That night, Bontie rings me. Automatically I block her call. I don’t need her in my life with her boy-craziness.

But then I start thinking: about Miss Kuswane and her regrets that she carried down the years and years. About her guilt for the harm she caused to others. Do I want to be an old woman one day, regretting the actions of my youth? Feeling remorseful that I destroyed a good friendship?

No. No ways!

I phone Bontie, even though it’s late. And she sounds so happy to hear from me.

“Leah! I’m so glad you called. I’ve been missing you so bad. Sorry for all the mean things I said. Will you forgive me?”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” I answer. “Forget it. Tell me about the mountains. Were you marathon running along with Theo?”

“Running? Are you crazy? Imagine me running. No, I did something even better. I sat with Rhea and I started sketching all the wild flowers around us. And it was just lovely. I had forgotten how much I adore drawing.”

I am so happy for my friend. So happy we are friends again.

But Wednesday morning comes and I am back to worrying about this pretend-grandson of Miss Kuswane. Hopefully she will have forgotten all about it. Old people’s memories can be quite shaky, I know.

She hasn’t forgotten though. I’m in the staff room drinking my morning tea when the meds nurse comes to call me. Miss Kuswane is asking for me.

My heart sinks. How am I going to manage this? How am I going to greet the empty red chair and pretend along with her that her grandson Khaya is truly in the room? What if I can’t pretend well enough? What if Miss Kuswane senses that something is wrong?

And Sister Thembeka can’t come along to help me. She’s busy sorting out a new arrival.

I step into Miss Kuswane’s bedroom, forcing a smile on my face, trying to control my thumping heart.

But the red chair isn’t empty. Not at all. A young guy is sitting there. And as I enter, he stands up.

“Leah?” he says. “Are you Leah? I’m Khaya. My grandmother has been telling me all about how kind and gentle you are to her. I am so grateful to you for that.”

I can’t answer. I am tongue-tied. Worse than tongue-tied. I seem to have forgotten how to breathe. This Khaya is beyond fit, beyond hot. His eyes are more beautiful than Zack’s ever were. They are clear and honest and true, looking down at me.

I’m wishing so hard that I had nice clothes on. And some high heels. And some make-up. But he doesn’t seem to notice.

“May I hug you?” he asks.

I can’t speak. I can only nod. And he puts his arms around me while Miss Kuswane smiles at us from her pillows.

He puts his arms around me and I am wishing this hug would never ever end.

Forget tingles! Forget sparks and pheromones! This is like Christmas and New Year and my birthday and fireworks all rolled into one. More. I feel like I have finally, finally found my home.

Update

Is there such a thing as a triple date? There must be, since we have been having triple dates every Friday for the past six months: Bontie and Theo, Rhea and Tebogo, me and Khaya.

Yes, for the past six months. Well, we don’t always go out. Sometimes we just gather at one of our homes and have supper together or play video games or watch DVDs. Especially towards the end of the month.

But whatever we do, these Friday evenings are great fun for all six of us.

The rest of the weekend, Khaya and I spend alone together. Learning to know each other better and better, just as Bontie and Theo are doing.

Oh and I have started a course at night-school. ‘Geriatric Psychology: Caring for the Elderly’. It was Khaya who got me the contact details, who encouraged me to apply. And Matron has organised for Oak Ridge to pay part of my fees. She says there is a good chance I’ll get promoted once I get the diploma. Sister Thembeka helps me with my assignments and field studies. There is so much to learn and to understand. But it is fascinating.

Best of all, in the lecture room down the passage, Bontie is taking extra art lessons. She has got herself an internship at an advertising agency. And she never stops talking about it. Like, never! Talk about obsessed.

So: dream-jobs and dream-guys for both of us. What more could any girl want?

***

Tell us: Has this story made you think differently about old people? If so, in what way?