Tomorrow is a big day, my baby. Mama needs to go be a big girl in Sandton."

He blinked up at me.

"Will you bring cake?"

My throat tightened.

"If Mama gets the job, I'll bring the whole bakery."

He smiled.

Then he fell asleep again.

At five, I was already ironing.

I only had one good outfit.

My black graduation dress from UNISA.

I had bought it two sizes too big because Wisdom was still so small then, and I needed to be able to hold him on my lap during the ceremony.

Now the dress hung loosely from my body.

I washed my hair in a bucket.

Cold water.

No lotion.

Just water and prayer.

At six, Mama Dineo knocked on the main door.

I opened it with Wisdom on my hip.

"Go," she said. "I'll watch him."

"Thank you, Mama."

She pointed a finger at me.

"But if he cries too much, I'm calling."

I laughed.

"I understand."

She looked at my dress.

"You better get that R15,000."

"I'll try."

"I'm tired of looking at your curtain."

I looked back at the curtain that separated our room from the rest of the house.

"Me too."

I kissed Wisdom goodbye.

Then I left.

I took two taxis from Pretoria to Sandton.

R85.

Money I didn't have.

Money I had borrowed.

The closer we got to Sandton, the more the buildings changed.

Glass.

Steel.

Tall buildings reaching into the sky.

It was as if the city had decided that some people deserved to look down on everyone else.

Then I saw it.

STUURMAN GROUP.

It wasn't a building.

It was a threat.

Sixty floors of black glass.

The words STUURMAN GROUP stretched across the top, big enough for God to read.

I swallowed.

My dress suddenly felt like a Shoprite bag.

My shoes were old school shoes I'd polished with cooking oil.

I stared at the entrance for a few seconds.

Then I forced myself to walk inside.

The lobby was freezing.

Aircon.

So cold I immediately became aware of every inch of my body.

The receptionist looked at me.

Then at my shoes.

Then back at me.

"Palesa Molefe. Interview. PA to Mr. Stuurman. Nine AM."

She typed something on her computer.

"Floor fifty-eight."

She paused.

Then gave me a small smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"Good luck."

I knew that wasn't encouragement.

"He already fired three girls this week."

My stomach dropped.

"Three?"

She nodded.

I thanked her and walked toward the elevators.

The doors opened.

I stepped inside.

The elevator climbed.

Twenty floors.

Thirty.

Forty.

My palms were sweating.

I kept wiping them against my dress.

What if he smells the taxis on me?

What if he smells Wisdom's baby lotion?

What if he looks at my CV and laughs?

The doors finally opened on floor fifty-eight.

Silence.

Rich-people silence.

There was one desk near the entrance.

And a woman standing beside it with a cardboard box in her hands.

She was white.

Blonde.

Pretty.

She looked like she belonged there.

Her eyes were red from crying.

She looked at me.

"Are you the next one?"

I frowned.

"The next one?"

She gave a broken laugh.

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Take the job."

I stared at her.

"He isn't worth it."

Before I could ask anything else, a door opened.

And he walked out.

Pieter Stuurman.

He wasn't a man.

He was a winter.

Tall.

Broad shoulders.

Short blond hair, cut neatly.

Black suit.

No tie.

And eyes that weren't blue.

Grey.

Cold grey.

Like storm clouds hanging over Pretoria before a summer storm.

He looked at the crying woman.

"You have thirty seconds to leave my floor, Anika."

His accent was thick.

Deep.

Afrikaans.

And the moment I heard his voice, something inside me stopped.

No.

My heart began pounding.

No.

That voice.

Two years ago.

Sandton Sun Hotel.

Room 2411.

A dark room.

A warm body.

A night I had spent two years trying not to remember.

A voice in the darkness.

"Jy is so mooi."

My knees almost gave way.

It was him.

It was him.

Pieter Stuurman.

The man I had never expected to see again.

The man whose name I hadn't even known that night.

My fingers curled into the sides of my dress.

Don't look at me.

Please don't look at me.

But he did.

His grey eyes moved toward me.

They stopped.

For a second, something changed in his expression.

Recognition?

Confusion?

I couldn't tell.

Then his eyes moved over my dress, my shoes, my hair.

I felt exposed.

"You are Palesa."

My mouth went dry.

"Yes."

I lowered my eyes.

"Yes, Meneer Stuurman."

"Come inside."

I followed him.

His office was bigger than my entire home.

One enormous desk.

Floor-to-ceiling windows.

Johannesburg stretched beneath us.

Everything looked small from up there.

People.

Cars.

Buildings.

My life.

And the office smelled like him.

Sandalwood.

Expensive.

Clean.

Cold.

"Sit."

I sat.

He remained standing.

He picked up my CV.

"Your CV says you have a National Diploma."

"Yes."

"Marketing."

"Yes."

"UNISA."

"Yes."

"2021."

I nodded.

He looked at the paper again.

"Your CV says you live in Pretoria."

"Sunnyside."

"How long does it take you to get here?"

"Depending on traffic... about an hour and a half."

His eyes lifted.

"Every day?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

I swallowed.

"Because I need the job."

Something flickered across his face.

It disappeared just as quickly.

He placed my CV on the desk.

"Your CV doesn't mention children."

My heart stopped.

The room suddenly felt too cold.

I stared at him.

Silence.

The aircon hummed above us.

I could hear my own heartbeat.

Boom.

Boom.

Boom.

"I don't..."

I stopped.

He waited.

I looked down at my hands.

"I have a son."

His jaw tightened slightly.

"How old?"

"Two."

He said nothing.

Then his eyes narrowed.

"Two?"

"Yes."

"Who looks after him while you work?"

"Mama Dineo. My neighbour."

"And if your son gets sick?"

"I'll handle it."

His gaze hardened.

"You'll handle it?"

"I always do."

For the first time, something almost like respect crossed his face.

Almost.

Then he leaned back against his desk.

His eyes remained on me.

"You smell like baby lotion."

My breath caught.

Johnson's.

The small pink bottle sitting beside Wisdom's clothes every morning.

I suddenly felt embarrassed.

"I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologising?"

"I..."

I didn't know what to say.

He looked at me for a long moment.

Then his gaze dropped to my wrist.

I followed it.

My rose tattoo.

Small.

Simple.

A little rose between two thin lines.

I'd gotten it when I was nineteen.

A stupid decision, I'd always called it.

But now Pieter was staring at it like it was something he'd seen before.

His expression changed.

Just slightly.

He stepped closer.

"That rose..."

My stomach twisted.

He looked at the tattoo for several seconds.

Then back at me.

"Where have I seen it before?"

My blood ran cold.

Before I could answer, my phone started ringing.

I looked at the screen.

MAMA DINEO.

My heart dropped.

I answered immediately.

"Hello?"

Wisdom's crying filled my ear.

"Mama! Mama!"

I closed my eyes.

"What's wrong?"

"He's been crying for you for ten minutes," Mama Dineo said.

I stood up.

"I'll come."

I ended the call.

When I looked up, Pieter was watching me.

His expression was unreadable.

"Your son?"

"Yes."

He looked at the phone in my hand.

Then at me.

Then back at the rose on my wrist.

Something shifted in his eyes.

I didn't understand it.

But I knew one thing.

Pieter Stuurman had started remembering me.