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CHAPTER 6

High tea and puppy love

By 2007, the age gap between Jenna and Kristi was more apparent. Jenna, now 13 and in Grade 7, was in her last year of junior school and Kristi, now 10, was in Grade 4. They still spent loads of time together, but they were also establishing themselves as different people. Kristi was besotted with horses and animals in general. She hung out at the stables as often as possible, fostered puppies and worked at the local vet in her spare time. While she tacked up horses and mucked out stables, Jen would tip-toe gingerly through the stables, ensuring that she didn’t touch anything. Kristi wasn’t a talker like Jen and found endless discussions tedious. They were different, but close.

Now that Jen’s love of writing was piqued, she started to write more regularly – essays, poems, journal entries and notes. I love this poem she penned one day in class shortly after the Grade 7 “Moms and Daughters” school camp up the Breede River.

CAMP REFLECTIONS – Grade 7, Jenna

The wind blows softly

Caresses the checkerboard of blue and pink

Skims the gigantic crags that watch over the eager crowd

We step out into the pale sunlight, enthusiasm emanating

from our very pores

We are not disappointed

The watery rays of the sun giggle with us as we tumble into

the structured routine of camp

Organised chaos

Our very ears rejoice the experience

The quiet lap of the crystal, captured waters

The reassuring roar of waves upon shore

The shrieks and laughter that accompany us everywhere

we go.

The wind blows softly

Holding the camp leaders’ sighs, trailing them over the left-

over pieces of

Inspiration, teamwork, leadership

Blowing them over the mist of the new green buds of

friendship

Breathing them over the shattered remains of prejudice lost

We are gone.

While Jen and I were away on that camp, there was a break-in at our home. Stuart and Kristi, sleeping, were woken by the sound of smashing windows. No one was physically harmed but the experience of seeing men in balaclavas and guns deeply affected Kristi. She no longer wanted to sleep out; she became a “homing pigeon”, happy to explore during the day but needing to be at home at night. She noticed and was fearful of our safety for the first time. Some naivety was lost that night, and sleep became an issue for her again. For many years after the burglary we kept a mattress on the floor next to our bed so that she could creep through to us in the night if she was feeling scared. We took Kristi for two trauma counselling sessions and swiftly upgraded our security and alarm systems. It was a nasty fright.

Jen’s 13th birthday was imminent and, as it was her first teen year, I’d promised we’d plan something special. Ali came up with the idea of going to the grand old Mount Nelson Hotel for high tea. It was such a Jen-like thing to do. She loved the idea! We had a gentle day on the lawns surrounded by close friends, family and cousins.

By now Jen was tall, long-legged, willowy and slim, with long brown hair that shone as she moved. She was a compelling beauty, with an even more compelling mind. Jen had a loyal and committed group of girlfriends and was becoming slightly less of a bookworm. She and her mates were just reaching the age of “movies at Cavendish Square”, a popular shopping mall down the road. The group was also starting to show an interest in boys and spent many hours on the weekends socialising. Slowly, large groups of girls and boys started being invited to our home. Enter 13-year-old dark-haired Daniel, affectionately known to all as “Daffy”. He was kind, affable, funny, cool and gorgeous; and coincidentally born on the same date as Stuart. Jenna and Daffy developed a whopping teenage crush on each other.

It was really cute. Encouraged by their mates, they started messaging each other constantly via BBM (it was the days of BlackBerry Messenger) and within a few months Daffy had asked Jen to be his girlfriend. They chatted daily and saw each other every weekend. They held hands, ate popcorn, went to movies and went ice-skating together. They dated happily for three months and then Daffy made a fatal error: he tried to kiss her! Poor Daffy. Jen was out of there like a scalded cat. She just wasn’t ready and called the whole thing off. He cried behind his closed bedroom door and listened to sad music. Eventually, I am told, his mom sat him down in desperation and said, “Daffy, you are so young and there are many other fish in the sea, I promise.” “No, Mom,” he insisted, “you don’t understand. This one is special.” His mother took him seriously. “Okay,” she said, “if she is that special, then there is only one thing to do. My advice to you is to stay friends … you never know what the future may bring.”

It was nearing the end of Grade 7; Jen and her friends were all so ready to leave junior school. One hot and peaceful summer’s day, a low buzz in the air, Jen sat at her school desk, staring out of the window at the oak trees and chewing on her pencil. Double English, her favourite class. The assignment was to write a poem that finished with the words “It’s Me”.

Knowing what we know now makes this poem that she wrote aged 13 even more powerful and poignant.

Jen graduated from junior school top of her grade. The ground felt stable under our feet. Good. Solid. We were oblivious to the weirdly prophetic nature of this poem.

But then, nothing could have prepared us for what was coming our way.