BENTON TUCKER DLAMINI

10TH FLOOR

BENTON HOUSE

KATHERINE STREET

SANDOWN

2194

To: trinityluhabe@jozitalks.co.za

From: ellistucker@btd.co.za

Subject: Re: Rivonia Concerned Residents Association

Dear Ms Luhabe,

Thank you for your request for an interview regarding our above clients. I have spoken to my clients and they are delighted by the media interest in their cause. They are happy for us to discuss the legal implications of this matter with you.

The best person to speak to would be Farouk van der Linde, who is currently doing his pupillage under the mentorship of the junior counsel in this matter, Advocate Chris Pretorius. You can contact him at Fischer Chambers in Sandown Village, 011 293 7000. He was most closely involved in drawing up the papers and is very well acquainted with the issues.

I look forward to hearing your broadcast.

Yours sincerely,

Ellis Tucker

THE FISCHER GROUP OF ADVOCATES

FISCHER CHAMBERS

SANDOWN VILLAGE

SANDOWN

2194

To: trinityluhabe@jozitalks.co.za

From: chrispretorius@fischer.co.za

Subject: Re: Rivonia Concerned Residents Association

Dear Ms Luhabe

Thank you for your interest in the above matter. I am informed by my instructing attorney that the clients have agreed to allow this matter to be discussed with the media.

Please feel free to contact my pupil Farouk van der Linde for a statement. He was closely involved in drafting the papers and has time in his schedule to meet with you. Unfortunately, I am in London until the end of this week, and in New York next week, so I won’t be able to help you.

Both I and the senior counsel in this matter, Advocate Izzy Cohen, are satisfied to leave all statements to the media in the capable hands of Mr van der Linde.

My secretary will forward his contact details to you.

Yours sincerely

Chris Pretorius

THE FISCHER GROUP OF ADVOCATES

FISCHER CHAMBERS

SANDOWN VILLAGE

SANDOWN

2194

To: trinityluhabe@jozitalks.co.za

From: isaaccohen@fischer.co.za

Subject: Re: Rivonia Concerned Residents Association

Dear Ms Luhabe

Advocate Isaac Cohen presents his compliments and says you may safely refer all questions in this matter to Mr Farouk van der Linde. He has a thorough knowledge of the case, as well as the time to answer questions. Unfortunately, Advocate Cohen is currently serving as an acting judge in the Witwatersrand Local Division and will therefore be unavailable to comment for the next six weeks.

All the best with your research.

Yours sincerely,

Geraldine Botha

Secretary to Adv Isaac Cohen SC

I TAKE a deep, cleansing breath to calm myself down.

It doesn’t work, so I take another. And another.

Then I take a sip of my water before I begin to hyperventilate. But that doesn’t work either, because the bubbles tickle my nose and I start to sneeze. Why did I order sparkling water when I really wanted still? Could it be because I’m a big doofus whose brain is not connected to her mouth? Yes, that must be it.

So now I’m sneezing my head off, and everyone in the restaurant is turning to look at me. Pigalle just isn’t the place for noisy sneezing fits. It’s full of businessmen clinching multimillion rand deals and older couples celebrating their – I don’t know – 150th wedding anniversaries or something.

I manage to get the sneezing under control before anyone’s forced to call Netcare 911. Then I take out a compact and discreetly check my makeup. Eyes watering? Yes. Swollen nose? Yes. Smudged mascara? Yes.

It’ll be fine, though. I’ll just pop into the Ladies to sort myself out. There’s lots of time. Lots and lots of time. Because I am very early for my date with Ethan.

I always do this when I’m nervous about meeting someone. I arrive really early to give my nerves time to settle. I’ve even been known to duck out the back when I see my date arriving, only to slip in again by the front entrance a few minutes later so that it looks as though I’m the one who’s fashionably late. And yes – I know that’s crazy.

