I don subscribe 4 ur site.. But virgo updates on ur site get hiccups oh.. Hope newer updates no go tey lng *4 ur site*

I don subscribe 4 ur site.. But virgo updates on ur site get hiccups oh.. Hope newer updates no go tey lng *4 ur site*...i love ur story... Wagbayi!

joanne1:
@Umariayim a very wonderful,brilliant,beautiful piece u got here,u deserve more than a standing ovation infact if I see u I wld jump on ya wiv a big hug. hv bn a silent follower of ur page like I look forward to it evry week until u went MIA. I jus hope and pray u finish dis beautiful piece here on dis forum + pls put on sth new on ur blog... Thanks!!! U guys shld pls visit her page www.umariayim.com dis babe has got wonderful stories there infact asyds frm royver,kayemjay,princesca,bukkydan and sme few mre dis babe is jus exceptional... Kisses gal4rnd...

Aww...thanks dear.

Mutaino7:
I don subscribe 4 ur site.. But virgo updates on ur site get hiccups oh.. Hope newer updates no go tey lng *4 ur site*...i love ur story... Wagbayi!

Thanks for subscribing. Sorry about the delay in my updates. I was on break for a while. I promise to be more consistent now.

Nmeri17:
Virgo yo writing is captivating and awesome. i suggest you break each episode into shorter doses so ion scroll endlessly. btw can i give spoilers??

Thank you dear. I will try to do as suggested with the next update. And no, no spoilers.

Am I seeing a law/legal themed story here? Wow. This is the first one I will be seeing on Nairaland. In fact first one I will ever read from a Nigerian writer and I have read countless foreign legal thrillers. As a lawyer I can relate to the story perfectly but you have made quite easy for even non-lawyers to follow. The combination of law, romance, suspense and intrigue is quite wonderful. This is the first story of yours that I will be reading, but I will go and check our your website now. I guess I just became a fan. Great, great job!

akinsadeez:
Am I seeing a law/legal themed story here? Wow. This is the first one I will be seeing on Nairaland. In fact first one I will ever read from a Nigerian writer and I have read countless foreign legal thrillers. As a lawyer I can relate to the story perfectly but you have made quite easy for even non-lawyers to follow. The combination of law, romance, suspense and intrigue is quite wonderful. This is the first story of yours that I will be reading, but I will go and check our your website now. I guess I just became a fan. Great, great job!

Thank you.

Episode 4


NADEN


The boardroom is full when I walk in. They are about twelve in number. She sits further down the square end of the table with the two women I have come to realize are her best friends. The others are strange faces apart from David, the new lawyer who has mastered the art of appearing magically at every corner, demanding to know the intricacies of the law. I nod at him. He smiles and bows slightly. I am trying to get used to the deference…to the sheepish grins. I am senior partner.
I square my shoulders and fill every space in my dark gray suit jacket with authority, just as he would want me to. Lowering my Blackberry and the file in my hand to the table, I pull the black all important leather swivel chair at the head of the table and sit down.

“Good morning.”

They chorus their greetings, their voices rising and falling in a disharmonious chant.

Good morning.

Good morning sir.

Morning.

I look at her. She does not join in the chant. Her eyes are fixed on the stack of papers she holds to her face. We sit through several minutes of chair squeaking and paper rustling until the room finally settles down. I look at the oddity in the room, the figure covered in pale blue Danshiki. The blue stands out in a sea of overbearing black and whites, its owner stiff in the midst of lawyers wearing serious frowns. I smile at the owner of the Danshiki, already acquainted with him through nights of studying his case file.

“Sorry about the wait Mr. Hassan.”

Mr. Hassan nods.

“It’s okay.”

I open the file before me and flip through the papers inside.

“So, I have been briefed by Agatha,” I turn to nod at one of her friends, the one with an identical frown on her oval face and a halo of tight stringy curls sitting comfortably on her head. Agatha acknowledges my mention with a curt nod. I turn back to the file before me. “From what I learned, the processes were served on you two days ago.”

“Yes sir.”

I move my attention to Agatha again.

“I don’t think I have the Statement of Defence here. Do you have it there with you?”

“Yes.”

Agatha picks up the papers before her and passes it to the male lawyer beside her and he repeats the action with the lawyer beside him. The papers touch several hands before they get to me. I receive them from a female lawyer with a syrupy sweet smile. I thank her and then read through the documents in my hand, pausing to note each fact with painstaking care. I finish my perusal and look up at Mr. Hassan again.

“Let’s go through the facts of this case again.”

We discuss the case. Mr. Hassan has nothing good to say about the Plaintiff, a lawyer with a thriving practice in one of the properties managed by his company. He lambasts her for being troublesome, counting on the tips of lean fingers, how many times his company has suffered from what he called her excesses. He digresses at some point, raising inconsequential matters designed to layer the tenant with more guilt and improvidence. I let him vent.

“We were tired and so we decided to sell the property,” he says at last, coming to the end of his rambling.

“Okay.”

I rustle through the papers with me.

“In the Plaintiff’s statement of claim, she says your firm continued to receive money from her despite issuing her the quit notice.”

“We already told her that there are no records to support her claim,” Mr. Hassan says with a frown.

“Copies of the receipt of the payment are attached to her statement of claim.”

Mr. Hassan shrugs.

“I don’t know, like I said, we have no official records to show that anybody received money from her on behalf of the company.”

I nod. “I see.”

I move through the documents on the table and get to the last page, a dull black and white copy of a photograph showing a detached burglary
proof, a shattered sliding door glass and an office in the background that had papers strewn all over the floor. I place the stapled papers on the
table and push them towards Mr. Hassan. He picks it up and turns his nose up at it

“That was done by the officers of your company?”

“Yes,” he says, returning the paper to the table with a shrug and then pushing it back to me again.

A chair squeaks and I turn to her to find a frown of impatience on her face.

“What is the point in all this?”

Heads turn this way and that as the other lawyers forget to slouch in their chairs. I am conscious of the eyes watching me, waiting for my reaction. I breathe deeply and edit her from my field of vision. I nod at the client.

“Sorry about that interruption. So back to our discussion, I think we have to settle this out of court.”

Mr. Hassan blinks at me in confusion.

“Out of court?”

I nod.

“Yes.”

He turns to her with a help-me-here-I-am-lost look. She pushes towards the table and responds to his visual plea.

“What he is trying to say is that we should abandon the case.”

A sneer twisting her face, she cocks an expertly lined brow at me.

“What we don’t know are his reasons for that decision.”

I fight mounting irritation and fix my undivided attention on Mr. Hassan.

“Well, there is evidence that someone in your company has been receiving money from the Plaintiff. This should not be the case. The moment a tenancy agreement has been repudiated through the issuance of an eviction notice, the contract between your company and the tenant is terminated. Your company has no reason to benefit from a repudiated contract.”

“Receipts can be forged,” she says, attacking me from the other end of the table again. “There are no records in the company to back the
Plaintiff’s claim of payment. I don’t see how that is a big deal.”

I ignore her.

“Secondly, the law frowns against the destruction of tenants’ properties. By removing her burglary proof and breaking her door, you have contravened that law. I don’t see the judge ruling in our favour.”

“Are we forgetting one little detail?”

I summon an imperturbable expression and face her.

“What could that be?”

Another brow shoots up at me.

“That the Plaintiff had constituted a nuisance throughout the tenancy period.”

“Is that a defence?”

“Why not?”

I smile.

“The Plaintiff operates a law practice on the premises and nothing in this interview has been able to prove that she was indeed a nuisance. Don’t forget we are dealing with a lawyer here who understands the position of the law on these things. We have more to lose if we continue with this case.”

“I agree,” a voice to my right says, causing me to turn to find its source. It is the male lawyer beside her. His eyes are cool but friendly. “I think we should settle out of court.”

The support is unexpected. I try to smile my thanks but something holds me back. I give him a nod instead and return to a squirming Mr. Hassan who has a pained expression on his face. I lecture him about the law, throwing out sections and subsections in dizzying succession until he raises his hands in surrender.

“Okay fine, I guess we will do what you advised.”

“Good.”

The meeting ends as I distribute tasks among the lawyers and arrange a meeting with Mr. Hassan’s tenant. The room soon empties. I sit and wait for her. She is behind Mr. Hassan when she begins to walk past me. I catch her eyes and hold them.

“I need to talk to you now.”

She frowns, adjusts the papers in her hands.

“You need to talk to me about what?”

I heave off my chair and reach for the only thing before me – my phone. The file has long been returned to Agatha who had marched out of the office with military-like efficiency a few minutes ago. I walk to the door and turn to her.

“So your office?”



*********************
ANGELA


I drop the papers to my desk and turn to him. He is standing behind one of the chairs across my desk, his face impassive as he watches me.

“Your behaviour in the boardroom….can you try not to repeat it again?”

I simmer and boil.

“Are you gagging me?”

“Listen Angela, I am here to work and as it stands, I am your boss. Talking down at me or attempting to ridicule me before the other lawyers
will not be tolerated as from today.”

I fold my arms against my chest.

