Mr Not Quite Good Enough Read Online Free PDF Page B

knew she was telling them a story, she’d seen her do it a thousand times before. Stories her sister swore were god’s truth, even though they were about as long and twisted as any story could get. She’d start quietly and reel the audience in; before long they were caught, mesmerised, and by the end they were her lifelong captives.
    Despite herself, Gorata smiled. Mmandu was more of a mother to her than a sister. She was only five years older, but their mother died when Gorata was ten, and Mmandu took over all the domestic duties while their father, a primary school teacher, was busy with his students. Gorata loved Mmandu and, despite all of the headaches she knew were in store for her, she was happy to see her.
    Mmandu looked up and spotted Gorata and Kelebogile coming towards her. She stopped in mid-sentence. “Ah! Gorata-wee! Kele-wee!” She came running towards them as fast as a 130-kilogram woman could run, her long arms outstretched, ready to grab the two friends up in her monster hug.
    They disappeared in her breasts and she rocked them back and forth. “Oh, my darlings. Come, come meet my new friends.”
    Gorata and Kelebogile were pulled over to the gathering of about twenty people, all originally on their way somewhere, but then they met Mmandu and somehow they suddenly all had time to stand around and listen to her and her stories. She already knew each of their names, where they came from, where they were going and who they’d come to visit. She even had their phone numbers, and when the three women were getting ready to leave almost thirty minutes later, the people all hugged Mmandu goodbye as if they were taking leave of an old friend.
    As the crowd cleared away and she turned towards Mmandu’s luggage, Gorata was reminded of why her sister’s presence in Joburg created problems. “All of this?” she asked.
    There were two gigantic, overstuffed suitcases, a huge cardboard box wrapped with rolls of packaging tape, a size 30 cast-iron pot with a smaller size 15 next to it, and . . . “And what is that?”
    Kelebogile turned her head. “Is that a . . .”
    â€œ. . . goat?” Gorata finished.
    â€œEe, I thought we’d make a small celebration, since this is the first time I’m coming to your new house in Soweto.” Mmandu smiled, proud of her initiative.
    â€œHow did you bring a goat on the bus from Rustenburg?” Gorata gasped, still in shock.
    â€œWell, the conductor is a cousin of Mma Moleele, the old cleaner at Daddy’s school. He was keen to help. We hid the goat under the bus so the animal people wouldn’t take it.”
    â€œYou’ve probably broken a hundred laws already, but how do you think we’re going to get all of this stuff and your goat to my house?” Gorata asked.
    â€œIn your car,” Mmandu said, as if her younger sister had gone crazy. She heaved the size 30 pot onto her head, where it balanced precariously, picked up the two suitcases and led her goat, which bleated non-stop, to Gorata’s car.
    Gorata looked at Kelebogile. “Didn’t I tell you? Didn’t I tell you? ”
    Kelebogile put the size 15 pot on top of the box and stood waiting for Gorata to pick up her side, saying nothing. Gorata bent down and picked up the box. She thought she heard a rooster crowing somewhere inside. She sighed heavily and they carried the box to the car. She didn’t really want to know what was in it.

Chapter 4
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    Gorata decided on a traditional Ghanaian dress for the ANC fundraiser to which Showa was taking her. The dress was royal blue with white lines running through it. It was one of her favourites. At least with Showa she didn’t have to be careful what she wore, he hardly ever noticed. She needn’t fear he’d make her change her dress or re-do her hair.
    Gorata had met Showa through work. He owned a fleet of trucks and invested some of his money in the stock market.