To: Trinity Luhabe

From: Ethan Bell

Where r u? Why not answering ur phone? Worried!

To: Ethan Bell

From: Trinity Luhabe

Sorry. Phone was on silent. Having most awesome time. Wish u were here.

To: Trinity Luhabe

From: Ethan Bell

Where r u?? Why didn’t u tell me u were going out?

To: Ethan Bell

From: Trinity Luhabe

U said u had action cricket 2nite.

To: Trinity Luhabe

From: Ethan Bell

Finished early. Where r u?

To: Ethan Bell

From: Trinity Luhabe

At Ajala’s club in Rivonia. Dancers are

incredible. We must come together some time. U’d love it!

To: Trinity Luhabe

From: Ethan Bell

Can’t believe ur at strip club with that criminal!!

Give me the address. Am coming to get you.

To: Ethan Bell

From: Trinity Luhabe

That’s crazy! Stay where u r. Switching phone off now.

C u 2moro. XX

“WHAT was that all about?” Steph asks as I put my phone away.

“Just Ethan throwing his toys because I’m out with Ajala. I thought I’d better switch my phone off before he does something silly.”

“Well, that’s the Perfect Boyfriend all over, isn’t it?” Steph says gaily. “He worries about every hair on your precious head.”

“Mm, I guess.”

I can’t believe how much Steph has cheered up. This has been one of our best nights out in a long time.

“You are still enjoying yourselves?” Ajala smiles as we order another round of Mai Tais.

“Yeah, baby!” Steph says in her Austin Powers voice. “Who knew stripper music was this much fun to dance to?”

“And who knew that strip clubs have dance floors?” I add. “I thought you were supposed to watch the dancing, not join in.”

“It is one of my innovations,” Ajala says. “I am glad you approve. And for the last time, this is not a strip club.”

“Well, the dancers do end up with far fewer clothes than they start off with.”

“Yes, but they don’t go all the way. It is no more than you would see on Clifton Beach in December.”

“So, when do we get to meet the dancers?” I ask, suddenly remembering his earlier promise.

“How about right now?”

Ajala laughs as Steph and I jump to our feet. This evening just gets better and better. I never thought I’d ever get to meet people who move like Beyoncé’s backup dancers.

Ajala takes us along a passage that leads behind the restaurant and around the side.

“So, do the girls ever do any moonlighting?” Steph asks as we walk.

“What do you mean?”

“You know … dating clients after hours. That kind of thing.”

“They are dancers, Stephanie, not prostitutes. The only moonlighting they do is at private ballet companies and dance studios.”

“But what would you do if you caught one of them seeing clients in her free time? Would you fire her?”

Sensing the Rottweiler, I glance sharply at Steph, but her face seems quite relaxed.

“I don’t treat my employees like children,” Ajala explains. “They can do what they want in their spare time. As long as they turn up for work punctually and give a hundred percent on the dance floor, it’s none of my business. Most of them like working here because the tips are good. But come and see for yourself.”

He leads us through to the backstage area.

“This is where the dancers relax between spots.”

The lounge is small and basic, but cosy, with a kitchenette at one end and a wall-mounted TV. Three girls and two guys are off duty. Their heavily made-up faces look strange under the fluorescent lighting, but apart from that they look pretty normal in their tracksuits, leotards and leggings.

As soon as Ajala walks into the room, they all snap to attention. The TV is instantly muted and feet are taken off the furniture. A guy making a cup of tea drops his teabag on the floor.

“Told you he was scary,” Steph whispers in my ear.

“That’s respect, not fear,” I hiss. Although, to tell you the truth, I’m not at all sure which it is.

“Meet Trinity and Stephanie – my downstairs neighbours,” Ajala introduces us. “They were enjoying the show and wanted to meet you.”

He rattles off the names of the dancers, but I barely catch them. Three of them wander off as soon as they’ve said hello, but two of the girls stay to chat. If I heard Ajala correctly, their names are Sappho and Electra.

