The blue BMW skidded to a halt in front of a four-roomed township house. Reneilwe opened the door, ready to step out, but the driver grabbed her by the arm. She turned her face and stared at him with tears shining in her eyes. It was clear that things had not been rosy in that car.

“I only give you 30 minutes. Okay?” Moleko said, his face wrinkled into a frown.

Reneilwe nodded silently and alighted from the car.

“I’ll wait at the plaza. At our spot. Just make sure that you bring along that new lingerie. We are going to spend the whole weekend together, as always,” he ordered, starting the car.

Reneilwe wiped tears away with the back of her hands as she shoved a parcel into her school bag, and opened the gate. She didn’t even look at the car as it set off and parked in front of a gate just two blocks from her house.

As soon as she opened the kitchen door, Reneilwe realised there was a visitor in the house. She immediately recognised the woman’s voice … and felt like cockroaches had nested in her stomach.

It was Sister Moleko, the wife of the man who had just dropped her at the gate. Sister Moleko was her late mother’s best friend. She was helping them by taking care of her father, Radillo. He had suffered a stroke two years ago, a few months after his wife’s sudden death. Her mother had just dropped to the floor, and died before the ambulance could arrive. They said she had hypertension.

“Thobela Mmane MaMoleko,” Reneilwe greeted, sitting on the couch beside her father.

She referred to the woman as ‘Mmane’ because she was much younger than her mother had been, and so was Moleko. He was 30 years old and his wife was 27. They had been married for only three years, even though Moleko had dated her since she was 17 years old, just the age Reneilwe was now.

“Ao! Dumela Reneilwe, my child. Is the school out already?” MaMoleko, a tall, dark woman with a slender body, greeted back. She was busy counting pills into a saucer, and a glass of water was in front her on the coffee table.

“Yes, Ma,” Reneilwe said, then paused, looking at the container full of medication on the coffee table. “Thobela Papa,” she greeted her father with a smile. Her father nodded silently with a wince, his frail body leaning back on the couch.

She then turned towards MaMoleko and said, “Thank you for always being here to help with his medication, Ma. May God bless you.” Her father nodded, mumbling in agreement.

“Come on now, child. You know that I don’t mind. In fact, I feel like it’s my responsibility. Gape your mother was my best friend. This is the least I can do for you.” She paused, handing Radillo the tablets.

“Your family has been good to us, Ma. May God bless you,” Reneilwe said shyly, looking at her father’s left hand as he struggled to put the pills in his mouth. She helped him steady the hand. “Easy Dad.” She took the glass of water from Sister Moleko and brought it to her father’s lips.

“Hai! Mr Radillo. I think my job is done. I have to go to work now. I’m on night shift since yesterday.” Sister Moleko stood up. “Reneilwe my child, please put this medication back in the room divider.” She paused with a frown. “Ao! Where is Molatelo? Shouldn’t he be back from school too by now?”

“Argh! You know him, Ma. He is probably still playing snooker at the spaza shop with his friends. Mr Moleko gave him R10 last night, when he was here to see my father.”

“Boys will always be boys. Anyway, let me leave. Mr Radillo, I’ll see you tomorrow. Just make sure that you don’t give your daughter problems when she gives you your medication later on in the evening. Phela I know you,” she joked, smiling.

“I won’t. Thank you, Sister,” Radillo slurred, struggling to pronounce the words. “And once again, thank your husband for the groceries that he gave us yesterday. I don’t know what we would do without you. Really,” he continued, slowly.

“Oh! Okay, I’ll tell him. Well …” she paused, looking at her watch. “He said he is going to Joburg today and will be back on Sunday. Did he tell you?” She stood up.

“Yes. He said it’s about work, right?”

Reneilwe’s phone interrupted them. She felt her heart jumping when she saw who it was. Quickly, she stood up and headed outside, whispering, “Hello.”

“Babes, I heard that my wife is at your place. Is she still there?” Moleko asked.

“Yes. But she is about to leave now,” Reneilwe said, hiding behind the outside toilet in the far corner of the small yard.

“Okay babes. Just make sure that you arrive at our spot as soon as possible. Phela I can’t wait to see your beautiful body–” He paused, hearing his wife’s voice as she called Reneilwe in the background. “Okay! Bye my love. See you later.”

Reneilwe hung up, answering Sister Moleko’s call. “I’m coming, Ma!” she said as she heard footsteps approach. It was Molatelo, her brother.

“Thobela,” he greeted, approaching with his school bag over his shoulder and his trousers slung low down on his behind.

“Ao Molatelo. How are you mfana?”

“I’m fine Mmane,” he answered, and walked past her as Reneilwe arrived.

Reneilwe felt her heart bleeding inside when she saw the smile on MaMoleko’s face. A smile full of love and care. What would she say if knew what was happening between herself and Sergeant Moleko? Would she ever help her father again? Tears warmed her big eyes as she walked Sister Moleko towards the gate.

“Mmane MaMoleko, today I’m going to attend a study camp in Krugersdorp. All the Grade 12s must attend. They said we will only be back on Sunday. Please check if Molatelo is taking good care of Papa.”

“Oh! A study camp again,” she paused, shaking her head with pouted red lips. “Everyone is busy in this world, mos. Even Moleko is going to some hotel in Joburg again. He said they are going to attend a strategic planning meeting there for the whole weekend. And people say the police are not working. If only they knew that they don’t even enjoy their off days. If it’s not workshops, it’s strategic planning, or a meeting with the superintendent. Hai! This is too much now. I miss spending time with my husband sometimes, you know,” she said, and looked at Reneilwe with a sad smile.

Reneilwe laughed shyly, her eyes cast down. She felt so uncomfortable around this woman, and what she had just said planted fear in her heart. It was as if Sister Moleko was trying to warn her that she suspected her husband was cheating on her …

“Okay! Goodbye Ma. I’ll see you when I come back from the camp on Sunday.” She leaned on the gate, watching MaMoleko as she started off down the tarred road to her house. Then she threw her eyes on her phone as it beeped. A smile appeared on her face when she saw the message: it was from Shawn, telling her that he already missed her.

“That’s fine ngwanaka. Good luck with your studies. Don’t forget that I want three distinctions at the end of the year,” MaMoleko called back loudly.

“Okay Mmane. I won’t.” She returned to the house, where she begged her brother to back her story before she could tell her father.

“You know you’ll have to pay for that, right?” Molatelo said, sitting on the edge of the bed, half undressed. He was untying his shoe laces.

“Yes. I’ll give you R100 when I come back. But you must make sure that you take good care of Papa. Give him food before he takes his meds. And this time don’t buy him alcohol! No matter how hard he begs you. I hope you learnt your lesson after his condition worsened after you gave him beers, last time,” she ordered sternly.

“R150!”

“What?”

“This time I want R150. Or else …”

“Fine. Argh! O a e rata tšhelete ngwana towe. You like money too much,” she said, annoyed, as her brother burst out with laughter.

She left the room as her cellphone beeped a new WhatsApp message, making her blush:

Hope that dragon didn’t swallow you,
my CinderellaJ J J

***

Tell us what you think: Has the idea of a ‘side chick’ for men become normal, or is it still scandalous? Must wives accept this situation? Would you?