The following Sunday morning I know I was right not to worry about stupid letters from Academic Support.

This has been just about the busiest week of my life. When I think of everything I’ve managed to get done, I can’t help feeling quite proud of myself.

I haven’t set foot in a lecture all week, of course. I simply haven’t had time. Not even a poetry tutorial. In fact, especially not a poetry tutorial. I’m staying far away from Farouk until last Saturday’s party has a chance to fade from his mind a bit.

It’s eight o’clock in the morning, and Steph, Kealiboga and I are at the St. Luke’s Community Hall, just off New Street, getting everything ready for half past ten. Kealiboga is arranging a pile of first-aid boxes on a table. Steph is setting out cups and saucers. And I am carrying the two demo dummies to the front of the hall. The infant dummy is light and easy to carry, but the adult dummy is taller than I am. It’s like trying to manoeuvre a dead body. A dead body with rigor mortis and slippery nylon clothes. But not even this can dampen my sense of anticipation.

This is it! This is my big pitch to the parents of Grahamstown. This is where I prove to them that I’m worth every cent of my baby-sitting fees.

Of course that’s not officially what it’s all about. It’s about demonstrating first-aid and CPR skills. A demonstration I’m more than qualified to give, but just try convincing my friends of that.

They keep asking me whether I really know anything at all about first aid. And I keep telling them that I’ve got an advanced instructor’s certificate.

I mean, honestly.

Why does everyone find this so hard to believe? If one of them chokes on a piece of biltong or swallows poison by mistake, I’m the girl that’s going to save their butts.

‘God, it’s freezing in here,’ Steph says, shivering a little.

‘Let me turn the radiators on,’ I say, rubbing my hands together. ‘The lady who rented me the hall said they take about two hours to warm up.’

I go to the back of the hall to look for the old metal tap that controls the heating. It’s pretty stiff, but I manage to crank it into the ‘on’ position. The hall fills with creaks and groans as the radiators rumble into life.

‘There! We should start feeling a lot warmer soon.’

I take out a pack of business cards and fan them out on the tea table next to the cups. Then I add a few more on the table next to the first-aid boxes and feel a little glow of satisfaction. No one will miss them now.

Today is all about advertising myself – but not in an aggressive way. I’m not even going to mention my baby-sitting business. That would just be tacky. It’s much classier just to leave some business cards strewn casually about while demonstrating to the moms and dads how good I am with their children.

My father has always said that when it comes to a business presentation, showing is much more effective than telling. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do. I’m going to show these Grahamstown parents that I’m the best there is.

‘I’ll help you set out the chairs,’ I say to Kealiboga. ‘I’m expecting at least 54 people, but we’d better put out some extra seats in case we have any walk-ins.’

‘Sure.’

As we lug the heavy metal and plastic chairs around, a nasty little thought flits across my brain: what if this doesn’t work?

This is the fear I’ve been suppressing all week as I burnt up my Visa card paying for everything. I haven’t exactly been keeping track, but all in all I’ve spent … well … quite a lot of money. More than the admission fee will cover, at any rate.

A lot more.

Oh, God. I feel a little swoop of dismay as my brain breaks through the denial barrier and starts trying to add it all up.

Okay, first there was the hire charge for the hall. That was probably the biggest single expense. But I mean – I couldn’t skimp on that, could I? I even went to look at some cheaper venues, but they just weren’t suitable. Like that Bumble Bee nursery school in Hill Street. The jungle gyms were all rusted and yucky. I couldn’t risk one of the kids having an accident.

This place is hardly glamorous, but at least it’s clean and the playground equipment is safe and new.

All right, what else?

Printing the posters. That was quite expensive because I wanted them to be full colour and laminated, with lots of cute graphics.

Printing the extra business cards.

The first-aid kits and demo dummies.
The trip to Port Elizabeth to buy the snacks and drinks.