Seriously.

“I’m so glad to meet you.” Steph sounds totally impressed. “Are those your real names?”

“Well, no,” Sappho admits. “I’m actually called Loyiso, and this is Annette. But we prefer Sappho and Electra, if that’s okay.”

“Of course.”

“Absolutely.”

“It’s just that they sound more glamorous,” she explains.

“I guess …” Steph hesitates. “Although Sappho was actually the world’s first lesbian, and Electra was a girl who fell in love with her father. But most people don’t know that.”

Sometimes that girl is just too clever for her own good.

Ajala is watching Steph with a tiny smile on his face, as if he knows exactly what she’s talking about – which I certainly don’t.

“The point is,” I go on. “We were totally in awe of your dance moves. We like to think we’re quite experienced in the hoof-flicking department, but you guys made us look clumsy.”

“Like a couple of heffalumps,” Steph agrees. “It’s that thing you do with your heads mainly. That hair-flick and body-pop thing, just as you move away from the pole. I tried it out on the dance floor earlier and thought I’d dislocated my neck.”

I rub the back of my own neck ruefully. “Me too. I’ll be needing physio at this rate.”

“Why don’t you girls come to one of our lap-dancing classes some time?” says Electra.

“You have lap-dancing classes?”

“Sure.” Sappho nods until her braids bounce. “It’s, like, totally popular with the local housewives. Not only does it teach them how to move well, but it’s a great workout at the same time. You should definitely come and check it out.”

Steph and I exchange excited glances. This is the kind of new experience we can’t resist.

Electra grabs a piece of paper from a nearby table and writes down an address. “You should come and join our Saturday morning class. It’s starting next month. You’d love it – the Saturday ladies are a bit younger than the ones that come during the week, and it’s so much fun.”

I glance at the slip of paper before sliding it into my bag. I recognise the address. It’s just off Rivonia Boulevard, close to the primary school.

“Your boyfriends will enjoy it, too” Sappho says with a wink. “Guys love a little home entertainment.”

“Oh, I don’t have a boyfriend,” Steph says quickly. “Trinity does, but I’m single at the moment.”

“You girls are on in ten.” Ajala looks at his watch and stands up. “We’d better let you get changed. See you out in front.”

*****

“So …” I say to Steph in the Ladies afterwards. “What do you think? Not quite what you were expecting, right?”

We’re freshening up before heading home. It’s already 2 am – much later than I’d planned on being out.

“Definitely not what I was expecting,” Steph acknowledges. “But in fact, it’s all a bit too good to be true.”

I roll my eyes. Typical Steph. She can never take anything at face value.

“And what about the lap-dancing class next month? We’re still going to that, right?”

“Don’t we have dinner at Kealiboga and Bongani’s place on the Friday night before the class?”

“Oh, right.” My face falls. “I forgot about that. If it’s a wild night, we won’t feel like getting out of bed the next morning, never mind dancing.”

Steph gives a hollow laugh. “A wild night. Ha! You wish. More like a tucked-up-in-bed-with-warm-Milo-by-ten-o’clock kind of night.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t you know we’re all getting a little too old for late nights, Trinity?” she says in perfect imitation of Kealiboga’s voice.

I immediately perk up at this whiff of gossip.

Kealiboga was one of our best friends at Rhodes. She and Bongani have been together forever. Since high school, at least. They dated all the way through varsity, and got engaged on the day they graduated. Then they waited patiently for all the dire warnings and advice from their parents to subside, and got married at the beginning of this year. I haven’t seen that much of them since the wedding, but I know Steph has popped in a few times.

I’m really excited about this dinner. Ethan and I have both been invited, along with Steph and Tyson – another good friend from Rhodes. It’ll be like a mini-reunion. I can’t wait.

“So, you don’t think we’re in for a debauched evening, then?” I ask. “All those old Rhodents under one roof?”

“Trinity, you have no idea how domesticated the newlyweds have become. I bet they spend Saturday mornings at the Designer Quarter looking at fabric swatches.