But tonight I really needed time to think. To be perfectly honest, I still haven’t decided what I’m going to say to Ethan when he asks me to move in with him. Sometimes I think I’m going to say yes, and other times I think I’ll say it’s too soon. And if you think that’s indecisive, you should have seen me choosing what to wear tonight. I didn’t want to send out the wrong message. If I’d got all dolled up I’d have been saying: I know this is a special occasion and I’m doing justice to it by wearing a special dress. And I really, really did not want to be saying that.

So in the end I went with a really colourful wrap dress with black leggings. It’s more Hard Rock Café than Pigalle, but that’s better than letting Ethan think I’m expecting some huge big announcement.

Okay, let’s calm down and think rationally for a moment. Would it really be such a big deal for me to move in with him? Lots of people do this and it seems to work out perfectly well for them. People my age, if not younger.

It might even be good for our relationship. I might feel more relaxed in his company and he might stop being so … clingy. It would probably mean the end of Couple Time, for one thing. I bet Ethan would let me spend more time with my friends if he knew I’d be coming home to him every night. So, in a way, this might actually be liberating for me.

It’s just that … this isn’t what I thought I’d be doing with my life right now. I thought I’d be happily single and sharing a flat with Steph for a few more years before settling down.

But can I really bring myself to say no to Ethan?

My mind shies away from the idea. The thought of hurting him makes me feel clammy all over. He’s such a good guy. I don’t want to be the mean girl who breaks his heart. Just thinking about how hurt he’d be makes me want to burst into tears.

No, it will definitely be simpler all round if I just say yes.

Now, where should we live?

I slip into an elaborate fantasy about a huge penthouse apartment overlooking the Sandton CBD. It’ll have floor-to-ceiling windows and a 360-degree view – either the Michelangelo Towers or the Raphael, I haven’t quite decided. (Ethan and I have somehow morphed into millionaires.)

I’m busy choosing our hardwood floorboards – bleached pine, in case you were wondering – when I hear someone say, “Trinity.” I look up in a daze. It’s Ethan.

And, oh God, he’s wearing a suit.

Ethan never wears suits. Like, never ever. Its totally against the corporate culture of his division at Discovery. The way Ethan describes it, you can practically get fired for wearing a suit. Unless you’re a woman of course, in which case you can dress as smartly as you like. So, as a result, all the women look like polished professionals and all the men look like beach bums. I completely disapprove.

Anyway. Not the point.

The point is that Ethan is wearing a suit tonight, which means that this dinner is Very Important.

I stand up to give him a kiss, feeling even more under-dressed in my casual outfit.

“So!” I start babbling the moment we sit down. “How was your day? Tell me all about it. I want to hear every detail.”

Ethan can’t resist talking about work. He tells me all about some departmental meeting they had today and all the software upgrades that have been green-lighted. I keep prodding him with questions and before we know it, the starters have arrived. Ethan has ordered a rocket salad with dressing on the side, while I’ve gone for layers of deep-fried haloumi cheese.

“And how was your day?” he asks as we tuck in. “Did you manage to persuade any of those lawyers to give you an interview?”

You see?

That’s just another example of why Ethan is the perfect boyfriend. Not only is he always interested in my day, but he remembers all the details as well.

Even the ones I’d like him to forget.

Such as which lawyer I’m going to be interviewing for my story.

“Mmm …” I say vaguely. “Yes, I’m sure I’ll get to speak to someone soon.”

“But who? You need to make a specific appointment.”

“I know. But it’s not that easy. One of them is overseas, one is acting as a judge, and the rest are all hectically busy. You know what lawyers are like.”

“So, what are you going to do?” Ethan looks all concerned.

“Well, I’m going to have to speak to …”

“Yes?”

“I’ll unfortunately be forced to talk to …”

“Who?”

“Someone,” I finish in defeat. “I’ll just have to keep on bugging them until one of them says yes.”

I put my head down and concentrate fiercely on my food.

