Apologised.

  That would’ve been the normal thing to do. It would also have been normal for him to turn and rush out.

  Except that I, Shelley, the fake and fading ginger, with the freshly boosted boobs and the newly tucked stomach, couldn’t help myself. When I was young, I wanted the attention; I craved it, did things like dye my hair and wear short skirts to get it. As I got older I got used to the fact that attention was in shorter supply, but I still loved it, still wanted it. It was still a rush, more so when it was unexpected. I wanted Wayde to look and not turn away from my forty-four-year-old body. I stood there without moving. Perhaps it was only for thirty seconds too long that I stared Wayde directly in the eyes, watched as he looked me over. The music sexy in the background. His face didn’t show horror. Isn’t that what you’d expect when a young hot guy is faced with a semi-naked mildly rumpled middle-aged mother? Perhaps it was only thirty seconds, but that is an eternity to stand in front of a man in your underwear. I slowly gathered my dress around me, turned away and slipped my shoes on, looking at myself in one of the mirrors that stood against the wall as if he weren’t there. I could see his reflection over my shoulder.

  ‘Can you take that box out front, please?’ I pointed to one. He nodded and picked up the box. The rest of the afternoon, we didn’t say a word about what had happened. I arranged the stock into stories on the shelves and Wayde continued to charm coffee into customers. Nothing had really happened after all. We hadn’t done anything.

  Inside, we both knew something had happened.

  It’s Shabbat

  •••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

  But it’s not kosher

  13

  Wednesday, 21 February

  ‘Does Adam want to come to the beach with the twins on Saturday?’ I said to Kari, though Wayde was on my mind, along with the fifty-seven WhatsApps we had traded on Monday night. Seventy-three on Tuesday. Fifty today, so far. I knew it was dangerous. It was delicious, the back and forth of it, but I had to try to control it. I’m married. I have children. I am a grown-up. I have to be responsible.

  ‘What?’ Kari said, cross and unsuccessfully trying not to show it. We were in a booth at the Spur in Seaside Village and she had been in the middle of telling me about Dirk, how he was so busy at work that he ended up bringing a lot of it home. See. I was listening.

  ‘Sorry, lovey, I didn’t mean to interrupt, but I think it can help you,’ and me, I didn’t say. I don’t ever mean to interrupt, but I know I do. It’s bad. It’s often because what the person says triggers something in my head and I want to tell them about it before I forget. When Jerry and I first met, he would laugh and say my brain was too fast for him. Now he says I’m a bad listener, worse than the twins. It irritates him. In this case with Kari, I’d thought of something that could help us both. ‘I’ve got the kids going into the sea with this guy who works for us at the shop, Wayde. He used to be a lifesaver and he is a real kids’ surf coach. The twins have had one lesson and he is brilliant with them. And it’s not a hardship to watch from the beach either.’

  Damn straight he wasn’t hard to watch.

  Couldn’t say more than that to Kari; she wouldn’t understand. I absolutely couldn’t tell her about my flashing him in the storeroom. After Jerry and the twins were asleep, I’d finally sent Wayde a message. Sorry about that thing in the storeroom – I won’t flash you again. It wasn’t such a big deal, I’d convinced myself, no different to being in a swimsuit, and he’d already seen me in that. He’d replied instantly, even though it was eleven. No worries, you have nothing to be sorry about. You can flash me any time. Winky face. I didn’t know how to reply to that, so I sent him a big smile face and link to some stock I’d seen online that I was considering. I’d remembered what he said about his friends not being into the stuff in the shop, thought maybe I could get one or two things that would appeal to them. Just fillers, Moroccan jewellery bits I’d seen – might as well take advantage of the extra feet in the store.

  What you think of these? I asked. Think people would like them?

  I could tell he was flattered by my asking and we chatted about it until twelve. More chats on Tuesday. And this morning. Not all of it was about the jewellery.