“Aren’t you unraveling rather nicely? Who would have thought you had such dictatorial tendencies?”

He says nothing, just stands there watching. I drop my arms from my chest.

“Listen, I am not even going to pretend I know why you are here, but please don’t come here and order me around or ask me to like you.”

A smirk breaks through the blank slate that is his face.

“I don’t care about your feelings Angela. What you like or don’t like is none of my business. All I am asking you to do is recognize who has the final say here.”

A cutting remark settles on my tongue but he is already walking away. He stops at the door, one hand on the hand and turns to me.

“And you should really take out time to study the Lagos Tenancy Law. I am afraid your knowledge of the law is a little bit obsolete.”
The door closes after him. I see red. I pick the expensive jotter I had gotten from my mother as a birthday gift and fling it hard at the door. It hits the door with a defeated thump and falls lazily to the floor.



**********************

THE OYELOWO MANSION



The woman primed her make-up and checked her reflection again for flaws. Satisfied that she had hidden ten years under her water based foundation, she left her vanity mirror and grabbed her purse. Her short black scoop neck dress hugged her cinched waist and wide hips without exposing the lace corset she wore under it. She slipped her feet into gold strappy sandals with glittering stones and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. Her phone started to blink on the bed and she picked it.

“Have you left home now?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, see you soon.”

She grabbed her purse and her car keys from the bed. She was going on a date and it wasn’t with her husband. For the first time in her fifty two years, Damilola Oyelowo nee Adesoga felt truly free.



*******************



DOWNSTAIRS THE OYELOWO MANSION


Fausat continued to badger her grandmother.

“Please grandma, say…say yes. Pea…please.”

The old woman laughed at the frustration on her granddaughter’s face.

“I should say say yes to what?”

The frown cleared from Fausat’s face and she buried her face into her grandmother’s laps and giggled at the imitation of her stutter. When she raised her head again, her grandmother was smiling.

“It’s just a date.”

“A date with somebody you met on Facebook ehn Fausat. You want your mother to start shouting abi?”

Fausat made a face.

“She doesn’t have to know.”

“Ehen, so you want me to lie?”

Fausat shook her head and cosied up to her grandmother. “If you don’t teh…tell her, she won’t know. Don’t tell her and you won’t hah…have to lie. Please.”

Her grandmother inclined her head and studied her for some minutes.

“But you are too young to have a boyfriend.”

Fausat drew back with a gasp.

“Huh what? I’m almost seventeen.”

“Ehen? Seventeen is still very young. You are a baby.”

“I’m not,” Fausat said with an incredulous laugh. “I had my first boyfriend in fourth grade.”

“Fourth grade?”

“Yeah….urm….I don’t know what it’s called here but it’s what we do after kindergarten.”

Understanding shone in the old woman’s eyes.

“Ah, like Primary school.”

Shock replaced comprehension.

“Ah, so you started having a boyfriend from Primary school. Fausat!”
Fausat clamped a hand over her mouth and dissolved into wild fits of laughter.

“Grand….grandma,” she spluttered at the end of her laughter. “Your so…so funny.”
They were interrupted by the loud clicking of heels against Marble. They turned at the same time to smile at the woman coming down the stairs. They greeted her. The old woman expressed surprise at her elegant ensemble while Fausat overwhelmed her with colourful teenage language.

“Wow, aunty…you look so bad. Your…your outfit is sick.”

The woman smiled demurely and told the old woman she had a meeting with a friend. They watched her cross the living room to the door.
There was a frown of concern on the old woman’s face as her daughter in law disappeared from sight.

“So grandma, please?”

The old woman pushed disturbing thoughts from her mind and looked away from the door to her granddaughter’s earnest face.

“Okay but you must come back home on time o.”

They reached a compromise. Fausat would be home from her movie date before nine. A driver was assigned to her. He would wait until the date was over and ferry her home. Fausat tried to negotiate the terms of her deal with her grandmother but got obstinate head shaking instead. She settled for what her grandmother offered, enveloping the old woman in a tight hug.

“Love you grandma.”

As she bounded up the stairs to prepare for her date, her grandmother watched her, a nostalgic smile on her face. How she reminded her of her late husband, that one. She turned again to the door and remembered her daughter in law. She sighed. There was still so much to do.




*********************


NADEN


I am weary and drained of energy when I lean away from my desk. The familiar darkness weighs down on my shoulders and makes my world gray and colourless. I forget work concerns and her sneering face, and remember my conversation this morning with my mother.

Naden, Boma don run o. Ai, why Boma dey do me this kain thing?

What?! How? When did this happen?

I no know o Naden. I go Opolo go find am. When I reach there, dem tell me say im don run.

Knocking at the door makes me sit upright again.

“Come in.”

The door opens and a lawyer strolls in with brisk steps. A smile decorates his face, making him almost unrecognizable, but I remember him.
He is the one who had supported my decision to settle Mr. Hassan’s case out of court.

“Good evening,” he says.

I nod.

“Good evening.”

He looks at the empty chairs beside him.

“Can I sit down?”

“Sure.”

He sits down, making sure to arrange this suit jacket around him before looking up at me again.

“Sorry about what happened this morning.”

I give a careless shrug.

“I am not bothered by it.”

He mulls over my answer, stroking his jaw.

“I think that is the right thing to do. There is no need to respond to all that negativity.”

A curious thought occurs to me but I have no time to dwell on it.

“Listen,” he says, leaning forward and propping his elbows on my desk. “I am on your side in this place. If anyone opposes you, be rest assured that they have me to answer to.”

Even though his face is open and friendly, I am slow to react to his show of loyalty. He leans back in his seat, eyes expectant. I exhale and nod slightly.

“Thank you Mr…”

“Rueben,” he supplies, jumping to the edge of his seat and extending his right hand across the table. I take it and give it a perfunctory pump.

I suddenly begin to crave for privacy, for space to analyze the man before me. I flick my wrist and eye my wristwatch. Done with that, I concern myself with looking for nothing under the files on my table. He gets the message and stands up from his chair. I ditch my search and look up at him.

“I guess we’ll see then.”

“Sure.”

“Great. Can I have your number?”

I fish out a newly printed card from the leather card holder on my desk and hand it over to him.

“Thank you.”

His body language is confident when he leaves the office. I watch the door long after he has left and replay his words until I reach a logical conclusion.

He is up to something.



************************



IKOYI BOAT CLUB



The breeze from the Atlantic gathered momentum before forcing its way into the enclosed space, whipping strands of hair loose from tightly wrapped buns on the heads of stylishly dressed women and causing the shirts on the men to cling to their frames and then balloon out again. The man sat alone and watched the sea froth and throw up stormy waves. His eyes were distant and thoughtful as one hand reached to pick up his phone from the table. He tore his gaze away from the sea and looked down at the phone in his hand. He dialed a number and waited for the call to be picked. He did not wait for long.

“Good evening sir.”

“How is it going?”

“So far, so good.”

“Opposition?”

“Well, there was something this morning but I worked through it.”

“Good.”

The man was about to end the call but he hesitated for a second.

“Where do you live?”

“Surulere sir.”

The man’s eyes grew distant again.

“Ah Surulere. What part of Surulere?”

“Aguda.”

The man’s eyes narrow and the colourful surroundings fade into the sepia of the past. In his mind, he sees a stately white building with a wide
balcony and a young woman leaning down from the balcony, a coy smile on her face.
Goodnight Tolu.

He fought the past with a shake of his head and the sounds of the Atlantic brought him back to the present again.

“I have spoken to Hassan. He will get back to you.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He never did. He lowered the phone to the table and waited for the man who was now making his way through the throng of sophisticated revelers to him. Yinusa Ali soon met him.

“Boko,” he greeted, his eyes lighting with rare pleasure.

His friend, Yinusa Ali, current Inspector General of Police laughed, adjusting the silver buttons of his long sleeved native shirt.

“Martin, you better stop calling me that. God help you that you don’t make this mistake when somebody who knows somebody in Punch or Guardian carries the wrong news.”

The man laughed. The sound was a rich throaty one. Years fell from his face.

“I’d like to see that happen. It will be an interesting story, I tell you.”

Yinusa Ali laughed.

“You know these days, every Hausa man is seen as Boko Haram. One has to be careful with you Southerners o!”

“Is that why you are looking like the President now?”

“Oh, I am beginning to like this attire,” Yinusa Ali said with a smile before excusing himself to motion to a passing waiter. After placing his
order of whiskey and coke, he became businesslike.

“So how is it going with the case?”

Martin Oyelowo reached for his own drink on the table.

“So far, so good. I am sure we will be ready at the next hearing date.”

Yinusa Ali nodded.

“Great.”

They talked about the case for only a few minutes, the Inspector General of Police deciding that his friend was more capable to dealing with an issue that had threatened his career and cordial relationship with the president. It was a beneficial arrangement. Martin Oyelowo stood to gain a lot if everything went according to plan. They sipped their drinks and talked about women. A teasing smile on his face, Yinusa Ali sought to know Martin Oyelowo’s progress with the wife of the president of their club, a Russian beauty with a flirty eye and hordes of lovers from the club’s patrons. He leaned and whispered to Martin.