Okay, I’m a complete coward. I totally chickened out of telling Ethan that Farouk is the lawyer I’ll be speaking to. But I really didn’t want to spoil the evening.

And the thing is, I did everything humanly possible to avoid him. I really did. It’s not my fault that every other lawyer in town seems to be busy. Or that they all referred me to him. If I want the information (and I do), I’m going to have to meet with Farouk. End of story.

It should be really easy to explain all this to Ethan, but he’s got such a chip on his shoulder about Farouk already. Ever since our dinner at Kealiboga’s place, he’s been bristling like a guard dog every time Farouk’s name comes up. He seems to think I’m just waiting for the chance to rush back into his arms.

Huh. As if.

*****

By the time we’ve finished the main course, I’m feeling about a million times more relaxed. The evening is almost over and Ethan still hasn’t made any huge announcements. So, maybe I was wrong after all. Maybe this is just a regular dinner for us to reconnect and spend some time together. Ethan seems relaxed too. Not at all like someone who’s about to spring an important question on his girlfriend.

By the time dessert arrives, I’m quite giggly with relief. Ethan hasn’t ordered an actual dessert. He never does. But he has ordered an espresso. And I couldn’t resist the trio of Belgian chocolate mousse.

I look up to thank the waiter as he puts my plate in front of me. And when I face the table again, I freeze.

What … on earth … is that?

What is that thing that has just appeared in front of me?

It’s a box, my brain processes sluggishly. A small, velvety, black box.

Why is there a small velvety box on the table?

My mind has turned to porridge. I can’t make any sense of this. It feels like one of those dreams where you’re trying to think logically but weird stuff keeps popping up all over the place.

“Trinity.”

My eyes fly up to meet Ethan’s. And then they drop down to the box again. That box is magnetic. It’s like a car crash. I can’t look away from it.

“Trinity,” Ethan tries again. This time I force myself to keep looking at him. I almost want to laugh because this cannot be … this absolutely cannot be … what I think it is.

“We’ve been together for almost a year now,” he’s saying, “I really wanted to wait for our first anniversary, but lately I’ve been thinking that there’s no point. Why should I wait when I’ve already found the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with? Trinity Luhabe … I want to marry you.”

He picks up the black velvet box and opens it carefully. I hold my breath. Then I look at the ring inside.

It’s a yellow gold band with a cluster of diamond chips in the centre.

The first thought that pops into my mind is how completely different it is to the engagement ring I’ve been designing in my head since I was about twelve years old (platinum band with a single square-cut diamond that’d be visible from outer space, in case you were wondering.)

But still … how incredibly sweet of Ethan to have gone to so much trouble.

Neither of us has said a word yet. He takes the ring out of its box and tries to slide it onto the third finger of my left hand. Only it won’t fit. It won’t even nearly fit. He gets it as far as my middle knuckle and we can both see that there’s no way on earth it’s going to go any further.

Now, I know I don’t have big hands – they’re just kind of medium-sized – but he must have bought this ring for an elf. Seriously, it’s ridiculously tiny.

“Just … give me a minute!” he says, trying to corkscrew the ring over my knuckle. A light film of sweat breaks out on his forehead. He grits his teeth. “Nearly there.”

Now my knuckle is starting to swell, and what looked unlikely before is now looking completely impossible.

“Ethan!” I blurt out. “You don’t really want to marry me.”

His grip on my hand slackens immediately. “What do you mean? Of course I want to marry you. I’m in love with you.”

“No, you’re not! You only think you are. This is crazy – we hardly know each other.”

Oh, God, he’s starting to look hurt. Like a puppy that I’ve kicked for no reason at all.

“Trinity,” he says reproachfully. “We’ve been together for nearly ten months now. Of course we know each other. I know you. I probably know you better than you know yourself.”

Something about the way he says this riles me.

“Then you probably know that I eat Tinkies, right?”

“You eat … what?” He’s completely thrown by this.

