Saturday is warm and sunny – the perfect day for a wedding. Tom holds my hand as we walk into the church together. He is wearing jeans and another un-ironed T-shirt, his camera dangling from a strap round his neck.

And he is not a stranger. Definitely not! Sitting there on a church pew beside him, I feel like I have finally come home. I feel safe and secure – the way I used to feel back when I was a little girl and my mom and dad were still alive. And I didn’t have to worry about anything.

“You look lovely,” Tom whispers from beside me. “I can’t wait for you to meet my friends. I know they’ll love you.”

Then the music swells. The bride walks up the aisle, looking radiant beneath her bridal veil, while Tom snaps photos of her. Up at the front of the church, her groom stands waiting in his smart tuxedo. He is smiling, with his eyes fixed only on his bride.

And yes, I admit: I am imagining how wonderful it would be – to be the bride myself. To be walking up the aisle dressed in white with Tom waiting for me there at the altar. Will he be dressed in a smart suit? Surely he won’t wear a T-shirt to his own wedding?

Not that I would care if he was in a T-shirt! I think I am in love. Already! Properly in love. This feels so different from the way it felt with Gordon. Or Mawhi. Or JB. Or even Lesego.

But then the bridesmaids walk in. Two at a time, dressed in soft turquoise and silver and carrying bouquets of tiny white flowers.

A sickening thought strikes me, destroying my romantic day-dream.

Nomvula will have to be my bridesmaid, right? How could she not, being my only sister? Yes, she would be walking there behind me. And if I looked towards Tom waiting there at the altar, what would I see? Would his eyes be fixed on my bridesmaid? Would he be gazing at my stunningly beautiful sister walking behind me?

The pastor is a very old man. He begins the wedding ceremony. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered together…” But I can barely hear him. I am lost in my own private nightmare.

At the reception, while we are dishing up food from the buffet, Tom asks, “So when do I get invited to your home, Tiny?”

“Soon,” I lie.

“And your family? I really want to get to know them. I want to know all there is to know about you.”

“I only have a sister. But she’s away in Durban,” I lie again.

Tom puts down his plate. He takes my face in his hands, looks deeply into my eyes. “You’re not hiding anything from me, are you, Tiny? Like a husband? Or a long-term partner?”

“Of course not,” I laugh. But I feel bad about my lies.

Later, after many more photos, Tom puts down his camera and takes me onto the dance floor. He holds me close and rocks me slowly to the bluesy music. But I am still feeling bad about lying. What way is this to begin a relationship?

But what choice do I have?

***

Tell us what you think: Are Tiny’s fears realistic?