“So have you….you know?”

A mischievous wink finished his statement. Martin laughed.

“Not yet.”

“Hmmm,” Yinusa Ali said, leaning back into his seat. “So what are you waiting for?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is it madam?”

Martin scowled.

“Since when did she start controlling me?”

Just then, Yinusa Ali’s eyes caught those of a beautiful woman in a group of two female friends sitting three tables away from them. Her skin was flawless and her full chest distracting. He feasted on her beauty until something struck him and he called his friend’s attention to the woman.

“Martin, is that not your wife?”

Martin Oyelowo turned in his seat and stared at the strange vision before him. His mind was filled with one thought.

What is she doing here dressed like that?




*******************
NADEN


I walk back to join Henry and his friends, still reeling from the call from Mr. Hassan.

He has asked us to get you a four bedroom apartment in Lekki. I am coming to your office tomorrow so that we can go and see the houses I have selected.

I claim my other former seat, a lumpy chair at the edge of the haphazard arrangement in Henry’s living room. Henry and his friends are still discussing my issue with Angela. I had let my guard down today and shared the story of her animosity with them and they had latched on to it, sharing stories of similar experiences with women.

“Women ehn, if you follow their behaviour, you fit just confuse,” Itohen says, shaking his head, one leg stretched out before him and the other bent at the knee. “Na so my girlfriend been dey do before we begin dey date. I been hate am before ehn. That time, we dey work for the same office…for GT Bank. Any small thing, the girl go just dey attack me. Before I talk one, she don talk fifty.”
Itohen changes his voice to a high pitched imitation of a female.

“Is it because I am a woman….is it because I am a woman?”

There is a general laughter and Itohen goes back to his voice.

“I go just dey vex. Who dey struggle your womanhood with you? Comot make person see road abeg.”

I smile and the others guffaw.

“So how una take settle?” Henry asks, slugging beer from the Star bottle in his hand.

“I no even remember,” Itohen says with a shrug, “I just find myself with am.”

“E be like say na so them dey take show love,” Abbey quips, a grin on his face. “Fight before surrender.”

“So maybe this Naden babe sef like am.”

I shake my head.

“Nah, we really don’t like each other.”

I get a message alert and pull my phone from the breast pocket of my shirt when I had dropped it after returning back to the living room. The number is strange until I read the message.

Hi, hope you are having a great weekend. I will need to talk to you on Monday about Angela. I have something I think might interest you.

Rueben.

Wow.........dis is really cool........ Different from the norm. Keep it up

THE OYELOWO MANSION


The woman primed her make-up and checked her reflection again for flaws. Satisfied that she had hidden ten years under her water based foundation, she left her vanity mirror and grabbed her purse. Her short black scoop neck dress hugged her cinched waist and wide hips without exposing the lace corset she wore under it. She slipped her feet into gold strappy sandals with glittering stones and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. Her phone started to blink on the bed and she picked it.

“Have you left home now?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, see you soon.”

She grabbed her purse and her car keys from the bed. She was going on a date and it wasn’t with her husband. For the first time in her fifty two years, Damilola Oyelowo nee Adesoga felt truly free.



*******************



DOWNSTAIRS THE OYELOWO MANSION


Fausat continued to badger her grandmother.

“Please grandma, say…say yes. Pea…please.”

The old woman laughed at the frustration on her granddaughter’s face.

“I should say say yes to what?”

The frown cleared from Fausat’s face and she buried her face into her grandmother’s laps and giggled at the imitation of her stutter. When she raised her head again, her grandmother was smiling.

“It’s just a date.”

“A date with somebody you met on Facebook ehn Fausat. You want your mother to start shouting abi?”

Fausat made a face.

“She doesn’t have to know.”

“Ehen, so you want me to lie?”

Fausat shook her head and cosied up to her grandmother. “If you don’t teh…tell her, she won’t know. Don’t tell her and you won’t hah…have to lie. Please.

Her grandmother inclined her head and studied her for some minutes.

“But you are too young to have a boyfriend.”

Fausat drew back with a gasp.

“Huh what? I’m almost seventeen.”

“Ehen? Seventeen is still very young. You are a baby.”

“I’m not,” Fausat said with an incredulous laugh. “I had my first boyfriend in fourth grade.”

“Fourth grade?”

“Yeah….urm….I don’t know what it’s called here but it’s what we do after kindergarten.”

Understanding shone in the old woman’s eyes.

“Ah, like Primary school.”

Shock replaced comprehension.

“Ah, so you started having a boyfriend from Primary school. Fausat!”

Fausat clamped a hand over her mouth and dissolved into wild fits of laughter.

“Grand….grandma,” she spluttered at the end of her laughter. “Your so…so funny.”

They were interrupted by the loud clicking of heels against Marble. They turned at the same time to smile at the woman coming down the
stairs. They greeted her. The old woman expressed surprise at her elegant ensemble while Fausat overwhelmed her with colourful teenage language.

“Wow, aunty…you look so bad. Your…your outfit is sick.”

The woman smiled demurely and told the old woman she had a meeting with a friend. They watched her cross the living room to the door.
There was a frown of concern on the old woman’s face as her daughter in law disappeared from sight.

“So grandma, please?”

The old woman pushed disturbing thoughts from her mind and looked away from the door to her granddaughter’s earnest face.

“Okay but you must come back home on time o.”

They reached a compromise. Fausat would be home from her movie date before nine. A driver was assigned to her. He would wait until the date was over and ferry her home. Fausat tried to negotiate the terms of her deal with her grandmother but got obstinate head shaking instead. She settled for what her grandmother offered, enveloping the old woman in a tight hug.

“Love you grandma.”

As she bounded up the stairs to prepare for her date, her grandmother watched her, a nostalgic smile on her face. How she reminded her of her late husband, that one. She turned again to the door and remembered her daughter in law. She sighed. There was still so much to do.



*********************



NADEN


I am weary and drained of energy when I lean away from my desk. The familiar darkness weighs down on my shoulders and makes my world gray and colourless. I forget work concerns and her sneering face, and remember my conversation this morning with my mother.

Naden, Boma don run o. Ai, why Boma dey do me this kain thing?

What?! How? When did this happen?

I no know o Naden. I go Opolo go find am. When I reach there, dem tell me say im don run.

Knocking at the door makes me sit upright again.

“Come in.”

The door opens and a lawyer strolls in with brisk steps. A smile decorates his face, making him almost unrecognizable, but I remember him. He is the one who had supported my decision to settle Mr. Hassan’s case out of court.

“Good evening,” he says.

I nod.

“Good evening.”

He looks at the empty chairs beside him.

“Can I sit down?”

“Sure.”

He sits down, making sure to arrange this suit jacket around him before looking up at me again.

“Sorry about what happened this morning.”

I give a careless shrug.

“I am not bothered by it.”

He mulls over my answer, stroking his jaw.

“I think that is the right thing to do. There is no need to respond to all that negativity.”

A curious thought occurs to me but I have no time to dwell on it.

“Listen,” he says, leaning forward and propping his elbows on my desk. “I am on your side in this place. If anyone opposes you, be rest assured that they have me to answer to.”

Even though his face is open and friendly, I am slow to react to his show of loyalty. He leans back in his seat, eyes expectant. I exhale and nod slightly.

“Thank you Mr…”

“Rueben,” he supplies, jumping to the edge of his seat and extending his right hand across the table. I take it and give it a perfunctory pump.

I suddenly begin to crave for privacy, for space to analyze the man before me. I flick my wrist and eye my wristwatch. Done with that, I concern myself with looking for nothing under the files on my table. He gets the message and stands up from his chair. I ditch my search and look up at him.

“I guess we’ll see then.”

“Sure.”

“Great. Can I have your number?”
I fish out a newly printed card from the leather card holder on my desk and hand it over to him.

“Thank you.”

His body language is confident when he leaves the office. I watch the door long after he has left and replay his words until I reach a logical conclusion.

He is up to something.



************************

Why the hidden comment from op?

chinedumo:
Why the hidden comment from op?

Issues with the anti-spam bot.

IKOYI BOAT CLUB


The breeze from the Atlantic gathered momentum before forcing its way into the enclosed space, whipping strands of hair loose from tightly wrapped buns on the heads of stylishly dressed women and causing the shirts on the men to cling to their frames and then balloon out again. The man sat alone and watched the sea froth and throw up stormy waves. His eyes were distant and thoughtful as one hand reached to pick up his phone from the table. He tore his gaze away from the sea and looked down at the phone in his hand. He dialed a number and waited for the call to be picked. He did not wait for long.

“Good evening sir.”

“How is it going?”

“So far, so good.”

“Opposition?”

“Well, there was something this morning but I worked through it.”

“Good.”

The man was about to end the call but he hesitated for a second.

“Where do you live?”

“Surulere sir.”

The man’s eyes grew distant again.

“Ah Surulere. What part of Surulere?”

“Aguda.”

The man’s eyes narrow and the colourful surroundings fade into the sepia of the past. In his mind, he sees a stately white building with a wide balcony and a young woman leaning down from the balcony, a coy smile on her face.