I snort with laughter. “No way!”

“You just wait and see. The one thing I can guarantee is that we won’t be too tired for lap-dancing class on Saturday.”

“Good, because I don’t want to miss it.”

We gather up our bags and head out the club to where Ajala is waiting in his car. I feel quite mellow and sleepy on the way home. This evening was a much bigger success than I expected. I’m even starting to hope that Ajala and Steph might have broken the ice. He is such a nice guy. Farouk and my dad were completely wrong about him.

Speaking of which …

“Hey, Ajala, is it true that you’re being sued?” I ask lazily. “Or at least that your club is?”

Ajala swivels his head to look at me.

“How do you know about that?” he asks sharply.

“I know one of the lawyers involved. He was telling me about it.”

“What is his name?”

“His name?”

“Yes, his name. I want to know the name of the man who told you that.”

“Well …” I stall, slightly surprised by his attitude. “Um, I don’t actually know. He was just some guy I met at a club.”

Ajala hits the steering wheel so hard the whole car shakes.

“It is true,” he says harshly. “As if it is not difficult enough setting up a place like this from scratch, we now have to deal with some stupid Moral Majority campaign.”

“I suppose it is a bit hard on the residents in this area,” Steph says. “There are quite a few dodgy clubs around. It can’t be easy trying to raise a family here.”

Ajala’s face hardens into an angry mask. “I grow tired of hearing that argument. This is not a residential part of Rivonia. It is made up of shops, restaurants, and clubs. It is not rational for the residents to wish us gone. We bring economic activity to their suburb.”

I see Steph opening her mouth to argue, but I frown her down.

I know there’s nothing she likes more than a heated debate, but this really isn’t the time or the place. We’re relying on Ajala to get us home in one piece tonight. It would be nice if she managed not to piss him off completely.

*****

It’s the morning after, and I’m not at my best. It was well after 3 am before I finally got to bed, and even then, I didn’t sleep very well.

But still, I managed to make it into the newsroom by 7.30. I’m kind of running out of hope that Barbara will ever be so impressed by my dedication that she’ll give me my own story to work on, but having started this early-bird policy, I can’t really stop. There’s always plenty to keep me busy on the traffic desk at that time of the morning, even if the news desk is fairly quiet.

I’ve only been here a few minutes when I realise that something unusual is going on. Reporters are flooding into the newsroom a good hour before I’d normally expect to see them. Some are talking urgently on their phones, while others fling themselves into their chairs and start typing at speed.

“What’s going on?” I ask Kallie.

“Drive-by shooting at the Bree Street taxi rank,” he says, picking up his own phone and starting to dial. “Four dead and lots more injured. Some right-wing organisation has claimed responsibility. They call themselves the Ystermag, but no one’s ever heard of them.”

Barbara holds the morning news conference on the run, shouting instructions and waving her hands about as she strides around the newsroom.

“Praven, Rejoice, Steve! Get down to Bree Street now and start collecting interviews. Mandy, the victims are on their way to the Helen Joseph hospital. Get over there and see what you can find out. Matsimela, phone your contacts at the taxi associations and ask if they know about any disputes or grudges at that rank. Charné, get on the phone to the AWB, the Wit Wolwe and any other far-right organisations you can find …”

“Why me?” Charné demands indignantly. “Just because I’m Afrikaans …”

“Yes, just because you’re Afrikaans. They’ll respond better if you talk to them in their own language. Find out what they know about this new organisation. Is it a splinter group, an import, or what?” She claps her hands impatiently. “Let’s get moving, people. Eight o’clock news is in twenty minutes. If it turns out that SAFM knows more about this than we do, I’m going to freak out.”

Praven almost knocks me flat as he rushes for the lifts, car keys already in his hand.

Within seconds, the newsroom is quiet again. The few people left behind are talking on their phones in low voices.

I’ve never felt like such a spare part in my life.

