As 2000 drew to a close, I took stock of what had been one hell of a year. The Treacle investment. The whirlwind planning for next year's expansion of Fishy Pete's Fly of the Month Club into America. All while making sure our bread-and-butter business---Rapala orders and the retail shops---kept running smoothly.
Never one to let business interfere with a holiday, Terry set about planning our end-of-year break. She booked us a place on the north coast of Natal, at Ballito. Given our newfound liquidity, she went all out: a kick-ass beach-front bungalow with its own swimming pool. When December rolled around, we piled into the Discovery---Terry, me, Mikey, Angie, Olie, and Martine, our lovely maid who adored the kids. For once, the bloody thing didn't break down on the way.
It was magical.
I'd go pick mussels off the rocks at low tide and cook them fresh for the kids. Mikey and I flew my kite on the beach until our arms ached. We fished. We swam. We built sandcastles and chased waves. I really started to believe that our marital troubles were behind us and that the business success I'd always dreamed of was just around the corner.
One evening, Terry and I went to the casino. I put my blackjack skills to the test, and we had a genuinely great time---laughing, winning a bit, losing a bit. When the evening ended, we walked out to the Discovery and started kissing. We couldn't wait. Right there in the parking lot, we climbed into the back seat and made love before driving home.
A funny kind of closure to what had happened there a few years earlier with Jonathan. But in that moment, it felt like a new beginning.
Was it possible? Could my wife actually love me again?
We ran into people we knew. Robert Mauvis---an old boyfriend of Briony's and a fantastic French-Mauritian chap who owned the Saint Geran restaurant in Durban---came up for dinner. We reminisced about the old days with my dad, who Robert had adored. He'd spent a lot of time with him back when life was simpler, and those stories brought him back to life for a few hours.
Then there was the couple who'd run the Critchley Hackle when I'd had my thirtieth birthday bash---their names escape me now. They were living in the area by then and joined us for dinner one night. I had this beautiful handmade filleting knife that Niels Pretorius had crafted for me, and the husband admired it so much I ended up just giving it to him. It felt right---a generous gesture in a generous moment.
We also invited Belinda for dinner. She'd been living in Dullstroom at the same time we had, a close friend of Kim's. Kim had once told me that Belinda thought I was "quite something" and couldn't understand Terry's behaviour with Jonathan. As you can imagine, I had no objection when Terry suggested we invite her. Belinda would come up again a few years down the line.
When the holiday ended, we drove back via Howick and stopped overnight at Rawdon's Hotel---the same place where, years earlier, Adrian had tried to seduce me during that infamous varsity weekend trip to Durban. Thankfully, he was long gone by then.
Looking back now, that Ballito holiday was the last time we were truly happy as a complete family. I knew I was happy and the kids definitely were. If Terry wasn's she certainly did a damn good job of faking it. I don't mean to sound sorry for myself---it's just a fact. The storm clouds were already gathering, even if I couldn't see them yet. But for those two perfect weeks on the north coast, with the sound of the waves and my children's laughter, everything felt whole.
I didn't know then that I should have held on tighter to every moment.