Goodnight Tolu.

He fought the past with a shake of his head and the sounds of the Atlantic brought him back to the present again.

“I have spoken to Hassan. He will get back to you.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He never did. He lowered the phone to the table and waited for the man who was now making his way through the throng of sophisticated revelers to him. Yinusa Ali soon met him.

“Boko,” he greeted, his eyes lighting with rare pleasure.

His friend, Yinusa Ali, current Inspector General of Police laughed, adjusting the silver buttons of his long sleeved native shirt.

“Martin, you better stop calling me that. God help you that you don’t make this mistake when somebody who knows somebody in Punch or

Guardian carries the wrong news.”

The man laughed. The sound was a rich throaty one. Years fell from his face.

“I’d like to see that happen. It will be an interesting story, I tell you.”

Yinusa Ali laughed.



“You know these days, every Hausa man is seen as Boko Haram. One has to be careful with you Southerners o!”

“Is that why you are looking like the President now?”

“Oh, I am beginning to like this attire,” Yinusa Ali said with a smile before excusing himself to motion to a passing waiter. After placing his
order of whiskey and coke, he became businesslike.

“So how is it going with the case?”

Martin Oyelowo reached for his own drink on the table.

“So far, so good. I am sure we will be ready at the next hearing date.”

Yinusa Ali nodded.

“Great.”

They talked about the case for only a few minutes, the Inspector General of Police deciding that his friend was more capable to dealing with an issue that had threatened his career and cordial relationship with the president. It was a beneficial arrangement. Martin Oyelowo stood to gain a lot if everything went according to plan. They sipped their drinks and talked about women. A teasing smile on his face, Yinusa Ali sought to know Martin Oyelowo’s progress with the wife of the president of their club, a Russian beauty with a flirty eye and hordes of lovers from the club’s patrons. He leaned and whispered to Martin.

“So have you….you know?”

A mischievous wink finished his statement. Martin laughed.

“Not yet.”

“Hmmm,” Yinusa Ali said, leaning back into his seat. “So what are you waiting for?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is it madam?”

Martin scowled.

“Since when did she start controlling me?”

Just then, Yinusa Ali’s eyes caught those of a beautiful woman in a group of two female friends sitting three tables away from them. Her skin was flawless and her full chest distracting. He feasted on her beauty until something struck him and he called his friend’s attention to the woman.

“Martin, is that not your wife?”

Martin Oyelowo turned in his seat and stared at the strange vision before him. His mind was filled with one thought.

What is she doing here dressed like that?



*******************
NADEN

I walk back to join Henry and his friends, still reeling from the call from Mr. Hassan.

He has asked us to get you a four bedroom apartment in Lekki. I am coming to your office tomorrow so that we can go and see the houses I have selected.

I claim my other former seat, a lumpy chair at the edge of the haphazard arrangement in Henry’s living room. Henry and his friends are still
discussing my issue with Angela. I had let my guard down today and shared the story of her animosity with them and they had latched on to it, sharing stories of similar experiences with women.

“Women ehn, if you follow their behaviour, you fit just confuse,” Itohen says, shaking his head, one leg stretched out before him and the other bent at the knee. “Na so my girlfriend been dey do before we begin dey date. I been hate am before ehn. That time, we dey work for the same office…for GT Bank. Any small thing, the girl go just dey attack me. Before I talk one, she don talk fifty.”

Itohen changes his voice to a high pitched imitation of a female.

“Is it because I am a woman….is it because I am a woman?”

There is a general laughter and Itohen goes back to his voice.

“I go just dey vex. Who dey struggle your womanhood with you? Comot make person see road abeg.”

I smile and the others guffaw.

“So how una take settle?” Henry asks, slugging beer from the Star bottle in his hand.

“I no even remember,” Itohen says with a shrug, “I just find myself with am.”

“E be like say na so them dey take show love,” Abbey quips, a grin on his face. “Fight before surrender.”

“So maybe this Naden babe sef like am.”

I shake my head.

“Nah, we really don’t like each other.”

I get a message alert and pull my phone from the breast pocket of my shirt when I had dropped it after returning back to the living room. The number is strange until I read the message.

Hi, hope you are having a great weekend. I will need to talk to you on Monday about Angela. I have something I think might interest you.

Rueben.

More inspirations ma'am

Your story is very exotic. I appreciate your story, nothing could be more sublime. By the way, are we allowed to make predictions?

Lovely story,keep it up

today's update dey give me scratches..... hope all is well sha.....nice job virgo

Jennimma:
More inspirations ma'am

Thank you.

seunviju:
Lovely story,keep it up

Thanks.

Chuksemi:
Your story is very exotic. I appreciate your story, nothing could be more sublime. By the way, are we allowed to make predictions?

Thanks, and yes you are allowed to make predictions.

EPISODE 5


ANGELA


Some days I keep my resentment against the male species hidden under layers of civility. Other days, I let it run free.

Like now.

As I watch tears fill Amina’s eyes, I find another reason not to like men. Today Amina is an emotional mess, her face a macabre portrait of many colours – black running into brown, red sitting side by side with pink, shimmering gold smudged by overflowing ivory.

Pressing the sodden tissue against her tear streaked face, Amina sniffs into the phone.

“Mai ya sa?”

An intense frown on her face, she listens to whatever her fiance of three years is saying. I see a slight tremor run through the hand holding the wad of tissue in her hand. She lowers the tissue to the table and runs the free hand through black wavy hair made possible by her Arab genes. Her mother, a Tunisian who had met and married her father in London and had settled in a five bedroom duplex in Ennasr city, an upscale area of Tunis with Amina’s sister, still pressed Amina about finding a suitor among her Berber relatives but Amina’s ties to her Hausa heritage had meant she chose Nigeria instead of her mother’s birth country.

“Ba zan zo Sokoto ba,” Amina says after a while with a shake of head.

I sigh. Even though my understanding of Hausa is practically non-existent, the mention of Sokoto gives me an insight into the conversation Amina is having with her fiance. The argument about moving back to Sokoto had been the bone of contention between Amina and Aminu for the past year. Aminu favoured a move to Sokoto to perform his princely duties at palace of the Sultan, a place he had not been since he was five years old after his grandfather, the last Sultan died in a plane crash at Abuja while on his way back to Sokoto from a meeting with a former president in Lagos.

Amina pulls the phone from her ear and drops it without much ceremony on the table. I react with alarm as the black and gold damask patterned iPhone lands with a clatter and skids dangerously to the edge of my desk. Oblivious to my reaction, Amina reaches for a tissue from the box of Kleenex beside my laptop. She blows her nose noisily and aims the tissue in the direction of the metal waste basket beside her with precision.

“I am so tired,” she says, slumping into her chair. “I want out of this relationship. This back and forth is killing me.”

I am angry for Amina’s sake. Her decision to return to Nigeria was because of Aminu who is also a lawyer. They had made plans while studying together in London, some of which I was privy to and one of such plans included making a home in Lagos, but this was not to be. Aminu had changed the moment he visited Sokoto for his Uncle’s burial. His dreams with Amina had taken a backseat. There were even rumours of an affair with the daughter of a serving Senator. A part of me is itching to tell Amina to move on with her life but I know that will never happen. Aminu is Amina’s life, the first man she had ever known and the only love of her life.

I fiddle with the pen on my desk and bite my tongue to keep from interfering with Amina’s relationship.

“What do you think I should do?”

I look up from the pen. Her face restored to its natural state with the help of the tissue in her hand, Amina is a picture of innocence and dejection.

“You know how I am with these things Amina. You shouldn't be asking me that sort of question.”

Amina slumps deeper in her chair, her face contorted in pain.

“It is just so hard. Why does he keep doing this….coming back and then giving me hope…only for the fighting to start again.”

I return to my fiddling.

“Sorry.”

“I think I should break off the engagement.”

My tongue properly restrained under my teeth, I hold on to my resolution not to interfere. I look towards the door.

Where is Agatha when you need her?

Moderate in her worldview, Agatha always took the middle ground on matters of love. I maintained my position on the extreme left while Amina suffered lack of will and emotional dependence on the far right.

“I think you should talk to Agatha.”

Her eyes lighting up at my suggestion, Amina nods and drags herself up in her chair.

“I will.”

Amina remembers a case review she is working on and repairs her make-up with the help of my make-up kit. Looking like a high-powered lawyer once again, she leaves my office, her steps quick and assured. As she closes the door, taking her emotional baggage with her, I remember my own mother’s struggles and the early morning conversation with Fausat who had once again crept into my bed while I slept. Her nose almost touching my own, Fausat had been concerned about the constant fighting between my parents while I struggled with wakefulness.

“I hear Aunty and Unk…uncle fight all the time. That’s not good.”

“Okay.”

“Are they gonna get a divorce?”

“I don’t know.”

“Divorces are bad. I still miss my dad. He is married again. Her name is Martha and I hate her.”

“Okay.”

“She is from Mexee…Mexico.”

“Great.”

“Not great. She makes great Tacos though.”

“Okay.”

“You keep saying okay.”

“Okay.”

