I send the diary entry to Lael as soon as she messages me that she is on her way home in the bus. Then on Tuesday morning, we get together at first break to discuss it.

“Imagine how great it would be if Amelia’s parents really did agree to adopt the baby,” I say when we have finished reading over it together. “That would solve all her problems. I mean, I’m not saying it’s ideal to be raised thinking that your mother is your sister, but at least they could be together.”
Lael pulls a gloomy face. “I don’t know, hey. Did those parents strike you as the soft and sentimental type? They shut her out of the house for the night. They dumped her at school hours early and left her to stand on her own in the sun. Their own pregnant daughter! I can’t see them getting sentimental about her baby.”

“I suppose,” I say reluctantly. “And none of it tells us anything useful about Jim or how he might have died.”

“The only thing her parents seem to have contributed to the situation was to make it worse.”

“I wonder if they are still around today. And also that friend she mentions – Loretta. If we can’t track Amelia down, we might be able to find her.”

“Good idea.”

“In the meantime, we need to think about what we can do to help our own pregnant friend,” I say. “At least it’s not too late for her.”

“Yes! The belly campaign. Nosipho’s tummy is getting more and more noticeable. It’s just a matter of time until they ask her to leave the school.”

“We’ll start on Monday.”

“I’m a bit nervous,” Lael admits. “I’ve been trying to imagine walking around in public looking like I’m nine months pregnant. It’s scary.”

“I know, me too. But imagine being Nosipho and knowing­ that this is your life now. Shame, she wants me to take her along on my babysitting gig on Saturday night. I think she’s hoping to pick up some tips on how to handle babies.”

“If anyone can show her, you can, Trinity.”

This is true, even if I say so myself.

There is no one who is better at babies than me. I’m practically the baby whisperer. My mom tells me I’ve always been like that. When I was a toddler, I used to gravitate towards babies. Apparently, I would spend hours pulling faces at them and making them laugh. I even used to entertain my brothers back when they were still small and cute, instead of huge and annoying like they are now.

My mom and her friends say I was the best babysitter they could ever hope for. They would leave their babies on a blanket with me and some toys, while they sat on chairs next to us and had tea. I never got tired of playing with their babies. I still don’t. I’ve been babysitting unof-ficially since I was tiny, and then when I turned twelve, I started doing it officially and charging by the hour.

I did a baby-and-child stimulation course and an advanced first-aid course in the school holidays, which meant I could push my rates up even more. I won’t lie – I have expensive tastes. My allowance is generous, but I like earning my own money so I can spend it on random things like ghost-writing machines.

My booking on Saturday night is a good one for Nosipho to attend, because the family has a two-year-old and a six-week-old, which is practically a newborn. It will give her a good idea of what’s involved. I just hope it doesn’t freak her out completely.

On Saturday afternoon, we organise for Nosipho’s aunt to drop her at my place at five o’clock. We are due at the Khumalos at half-past five – that’s the family I’m babysitting for. I already cleared it with Mrs Khumalo that I’m bringing a friend. After six weeks at home with a toddler and a new baby, she is so keen to get out for a few hours she would probably have agreed to me throw-ing a wild party at her house. New parents, hey? Shame, they always act like they’ve been let out of jail when I arrive to babysit.

Nosipho looks a little nervous.

“Listen, Trinity. I don’t know if this is a good idea. You’re not going to leave me alone with them, right? I literally have no idea what to do with a baby.”

I manage not to smile. “Don’t worry. This is my thing, not yours. I’m going to do everything I normally do. You are just there to watch. If you want to try anything, you’ll have to ask me first.”

“What if I don’t want to try anything?”

“That’s fine. I won’t judge you for being a giant scaredy-cat. Not at all.”

Nosipho’s giggle sounds a little cracked.

I tell my mom that we’re leaving. She is under strict instructions not to say a word about Nosipho’s condition. Until Nosipho’s mom is back and knows about the baby, she doesn’t want anyone talking about it.

My mom manages to keep her eyes on Nosipho’s face, even though I know she is dying to look at her tummy and then go crazy about how cute her bump looks.

“You girls have fun now,” she says. “Keep the security switched on at the Khumalos’ house at all times and make sure you’ve got everyone’s cell numbers. Trinity, please turn on the last-seen on your WhatsApp.”

I roll my eyes. That is such a pain. How am I supposed to swerve people’s messages when they can see exactly what time I was last on my phone?
“Now!”

I do it, reluctantly.

Lungile drops us off at the Khumalos. I’m quite looking forward to this evening. The thing is, Nosipho is better than me at nearly everything. She gets better marks, she is better at sport, and she can play the piano about a million times better. In fact, I gave up piano last year while she’s still carrying on with it.

But today, just for one evening, I am going to be better than her at something. I know babies, and she is terrified of babies. Finally, there is something she can learn from me.

Mrs Khumalo welcomes us with open arms. It’s my first time seeing the baby, a little girl. I hand over the baby gift I brought, and Mrs K coos over the soft leather Mary Jane shoes I found.

“These are adorable, thank you! Perfect for when she starts to walk, which I can’t even imagine at the moment. And what’s this one?” She holds up my other parcel.

“Oh, that’s for you,” I say. “My mom always says it’s the mother who deserves gifts. The baby is just lying there chilling, while the mother does all the hard work.”

Mrs Khumalo laughs and opens the bath salts and body scrub I’ve wrapped for her. She seems very pleased with them.

“So, I’ve just fed her, but I’ve left lots of expressed milk in the fridge. Sometimes she likes to cluster-feed before she will settle for the night. We normally bath her at half-past six and try to put her down at seven. And we have to fit in bathing Ntheko as well. Having two kids is way more work than one.”

“I hear you, but don’t worry. I’ve babysat two kids lots of times before. We’ll be fine. You go out and enjoy yourselves. And don’t hurry back – we’ve got this.”

“You realise she’s going to be messaging you every five minutes?” says Mr Khumalo.

“That’s also fine. I’ll answer every message and even send you pics.”

The Khumalos finally leave in a flurry of goodbye kisses for the kids and reminders about dinnertime for me. It is six o’clock by the time we close the door behind them – time to give Ntheko his dinner. So, of course the baby, Bontle, immediately starts to cry.

***