I DRIVE home, seething all the way.

I keep replaying my conversation with Farouk and thinking of all the things I should have said to convince him. But it’s too late now. The documents will have to do the work for me.

As I turn into Jan Smuts Avenue, I slip into a happy fantasy about Farouk sitting down at his kitchen table right this very minute to read through the papers. I can see his expression slowly change as he moves from scepticism to surprise – as the realisation hits him that I was right and he was wrong.

I imagine his mortification. And his repeated apologies.

“I’m so sorry, Trinity. How can I make it up to you? I’ll never doubt you again…”

A contented smile spreads over my face.

He’s probably reading it right now. Consumed with curiosity, he probably grabbed it off the table as I left. He might, I suddenly realise, be trying to phone me at this very moment to talk about it.

I’d better check that my phone is still on.

I scrabble in my bag and pull it out to check the display.

Yes, it’s on.

And no, he hasn’t tried to contact me.

I feel my optimism deflate slightly. If I’m honest, it’s much more likely that the papers are still lying exactly where I left them.

Or, even worse, his crazy sister could have hidden them.

The more I think about it, the more likely this seems. I should warn Farouk. I should send him an SMS telling him to check whether the papers are still there.

No. He already thinks I’m obsessed. I’m not going to give him more ammunition.

Frustrated, I turn into the driveway at Northern Acres. What am I going to do with myself for the rest of the weekend? Hitting the shops and going out for a movie just doesn’t seem all that appealing today. While my story is still up in the air, I literally can’t think of anything else.
Still, looking on the bright side, at least I don’t have to go to a craft market.

As I let myself into the flat, I can’t help remembering how hopeful I’d felt when I left home this morning. I really thought my visit to Farouk would produce some kind of result. I thought I’d have something to take to Barbara by now. But everything’s just as unsettled as ever.

“I’m home!” I call. Not too loudly, in case Steph is still asleep.

I’m expecting either dead silence if she’s asleep, or for her to come bursting out of her room, dressed to the nines, and nagging me to come out with her. What I’m not expecting is a whole lot of squeaking and thumping noises, followed by whispers and giggles, followed by complete silence.

“Steph?” I say, uncertainly.

There’s total silence, broken only by another giggle. Well, she’s obviously awake.
This feels strangely similar to three days ago when I came home to find her behaving really oddly, with the police on their way.

Slightly puzzled, I’m about to reach for her door handle when the sound of a deep laugh stops me in my tracks. I freeze for a second, before backing away slowly.

Oops.

That was a bit close. I nearly put my foot in it there. On Wednesday I was completely convinced she had a guy in here. Today it seems as though she actually has one.

I wonder who on earth it could be? She hasn’t said a word to me about being interested in anyone. Maybe it’s that guy she was chatting to at Manhattan’s last weekend. But she hasn’t mentioned him once since then.

So I decide to go into my room and to close the door. That should give her a chance to slip him out of the flat while no one’s looking. Then I’ll come out a few minutes later and worm it all out of her. Steph is putty in my hands when it comes to telling secrets.

I can’t believe how this has cheered me up. I thought nothing short of a phone call from Farouk could interest me now, but I guess I was wrong. I’m dying to know who Steph’s mystery man is.

I give a huge fake yawn. “Gosh, I’m really tired!” I say loudly. “I think I’ll go and have a rest in my room.”

I grab a couple of magazines from the coffee table and snag a Pepsi Max out of the fridge. This might be a long wait, so it’s best to be prepared. Then I go into my bedroom and shut the door with a loud click. I settle onto my bed with a You magazine, and lie there with my ears flapping.

For a few minutes, nothing happens. I’m just starting to wonder whether I’ve got it all wrong when I hear the sound of Steph’s door being opened very, very quietly. I sit up and hold my breath. Yes, I can hear two people creeping along the passage. If I were to burst out of my room right now, I’d catch them red-handed. Of course, I’d never do that – but I can’t help wishing we had CCTV cameras or something.

There’s a little more whispering and giggling, and finally I hear the front door close. Now, let’s hope Steph didn’t go out with him. It’ll be a total bummer if I have to wait hours for her to come home again.

But, no. There’s the sound of the kettle starting to boil. She’s still in the flat.

I wait another few minutes so as not to seem completely obvious, and then I wander through to the sitting room. Steph is standing in the kitchen, staring into space with the faraway look of the newly in-love.