Okay, it’s time to grab this job by the throat. Time to create my own opportunities. I sidle over to Barbara’s work station and clear my throat. She doesn’t even look up.

“Barbara?”

“Mm?”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Like what?”

“Like make a few calls, or something. Maybe follow up on an angle no one else is covering …”

“You mean like what the well-dressed assassin is wearing this winter?” She gives a faint smile. “I don’t think so, Trinity, but thanks.”

“No, I mean something serious. I could phone the police …”

“Mohammad is already doing that.”

“Or the Department of Transport …”

“Leonie’s onto it.”

“I could Google suspected terrorist attacks for the last year …”

“That’s exactly what I’m doing.” She swivels her screen around so I can see her search. “There’s really nothing you need to do right now, Trinity, except help Kallie with the traffic reports. This incident is going to cause havoc with the morning traffic. That’s what you need to be focusing on. I’m a bit busy right now, so if you could please …” She makes a slight flapping motion with her hand.

With dragging steps, I walk back to my desk.

I slip on a pair of headphones and flip to the Metro Police band. What a great start to the day. Sometimes it feels like there’s no point even trying to get ahead in this job.

But then I remember the four people who were killed this morning, and all the others who are lying in hospital, and some of my perspective comes back. This really wasn’t a great start to their day either.

*****

The next few weeks don’t get a whole lot better. The Jozi newsroom is just as buzzy and exciting to work in as I always imagined it would be. It’s just that I never feel as if I’m part of the buzz.

At least there’s Kealiboga and Bongani’s dinner to look forward to. But why do Friday nights take so long to come around?

I can’t wait to see my varsity friends again. The time we spent together in Grahamstown created a bond that makes them feel like family. I’m especially excited to see Tyson. Even though he also lives in Joburg, I’ve hardly laid eyes on him this year. But that’s because of the MBA course he’s doing, which seems to gobble up all his free time.

I’m also really looking forward to introducing Ethan to my varsity friends. He knows almost nothing about that period in my life. His own university experience was completely different to mine. He went to Wits and carried right on living at home, almost as though he’d never left high school. I just know he’s going to love my Rhodes friends, and they’re going to love him.

Ethan is always super-attentive to me when we’re out with friends. I often notice other girls watching us enviously, probably wishing that their boyfriends paid them half as much attention. I know I shouldn’t feel smug, but I just can’t help it. He really is the perfect boyfriend.

It’s just as well we’ve cleared the air between us.

We had a tiny little … I don’t know what you’d call it … disagreement, maybe, the night I went out with Ajala and Steph. I knew Ethan was going to be cross with me for switching off my phone, but I didn’t realise how worried he’d be.

I got home at half past two in the morning to find him parked outside Northern Acres, in an absolute state. Apparently he’d been picturing me dead for hours, and was on the verge of calling the cops.

No sooner did he realise I was all right than he stopped being worried and started being pissed off. The main problem seemed to be that I hadn’t told him I was going out, and hadn’t asked him if he wanted to come too. I apologised and apologised until I couldn’t think of any more ways to say sorry, but none of it made any difference.

Eventually he said there needed to be some changes around here, and marched me into the flat to get my diary. By the time I got to bed, nearly an hour later, we’d marked off days and days of designated Couple Time over the next few weeks.

Basically, what it amounts to is that I’m booked solid until spring. There are a couple of Mondays and Tuesdays that don’t have a “CT” next to them, but that doesn’t really count. Those aren’t my going-out nights anyway.

I should be grateful, really, I know that.

My friends are always moaning about how their boyfriends don’t spend enough time with them. They’re always disappearing on boys’ nights out, or going away for male-bonding weekends. I’m so lucky that Ethan just wants to be with me.

Anyway.

It’s Friday night now – at long, long last – and I’m looking forward to killing two birds with one stone, spending Couple Time with Ethan and going out with my friends. It’s the best of both worlds.