“Maybe they ah…argue so much ‘cause they like each other…”

I remember my lips twisting in a sardonic smile.

“Do you think they are having sex?”

My smile had slipped. I had closed my eyes and pretended the question was never asked but Fausat was determined to add an amorous quality to the squabbling that has characterized my parents’ marriage since I was a child.

“So they are having sex then ‘cause my friend Tanya says oh…only people having sex fight that way.

I continued to ignore Fausat who was by then happy to continue the conversation with herself.

“Eewww old people sex…..gross.”

Hours later, I met my mother on my way out of the house. She was dressed in a simple cream lace layered dress, her purse tucked under her arm as she chatted with my grandmother. I learned from our five minute conversation that she had an early morning meeting with a lawyer. Keeping her lips sealed about the purpose of the meeting, she left me standing with my grandmother in the living room and drawing conclusions.

My parents are getting a divorce. Finally.



**********************

NADEN


I drive through the gates of the compound in my new car, a gift from my boss. The steering of the BMW X5 moves smoothly in my hand as I steer the car towards the parking space beside Angela’s car, a white Audi A6.

I grab my jacket from the passenger seat and leave the car. I am expecting a call from him by ten thirty and all I have is fifteen minutes left, no thanks to unexpected traffic caused by a broken down fuel tanker on the expressway that led to the office.

My jacket slung over my right hand, I walk into the office and right into the path of an argument between two lawyers, male and female. The argument stops and the lawyers nod at me in greeting. I respond and begin to walk past them when the female raises her finger to stop me.

“Sir?”

I look down at my wristwatch. Twelve minutes left. I look at the female lawyer who has now walked to meet me, a small smile on her face.

“Sorry sir to disturb you sir but Lekan and I were just arguing….”

I wince inwardly. Not now.

“…About one of our cases. Our client is supposed to have defaulted in his Mortgage payment and the bank….the Plaintiff has applied for Summary judgment….”

“Under Order eleven of the Lagos State High Court Rules,” Lekan adds unnecessarily, a smirk on his face. The female lawyer whose name I have not quite grasped does something that resembles an eye roll, and then continues.

“Apart from the mortgage payment, he is claiming legal fees for his lawyer as special damages…Lekan thinks the judge might rule in his favour because of the client’s default.”

I forget my time constraint and turn to Lekan.

“Is it explicitly stated in the contract that in the event of a default in Mortgage payment, the client is expected to pay the legal fees of the lawyer representing the bank?”

Lekan’s face squeezes in a thoughtful frown and he shakes his head.

“No sir. I can’t remember seeing it in the contract.”

I nod. “Okay, are you aware that special damages must be strictly proved and that such damages cannot be automatically made into liquidated money claims?”

Lekan adjusts his collar and appears to think about his answer.

“Fortune International Bank versus City Express. You might want to look that up.”

“Okay sir.”

“So, legal fees unless previously agreed upon cannot be claimed in an action brought against the defaulting Mortgagee.”

The two lawyers murmur their thanks and turn away in the direction of their office while I resume my journey to my office with the longest strides I can manage. I am putting up my jacket on the coat rail when the intercom rings.

“Good morning sir.”

“You will be getting a call from the Inspector General of Police after I drop this call.”

“Okay sir.”

His call drops almost immediately and the phone rings again. The voice of the Inspector General is gruff but very warm.

“How are you young man?”

“I am great sir.”

“I guess you are familiar with our case.”

“Yes sir, I am.”

“Good.”

“So what do you make of it?”

I begin to answer but pause as I suffer a conscience attack.

Naden, this is wrong.

“Hello? Young man?”

I silence my inner turmoil.

“Yes sir, I am. Sorry about that. The case…we can win it with the right witnesses.”

“We have some witnesses….the officers involved.”

“We will need more. Civilian witnesses probably.”

“I see. Let me see what I can arrange. I will get back to you soon.”

“Okay sir.”

“And you should be getting ready for a trip to Kano. I need you to meet with the officers.”

I am suffering another bout of conscience attack when someone knocks on the door. It is Rueben. I remember his message as he quickly makes himself comfortable opposite me.

“So how is everything going?”

I listen to my gut tell me all sort of things about the man seated before me as I prepare to give him a single word answer. He is nodding now, his pencil think mustache curling with his lips as he smiles.

“Good.”

“So what did you want to tell me about Angela?”

“Ah that,” Reuben says, straightening the lapels of his suit jacket and leaning forward. “I think she wants you out of this place.”

I find myself smiling at the earnest frown on his face.

“Okay?”

Leaning back in his chair, Reuben wears a surprised look.

“Did you know?”

“Know about her not wanting me out of this place?”

“Yes.”

I shrug. “Well, I know nothing about Angela’s plans but whatever she is cooking up is her headache. I am not bothered by it.”

Reuben frowns some more, elbow retracting from my desk as he leans back again into his seat.

“I don’t think you should brush this off as nothing. She is a very manipulative and ambitious woman, even dangerous to an extent. She will do anything to get you out of that chair….and did you know she was actually made senior partner for only a few days?”

“Hmmm.”

Reuben twists in his chair and looks at the door as if expecting the subject of our discussion to come charging into the office. When he looks at me, his eyes face is full of loathing. He wriggles to the edge of his seat, fingers settling on my desk.

“She wants me to help her get you out of this place. She called me some days ago and asked me to watch you.”

Reuben’s admission is unexpected. I want to ask questions but something restrains me from doing so. I sit and wait for more revelations. Reuben taps his fingers on the table and obliges me.

“She asked me to get close to you. She thinks you are here for something.” His expression turning somber, Reuben stops his tapping on my desk. “Women like Angela…they will do anything for power. You should watch your back in this place.”

I adjust my chair and lean forward.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I think you should know.”

I nod slowly. “Okay.”

Reuben begins to say something but my phone rings that instant, causing his lower jaw to snap back in place. I nod at him.

“Excuse me.”

Henry is loud and cheerful.

“Ol’ boy how far na?”

“Good morning Henry.”

“You dey work?”

“Yes.”

“You dey close early today?”

I look at Reuben. His unflinching gaze is direct and unabashedly curious. Even though he is settled back in his seat, his body is tilted sideways as if straining to hear the conversation between me and Henry. I lean back in my chair and increase the distance between us.

“Maybe.”

“You suppose close early na. You don forget say we suppose do washing for your new house and your new car this night?”

“Ah that, I have forgotten.”

“No forget o. We go leave Surulere for four, so dey expect us.”

“Okay.”

“Text me the address abeg.”

I remember my lack of furnishings and means of entertainment. I look at Reuben again. He is still watching me closely. I sigh inwardly and give up trying to be discrete in my conversation with Henry.

“Don’t forget the place is kind of new and the fridge is practically empty.”

Henry tells me he and his friends will be bringing beer along with them. We end the conversation on the agreement to meet at my new apartment by four in the evening.

“So you are having a party tonight,” Reuben says, a smile on his face as one leg crosses over the other.

I cross my own leg. “Yes.”

“Great. So can I come?”



**********************

ANGELA


Everywhere is silent, except inside my head. I am in the same position I have been since my meeting with Mr. Hassan. I massage the back of my neck and push away from my desk after putting the papers I had been studying to the left hand corner of the table. I think about Mr. Hassan’s revelations.

Why would my father give Naden a new house?

What kind of deal did they have?

I leave my chair and walk barefoot to the door, determined to find the missing piece to the puzzle that Naden’s ties to my father presented. I make a U-turn at the door and march back to my desk.

Something…something. What is it?

Think Angela. Think.

Ten minutes and a hundred possibilities later, there is no plausible answer for my questions. I am frustrated and a little upset when I slump into my chair in defeat. I think of Reuben and our plan, and as if reading my thoughts, the intercom buzzes with his call.

“Hey.”

“How far? Gotten anything on him yet?”

“Not really. The dude is elusive but I will be studying him. Don’t worry. Leave him to me.”

I am disappointed by Reuben’s answer. I had expected more. His visits to Naden’s office had been growing in frequency these days. How could he not have gotten information on Naden?

“So you haven’t even gotten where he is from.”

Reuben’s sigh is long and exasperated.

“Angela, I said leave him to me.”

It is my turn to sigh and I take my time.

“Sorry.”

“Okay.”

“Are you angry with me?”

“No.”

“Good, don’t be.”

Left with nothing to say, I plead a headache and hang up the receiver. I sit down with my thoughts for a long time, vaguely aware of the rapidly darkening sky outside my blind covered windows. I am jolted out of my reverie by a knock on the door. It is Agatha and she is here to deliver her goodbyes. I wave her forward in excitement. Pushing my chair closer to the desk as she approaches me, a frown of curiousity on her face, I lean my elbows on my desk and smile.

“What if I get close to him to find out things about him myself?”

Agatha is aghast at my question. She does not ask me who. She just stands there like statue and stares at me like I have lost my mind.



**********************

THE OYELOWO MANSION


Martin Oyelowo was lost for words for the first time since his marriage. He did not know what to make of his wife’s recent announcement. They stared at each other, two strangers sharing the same name.

