Joan was hiding under the shade of a cahew tree when Mr James spotted her. He was straight to her then stood an inch from her. He had never seen her before, only from the fact that their mother never stopped talking about her.
Joan was hugging herself as she cried. Mr. James didn't know how best to comfort her. He came slowly to her and embraced her, patting her back calmly. He was well afraid that she might push him off but she didn't. Instead, she clung to him and cried harder.
"You don't have to hate her. You can hate me instead." He said something at last.
Her eyes peered up at him. What was he saying?
Her teary face was indeed beautiful and he had no idea if she was Jemaima or Joan, they both had looked exactly alike.
She returned her head to his embrace while he patted her back.
"It's alright now. You should be happy to see your mum, not run away." He said to her.
She sniffed, wiped her face and paused her tears.
"Now, that's better." He brought out a handkerchief and handed it to her.
Joan sat down on the ground. Mr James was puzzled, he debated if he should do the same. Finally, he had to follow suit. She had lived her life on the streets so he should well understand.
"Please, sit down. It's clean." Joan surprisingly heard herself say to him.
Mr James took his place beside her. They were both quiet for a while. She returned his handkerchief, thanking him for it. He smiled and told her to keep it.
"I ran away because I suddenly became scared of her. She is like a different person entirely." Joan started, glancing at him from time to time.
"You are Joan, right?" He wanted to be sure.
"Yes, I am." She nodded with a smile.
"Why would you be scared of her?" He scoffed.
"Because I realized that she should have been the one looking for us not we looking for her." Joan explained.
"We did look for you. That's why those robbers were caught." He said.
"We?" The pronoun amused her.
"Yes. After what had happened with those robbers. They sold your mum and other young women to some prostitute factory. Fortunately, the police attacked."
Joan stared on in shock when she heard that.
"Your mum was scared to her wits. She reached out to me first and relayed the dreadful news. I came running. She wouldn't give you guys up. She couldn't sleep at nights. We pasted your posters all over social media and on every street posts. How could we lose two of you in a day? We have never remained the same."
"What happened to the robbers when they were caught by the police?"
"One was killed, that is their leader, while the others fled the scene."
"Did mum return to the exact place to look for us?"
"A thousand times. We reached out to the police station including the court. Your mum would never give you up. We will never give you up." He reached out to touch her hand.
"And you?"
"I will never give you up, Joan." He told her.
She smiled and jumped into his arms. She liked him and she could tell that they would be best friends.
"Joan," Mrs James called. She was standing beside Jemaima who was coming close to them. Her lovely Joan, the shy, timid one had become the one who could face the world courageously. Her lovely Joan.
Joan stood up like a little girl and her new dad did the same. Her mum stretched out her hands to receive Joan and Joan raced happily into them.
********
As they drive back to their new home in Mr James Black Porsche, Joan was talking excitedly to her new dad. She sat beside him while he drove them home. Mrs James was quiet as she watched them, she must have felt a pang of jealousy watching them both but she was content and happy.
Jemaima didn't seem so excited about their new dad or their new home. She thought about Steve instead. How would he be treated in the reformatory school? It was all her fault, she could have done something.
But what could she even do?
Poor Steve. But want the reformatory school far better than him being in jail? Or was it not the same?
She looked through the window of the car and watched other street urchins by the road side. Some were searching the waste bin for some food. Tears formed in her eyes and memories washed over her.
"Jemaima?" Her mum called.
"Yes mum." She turned to look at her mother who reached out to squeezed her hand lovingly. She indeed missed this, she missed home too.