I give my outfit one last tweak in the mirror before going to wait for Ethan in the sitting room, where I find Steph scooping up her car keys and heading out the front door.

“Hey, wait a sec,” I call. “I thought we were all going together. Ethan will be here in a minute. Why don’t you go with us?”

“Sorry, but I’ll need my own car later. I’m meeting some of the girls at Manhattan’s when this dinner is over. Tyson’s coming too, unless he’s managed to set up a hot date for himself.”

“That sounds great! I’d love to come.”

“Sorry.” Steph taps the calendar hanging on our fridge door. “There’s a big CT next to Friday night. That means Couple Time, right?”

“Oh … right.” For about two seconds, I try to convince myself that Ethan would just love to go out dancing after dinner tonight, but I know he won’t. He hates clubs. There’s no way he’ll say yes.

“Never mind,” Steph teases. “You and Ethan can always hook up with Kealiboga and Bongani at the Design Quarter tomorrow morning. You’ll be glad you had an early night.”

I aim a cushion at her head, but she skips out the door.

Ethan arrives a moment later and we drive to Kealiboga’s place. She and Bongani live in a two-bedroom apartment that’s quite a bit bigger than ours. Because it’s on the first floor, they have a balcony instead of a garden. It takes us nearly half an hour to get to Lonehill in the Friday evening traffic.

“This is it,” I say, after we’ve driven past rows and rows of almost identical complexes.

“Good security,” Ethan comments as the guard waves us through, once we’ve signed in.

“Ooh look, there’s Tyson’s car! He’s already here.” I point excitedly.

“So … this Tyson guy, will he be bringing a girlfriend?” Ethan asks as we get out of the car.

“Tyson?” I laugh. “Noooo, I don’t think so.”

“Then has he been invited as a partner for Steph, or what?”

“Er, no, wrong again. But don’t worry, you’ll soon figure it out.”

And he does.

I see the penny drop as we get into the apartment and Tyson rushes over to kiss me on the cheek once, twice, and just as I’m about to pull away, a third time.

“Oh my God, are we up to three kisses now?” I say, laughing. “I’d just got used to two.”

“Trinity …” Tyson looks soulfully into my eyes. “Would I lie to you?”

“Shame on you, Trinity,” Kealiboga pipes up. “If Tyson says it’s three kisses, it’s three kisses. Finished and klaar.”

“It is so great to see you guys!”

And it is. I can feel a huge grin about to split my face apart as I look around the room at Steph, Kealiboga, Bongani and Tyson – all my favourite people in the world. I introduce Ethan to everyone and have to suppress a giggle when I see Kealiboga mouthing, “He’s hot!” from behind his back and giving me a big thumbs-up. I just knew they were going to love him.

As we sit down with our drinks, I notice that the dining table is set for seven people. Which is a little odd as there are only six of us.

“So who else are you expec…?”

I get no further.

The chime of the doorbell echoes through the flat. As it dies away, there’s an immediate change in the atmosphere – a sudden tension that wasn’t there before. Glances are flying like frisbees between my friends. Steph has turned as red as a beetroot, and Kealiboga and Tyson seem to be locked in some kind of silent struggle. There’s a lot of eyebrow-waggling and sideways jerks of the head. The only person who looks as mystified as I feel is Ethan.

“Er … why don’t you get the door, Trinity?” Tyson says in a strange voice.

“Me?” I frown. “I don’t live here. Why would I get the door?”

“It’d be a big help if you did.” Bongani slips off to the kitchen. “I’m just getting a beer,”

“And I need to stir the soup.” Kealiboga speed-walks after him.

“Go on, Trinity,” Steph urges. “You’re closest.”

“Okayyy …”

Something feels off here, but I’m not sure what.

Feeling like a character in a play, I get up and walk to the door. But as my hand closes around the doorknob, I know, with a sudden clarity, exactly who is waiting on the other side. I freeze, with my hand on the knob, fighting the urge to take a giant leap backwards off the balcony. Then I force myself to calm down. I’ve had these psychic moments before, and the one thing they all had in common is that they were always wrong.