  ‘Ugh, how is going to the beach going to help, and aren’t they way too small for surf lessons?’ Kari tilted her head to the side, looking through the glass partition on top of the half-wall that separated us from the Spur kids’ play area. If interrupting is bad, then surely being distracted by your child’s whereabouts every five minutes must be a close second in bad manners? I followed where she was looking. The play area aka kiddie cages were quiet for a Wednesday early kids’ supper. I still couldn’t see Harley, Stacey or Adam. Kari slid out from the booth seat across from me. ‘I’m just going to see if they’re okay – last week there was one horrid kid who kept chucking blocks at Adam.’

  ‘Okay, but I’m sure he is fine. And I guarantee you that Stacey would’ve long sorted out any horrid kid,’ I shouted at her back as she walked quickly towards the playroom entrance a few tables ahead. I hate Spur restaurants, all that brown pleather seating and sticky table tops – but the twins love the chicken nuggets and smiley face chips, the build-your-own waffles and the play area. And happy kids on an afternoon when Theresa is sick means that I Suck It Up Buttercup. Even overly grilled chicken breasts and vegetables taste better when you can eat them in peace.

  ‘They’re having their faces painted – we just can’t see them from here.’ Kari hopped back into the seat, wobbling the table. ‘What’s this about surfing again?’

  I stole one of Harley’s potato smiley faces off his plate, stuffed it into my face before I answered. That kid never ever eats even half of anything, but he doesn’t seem to lose any weight because of it so I try to let it go, mostly by eating his leftovers. That way I can’t remember what he has left behind, and the bonus is that food doesn’t dent my eating plan (no carbs, no sugar unless in alcohol) since nothing counts if I eat it off someone else’s plate.

  ‘It’s not proper surf lessons, but this guy Wayde is a proper surf coach and he took the twins into the water last week. They mostly just play, you know. He pushes them on their bodyboards, but it’s amazing. They’re happy and safe in the water, and I don’t have to stress about it.’ I watched Kari, waiting for the part where it would help her. ‘If you book lessons on Saturday mornings that will get you and Adam out of the house and give Dirk a weekend morning to work without distraction, you won’t feel bad to insist that he stops working for the rest of the weekend. And it won’t take effort – all you have to do is sit on the beach next to me and someone else will be making sure our children are safe and happy.’ I stole another smiley while she thought about it.

  And how was it going to help me? I knew the messages between Wayde and me were not completely right. We hadn’t done anything wrong, not exactly. Nothing wrong, not completely. But wrong enough to make me feel it would be a good idea to have friends around me when I am with him, help me see him like I should see him. More like a kid than a man.

  ‘That,’ she poked her fork at me, a tiny circle of fried calamari stuck on its teeth, ‘is not a bad idea. Adam’s a bit scared of the sea and Dirk keeps saying we must go with him more often, but I don’t like taking Adam into the water by myself and Dirk doesn’t always have a lot of time. Making his millions, you know.’ She pulled a face, put the calamari into her mouth, chewed and swallowed. Before I’d interrupted, she’d told me Dirk had figured the years between forty and fifty were the ones when he could make the most money. He was in the thick of it. ‘What does it cost? This surf lesson that’s not a surf lesson?’ Kari asked.

  ‘Hundred-and-fifty for an hour and a half to two hours, depending how long the kids can last. And Wayde says that the kids might still learn to surf, never know. Ours could be the ones riding waves like those tiny kiddies in the YouTube videos.’ I laughed, remembering the clips Wayde had sent me. I didn’t for a minute imagine that would be Stacey and Harley; all I wanted was for them to be in the sea with someone more competent than their parents.

  ‘Okay, sounds all right. I’ma talk to Dirk about it,’ Kari said.

  ‘Why? Decide for yourself.’ I don’t understand why mothers say that. Surely not everything has to be run by the father first. Jerry would be so lucky to have me ask him about everything. ‘Come on, man, it will be fun. Kids will be happy; we will be happy. We can sit in the sun and fry ourselves red.’ I saw her look at me without blinking. ‘Okay, sure, you don’t need it, but not everyone has your skin.’ Was that un-PC? Lily picks me out but, flowering hell, I don’t know when any more. ‘We can ask Lily if she wants to come sit with us.’ I dangled bait.