“You want a what?” Martin asked, incredulous as his eyes followed the new creature in short white silk nightdress floating towards the bed, left hand massaging lotion into her right arm.

“A divorce,” Damilola Oyelowo, his wife, said calmly as she curled among her several pillows.

Martin looked for the usual tears but he found none. The determination on his wife’s face caused him to experience unusual panic.

“A divorce for what?” Martin heard himself ask even as he tried to appear unaffected by the change that had come over his wife.

Damilola did not hear her husband’s panic. She heard arrogance and reacted to it by shooting Martin a withering look.

“Am I supposed to answer that question?”

“Yes,” Martin said, crossing his arms against his chest. “I expect you to answer it. What do you want a divorce for?”

Damilola was quiet for a while and then decided that Martin deserved an answer. She tossed back her head.

“To be free of you Martin…to be free of this marriage. I told you I would leave.”

Martin wanted to laugh, to call her bluff but found that his tongue would not move. He felt his blood pressure rise. He said the only thing he could manage.

“You are out of your mind.”

Damilola shrugged. “I don’t care what you think. I am leaving you so you can chase after every woman that catches your fancy. My lawyer will contact you tomorrow.”

Martin glowered at his wife for some minutes and then turned to stomp out of the room. He slammed the door forcefully on his way out, causing the sound to echo around the house. His absence gave Damilola a chance to massage the painful spot on the left side of her chest. She was not supposed to hurt. She was leaving the man who had caused her pain for many years. So why did she feel pain?



**********************

DOWNSTAIRS THE OYELOWO MANSION


Martin Oyelowo searched for his drugs in the upper drawer of his study desk. There were several white plastic containers scattered at the bottom of the drawer. He picked and uncapped one of the containers with Atenolol written on it and then shook a single tablet into the palm of his right hand. He dragged weary feet to the water dispenser just a few steps away and fetched cold water in a brown mug. He downed his drugs quickly and walked back to his chair. He sat still for a while, felt his back begin to ache. Releasing a short sigh, he pressed the button on the arm rest of the chair and the chair became a recliner. He closed his eyes and the memories came back.

It was the 2nd of January, 1985. The sky was overcast and hanging with rain soaked clouds. The mood in the living room of the four bedroom duplex Martin Oyelowo had just purchased in Keffi Street, a quiet street off Awolowo Way Ikoyi, was sad and the adults sitting on camel back chairs with velvet upholstery avoided each other’s eyes. A little girl, aged three was tucked in a corner of the room, a colourful book about gnomes and wizards shielding her from the pervading gloom in the room. The middle aged woman in green kaftan reached for the limp right hand of the beautiful young woman sitting beside her.

“Damilola, you will have others. Your life is more important to us.”

The young woman’s lips quivered and her eyes filled with tears.

“I want this baby,” she said, left hand moving to cradle her slightly bulging belly. “I really do.”

“Be reasonable. The doctor said it is dangerous. Do you want to lose your life? Who will take care of Ranti?”

The young woman lifted her head and looked in the direction of the little girl and then her eyes sought those of the man sitting across her. He looked at her, his feelings hidden behind the mask he always wore around the older woman. She knew what he wanted. He wanted the baby. The trip to London would save her life and the baby’s. Why had she seen this new doctor against his wishes? Why was she consulting his mother?

“I don’t…don’t know,” the young woman told her mother in law, downcast and afraid of her husband’s wrath. He wanted her to keep the baby. His son. But her life was in danger.

Acute Aortic Dissection.

That was the diagnosis for the pain that crippled her for days and left her bedridden. She was in danger of a rupture. Only an abortion could save her.

“Tolu,” the older woman said, turning to the young man. “Won’t you say something? You heard Doctor Timothy. Damilola cannot have this baby.”

The young man had stood up without a word, his head held high and his eyes avoiding those of the women in the room. He knew he would lose against his mother’s persuasion.

The abortion was done in the expensive clinic Doctor Timothy operated just a few streets away from his house. The day his wife came back without the bulge under her flower patterned dress, Martin Oyelowo went out and got his first prostitute. The next morning, he moved his things to the guest room, ignoring his mother’s entreaties. He would never forgive Damilola for killing his son. He found a way to kill the love he had for her.

Martin opened his eyes.

She wants a divorce.

His hand reached for the button beside him and he brought himself forward again. Head bowed over his desk, he tried to reach a decision. It wasn't long when he raised his head up again and pulled the phone on his desk towards him. The fear was gone from his eyes and his heart had settled down nicely in his chest. Oozing some of his old confidence, Martin Oyelowo called Naden Tare George.



***********************

NADEN


Laughter bounces off the walls and voices reverberate in the empty space. A few cans lie scattered at our feet as we make ourselves comfortable on empty buckets of paints and two old Coca-cola crates. Reuben has blended into the crowd and is enjoying a laugh with Itohen. He seems to sense my eyes on him and turns to me.

“May you enjoy many passionate nights in this place,” he toasts, raising his can of Star.

“Yes o,” Itohen hoots, raising his can to join the toast. “Make all the beds for this place experience plenty action.”

I laugh and then raise my own can. “Thanks guys.”

“Wait o, chicks suppose dey this party na,” Henry says, a suggestive smile on his face. “Make we arrange something abeg.”

Everyone in the room subscribes to Henry’s idea before I can make my misgivings known. Reuben’s tie is slack and he raises his voice in tipsy support for Henry. The picture is funny. I take a mental picture of his revelry and store it away in a mental compartment for future retrieval. Somewhere in the middle of loud laughing and phone calls with would be female company, my phone rings and I escape the chaos to answer the call from my boss.

“Naden,” he says without much ceremony. “As you know you will be going to Kano very soon. You will be going with Angela. The two of you will work together on this case.”

As usual, he does not wait for an answer. The dial tone shrills loudly in my ear. I pull the phone away and look up at sky. A few stars wink playfully at me. Inside my barely furnished apartment, my friends continue to cackle drunkenly. I stand under the skeet of darkness and think of the trip to Kano. I had collected the gifts. It was now time to pay for them.



*****************

ANGELA

I receive the call from my father just before I close my eyes.

“You will be leaving soon to Kano with Naden.”

Click.

His brusqueness did not fill me with annoyance this time. I sit up in bed, dragging the covers with me and reach for the leather bound book on the bed stand. I open the pages and draw a plan.

***********************

UPSTAIRS THE OYELOWO MANSION


Damilola Oyelowo woke up before midnight to answer nature’s call. She switched on the lamp on the table beside her and began to push the covers aside to leave the bed but she froze for a second at the sight in the room. Her eyes locked to the thing that held her attention, she left the bed quietly and walked to the sofa across the bed. She stood there and watched the form collapsed on the chair, its arms hanging lifelessly beside its body. She watched the form for several minutes.

He was not dead but asleep.

The husband she wanted to divorce. He was here in her room and it wasn't because she summoned him like the other times.


MEANING OF HAUSA WORDS IN STORY

Mai ya sa - Why?

Ba zan zo Sokoto ba - I will not come to Sokoto.

Virgo,this is mind blowing.

Jennimma:
Virgo,this is mind blowing.

Thank you.

It's good to have you back Virgo.

Charmin1:
It's good to have you back Virgo.

It is good to be back dear.

EPISODE 6


NADEN

The bed shifts and I open my eyes to see the woman I had spent the night with staring down at me with a smile on her face. A wild tangle of hair sits above her head like a crown. Her face is smooth and flawless like the rest of her body which she exposes unabashedly to my eyes. I look down at large firm breasts topped by perky brown nipples and remember my disappointing performance the previous night.

“You are awake,” she says softly, eyes tilting as she smiles. I return her smile. I remember her name. Jewel. Last night I had thought it was an odd choice and told her so. Jewel leans into me and brings her face close to my own. “Maybe we can continue from where we stopped.”

I study Jewel for some minutes. She is beautiful, but in a superficial way. Something about her bothers me.

“Or don’t you?”

Jewel does not wait for an answer. She picks my left hand and presses it against her breasts. The skin under my hand is soft. I splay my fingers over the fleshy orb and feel myself stir. A moan leaves Jewel’s throat. I look up at her. Her lips are pursed, the curve of her neck exposed as she throws her head back. I keep my eyes on her until I feel the fires burn to embers. Jewel realizes my lack of enthusiasm seconds later.

“What?”

Jewel is disappointed. Hurt fills her eyes.

“You don’t like me?”

I feel remorse but I move away from her towards the edge of the bed.

“Sorry. I am not in a good shape today.”

“That was what you said last night,” Jewel says, gathering the sheets to her body when I look back at her. I stop before the toilet door and apologize to her again. She receives my apology with a smile. I leave her plumping one of my new pillows with slender hands.

In the toilet, I lean on the white bowl shaped sink basin and think about the call that had been responsible for my loss of libido and concentration.

“How far?”

Boma’s voice had been clear and devoid of guilt or remorse. Something snapped in me and I had excused myself from the rowdy gathering of Henry and his friends who had chosen to congregate at my house for the second time in less than a week. Reuben had been in the crowd, flanked by Jewel and another female friend. I had taken the conversation with Boma to the back of the house and let my anger loose.