I take a deep breath and fling open the door.

It’s Farouk.

Just as I suspected. He’s got his hands in his pockets and his head lowered, and he’s looking up at me with that puppy dog expression he used to wear when he’d been up to no good.

“Hi, Trinity.”

“I …”

I have no idea what to say to him, so instead, I spin around to confront my friends.

“It was Tyson’s idea,” Kealiboga says at the exact same moment that Tyson says, “It was Kealiboga’s idea.”

“That’s funny,” Farouk says with a grin. “Because it was Steph who phoned to invite me.”

I’m speechless. My eyebrows are raised so high, they’ve met up with my hairline.

“We wanted to see him!” Steph blurts out. “He’s our friend too, remember? It didn’t feel right having a reunion without him. Just because you broke up with him, you can’t expect us never to see him again. What about our feelings, Trinity? You might think about that for a change.”

This would all have been a lot more convincing if I hadn’t noticed Tyson mouthing the words along with Steph. They’d obviously rehearsed this little speech.

“And what about Farouk?” Steph gestures dramatically. “What about his friendship with Bongani and Tyson? Is he just supposed to abandon it? You know, Trinity, as we all walk through this life together …”

“Oh all right, all right!” I say irritably. “I get it. Farouk’s here. No big deal. Kealiboga and Bongani can invite whoever they like to their house. We’re all grownups. Ethan and I don’t mind at all, do we darling?”

I edge closer to Ethan and slide my hand into his.

“Of course not!” He pats my hand awkwardly – I can sense his embarrassment.

I give him a reassuring smile as the others surge forward to greet Farouk. Steph and Kealiboga hug him warmly, while the guys go through all the rituals of knuckle bumps, elaborate handshakes, and backslapping embraces. Farouk and Ethan limit themselves to a stiff handshake.

“What about you, Trinity?” Tyson says mischievously. “Aren’t you going to say a proper hello to Farouk? It’s three kisses, remember?”

“Hi, Farouk.” I stay where I am and give him a feeble little wave.

He smiles as though he knows exactly what I’m thinking.

“Hi, Trinity.”

Then my life flashes before my eyes as he closes in for a peck on the cheek. Just one, thank goodness. It’s all over in a second, but my heart is racing in my chest and my mouth is dry. I give my knees an experimental little jiggle. Yup. Jelly. Thought so.

It’s just chemistry, I remind myself. Pure biology. And the sooner I get used to it, the better, because it’s obviously not going to go away. I edge my way back to the safety of Ethan’s side.

*****

A couple of hours later, my body’s treacherous reaction to Farouk is absolutely the last thing on my mind.

I’m too busy trying to stay awake during Bongani’s description of the new sofa cushions he’s ordered. We’re into the second hour of the Great Fabric Debate, and I am slowly losing the will to live.

Now I know exactly what Steph meant. Kealiboga and Bongani really have changed since they got married. Not only do they finish each other’s sentences, but every sentence happens to be about domestic trivia. We’ve already discussed in detail how they came to choose every piece of furniture in their flat, and now we’ve moved on to the block-out lining on their curtains. If you’ve got half an hour to spare, I could tell you exactly how it stops the sun from fading their carpet.

Only I wouldn’t … because that would be BORING.

Is this what marriage does to people? I mean, look at Tyson over there. He’s been stifling yawns all evening – and he has a higher tolerance for décor chit-chat than most.

Even their fights are boring. They had a little spat about whose turn it was to load the dishwasher that made my eyes glaze over. It’s all very weird. Kealiboga is still the same sweet girl she always was, but she’s moved into a different phase in her life. And I’m nowhere near ready to follow her there.

Tyson keeps trying to liven up the conversation by changing the subject. Now at last he seems to have hit on something interesting. He’s asking Kealiboga about the lobola arrangements for her marriage.