  ‘Oh ja, that’s a good idea.’ She didn’t say anything about why she needed to talk to Dirk. ‘But shame, Di will be at the shop – she’ll miss out.’

  ‘She won’t miss too much ’cause Lily won’t be there every Saturday, busy building her empire, you know. And I’ve got to be in the shop in the afternoon with Di. You could visit us there some days.’ ABS seemed to think Di was doing all the heavy lifting at the shop. So unfair – I was there nearly as much and it wasn’t as if I was sleeping in the corner.

  ‘Come on, can you imagine Adam in the shop?’ She shook her head as if I would understand. But we both knew Adam was a lamb compared with my kids. He’d sit quietly at a table drinking a babyccino.

  ‘I’ll let you know about the surfing. But in other news … I’ve finally registered with UNISA again. I’m going to try, I know …’ she rolled her eyes, ‘… again, to finish something. Or to start something. I’ve decided to study teaching this time. My law credits are out of date and I’m more interested in kids now anyhow. I’ve got the time to study with Adam at school in the morning and I think I would like to have my own playschool one day.’

  Before I could say anything, the tiniest cry seeped through a crack in the noise of the Spur. ‘That’s Adam,’ said Kari, and bolted off the pleather so fast it sounded like a plaster being ripped off.

  Life with little kids. I was relieved that she bolted so that I didn’t have to respond to her news. It’s a horrible feeling. That tiny pit in my stomach that forced me to make my smile a little bigger than it wanted to be. I was happy that she was going to be studying again; she’d always said she wanted to. She’d finally figured out what she wanted to do and made it happen instead of floating along as she usually did. I could hardly admit the pettiness to myself, but I was jealous that she was getting herself on track. I had the shop, but I still felt like I was flapping around, hadn’t done anything to be proud of. And Kari’s studying reminded me that I was the only one in ABS who had nothing academic to my name. Not even matric. I gathered my goodwill together by the time she got back to the table. Be a generous friend, not a jealous friend, I willed myself.

  By five-fifteen, Kari had denied the kids dessert and dinner was over, each of us trapped in our cars with an ugly Spur balloon on a stick that a child accidentally-on-purpose bounced on the driver’s head. Get thee behind me, Satan. Too late.

  Kari messaged at eight-thirty – presumably by then she had Adam obediently tucked in bed for an hour already and was having a lovely post-dinner chat with Dirk. Unlike my house, where I’d just managed to get the twins screaming into their beds. They would be calling for water for the next half an hour. Jerry and I ate Woolworths lasagne on our laps in front of the TV.

  Kari: Dirk thinks surf lessons are a great idea. Will you organise with the surf teacher please? To start this Saturday. Might not be able to come every Saturday though.

  Me: Yaaas. I will.

  For the first time in ages WhatsApps came through on ABS.

  Kari@ABS: Shelley is organising surf lessons for our kids at Small Bay on Saturday mornings from ten to twelve. Come sit with us at the beach if you can.

  Lily@ABS: Cool, that’s a great idea. I can come this Saturday, maybe not the whole two hours. Might bring Chiara with me if she wants to surf. Di, can you come?

  Di@ABS: I’m at the shop. I have to wait for Shelley to come before I can leave. Aren’t they too small for surf lessons?

  Kari@ABS: Shelley says the twins loved their first lesson. Not sure that they will learn to surf in the end but it’s mostly to get them used to being in the sea. Dirk thinks it’s a good idea.

  So it went for a few more rounds. I didn’t message – didn’t seem like I had anything to say – but I followed their messages on the group as they went on about surfing and kids and life. It occurred to me that when the others messaged the replies were faster than when I put out a message. Fine, that wasn’t often, but when I did message first I’m sure there wasn’t the same response. They didn’t seem to miss me saying anything.

  What would I tell them? About Jerry? About Wayde?

  I didn’t know how to say what was happening to me.

  I figured they wouldn’t understand anyway.

  14

  Thursday, 22 February

  Him: I have a surprise for you.