“Tinkies,” I repeat. “You know – those sponge finger thingies filled with flavoured cream? I’m totally addicted to them. Every time I spend the night at your place, I smuggle in a box of Tinkies to eat while you’re in the shower.”

Ethan could not look more horrified if I’d confessed to an addiction to crack cocaine.

“But … but … why?” he stutters. “They’re full of trans-fats and … and hydrogenated oils. And the calorie count must be off the radar. Why would you deliberately …?”

“Because I can’t stand the way you eat!” I burst out. “It drives me nuts. You’re a total food Nazi, Ethan. Food is one of the biggest pleasures in my life, but for you it’s the enemy.” God, it feels good to be saying this stuff at last.

“Okay, okay.” He throws up his hands. “Maybe I am a little too focused on nutrition. But I can change. I didn’t know it bothered you so much. You should have said something.”

But I’m not done yet.

“And that’s not all. You need to accept the fact that I’m probably never going to get any thinner than I am now. In fact, when I’ve had a couple of kids and start hitting forty, I’ll probably get fatter.”

“When have I ever told you to lose weight?” Ethan says indignantly. “When have I ever even hinted that I’m not happy with you the way you are?”

“Never,” I admit. “But that doesn’t mean you weren’t thinking it. All that trying to get me to eat more healthily – don’t tell me you weren’t thinking that it’d be an added bonus if I slimmed down a bit.”

“No, no … you make it sound so … is it so wrong for me to want you to look your best?”

“This is my best, Ethan. What you see is what you get. I gave up dieting as a teenager and I’m never going back to it. Still want to marry me?”

Ethan swallows hard. “Of course I do.”

“And that’s still not all. I don’t want every night to be Couple Time. Or even every weekend. I want to go out dancing with my friends. I want to be young and irresponsible. I want to have fun! And I am so not ready to spend my Saturday mornings at the Design Quarter.”

“Who said anything about the Design Quarter?” Ethan looks completely baffled.

Okay, admittedly that was a bit off-the-wall. But I know what I mean, even if he doesn’t.

“It was just … a metaphor,” I say with dignity. “I was trying to explain why our priorities are different.”

There’s a long silence. The dessert and coffee have long since been abandoned. Our waiter has been hovering for a while, trying to see if we’re ready for the bill. But he doesn’t want to barge in on this conversation. I can’t say I blame him. I wouldn’t mind opting out of it myself.

“I see what it is!” Ethan suddenly looks as though he’s discovered the law of gravity. “I see why you’re acting so weirdly.”

“I’m not acting weirdly. I’m finally being myself.”

“No, you’re not. It’s that guy, isn’t it? That Farouk guy. Ever since he got back to town you’ve been behaving strangely. You would never have touched a Tinkie if he hadn’t encouraged you.”

I’m overcome by a terrible urge to giggle. The thought of Farouk as my Tinkie-enabler is almost too much for me.

“Ethan … listen …” I force my face into a serious expression. “This has absolutely nothing to do with Farouk. I was smuggling Tinkies into your flat long before I even knew he was back in the country. I’m sorry to have been so deceitful, but I needed a safety valve. I kept trying to tell you that your super-healthy way of life wasn’t for me, but you wouldn’t listen. You thought I’d come round in the end if you just kept setting me a good example.”

But Ethan isn’t about to get sidetracked.

“I know he has something to do with it,” he says stubbornly. “Ever since he turned up, you’ve been looking at me differently.”

I try to laugh dismissively, but I feel a little uncomfortable. I can’t help remembering the first time I saw Ethan through Farouk’s eyes. He was wearing that diamond-patterned jersey that I can’t stand. Farouk and my brothers joked about it all afternoon. Ethan didn’t like that.

If I’m honest with myself, something did change at that moment.

It had nothing to do with the jersey itself. I mean, Farouk used to dress like a homeless person at varsity. But he didn’t mind being teased about it. Whereas Ethan just doesn’t get teasing. He doesn’t see the point of it. Which is probably why he has very few male friends.

