Title Page
Happiness is a Four-Letter Word
CYNTHIA JELE
KWELA BOOKS
Dedication
To my family for supporting me without conditions.
And to Bongi, my number-one fan.
This is for you, little sis.
A Very Bad Day
A Very Bad Day
Nightcap
The wedding dress, an ivory silk strapless with a floor-length A-line tulle skirt and a top encrusted with Swarovski crystals, hangs on the wall like the Mona Lisa at the Louvre Museum. The bride, Nandi Hadebe, gazes at it with awe before carefully lifting it from the padded silk hanger. She clasps it to her, twirls around to the approving gasps and ululations of the people in the room. It is her wedding day, and all the women who are important in her life are present – her best friends Zaza, Tumi and Princess, her younger twin sisters, her mother, her aunts and her grandmother.
Tumi, the matron of honour, in a stunning ankle-length magenta chiffon couture dress that hugs her generous curves in all the right places, is standing by to help Nandi put on her wedding gown.
“Enough with the parade,” Tumi says authoritatively to the gyrating bride. “Time to put on the dress.”
“I’m too excited,” Nandi responds before breaking into a round of giggles. “I can’t believe I’m getting married. Hey, everybody, I’m getting married!” It’s unreal to her that before the day is over she and Thomas, her handsome prince and fiancé, will be husband and wife – Mr and Mrs Thomas Phiri. The bride smiles to herself, thinking of the bumpy road she has travelled to get here. A few years back she came so close to walking down the aisle, but in the end it wasn’t to be. Today is a different story, today is her day.
Nandi secures the garter before putting on the dress, stepping into it to prevent her make-up from smudging. Tumi helps to slide the dress up her slender body.
“Your diet worked, big sis,” one of the twins comments. “And the colour of your dress suits your dark skin. You look beautiful.”
Everybody murmurs in agreement.
“Thank you, sis,” the bride says, beaming. She’s satisfied with the overall look – her straightened hair, weaved with hair extensions, is pinned up into a neat bun, the make-up is subtle on her face and accentuates her high cheekbones, and the diamond studs and matching necklace complete the elegant and uncluttered look; she’s exactly how she pictured herself on her big day – a modern princess.
“Suck your tummy in,” Tumi orders. She starts to button the lower back of the dress. She manages the task effortlessly until she reaches the chest area, then her fingers fumble with the buttons. Tumi tugs determinedly but fails to close the gap. She asks for help from Nandi’s mother, who is busy hovering and fussing around her eldest daughter.
“What’s wrong?” Nandi asks, straining to look.
“Nothing, chomi,” Tumi reassures her. “I just need an extra hand buttoning the top.”
“Why am I not surprised? My friend, you know you’re well endowed up there,” Princess shouts from the patio. She’s leaning against the railing, holding a glass of champagne in one hand and hiding a cigarette with the other. She looks a bit uncomfortable in her knee-length cerise bridesmaid’s dress – dresses aren’t her thing.
“Nandi takes after her mothers,” one of the aunts responds, cupping her ample-sized breasts and bouncing them playfully. The others roar with laugher.
“I’m not complaining, these babes have served me well over the years,” Nandi jokes. “By the way, Pri, I think you should start wearing dresses more often. Give the jeans and chinos a break and start showing off your lovely legs, girl. Maybe grow your hair as well.”
“Hell, no!” Princess retorts. “No dresses, and I’m happy with the chizkop. I tortured myself enough in my youth with those scalp-burning chemicals and unbearably itchy weaves. Nandi, remember the time you tried to straighten my hair because we couldn’t find a salon that was still open and I insisted on having my hair done, only to have half of it ending up in the basin?”
Nandi bursts out laughing. “How can I forget? After I’d cut it all off you made me collect it into the relaxer jar and wouldn’t throw it away for weeks!”
“I actually should thank you, because I never straightened my hair again, I was so traumatised,” Princess says, laughing.
“Hold still or we won’t get this done,” Tumi instructs Nandi.
For a few minutes Tumi and Nandi’s mother are involved in a tug of war with the buttons. They yank and squeeze and tuck and nip without success.
“Don’t pull too hard, the stitching will come apart,” Nandi says with mild irritation. “What could be so difficult? It’s only a dress.”
“Chomi, we may have a slight problem,” Tumi announces. Her forehead is covered with tiny beads of sweat. “I think we need to get a seamstress, otherwise we’ll damage the dress.”
“Hhayi, my child, Tumi’s right,” Nandi’s mother adds in a soothing tone. “The dress needs to be extended a little here. It’s minor work, I promise.”
“A seamstress?” Nandi shakes her head. “The dress was fine when I tried it on a few days ago. My breasts couldn’t have magically grown overnight. Are you sure you’re doing up the buttons correctly? I know they’re a bit intricate.”
“The problem isn’t the buttons,” Tumi says. She turns to Zaza. “Zaza, please get off the phone for a second and come here and help.”
Zaza, the self-appointed wedding planner, is in her element. From head to toe she’s in designer wear – the dress, a simple black cocktail number, is by Hugo Boss, the silver sandals are by a Brazilian shoe designer who regularly supplies her shoe boutique, PaMi Shoe Emporium, and the small silver leather clutch bag is by Chanel.
Zaza closes her Blackberry phone. Her face has suddenly turned pale, as if she has seen a ghost. She bites her lower lip before she speaks. “Tumi, please come with me for a second.”
“Why?” the bride asks. “Is something wrong?”
“No, of course not.” Zaza smiles nervously. “I just need to discuss something privately with Tumi. Nothing major.”
Nandi looks at her friend, unconvinced. She has known this woman almost all her life, she can tell when Zaza’s bullshitting her. “Zaza, what is it?”
The room grows silent, all eyes are on Zaza.
“Zaza!” the bride snaps.
Zaza lets out a sigh. “That was the best man on the phone. Thomas is missing.”
“Missing?” Nandi asks, looking puzzled. “How can he be missing? I spoke to him just a little while ago.”
“Apparently
