'Then you asked Mma Bapitse about me,' Nandira said quietly. 'She's that trader. She told me that you were asking about me.'
Mma Ramotswe made a mental note to be careful of Mma Bapitse in the future.
'So, why are you following me?' asked Nandira, turning in her seat to stare at Mma Ramotswe.
Mma Ramotswe thought quickly. There was no point in denying it, and she may as well try to make the most of a difficult situation. So she told Nandira about her father's anxieties and how he had approached her.
'He wants to find out whether you're seeing boys,' she said. 'He's worried about it.'
Nandira looked pleased.
'Well, if he's worried, he's only got himself to blame if I keep going out with boys.'
'And are you?' asked Mma Ramotswe. 'Are you going out with lots of boys?'
Nandira hesitated. Then, quietly: 'No. Not really.'
'But what about this Jack?' asked Mma Ramotswe.
'Who's he?'
For a moment it seemed as if Nandira was not going to reply. Here was another adult trying to pry into her private life, and yet there was something about Mma Ramotswe that she trusted. Perhaps she could be useful; perhaps…
'Jack doesn't exist,' she said quietly. 'I made him up.'
'Why?'
Nandira shrugged. 'I want them-my family-to think I've got a boyfriend,' she said. 'I want them to think there's somebody I chose, not somebody they thought right for me.' She paused. 'Do you understand that?'
Mma Ramotswe thought for a moment. She felt sorry for this poor, overprotected girl, and imagined just how in such circumstances one might want to pretend to have a boyfriend.
'Yes,' she said, laying a hand on Nandira's arm. 'I understand.'
Nandira fidgeted with her watchstrap.
'Are you going to tell him?' she asked.
'Well, do I have much choice?' asked Mma Ramotswe. 'I can hardly say that I've seen you with a boy called Jack when he doesn't really exist.'
Nandira sighed. 'Well, I suppose I've asked for it. It's been a silly game.' She paused. 'But once he realises that there's nothing in it, do you think that he might let me have a bit more freedom? Do you think that he might let me live my life for a little without having to tell him how I spend every single minute?'
'I could try to persuade him,' said Mma Ramotswe. 'I don't know whether he'll listen to me. But I could try.'
'Please do,' said Nandira. 'Please try.'
They watched the film together, and both enjoyed it. Then Mma Ramotswe drove Nandira back in her tiny white van, in a companionable silence, and dropped her at the gate in the high white wall. The girl stood and watched as the van drove off, and then she turned and pressed the bell.
'Patel place here. What do you want?'
'Freedom,' she muttered under her breath, and then, more loudly: 'It's me, Papa. I'm home now.'
MMA RAMOTSWE telephoned Mr Patel early the next morning, as she had promised to do. She explained to him that it would be better for her to speak to him at home, rather than to explain matters over the telephone.
'You've got bad news for me,' he said, his voice rising. 'You are going to be telling me something bad-bad. Oh my God! What is it?'
Mma Ramotswe reassured him that the news was not bad, but she still found him looking anxious when she was shown into his study half an hour later.
'I am very worried,' he said. 'You will not understand a father's worries. It is different for a mother. A father feels a special sort of worry.'
Mma Ramotswe smiled reassuringly. 'The news is good,' she said. 'There is no boyfriend.' 'And what about this note?' he said. 'What about this Jack person? Is that all imagination?'
'Yes,' said Mma Ramotswe simply. 'Yes, it is.' Mr Patel looked puzzled. He lifted his walking stick and tapped his artificial leg several times. Then he opened his mouth to speak, but said nothing.
'You see,' said Mma Ramotswe, 'Nandira has been inventing a social life for herself. She made up a boyfriend for herself just to bring a bit of… of freedom into her life. The best thing you can do is just to ignore it. Give her a bit more time to lead her own life. Don't keep asking her to account for her time. There's no boyfriend and there may not even be one for some time.'
Mr Patel put his walking stick down on the floor. Then he closed his eyes and appeared deep in thought.
'Why should I do this?' he said after a while. 'Why should I give in to these modern ideas?'
Mma Ramotswe was ready with her answer. 'Recause if you don't, then the imaginary boyfriend may turn into a real one. That's why.'
Mma Ramotswe watched him as he wrestled with her advice. Then, without warning he stood up, tottered for a while before he got his balance, and then turned to face her.
'You are a very clever woman,' he said. 'And I'm going to take your advice. I will leave her to get on with her life, and then I am sure that in two or three years she will agree with us and allow me to arra… to help her to find a suitable man to marry.'
'That could easily happen,' said Mma Ramotswe, breathing a sigh of relief.
'Yes,' said Mr Patel warmly. 'And I shall have you to thank for it all!'
MMA RAMOTSWE often thought about Nandira when she drove past the Patel compound, with its high white wall. She expected to see her from time to time, now that she knew what she looked like, but she never did, at least not until a year later, when, while taking her Saturday morning coffee on the verandah of the President Hotel, she felt somebody tap her shoulder. She turned round in her seat, and there was Nandira, with a young man. The young man was about eighteen, she thought, and he had a pleasant, open expression.
'Mma Ramotswe,' said Nandira in a friendly way. 'I thought it was you.'
Mma Ramotswe shook Nandira's hand. The young man smiled at her.
'This is my friend,' said Nandira. 'I don't think you've met him.'
The young man stepped forward and held out his hand.
'Jack,' he said.
CHAPTER TEN
MMA RAMOTSWE drove her tiny white van before dawn along the sleeping roads of Gaborone, past the Kalahari Breweries, past the Dry Lands Research Station, and out onto the road that led north. A man leaped out from bushes at the side of the road and tried to flag her down; but she was unwilling to stop in the dark, for you never knew who might be wanting a lift at such an hour. He disappeared into the shadows again, and in her mirror she saw him deflate with disappointment. Then, just past the Mochudi turnoff, the sun came up, rising over the wide plains that stretched away towards the course of the Limpopo. Suddenly it was there, smiling on Africa, a slither of golden red ball, inching up, floating effortlessly free of the horizon to dispel the last wisps of morning mist.
The thorn trees stood clear in the sharp light of morning, and there were birds upon them, and in flight- hoopoes, louries, and tiny birds which she could not name. Here and there cattle stood at the fence which followed the road for mile upon mile. They raised their heads and stared, or ambled slowly on, tugging at the tufts of dry grass that clung tenaciously to the hardened earth.
This was a dry land. Just a short distance to the west lay the Kalahari, a hinterland of ochre that stretched off,