But that’s not the point. I need to get this conversation back on track now.

“None of this has anything to do with Farouk,” I say as calmly as I can. “What I’m trying to say is that the person you want to marry is not me. Not the real me. It’s an imaginary version of me that you’ve created in your head.”

Ethan meets my eyes for a long, unsettling moment.

“That’s not what I’m hearing, Trinity,” he says with a strange smile. “What I’m hearing is that you don’t want to marry me. So don’t try to turn this around. You’re the one with the problem – not me.”

“But why does it have to be a problem? Why can’t we just accept that we’re two people who have only been together for a short while and really shouldn’t be rushing into anything?”

“I know my own mind. And I know you better than you think. I know the person you have the potential to become. And I know exactly who I have to thank for turning you against me. I know what I’m going to do about it, too.”

Okay, is it just me – or is he sounding a little psycho here?

“What are you doing?” I ask in alarm as he stands up suddenly.

“I’m going now.” Ethan struggles into his jacket and sweeps the ring off the table. “I can’t listen to any more of this. But just remember, Trinity – when it came down to it, you were the one who lost her nerve. Not me.”

He marches out of the restaurant, scattering waiters as he goes.

I stare down at my hands, breathing hard. God, what a scene. And in a fancy restaurant too.

Honestly, if I ever get changed into a guy I’ll make sure I only propose in private places just in case something goes wrong.

A slight sound makes me look up. A leather folder has mysteriously appeared at my elbow. For a second I don’t get it. Then I open the folder and my eyes widen.

Oh, for God’s sake. I don’t believe this. He’s gone and stuck me with the bill.

*****

Four years ago, almost to the day, Farouk and I broke up.

Now I seem to have broken up with Ethan. How the heck did that happen? The last time I checked, saying: “I’m not ready to take the huge step of getting married to you” didn’t translate as: “I never want to see you again”.

But that seems to be how Ethan understood it. The morning after our dinner at Pigalle, I get a curt email at work. It basically consists of two inventories. One is a list of all my stuff that is still at his place, and the other is a list of his stuff that’s at my place. He even describes the condition of the items, like he’s putting them up for sale. I am completely mortified to see:

1 x box of Tinkies (unopened)

Apparently he found it under the bed. And I thought I’d been so careful.

The list of his things includes some CDs, socks, a toothbrush and some of those business self-improvement books that he reads all the time. So, it looks as though we really have broken up. For good.

I’m not at all sure how to feel about this.

If you’d told me a few months ago that my relationship with Ethan wouldn’t make it to the end of the year, I’d probably have been devastated. But now that it’s happened, here I am – not devastated at all.

In a strange kind of way, I’m almost relieved. It’s as though something that was bothering me has gone away. The funny, dentisty feeling I’ve been carrying around with me has stopped. And now I can relax again.

Everyone was really shocked to hear the news.

I remember that from my break-up with Farouk too. I’ve had friends phoning me up to say that if Ethan and I didn’t make it as a couple, what hope is there for the rest of them? And when I point out that we didn’t really have such a perfect relationship, they just sigh and say what a pity it all is.

The big difference this time around is the way my family and closest friends have been reacting. They were all really shocked and surprised, of course, but not one of them has tried to talk me out of it.

They’re being very careful what they say around me. You know how it is. When someone breaks up with her boyfriend you don’t immediately start slagging him off and saying what a loser you always thought he was. That practically guarantees that they’ll get back together the next day, and then proceed to hate you for ever.

But I know my mom and Steph are finding it really difficult to keep quiet.

Mom is coping by cooking up a storm, as usual. So far, we’ve had chicken curry, bobotie, lamb shanks, potjiekos, and two milk tarts delivered to our front door. And the break-up only happened four days ago. Mom obviously thinks I’m less likely to go into a decline if I have lots of good food to keep me going.

