Putting together the essentials for an afternoon at the beach gobbles up a lot of time. So much so that I almost miss the half-past-one deadline for meeting Steph and Paul. Steph actually has to SMS me to get my butt downstairs before they leave without me.

I hurl a few final items into my red-and-white-striped tote bag. A spare pair of sunglasses. A paperback. A jersey in case it gets cold later. Then I sling the bag over my shoulder and race downstairs to where they’re all waiting for me.

I must admit that my heart sinks a bit when I see the car. It’s a beaten-up old Peugeot, circa nineteen-voetsek. My secret hope that we might be tooling down to the coast in a soft-top BMW sputters and dies.

I peep into the car, hoping to catch a glimpse of my ‘date’ for the afternoon.

There’s Paul sitting in the driver’s seat. That blonde thatch of hair is unmistakable.

Then I feel my heart stop.

There’s a black ponytail in the back seat.

Just as I’m starting to hyperventilate, he turns his head and I see that it is someone completely different. Someone with much paler skin and a broad, flat face.

Disappointment washes over me like a wave. Stupid guys with their stupid ponytails. Why does every second male on this campus have to have a ponytail?

As I climb listlessly into the car, I realise how much I’ve been secretly fantasising that the mystery friend might turn out to be Farouk. And yes, I know it was silly, seeing as there must be at least three thousand male students on campus.

‘Trinity, this is Chiang,’ Steph says, turning around from the front seat to introduce us. ‘Chiang, meet Trinity.’

I summon up my most charming smile.

‘Hi!’ I say animatedly. ‘It’s lovely to meet you.’

******

‘So, Chiang,’ I say, as we wind our way down to Port Alfred. ‘How do you know Paul?’

He blushes and squeezes his hands between his knees.

‘We’ve been friends since first year,’ he says. ‘We’re both majoring in Maths, and now we’re working on a research project together. It’s all about probability measures and the Central Limit Theorem.’

‘Oh, right. That sounds fascinating.’ Not. ‘And do you guys often go down to Port Alfred on the weekend?’

‘Quite often, yes. This is the first time he’s brought a … you know … girl along, though.’

‘I’m a girl, too!’ I say, quite flirtily.

‘I know.’ He blushes some more and buries his arms almost up to the elbow between his knees. ‘I … I noticed.’

‘So what are you planning to do when you graduate? Go into academia?’

‘Oh, no,’ he says, relaxing a bit. ‘I’m much too practical for that. I’m actually here on a scholarship from Anglo. When I graduate I’ll go straight into their executive training programme. I can’t wait! I think corporate life will really suit me.’

‘Me too,’ I say wistfully.

‘Oh, wow, that’s amazing! Are you also going into a corporate career? Which company have you got your eye on?’

‘Er, no,’ I say, backtracking. ‘I was thinking more of a … supportive role for myself. The power behind the throne. That kind of thing, you know?’

‘I see …’

He looks completely mystified, and I can’t say I really blame him. My life’s ambition is starting to sound a little dumb – even to me.

We lapse into silence and watch the scenery go by for a while.

I sneak a glance at Chiang out of the corner of my eye. He’s really not bad at all. He’s quite tall and fit-looking, and he has a nice smile. And he’s obviously all set to launch himself on a fantastic career.

A little tingle of excitement goes through me as I realise that this might be it. I might actually be sitting next to my first varsity boyfriend.

******

‘We brought a picnic,’ Paul announces proudly as we drive into Port Alfred. ‘Let’s go and find a comfortable spot on the beach, and then maybe we can go for a walk later’.

Steph and I exchange glances.

When we come to Port Alfred we usually head straight for the Three Anchors pub on the marina and spend the afternoon there drinking cocktails. They have the most divine cocktail menu. All the drinks have names like Sex on the Beach, or Shark Bite, or Surfers Surprise.

But Steph is too much in lurrve to suggest this.

‘A picnic on the beach sounds lovely, doesn’t it Trinity?’

‘Absolutely.’

We park at the entrance to the marina and walk across the beach in search of a nice picnic spot.

The boys have brought some (slightly squashed) sandwiches and a couple of bottles of Tassies. No wineglasses, of course. But that’s okay because we just pass the bottle around. Soon we’re all starting to feel pleasantly mellow.

‘Isn’t this nice?’ Steph asks, snuggling up to Paul.

‘Mmm,’ I agree lazily. Chiang hasn’t made a move yet, but I’m feeling much more relaxed at the prospect, as we start on the second bottle of Tassies.

But then the conversation turns to politics, which slightly spoils the romantic atmosphere. It’s not my favourite subject at the best of times – but especially not when I’m with people I don’t know. Luckily the guys aren’t really interested in having a proper discussion. They just want to air their own opinions.