“Hey, babes,” I say as casually as possible. “What’s up?”

“Oh!” She jumps. “Nothing much.” She blushes bright red. Poor old Steph. Her face gives her away every single time.

I can’t help grinning as her eyes slide away from mine. It’s like she thinks that as long as she doesn’t make eye contact I won’t be able to get the secret out of her. She’s looking every which way except at me.

Suddenly her eyes land on something on the floor and immediately widen in horror. She looks away at once, but it’s too late. I turn around slowly to see what’s caught her eye.

Aha! Oh ho!

Now, this is interesting. It looks like the mystery man left his shoes behind.
I’m looking at a pair of battered Cat boots half-wedged behind the sofa. They’re absolutely huge. A size sixteen at least. I glance at Steph, who’s just standing there looking mortified, and then I look at the boots again. Something is stirring in the back of my mind.

Who did I see wearing boots like that just recently? I close my eyes to help me think. Then instantly they’re open again.

Oh my God. I do not believe this.

I march up to the front door and fling it open. Then I yell up the stairs, “Ajala! Get your butt down here! Now!”

About fifteen seconds later, Ajala shuffles into the flat. In his socks.

I point to the sofa. “Sit!”

He sits.
I wave Steph over to the sofa. “You too.”

They perch side by side, looking up at me guiltily. It would be cute if I weren’t feeling so cross right now.

“You?” I point at Steph in disbelief.

She nods.

“And him?” I point at Ajala.

She nods again.

“But, but … how? When?”

Ajala takes a deep breath. “I knew from the moment I first saw her,” he states simply.

Steph stares at the floor. “Me too.”

“What do you mean, you too?” I say indignantly. “You hated him, remember? You were so suspicious of him. He couldn’t do anything right. You even called the cops on him.”

“I was fighting my real feelings.”

“You were fighting …”

I break off, totally unable to process this. I feel as though I’ve just stumbled on Helen Zille and Julius Malema having a secret affair.

“Do you have any idea how much you freaked me out?” I demand.

Steph shakes her head.

“I used to lie awake at night worrying about whether I was doing the right thing. I kept hearing your voice going round and round in my head: Trinity, you’re too naive. Trinity, you’re too trusting. Trinity, you should be more careful. Well, Steph. Do you have any idea how hard it’s been for me, investigating this story when not one single person believed in me? And all this time, you were fancying the pants off him!”

“We thought you’d be pleased for us,” Steph says feebly.

“Pleased?” I almost yell. “Of course I’m pleased. I just wish you hadn’t put me through all that self-doubt. I’ve sweated blood over this story. Yesterday I got fired because of it. It would have been nice to know that just one other person on the whole face of the earth didn’t think I was completely crazy for sticking up for Ajala.”

“But I doubted myself too,” Steph points out. “I didn’t know what to think. I convinced myself that if I could just prove him to be crooked that would get him out of my system once and for all. Believe me, Trinity – I’ve been even more confused than you have.”

This sounds disconcertingly reasonable, so I might have to get off my high horse. But not quite yet. I’m still mad, and I’m not ready to stop shouting yet.

“And you!” I say, rounding on Ajala. “What do you have to say for yourself? Always asking about Steph. Always checking up on where she was. I thought you were trying to keep something secret from her.”

Ajala just looks sheepish, but Steph jumps to his defence like a lioness protecting her cub.

“He’s already explained that to me. He was trying to get me to change my mind about him. Like that time he wanted me to go along with you to interview those two dancers …”

“My employees think well of me,” Ajala interjects. “They think I am a good boss. I wanted Stephanie to go along and hear what they had to say. I had hope that it might change her opinion of me. Because I already knew what she thought. It is what all South Africans think: those bad Nigerians, they come into our country to sell drugs and make trouble. It is the same everywhere you go. Except for you, Trinity. You were the only one who believed in me.”

He gives Steph’s hand a little squeeze and they both look gratefully up at me. I can feel my anger fizzling out like a veld fire in a thunderstorm.

Ag, some days you just can’t win.

I flop down into a chair opposite them. “So, how long has this been going on, anyway?”

“Not long,” Steph says quickly.

“Today is our three-day anniversary.” Ajala gazes at her.

“His mom liked me. She told him to stop worrying about what I thought of him, and to just go ahead and make the first move.”