“It wasn’t easy,” she admits. “The negotiations had been carrying on for weeks and weren’t getting any closer to settlement. I was getting so stressed. I mean, the invitations had already gone out and everything. It was starting to cause bad feeling between the families. My dad was like, ‘We didn’t send you to university only to give you away cheaply in marriage like some cut-price girl from the rural areas.’ And I’m like, ‘Is that all I am to you, Papa – a piece of meat to be bought and sold?’ So then he tells me not to be cheeky.”

I laugh. That’s exactly what my dad would have said.

“So, what happened then?” Steph asks, agog.

“So then I went online to find out how other girls were handling it. I Googled lobola and got a whole stack of hits about modern trends. The one I liked best was where both families sold some cattle to raise money for the couple to start married life. So I ran it past my dad …”

“And he totally went for it,” Bongani takes up the story. “So we put down a deposit on this flat and still had money left over for a fridge. It was a major bonus for us.”

Ethan is wrinkling his nose.

“I can’t believe that’s still going on in this day and age,” he says. “It’s like something out of the dark ages. You were right to be indignant, Kealiboga. It’s outrageous.”

There’s a sudden silence.

I rush to fill it, but Farouk gets in ahead of me. As soon as he starts talking all eyes turn to him. The same thing used to happen at varsity – Farouk was one of those lecturers who never had to raise his voice.

“I think lobola is a good system, actually.”

“How do you figure that?” Ethan sounds almost aggressive.

“It protects women by giving them a financial standing in the community. Women are valued because they attract wealth to their families. The birth of a girl child is regarded as something to be celebrated. In communities where the dowry system operates, you get the opposite problem. Women represent a loss of wealth to their families, so girl foetuses are routinely aborted and female infanticide is practised. I’ll take lobola over that any day.”

“Yes, but …”

Ethan can’t seem to get his thoughts together. He’s finding out something I already know – which is that it’s not easy to argue with Farouk. Everything he says sounds so damn reasonable. You tie yourself up in knots trying to argue with him, and then spend the next few days thinking of all the brilliant things you could have said if only you’d thought of them at the time.

“That exactly it,” Kealiboga says gratefully. “There is definitely a place for lobola in today’s world. It binds families together and acknowledges the value of women. It’s just frustrating when you’re in the middle of your wedding preparations and everything’s being held up by stubborn old men who can’t agree on anything.”

*****

“Ahhh …” I let out a huge sigh of relief. “Now this is a whole lot better.”

With a Kahlua in one hand and the TV remote in the other, I sink back into the sofa.

“You look awfully comfortable for someone suffering from a migraine, plus severe period pain,” Steph says. “That’s the whole reason I came home with you, remember? To look after the poor, suffering invalid.”

“Oh … that …” I feel a slight blush. “Okay, I may possibly have told Ethan one or two tiny fibs to get out of Couple Time. But I just couldn’t face any more domesticity. Not after tonight. Kealiboga and Bongani act like they’re forty-three, not twenty-three. I needed a break from it all.”

“So, does that mean you will come out dancing with me?”

“Tempting,” I say. “Very tempting. But I couldn’t do that to Ethan. That would change my fib into a blatant lie. And, anyway, I’m happy enough just being at home. It’s such a relief knowing that I can put my feet up on the furniture and set my glass down anywhere I like without having to look around for a coaster.”

“And without having someone explain to you exactly what a good deal they got on the coffee table at the Wetherley’s sale.”

We giggle together.

“One thing tonight has taught me is that I’m not ready for all that yet,” Steph says, stretching her arms over her head and yawning. “All that cosy contentment with the person you’re going to spend the rest of your life with. I’ve got a lot more living to do before I settle down.”

“Me too.”

Steph looks sceptical.

“Really?”

“Oh, absolutely. I’m years away from being ready. Years.”

“Hmm …”

“What?”

“I’m just thinking that you might want to check with the Perfect Boyfriend that you two are on the same page. Because he has ‘cosy’ and ‘settled’ written all over him.”