‘I just think that the ANC has totally betrayed its own principles,’ Paul is saying heatedly. ‘They’re not interested in redistributing wealth any more. They just want to hang onto power for as long as possible.’

‘I know what you mean, dude,’ Chiang says, nodding. ‘Whatever happened to putting housing at the top of the agenda? Whatever happened to education? They’re all just a bunch of fat cats now.’

‘Fat cats climbing on the gravy train.’

‘Exactly, man. Take a guy like Tokyo Sexwale. Or no, even better, Abel Luhabe. That guy is, like, a squillionaire, dude. And to think he used to be a member of the SACP.’

‘I know. And now he hires workers to dig underground for him for, like, five cents an hour. Just so he can line his own pockets some more.’

‘I’ve heard his daughter is at Rhodes this year,’ Chiang says, taking another swig of Tassies. ‘Apparently she’s a complete airhead.’

‘I’ve heard she swans around campus in a Porsche.’

‘Oh, I heard it was an Audi TT. And that she wears only designer clothes.’

‘And never goes to lectures.’

Paul and Chiang settle back on the picnic blanket with a satisfied sigh.

Steph and I are staring at the sand, rigid with mortification. We have no idea how to stop this conversation. It’s like a train hurtling out of control.

‘Is something wrong?’ Paul asks, suddenly noticing the expression on Steph’s face. ‘Why are you looking like that?’

Steph looks up from the sand.

‘Okay, listen,’ she says quietly. ‘Don’t freak out or anything, but Trinity here is actually Abel Luhabe’s daughter. Her name is Trinity Luhabe. I should have probably have told you that from the beginning.’

There’s a nasty silence.

‘Are you taking the piss?’ Paul asks at last.

‘Nope.’

‘Oops.’

‘Yup.’

‘But you seem so normal!’ blurts Chiang.

‘I am normal,’ I say irritably. ‘And just for the record, I don’t drive a Porsche. Or an Audi either.’

‘Excuse me,’ says Paul. ‘There seems to be something that I need to remove from my mouth.’ And he mimes taking his foot out of his mouth. ‘There, that’s better.’

I laugh reluctantly, and some of the tension eases.

‘We’re really, really sorry,’ Chiang says.

‘Yes, we are,’ Paul agrees. ‘That was totally uncalled for.’

‘You should never prejudge people like that,’ Steph says sternly. ‘Those kinds of rumours are nearly always wrong.’

‘And speaking of wrong,’ I can’t resist adding. ‘There were a couple of things you said about my dad that were wrong too.’ I start counting them off on my fingers. ‘Number one – he has never been a member of the South African Communist Party. He was and still is a member of the ANC. Number two – his workers don’t get five cents an hour. UbuntuGold has the most enlightened labour policy of any mining house in South Africa. And Number three – so he went into business. So what? Not everyone is cut out for politics, you know.’

‘Point taken,’ says Paul. ‘I’m going to stop shooting my mouth off now.’

‘So are we forgiven?’ Chiang asks anxiously. ‘We would never … I mean, if we’d known it was you …’

‘Yes, okay, you’re forgiven,’ I sigh. ‘Or at least you will be if you take Steph and me to the Three Anchors for cocktails.’

******

This turns out to be the best idea of the day.

A couple of Shark Bites and Surfer’s Surprises later, everyone is looking a lot more cheerful. Steph has forgiven Paul for dissing her best friend, and the two of them are starting to snuggle up again.

Chiang still hasn’t made his move, but I can tell that it’s just a matter of time. His hand keeps showing a tendency to creep across the table towards mine.

Which is exactly what I want, of course.

But somehow I keep finding reasons to whisk my hand out of reach. I tuck my hair behind my ears. I pick up my glass. I rub my nose.

Oh for God’s sake. What’s wrong with me?

I give myself a mental klap on the head. This is what you wanted, remember? This is what you promised yourself would happen today. A pleasant, intelligent, good-looking guy wants to hold your hand in a crowded pub. Why can’t you just let him?

Because his face is all the wrong shape, bleats a little voice in my head. And look how small his nose is. Not to mention that pasty skin.

I try to concentrate on the fact that he’s six months away from a job at Anglo. And that he dresses really well. And that he obviously likes me.

But somehow it doesn’t help.

Okay, listen, I tell myself firmly. Maybe he’s not the right guy for ever and ever, but surely he’s good enough for this evening? I mean, look at Steph. She’s dating now. And Kealiboga is practically married. You’ll be the only one left over soon. Go on! Let him take your hand.

All right, here we go again. His hand is creeping across the table again. It’s inches away from mine now. A light film of sweat breaks out on my top lip. You can do it, Trinity. You can do it!

But, no. It’s no good. At the last possible second, I snatch my hand away and bury it in my lap, shaking slightly.

Tell us: Would you have forgiven the boys?