  I saw the message flash onto my wrist while Jerry was mid-sentence. I shouldn’t have looked, but every time my wrist buzzes I have to look – just in case it’s him. It’s going to give me a crick in my arm. I wasn’t listening to what Jerry was on about in any case and Wayde’s message threw me into more of a spin. I did not need it. It was eight-twenty, and I had to be at the shop by eight-thirty. Thursday was my only full day of nine to seven in the shop and it was the only morning when it was Di and me in there together. There was always a lot of business to talk about, and if I was more than ten minutes late she got seriously pissed, as if I’d stood her up.

  Once, she gave me a talking-to that made my head spin. I hardly remember everything except the bit that said that being late showed I thought my time was more valuable than hers and, if I didn’t respect her, we couldn’t be in business together. I pretended to laugh it off, saying her divorce had made her as direct as a mad bat out of hell, but since then I make sure never to be more than ten minutes late on a Thursday.

  I didn’t have time to think about a ‘surprise’ from Wayde. While it slowed my movements for a second, it made my heart beat faster for the longest time. The way your heart would beat in a normal curious way, I told myself. Not in an excited way. Honestly.

  ‘Are you listening?’ Jerry asked, his hands stuck on the waistband of his True Religion jeans, his face crumpled in frustration, sunglasses on his head permanently these days to hide where his hair is thinning. ‘All you have to do is bring the kids and buy the challah from Sea Point Spar on the way to them. It’s not a lot to ask. I’ll come straight from work and meet you there.’

  Oh right. Another Shabbat conversation.

  ‘I’m listening. I simply do not,’ I dragged the words out, as if he were the one not listening to me, ‘want to go to your uncle Mervyn for Shabbat on Friday. You are welcome to go.’ I didn’t need to give him my full attention to answer him. It would be the same question and answer every time. I’m tired of talking about Shabbat. I tune out when he says anything about it. He didn’t use to care that I don’t want to go, but since the kids, the Shabbat issue gets a reboot every few months. I went with him a couple of times in the very early days before we got married when I still thought I could get his mother to approve of someone who wasn’t her shiddach. She wasn’t even there, but I got why she wouldn’t approve. I’d never fit in. And I would never be approved of by his mother, much less be a match set up by his mother. Those Friday nights I felt like a platter of streaky bacon at a kosher buffet. It wouldn’t help anything to pretend otherwise.

  I’m not a Jew.

  I’m not going to convert.

  I don’t fit in. And neither will our non-Jewish children, no matter how much Jerry wants to pretend otherwise. I’m used to not fitting in. I’m not used to caring about fitting in.

  I want to die when I remember how funny I thought it was when Jerry first said I was a sexy shiksa from Sea Point, and how one Friday night I found out that ‘shiksa’ isn’t just someone who isn’t Jewish; it’s a rude way to say someone isn’t Jewish. And a rude name for a maid.

  I’m nobody’s maid.

  Jerry got all embarrassed and said he was only kidding about it, but now he knows never to say that to me again. No Jewish mother would matchmake her son with a shiksa. I wasn’t going to a Shabbat again.

  ‘It’s just a meal, Shelley – they always ask about you and the kids. Everyone knows you now, and they know our lives, so it won’t be as awkward as the first time. And Uncle Mervyn isn’t that frum – he is fine for you and the kids to come even if you’re not Jewish,’ Jerry persevered, the same argument every time. I never gave in.

  ‘You can go.’ I only once offered that he could take the kids. He did it (to spite me, I think) and he was frazzled when they got back. I was secretly happy when I heard the chaos they caused; how they’d laughed hysterically when Jerry and the other men who didn’t have yarmulkes put serviettes on their heads; how he’d cringed when they’d asked loudly why the lady was waving her hands over the candles. Why was the guy singing a weird song? They’d talked when they weren’t supposed to, and wanted bacon pizza instead of the challah. I’d laughed until I cried when I told ABS. Kari said I was not very grown-up. I should be like Dirk, she said, show them how to respect traditions even if I didn’t agree with it myself. It was part of my husband’s and my children’s heritage, she said – I should respect that.