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that.”
    Mma Makutsi laughed. There was so much to think of—so many exciting things—but this reference to aunts gave her a reason to chuckle. And beyond the amusement there was the heady, intoxicating fact: he had said it! He may not have named a day, but at least he had named a month! Her marriage was now not just some sort of vague possibility in the future; it was a singled-out time, as definite, as cast in stone, as the dates on her calendar in the office from the Good Impression Printing Company: 30 September—Botswana Independence Day; 1 July—Birthday of Sir Seretse Khama. Those dates she remembered, as everyone did, because they were holidays, and Mma Ramotswe remembered a few more: 21 April—Queen Elizabeth II’s birthday; 4 July—Independence Day of the United States of America. There were others in the calendar that the Good Impression Printing Company thought important enough to note, but which escaped the attention of the No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency. Some of these were other national days; 1 October, for example, was Nigeria’s national day, and was marked in the calendar, but not observed in any way by Mma Ramotswe. When Mma Makutsi had drawn Mma Ramotswe’s attention to the significance of that day, there had been a brief silence and then, “That may be so, Mma, and I am happy for them. But we cannot observe everybody’s national day, can we, or life would be one constant celebration.” The apprentices had been hovering nearby when this remark was passed and Charlie, the older one, had opened his mouth to say, “And what would be wrong with that?” but had stopped himself and instead nodded his head in exaggerated agreement.
    She sat quite still at the table, her eyes lowered to the plate before her. “Yes. January would be a good time. That gives people six months to get ready. That should be enough.”
    Phuti agreed. It had always struck him as strange that people took such trouble over weddings, with two parties—one for each family—and a great deal of coming and going by anybody who was related, even distantly, to the couple. Six months would be reasonable, and would not encourage unnecessary activity; if one allowed a year, then people would think of a year’s worth of things to do.
    â€œYou have an uncle…,” he began. This, he knew, was the delicate part of the matter. Mma Makutsi would have to be paid for, and an uncle would probably wish to negotiate the bride price. Her uncle would speak to his father and his uncles, and together they would agree the figure, notionally in head of cattle.
    He stole a glance at his fiancée. A woman of her education and talents could expect a fairly good dowry—perhaps nine cattle—even if her background would not normally justify more than seven or eight. But would this uncle, if he existed, try to raise the price once he found out about the Double Comfort Furniture Store and all those Radiphuti cattle out at the cattle post? In Phuti Radiphuti’s experience, uncles did their homework in these situations.
    â€œYes,” said Mma Makutsi. “I have an uncle. He is my senior uncle, and I think that he will want to talk about these things.”
    It was delicately put, and it made it possible for Phuti Radiphuti to move on from this potentially awkward topic to the safer ground of food. “I know somebody who is a very good caterer,” he said. “She has a truck with a fridge in it. She is very good at this sort of thing.”
    â€œShe sounds just right,” said Mma Makutsi.
    â€œAnd I can get hold of chairs for the guests to sit on,” went on Phuti Radiphuti.
    Of course, thought Mma Makutsi; the Double Comfort Furniture Store would come in useful for that. There was nothing worse than a wedding where there were not enough chairs for people to sit on and they ended up eating with their plates balanced on all sorts of things, ant