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CHAPTER 7

Sweet 16

In 2011 Jenna turned 16. Sweet 16. She was class captain and captain of the school’s Debating team, and she had a wide circle of friends. All traces of early childhood shyness had dissipated. She was a high achiever but she also had humility, compassion and a good solid value system. One of the highlights of Jen’s Grade 10 year was when she and her friend Lethu were chosen to attend the Archbishop Emeritus Desmond Tutu’s Youth Peace Summit. Archbishop Emeritus Desmond Tutu, an Anglican archbishop, had been a well-known and much-loved activist for the rights of black people during and after apartheid. A key architect of the Peace and Reconciliation Committee, “the Arch”, as he is affectionately called, was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for opposing apartheid. He was one of Jen’s heroes. The invitation to attend his summit was a great honour. It brought together a diverse group of young people from different geographic areas, youth institutions, economic and cultural backgrounds to interact, engage and learn to build peace in their own lives and communities as well as the world at large.

It was both an eye-opening and life-changing experience for Jen, one she treasured. Lethu told me (Jen wouldn’t dream of it) that Jen was admired, respected and well liked within the group. I had just collected them from the summit, and they were chatting away in the back of the car, sharing stories of their workshop groups, when Lethu said, “Okay, Jen, that’s it! We are going to run this country together one day. I will have to be president because I’m black [giggle], but you will be my right-hand lady. I’m simply not doing it without you.” They certainly shared the passion, character and intelligence required of good leadership.

When she wasn’t trying to save the world, Jenna was being a normal teenager. She had the same fears, insecurities and need to fit in as every other girl her age. She could be challenging, especially with me, and we had some spectacular spats (which I seldom won). We were very similar beings, Jen and I, and we could go around and around in circles, frustrating the hell out of everyone, Kristi in particular. And we were intensely close. There was nothing Jenna felt she couldn’t tell me and nothing we didn’t share.

By now her interest in boys was a bit more prevalent. As Stu said, “They just keep appearing out of the woodwork.” Jen was both alluring and compelling, but she had very high standards. She was yet to have her first kiss. “I feel so stupid, Mom,” she said one day. “Everyone else has done it already. Now they have that anxiety out of the way. I shouldn’t have waited so long. Why did I do that?” In her slightly nerdy way she was making some sort of scientific experiment out of it. Cute. But in truth, she told me, she was concerned it might be awful … I tried to tell her she needn’t worry. Teenage hormones have a way of taking care of these things.

Plettenberg Bay – Plett – the little seaside town up the Garden Route was, and still is, our favourite place. Magnificent beaches, warm sea and an amphitheatre of mountains. I have visited Plett with my family for as long as I can remember. Stuart and I did the same once we were married. Every year we punctuated our lives with a family holiday in Plett, creating a lifetime’s worth of memories. We developed close holiday friendships over the years, and it was a bonus for us that Ian and Jillie lived there. Family holidays were filled with boating, long lazy lunches, beach walks, mountain hikes, sunsets and body surfing in the warm salty ocean.

It was January 2011. Jenna strode out of the ocean in her black polka dot bikini, dark hair dripping, lithe body glistening in the sun. “But how did you know what to do?” She was chatting animatedly to her girlfriend Liv who was spending a few days with us. Their beach towels were laid out a few paces away from me, angled to face the surfers. “But can’t you get it wrong?” Jen asked. They were talking about first kisses. It was the hot topic of the day. “Actually, I don’t suppose it should matter,” Jen sighed. “I just want him to be gorgeous.” She was lusting the ultimate movie moment. It was one of the things I loved about our Jen … she was such a romantic.

It was an exquisite day at The Wedge. I could feel the sun beating down on my skin and pure joy coursing through my veins as I watched Stuart and Kristi body-surfing for hours in the rolling waves. They were bound to emerge ravenous eventually, so I sent Jen and her girlfriends wandering off down the beach, sarongs tied around their little hips, to the café to buy fried calamari, hot chips and granadilla ice creams for lunch. That was when she met them. The “Plett boys”. One was an archetypically pretty tall blond surfer-boy called Nik with mischievous blue eyes, accompanied by his sexy dark-haired friend Josh, with his flashing white smile. They strolled back casually towards us in a large group, chatting, and I could tell from afar there was something different about Jenna’s walk. Her gait was ever so slightly more self-aware and sensual than before. They were laden with hot food and cold drinks, the two boys walking with the group, all of them in lively conversation. Stuart came out of the water and saw me observing them. “Oh-oh,” he said, as he towel-dried himself. “Here comes trouble.”

The air was abuzz with flirtation. The gorgeous 17-year-old locals started appearing regularly at our social gatherings. They were in the prime of their lives and, somewhat unexpectedly, Nik and Josh were also really nice guys. It was fun to watch the dynamics unfold. Jen got her first glorious kiss with Nik the surfer-boy one night under the stars, and a light and lovely holiday romance ensued, with all the frissons of delight that go along with it. But, more importantly, a long and meaningful friendship developed. Surfer-boy Nik, his bestie Josh, and their families became good friends of ours.

Those were happy memories, but what I remember most about that holiday was that in the midst of all this frivolity, fun and flirtation a tidal wave of unimaginable tragedy struck our family.