“So I did.”

“And the rest is history.”

I can’t help smiling at their identical blissed-out expressions. I can’t believe I didn’t suspect a thing.

There are about a million questions I’m dying to ask Steph, but I can’t, with Ajala sitting right here. Luckily, she seems to read my mind.

She turns to Ajala and pats him kindly on the knee. “You need to go back to your flat now, sweetie, because we want to talk about you.”

Ajala shakes his head and stands up. “My ears – they are burning already.” He bends over quickly and gives me a kiss on the cheek. It takes me completely by surprise. He’s never done anything like that before.

“I will see you later, Trinity. Walk me out, Stephanie?”

Steph jumps up and goes out with him, the top of her head not quite reaching his shoulder.

As I see them together, I’m forced to give myself a little mental shake. Ajala and Steph. Who would have thought? Of all the weird developments during this very weird year, that’s one I really didn’t see coming.

“So, when exactly were you planning to tell me?” I ask when Steph comes back a few minutes later.

“Just as soon as you’d had a chance to get over being fired and everything. I thought one shock a week was enough for you to deal with.”

“I’m not really shocked. It’s cheered me up, actually. But there is one thing I need to know from you, Miss O’Farrell.”

“Yes?”

“Ajala’s really tall and everything, right?”

“Uh huh.”
\
“So, is it true what they say? Seven foot tall and everything in proportion?”

Steph turns bright pink and we burst into giggles.

***

A watched pot never boils. And a watched phone never rings either.

Which is why I spend as much time out of the flat as I can. I use every excuse I can think of to get out. I go shopping. I go to the movies. I visit my brother. I visit my other brother. I go walking at Zoo Lake. And I spend more time at the gym than I have in the last three months. I leave my cellphone with Steph and try not to get depressed every time she reports that there’s no message.

I pop into the flat just after lunch on Sunday to change for gym.

“Still nothing, I suppose?” I say gloomily as I head for my bedroom.

“Actually, there was something.”

I scoot back into the sitting room. “He called?”

“Well …” She pulls an apologetic face.

“You mean he didn’t call?”

She shakes her head.

“Well, what happened then?”

“Some woman phoned. She said her name was Shirley and that she was Ellis Tucker’s secretary. Does that mean anything to you?”

I’m opening my mouth to say no when I suddenly realise that it rings a faint bell.

“Ellis Tucker.” I frown. “I think he’s one of the lawyers working with Farouk on the RCRA matter. What did she say?”

“Well, she didn’t sound too pleased about being pulled into work on a Sunday morning, but she left a message for you, anyway. She said that Farouk had read the documents you gave him and that he’ll be in urgent meetings until tomorrow. Oh, and he’s going to have his phone switched off.”

There’s a tense silence.

I take my phone from Steph and dial Farouk’s number. It goes straight to voicemail. I don’t leave a message.

“So, that’s that,” I say, sinking into a chair. “He couldn’t even be bothered to call me himself.”

“Look, Trinity, he’s probably very busy and …”

“I know, I know!” I can’t bear to hear Steph make excuses for him. “He’s a very busy guy. I know that. He’s much too busy to phone me himself or even to drop me an SMS. He promised to let me know when he’d read the documents, and now he’s done that. I don’t know why I thought he might actually want to speak to me or anything silly like that.”

“He’s probably been thrown for a total loop by all this, Trinity. You’ve lit a rocket under them and now they’re dealing with the fallout.”

“Except, we don’t even know what his meeting is about, do we? It could be about something completely unrelated. In fact, I remember him saying yesterday that he already had a meeting set up for today.”

“Don’t make a big deal out of this,” Steph begs. “Just wait for him to get in touch again.”

“And what if he doesn’t? Tomorrow morning Barbara is going to ask me to clear out my desk and move over to admin. This is my last chance to convince her that I’m not completely incompetent. My absolute last chance. And I can’t do it without Farouk.”

Steph shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know what to tell you, babe.”

“Tell me it’s all going to be okay. Tell me the phone is going to ring.”

“The phone is going to …”

BRINNNGGG!

We both nearly jump out of our skins. We stare at each other in amazement.

“What …?”

“Who …?”

I look at the display. “It’s a private number.”

“Well, answer it. Quick.”

I take a deep breath and pick up the phone.

“Hello …” I say, a little shakily. “Trinity Luhabe speaking.”