Yes, okay, I know you can buy snacks and drinks in Grahamstown, but it’s just not the same. And I’m not just going to be serving cups of tea and a few stale ginger biscuits. It’s basically a full buffet lunch. Steph and Kealiboga think I’m completely mad to have spent so much money on refreshments. But I think it creates a good impression and puts people in a better frame of mind when you feed them properly.

But there’s no denying that it’s all worked out to be quite expensive.

Plus I still have to pay Steph and Kealiboga for all the work they’re putting in today.

They volunteered to help out for free, but I couldn’t accept that. I don’t want to be the sort of person who takes advantage of her friends. And it’s not like today is going to be a walk in the park for them. As well as helping me set up and clear away, they’ll also be looking after all the children and handing out juice and biscuits while I give my lecture. In fact, I couldn’t do it without them.

I give a little gulp. If this demonstration doesn’t work, I’m going to have some serious money troubles. Troubles my parents have already said they’re not going to bail me out of.

But it will. It will work. It has to. I’ll be inundated with baby-sitting jobs, and in a few weeks I’ll have paid off my Visa and be nice and solvent just in time for the April holidays.

A wave of longing sweeps over me.

Sandton City! Rosebank Mall! Hyde Park Corner! I miss them so much it’s like an actual physical ache.

‘Trinity!’

I look up dazedly to see Steph walking towards me, holding out my cellphone.

‘You left this at the back of the hall. An SMS has just come through for you.’ She glances down at the screen. ‘Looks like it’s from Lael.’

‘Oh, right. Thanks. Let’s see what she has to say.’

Steph looks over my shoulder as I open the SMS. She and Lael have struck up quite a long-distance friendship lately. Steph got so wrapped up in Lael’s dieting saga that she started sending her tips and encouragement on Facebook. So now Lael SMSes both of us. I love the fact that my two best friends get on so well with each other.

Hi Trin and Steph! Check out this pic of me. I’m still huge, but getting there slowly! XXX

I see that there’s an MMS attachment to her message. How do I open these again? Oh, yes.
‘Wow!’ I breathe as the image flashes up on the screen. It’s a photograph of Lael taken on a sunny day at the beach. She looks all tanned and her feet are bare. She’s wearing a pair of jeans I’ve never seen before. Levis, it looks like. She’s also wearing a plain white T-shirt, which wouldn’t be particularly remarkable except for the fact that the last time Lael wore anything with sleeves above the elbow was … well, basically never.

‘Is that her?’ Steph asks interestedly. ‘She looks exactly how I imagined her. You can’t tell much from her Facebook photo because it’s so fuzzy’

‘She looks …’ Words fail me for a moment. ‘She looks incredible. It’s unbelievable! She must have lost, like, ten kilos or something. She looks better than I’ve ever seen her.’

‘A bit tired though, don’t you think?’

‘I suppose,’ I say doubtfully. Now that I look again, I can see that her face does seem a bit pinched. ‘Maybe she’d just had a late night.’

‘And why does she say she’s still huge? She looks completely normal to me. I mean, she doesn’t exactly have a supermodel figure or anything, but she’s definitely not what I’d call fat.’

‘I think that’s just her way. You know how you’ll sometimes look in the mirror and say your bum looks huge in something? It’s just a manner of speaking.’

‘Hmm.’ Steph doesn’t look convinced. ‘I just hope she’s not going to carry on with that crazy diet of hers now that she’s got this far. She really doesn’t need to.’

‘Well, why not aim for perfection while you’re on a roll?’

‘What are you guys looking at?’ Kealiboga asks, wandering over.

I put my phone down quickly, and Steph turns away to the tea table.

‘Nothing!’ I say innocently. ‘Nothing at all.’

Kealiboga has got so fed up with our weight obsession that we’ve had to go underground with it. Now we only talk about it when she’s not around.

‘Come and help me fill up the urn,’ Steph says, and the two of them head off to the back of the hall where there’s a tiny kitchenette and two small bathrooms. I send Lael a quick congratulatory SMS, and then start collating the information packs I’ll be handing out later.

Tell us: What do you think will happen next?