“Dude, is something wrong with you? How can you be so wicked? Do you have any idea what you are putting your mother through?”

“Naden you don start again, cool down abeg,” Boma said, cutting me off in his usual off hand manner. “No dey talk to me like small pikin abeg.”

I had lost reason and abandoned decent language.

“You are acting like a fuc.king delinquent, so yes I will talk to you like a fuc.king child.”

“See guy, no make me vex.”

“And what will happen if you get angry, you stupid selfish mother.fucker.”

Boma had been silent. In the silence, reason had crept back in place, chastising me for my use of language and reminding me of the opportunity presented by Boma’s call.

“Where are you?”

Boma’s answer was curt, vague.

“I am somewhere.”

“Where is somewhere?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Because I think you owe me the truth.”

“Abeg I no owe you anything. If I wan tell you I go tell you, no dey use any yeye lawyer sense for me abeg.”

“Okay fine. Suit yourself.”

Boma had fallen quiet for a while before giving a gruff answer.

“Udo. I dey Udo.”

“Where is Udo?”

“For Edo.”

“Okay.”

“Any other question?”

“No.”

“Okay, I need you to help me with some money.”

I wanted to refuse, to turn Boma’s request down on the excuse of his outlaw status but my mind had thrown up a picture of him as a little boy running around in a blue shorts and giggling wildly as our mother chased him around for his evening in the small two bedroom apartment at Iyana Ipaja where we lived until we moved to Bayelsa.

“How much?”

“Hundred K.”

“Sorry, I can’t help with that.”

“How can you say you don’t have hundred k? Dem no dey pay you again, abi na so lawyers poor?”

I had found Boma’s taunt galling but refrained from responding to it.

“Are you done?”

“No. Okay, give me eighty.”

I gave Boma the same answer. The back and forth continued until we settled at fifty thousand Naira. I was to pay the money into an account owned by a certain Roy Emmanuel at First Bank. I promised Boma the money would get to him the following Friday.

Today.

I pull myself wearily from the sink and walk with heavy legs to the frosted glass that encloses my shower area. Unlike my former house, the taps here rush with clear sparkling water at the slightest turn of the faucets. Shower for me is short. When I go back to the room, the bed is empty and Jewel is nowhere to be found. I look to the cupboard where her clothes hung earlier and find them there. I dress for work and stroll into a clean living room. Gone are the empty beer cans and newspaper that were last night suya wrappings. Jewel is busy wiping down my flat screen LG television. She has taken the liberty to dress in one of my old Nike shirts, an olive green T-shirt that was once a favourite. She turns and gasps when she sees me.

“That was scary,” she says, wringing the small white towel in her hands as she walks to me. “Are you going to work now?”

“Yes.”

Jewel stands and continues her wringing.

“It’s Valentine. Don’t you get a day off?”

“No.”

“Oh okay.”

“So, urm…are you going to have your bath so I can drop you somewhere you can pick a taxi?”

Jewel widens her eyes as if surprised by my question. Then she smiles.

“Oh….erm…okay, let me get dressed.”

I watch her walk with a jiggle to the room and mentally cross her name from my contact list. I know I will not be seeing her again.



***********************



THE OYELOWO MANSION

DOWNSTAIRS IN MARTIN OYELOWO’S STUDY


Martin Oyelowo was in a fix. He stared at the blue velvet box in his hand, undecided what to do with it. He should have known better than to follow Yinusa’s advice. Now the damn thing had become a nuisance and distracting him from focusing on his plans. He thought again of drinking with his friend at the boat club a week before.

“Your wife wants a divorce?” Yinusa Ali blinked at him, disbelief and surprise on his face as he brought back the glass he had been raising to his lips to the table.

“Yes.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. Let her go maybe.”

“Ah Martin, don’t make that mistake please. How can you allow such a thing happen?”

“Why should I force her to stay with me?”

Yinusa leaned back into his seat.

“So who do you want to marry? Olga?”

The mention of the Russian wife of the president of the boat club had brought a smirk to Martin’s face. Olga had not been much of a challenge, in fact, she had been willing to do more than sleep with him. If he ever proposed, he knew what her answer would be.

Martin shook his head.

“I am not marrying Olga.”

“So why do you want to divorce your wife?”

“Did you not hear me? She says she wants a divorce. Do you expect me to beg her?”

“Yes beg her,” Yinusa Ali said, leaning forward. “Martin if that woman leaves you, you will be sorry.”

Martin scoffed. “I can always replace her.”

Yinusa gave his friend Martin a fatherly smile even though he was only a year older than him.

“Look let me tell you something,” he said, touching Martin lightly on the arm. “You see, a woman who has been with you from the beginning, knows you and understands you better than any woman you meet today. See, my first wife Hauwa, that woman has been my strength…my rock in fact. You know I divorced Halima recently?”

Martin nodded. He had been the first person Yinusa had called after divorcing the third of his second wives after only a year in marriage.

“Yes, you told me.”

“That woman would have killed me Wallahi. Do you believe the extent she had gone in exposing some of my secrets to my deputy? Women these days have no loyalty my friend.”

Yinusa Ali made a face. A man who always prided himself about being loyal to his friends, he loathed disloyal people, just like the Deputy Inspector General of police who would not stop thinking of ways to bring him down.

Martin sighed and rubbed his eyes.

“Well, I am not begging her to stay.”

“Good, let her go,” Yinusa Ali said, a lecherous smile on his face. “Maybe I can make her my second wife. Your wife is beautiful for her age. Who knows if she can still bear children?”

Martin tried to laugh but found himself vaguely annoyed by his friend’s statement. He entertained a mental picture of his wife with his friend the same way he had been with other women and found out that the thought disturbed him.

“What do you want her for?” he said, hiding his emotions behind a jovial mask. “She is past her prime.”

“Don’t worry. You just let me have her for one day. Wallahi, you will see wonders.”

Martin laughed this time but the sound was humourless. Yinusa Ali sensed his discomfort and went back to giving him advice.

“Buy her something Martin. It is Valentine next week. I can introduce you to someone who sells good jewelry in London.”

Martin looked at the box again and decided that it was time to get rid of it. He pulled himself out of his chair and walked to the door of his study, his mind conceiving an idea as he went. The house was silent as usual. Martin climbed upstairs and crept stealthily towards the door of his wife’s room. He got there in minutes and began to carry out his plan. He was bent at the waist, the velvet box slipping from his hand to the floor when he heard shuffling behind him. Martin straightened immediately, almost losing his balance. His niece Fausat stood behind him, looking apologetic and curious at the same time. She held a tall glass of what looked like orange juice in her hand, over sized T-shirt swallowing up her lanky frame.

“Sorry Uncle.”

Her eyes were fixed on the box he was now clutching against his chest. She walked to him.

“What’s that?”

As his sister’s only child touched the velvet in his hand with reverence, Martin Oyelowo’s plan changed again. He stretched the box towards her.

“Give this to your auntie.”

He did not wait after that. He walked back to his study to begin his day. He had calls to make. The first was to the hotel in Kano.

********************

Damilola Oyelowo stared at her husband’s niece, unable to process her words. Her eyes fell on the box once again.

“He did what?”

Fausat craned her neck toward the room, eyes fixed past her shoulders.

“Can I come in?”

Damilola stepped aside and let her in. She closed the door, one hand struggling with the edges of her robe as she hurried after Fausat who was now lowering her glass of juice to her bed stand. She turned to Damilola and brandished the box like a weapon.

“Loo…look at what you got for Valentine.”

Damilola wrapped her arms around herself.

“What are you talking about?”

Leaping sideways into her bed and falling with a loud whoop, Fausat made herself comfortable on her bed and patted the space beside her.

“Come sit down Auntie and let’s see what unk…uncle got you.”

Damilola was slow to react. She didn’t know what surprised her most, the young girl’s lack of propriety or the box in her hand. She drew in a deep breath and walked to join Fausat on the bed, on the same spot the young girl had pointed to her.

“Open it,” Fausat commanded, handing her the box.

Still numb, Damilola reached for the box. Fausat began to clap, body heaving off the bed every time her hands made contact.

“Open it….open it…open it,” she chanted, eyes bright with anticipation.

Damilola opened the box without any difficulty, and then gasped when she saw the dazzling gift that sat in it. Fausat reached into the box and fingered the glittering necklace adorned with numerous white diamonds and a single yellow diamond in oval shape.

“Wow! Are those real?”

Seconds later, the girl released her own gasp.

“Oh my God! They are real.”

Woman and girl touched necklace with reverent fingers, each thinking different thoughts. While Fausat head filled with thoughts like,

Oh my God, if only Tanya could see this. Shit! My uncle is rich. I should take a picture….Tanya will never believe it without a picture. Will she let me take a picture?

Damilola only thought one thing,

Why?

“It is so beautiful,” Fausat said at last, withdrawing her hand from the box. She looked up at her uncle’s wife with a smile. “Do you like it?”

Damilola shrugged without thinking.

“It’s okay.”

“Sweet,” Fausat said, jumping from the bed and grabbing her drink from the bed stand. “Let me go tell uncle you liked it.”

