Chapter 8 - What Sipho Took

Because Sipho lied to me about you too.

I stared at him across the kitchen table. The affidavit was still between us. His face was wet. My hand was still warm from slapping him.

What does that mean, I said.

He took a breath. He had been holding the next part the way a man holds water in cupped hands — afraid to spill it.

Sipho told me you knew everything, Irene. He said you ran the books on the side. He said you'd watched him route the invoices and you'd signed off on the company structures. He said when the Hawks came you offered to testify against me to save him because the two of you had it planned. That you were never going to come down with us. That the affidavit was your choice.

He told you I was the architect?

He told me you were the architect. He told me he was the man you were using.

I sat there. The washing machine kicked off. The cycle ended. Somewhere a dog started barking. The kitchen smelled of the tea I had drunk cold an hour ago.

I did not know, I said. My voice was small. I did not know any of it.

I know.

How?

Because I watched you for six weeks, Irene.

He sat back in the chair. His hands came off the table. One of them went to his face — wiped the wet of it. Then both hands came down to his lap and stayed there.

I came here knowing the version of you Sipho gave me. The clever wife. The architect. The woman who got to keep the house because she made a deal with the prosecutor. The woman who walked away clean while I went to Leeuwkop for three years.