But for Steph and me, the real challenge is not turning into a couple of blimps under this non-stop avalanche of yumminess.

*****

“So …” Steph says cautiously on Saturday night. “You look like you’re doing okay.”

She and Kealiboga have taken me out for post-break-up cocktails. They’d insisted that I leave my car at home so I can drown my sorrows if I want to. Steph is the designated driver.

“I am doing okay,” I say, diving into my first mojito of the evening. “Now and then I catch myself wondering whether I’m doing the right thing here, but I guess that’s normal.”

“How do you feel about starting to date again?” Kealiboga asks, fearfully. “I can’t imagine getting back into the singles scene at our age. It’s so scary out there.”

Steph laughs. “You make it sound like we’re middle-aged. It’s normal to be dating when you’re twenty-three. If you hadn’t found Mr Right when you were, like, fifteen or whatever, you wouldn’t find it scary.”

“Actually, it is kind of scary,” I admit. “But not nearly as scary as getting married.”

“I still can’t believe he asked you to marry him. What was he thinking?”

“He wasn’t thinking, he was panicking,” Kealiboga says. “He could feel Trinity pulling away from him, so he tried to pin her down before she got away. Too bad that didn’t quite work out for him.”

I see a look pass between my two friends. A tiny smile from Steph, and a nod of satisfaction from Kealiboga. God, they’re really chuffed about this, aren’t they?

“You don’t have to look so pleased with yourselves,” I say a bit crossly. “It’s not like I’ve escaped from some terrible domestic violence situation or something. Ethan is a nice guy. He didn’t beat me or oppress me. You even used to call him the Perfect Boyfriend, remember?”

“Oh, he was,” Steph says immediately, as Kealiboga nods. “He just wasn’t perfect for you.”

“But he’ll make some other girl very happy.”

“Like a dietitian, maybe.”

“Or a personal trainer …”

“Or someone like that.”

“But not you.”

“No … not you.”

Wow, they’ve really made up their minds about this, haven’t they? It’s a weird feeling to realise that your friends have been discussing you and finding fault with your relationship.

Ex-relationship.

I need to remember that part.

“So, anyhow,” Kealiboga says as our second round of drinks appears. “Now that you’re back on the market, you must just let me know when you’re ready to be set up with someone. Bongani knows stacks of single guys from work.”

I pull a face. “Thanks. But I should really take a break from dating for a while. I need to focus on my career before it disappears down the toilet.”

“How’s that going, by the way?” Steph twirls her champagne cocktail so that it catches the light. “What’s the next move? Who are you going to interview now?”

Oh God, not this again.

The girls watch in amazement as I tip slowly forward in my seat until my forehead is touching the table in front of me. Then I groan loudly.

“What’s up, babe?” Steph giggles. “It can’t be that bad, can it?”

“It’s worse!” I wail. “You were right. I can’t do this story without Farouk. So, now I’ve got a date to interview him on Monday morning. And I so don’t feel like it.”

“Oh, goody, goody, goody!” Steph claps her hands together and bounces up and down in her seat. “I knew it! I knew you guys were going to get back together again. You’ll sort out all your misunderstandings and it’ll be just like Gone with the Wind.”

Kealiboga stares at her. “How is that even slightly like Gone with the Wind? We want them to get back together, remember? Not stay broken up forever.”

“Well, some other romantic movie, then,” Steph says irritably.

“Sorry to interrupt this little fantasy,” I say, before they get even more carried away. “But that’s just not going to happen. Farouk broke up with me, remember? Not the other way around. And he has never once even hinted that he’d like us to get back together again. Not to me – and not to anyone else.”

There’s silence.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” I look from Steph to Kealiboga and back again. “He hasn’t said anything to either of you, has he?”

They won’t meet my eye.

“Has he?” I repeat.

They both look down and shake their heads. I feel a strange little pang, which I immediately suppress.

“You see?” I say as cheerfully as I can manage. “That’s ancient history now. It’s time for me to move on.”