Damilola started to protest but Fausat was already out of the room with a few strides. Damilola sighed and went back to the necklace in the box.

Why?

Outside the room, in the hallway that led to the staircase, Fausat began to modify her auntie’s answer, a mischievous grin on her face as she approached her uncle’s study.



********************

MARTIN OYELOWO’S STUDY

The knock distracted Martin. He swore under his breath and glared at the door.

“Who is it?”

“Me.”

Me happened to be no one else but his niece Fausat. She walked to his table, without any hint of fear or awareness of the frown he wore purposely on his face. Martin sighed inwardly. She was like his mother – unafraid and always ready to approach him despite his aloofness.

Fausat leaned across the table and stared at the papers before him.

“Are you working?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

“What do you want?”

Fausat looked up from the papers to smile at him.

“Well…”

She stretched her well and batted her lashes at him.

“Auntie says she loves the necklace, that it is beautiful, and tha…thank you, and I love you.”

Martin’s frown deepened but Fausat continued to smile. Then suddenly, she whipped around and skipped to the door, managing the surprising feat of not spilling her drink. Soon she was out of the study and Martin sat alone. His frown cleared. He knew his wife’s declaration was nothing but the figment of his niece’s imagination, but he couldn’t help wondering,

Does she still love me?



*********************

ANGELA


It is past five. I should be home, checking my luggage to make sure nothing is missing and everything I need for the three week stay in Kano is already packed but instead I am in my office listening to Agatha speak glowingly of Naden.

“You know, I was almost losing after today’s case. I was so angry. I even yelled at David. Poor boy,” Agatha said with a laugh. “You should have seen the way he jumped. If not for Naden, I would probably still be upset by now. I know I shouldn’t even admit it but he is actually intelligent. I don’t know…how does he do it? He always seems to know the right precedent for every case and offhand too.”

I shrug. “Anyone can do that.”

Agatha laughs and shakes her head.

“You just hate that guy.”

“I don’t….well, not that I hate him but I am not carried away by the whole act. I don’t trust him.”

Agatha leans one hand on the arm rest of her chair and plays with her curls.

“He is not bad at all. Dude just strolled in and saw me losing my mind. He didn’t even act bossy or anything. He asked what was wrong and I complained and he just said pulled Nicholas Banna versus Telepower from the air. He even quoted some part of the judgment given by Justice Niki Tobi in the case. He is super with the law. Now, I can’t wait to meet that silly Maxwell again. Hopefully, he will ask Agbalajobi for an adjournment so I can disgrace them both with this case.”

“Okay.”

Agatha stops frowning and goes back to praising Naden.

“He is just good.”

I roll my eyes.

“Okay enough. It is not as if anyone could not have helped you. I am sure Reuben could have helped if you asked him.”

Agatha releases an incredulous laugh.

“Since when did you start supporting Reuben?”

“Since Naden came on board.”

“Ah I see. So your plan, how are you going to execute it with all the animosity between you two?”

“I don’t know yet. Traveling with him is the first step. I will wait for other opportunities.”

“Are you sure this is even necessary?” Agatha asks, wearing a skeptical look. “What if he really has nothing to hide and you are just been paranoid.”

I shake my head.

“No, I am not being paranoid. I know my father. He never does anything for nothing. There must be a reason why he made this guy senior partner and gave him a house and a car.”

“Maybe he just likes him.”

“Trust me Agatha. My dad does not go on a spending spree just because he likes you. He planted Naden here for a reason. I have to find out what that reason is.”

Agatha gives up on the argument and shrugs. I smile, and then look at my wristwatch. It is six o’ clock. I consult the slip of the flight information the firm’s travel agent had sent me. I have two more hours until the flight to Kano. Movement from the other side of the table makes me lift my head up from looking at the slip. Agatha is on her feet, hands straightening her black knee length skirt.

“I should leave now. It is getting late.”

I reach for my own bag at my feet and lift it to my desk.

“I am leaving too.”

Agatha waits for me by the door as I sweep my phones, diary and car keys into my bag. We walk out of my office together. The corridor is empty. The other offices are empty too. I can’t help but look sideways at the door of the senior partner’s office. Resentment flares up again, but I bring my emotions under control.

Patience, Angela. Patience.



***********************

NADEN

We disembark from the plane and follow the line of passengers to the domestic terminal of the airport. Twenty minutes later, I am heaving the leather duffel bags holding my belongings out of the terminal while Angela walks ahead of me, smart in a black dress, hands full with a wheeled luggage which she drags with her as she leads the way to the car park where Ahmed, the driver we had spoken to before the one hour flight is waiting. Ahmed finds us just I begin to call him. Dressed in a clean white Kaftan, Ahmed is soft spoken and polite. He relieves Angela of her bags and leads us to a dark blue Hyundai not too far from where he found us. I choose to sit with Ahmed in the front seat while Angela sits at the back.

“The hotel is not far from here,” Ahmed says as he starts the car and pulls out of the parking lot into the road outside the airport. Ahmed is right. Our journey to The Prince Hotel is over in minutes.

“This place is called Nassarawa G.R.A in case you get lost in the city.”

I thank Ahmed for the information even as he cautions us about being security conscious.

“Have there been any attacks?”

Ahmed shakes his head to Angela’s question.

“No but it is always better to be careful.”

We are greeted by the sight of heavily armed policemen when we get to the gates of the hotel. They perform their routine security check and then wave us through. The welcome at the reception is more warming and a smiling receptionist confirms our names from a black computer monitor and hands me a single key.

“Enjoy your night,” she says, eyes moving to the stocky white man that had joined us.

I stare at the key and then look at Angela. Her face is the very picture of confusion. I turn back to the receptionist to begin to complain but she is still attending to the white man who has his own complaint.

“Why didn’t you tell me I had to leave my keys so my room can be made? This is just wrong. I need to see the manager of this place.”

The receptionist spends some time placating the white man and soon he is reasonably appeased and accepts her apology and offer to send cleaners to his room. As soon as the man turns his back, she turns to us with her perfect hostess smile.

“Yes? You missed the way? Your villa is at the Plateau sector.”

“Villa?”

Pushing back the braids threatening to obscure her round face, the receptionist smiles kindly,

“Yes, villa.”

I realize that villas are rooms and nod at the receptionist in understanding.

“Please can I have my own key?”

I turn to see Angela leaning across the reception desk, a strained smile on her face. The receptionist’s smile slips.

“Err…excuse me,” she says, checking her monitor again. Fingers tap lightly on the black keyboard sitting in front of the monitor and smiling eyes rise to us again. “Sorry but the room was booked in your names.”

“Excuse me?”

I look away from Angela’s startled face to my phone. I am about to call my secretary. She had been the one who informed me about the ticket reservation. Surely, she knew better than to make mistakes like this.

“Our manager was the one who informed me about this reservation.”

“Please can you check who paid for the reservation?”

My phone is pressed against my right ear as I wait for my secretary to pick her call. The receptionist consults her monitor and answers Angela’s question.

“Payment was made by Barrister Martin Oyelowo.”

I pull the phone from my ear and forget to listen for my secretary’s voice. Angela is angry. She makes her displeasure known with a string of curse words. Her swearing draws a frown of consternation from Ahmed but she does not notice it. She is too busy whipping a white and brown leather wallet from her bag.

“Please get me another room.”

The receptionist’s smile is fixed but her eyes are unrelenting.

“I am sorry but we are fully booked.”

Angela swears again. I decide to take charge of the situation.

“Is there any way we can get any room at all? No matter how small? I will pay.”

“No sir, I am sorry but there are no rooms available.”

I step away from the reception desk and thank the receptionist. Angela’s face is stormy but she grabs the handle of her bag and asks the receptionist to point the way to our room. The receptionist turns sideways and motions to one of the security men manning the foyer of the hotel. The man hurries forward. She gives him instructions and he snaps into action, grabbing bags and marching like a soldier past the reception desk. I remove three thousand Naira from my wallet and hand it to Ahmed. He protests the sum and returns two notes back to me. Waving us goodnight, he promises to keep in touch. I turn and walk to catch up with Angela and the security guard.



*******************

ANGELA

“…ninety nine, hundred.”

I finish my counting and pull away from the wall. Checking my reflection once more in the mirror, I leave the bathroom. The darkness startles me for some seconds and I wait, door handle in hand until my eyes adjust to the darkness. I look at the bed. Apart from the pillows, the bed is empty. I creep towards the bed and climb into it. I check the left side of the bed first.

Nothing.

I swing to the other side.

He is lying on his side, body rising and falling as he breathes deeply. I keep my eyes trained on him for as long as I can to make sure he is really asleep. When he remains still, I move to the center of the bed, careful not to make any sound. I pull the soft duvet over my head and hide away from the nightmare that had caught me unawares. I had planned to get close enough to Naden to study him but nothing prepared me for this.

My father had turned the tables on me the second time.



*******************

NADEN

I hear her moving on the bed and think about her father.

What is the man up to this time?

The last thing I wanted was to share the same space with a woman who thought herself my sworn enemy. I breathe in deeply and prepare myself for the worst three weeks of my life.