“Who is that?” stuttered Phuti Radiphuti. “Who …”

“She is just somebody I know,” said Mma Makutsi carelessly. “I have forgotten her name.”

“She is a very good dancer,” said Phuti Radiphuti, stumbling over each word.

“Dancing is not the only thing,” said Mma Makutsi quickly. “There are other things, you know.”

THE DANCE CLASS lasted for almost two hours. There were further exhibitions of the quickstep, performed with shimmering fluidity by Mr Fanope and Mma Betty, and then demonstrations of the waltz, which they were then all invited to attempt. Mma Makutsi, who had detached herself from Phuti Radiphuti while the demonstration was being performed, was hoping that somebody else would come and ask her to dance, but was quickly sought out by Phuti Radiphuti, who guided her clumsily back onto the floor.

At the end of the evening, he thanked her and offered to drive her home.

“I have a car outside,” he said. “I can take you.”

She hesitated. She felt sorry for this man, who seemed harmless enough, but this was not what she had hoped for, nor anticipated, for the evening. She had seen at least four men who looked attractive and interesting, but they had not looked at her, not for so much as an instant. Instead it had been her luck to have the attention of this poor man, decent though he was, with his terrible stutter and his awful clumsiness. So she should say no to his offer, so as not to encourage him, and wait for a minibus, or even walk home. It would take her no more than thirty minutes, and it was perfectly safe at this hour of night.

She looked at him, and noticed that there were dark patches in the armpits of his shirt. We are all human, all creatures of water and salt, all human. And she thought for a moment of her brother, her poor brother Richard, whom she had loved and looked after, and who had suffered from those dreadful fevers that bathed him in sweat at night. She could not hurt this man; she could not say to him, no, I cannot accept your kindness.

She agreed, and they left the room together. At the doorway, Mr Fanope smiled at them and said that he looked forward to seeing them the following Friday.

“You make a very good couple,” he said. “You are coming on nicely. You are a good dancer, Mma, and you, Rra, I think you will be good in the future.”

Mma Makutsi’s heart sank. If she had feared that she might be landed with this man at every class, then this fear had just been confirmed.

“I’m not sure that I shall be able to come here again,” she blurted out. “I am very busy.”

Mr Fanope shook his head. “You must come, Mma. Your friend here needs you to help him with his dancing, don’t you, Rra?”

Phuti Radiphuti beamed with pleasure, wiping his brow with a red handkerchief. “I am very happy dancing with …” The words came painfully slowly, and he was interrupted by Mr Fanope before he could finish.