Always Yours (Lagos Romance Series) (11 page)

“Don’t they?” He sighed. “But I’m sure there’s a lingerie shop around there somewhere”

“See me, see
wahala
” I laughed. “I’m buying provisions
please,
I’m not even buying lingerie”

“Why not?”
He asked laughing. “There’s nothing wrong with lingerie”

I ignored him. “I can see you are in a very happy mood this evening” I said snottily.

“Maybe.”
He replied. “Are you almost done?”

“Kind of” I said, wondering if he was going to offer to come and pick me up, or help me carry my groceries to my flat or one of those other charming sorts of things he did to spoil me sometimes. “Where are you?” I asked.

“At the airport” he sighed. “I have to leave for Johannesburg tonight.”

Disappointment flooded through me “Till when?” I exclaimed before I could stop myself. “I mean when are you going to be back?” I amended, in an effort to recover my composure.

“Later in the week.”
He replied.

“Okay.” I sighed. “I hope you’re not overworking yourself?”

“I hope not.” He said. “I’d like to stay strong enough to play with my
children,
and grandchildren in my old age.”

An image of Michael with his children, my children, filled my head and an ache filled my chest as I realized that his children wouldn’t be my children, they would be
Folake’s
children.

“Have a nice trip” I said.

“Hey, don’t run off.” He said. “Are you done yet?”

“Almost” I replied. I was paying at the cashiers.

“
Hmmn
, okay.” He said. “Let me leave you to drive safe, but we’ll talk later, okay? And when I call don’t tell me you’re busy”

“I won’t” I said, laughing.

As I drove home, I tortured myself with images of Michael and the children he would have, I imagined little boys who looked like him and had my eyes or little girls who looked like me but had his lips, I couldn’t help myself, the idea was so tempting, even though the thought of Folake kept spoiling the image in my mind.

Ada was sleeping over in my flat, her street had flooded due to the rain, and apparently she had had to wade out in knee deep muddy water in the morning. I shuddered at the thought.

She was preparing dinner when I got home, and it smelled
marvelous
.

“Wow!” I exclaimed as I walked in. “Your
street
should flood more often, for my sake. What are you cooking?”

“Spaghetti.”
She replied, going back to where she had been lying on the rug working on her laptop, she was creating a photo album for some newlyweds.

“
Hmmn
” I said. Only Ada could make
spag
and the whole house would smell as if a French chef was cooking a gourmet meal.

The spaghetti lived up to its promise. After showering and changing, I ate while we watched
TV,
I ate until I was full. After I had cleaned my plate, I was no longer interested in working, I felt like a hobbit, ready to sing and dance after a good meal.

I gathered the plates and did a speedy job of washing the dishes. When I got back to the living room, Ada was still messing with her laptop but she soon stopped and sat up. “I don’t feel like working anymore
jor
” she said almost petulantly.

I laughed. “After that meal, work is the last thing on my mind.”

We started to gist, about stuff from the magazine, movies, music, and other miscellaneous girl gist.

“Michael called me this evening” I said at last. “He said he’s going to
Jo’burg
”

Ada raised her brows. “Is she going with him?”

‘She’, of course, was Folake. “I don’t know” I said, frowning as the possibility dawned on me. It hadn’t even occurred to me before, what if they had made up, and she had agreed to spend less time with her boss. What if they
were really going together? What if it wasn’t even work but a vacation with his fiancée, then they would enjoy themselves and fall in love all over again and live happily ever after, and I would be stuck here, still in love with him.

I swallowed, trying to ignore the pain in my chest. “He didn’t mention anything like that.” I said. “But it’s possible.”

“Well I hope not” Ada said, turning back to the TV.

“Why do you say that?” I asked.

She shrugged and said nothing. I knew better than to push her so I waited while my curiosity grew to mountainous proportions. I wanted to hear what she knew, Ada was not an idle gossip,
if
she knew something it was bound to be true.

“I think I met her” Ada said at last. “
Your
Folake”

“She’s not ‘my’ Folake” I said indignantly, then sobered. “She’s Michael’s Folake”

“Your Michael’s Folake” Ada said teasingly.
“Anyway,
sha
.”
She continued. “You know I went to the opening of the new Amber Rose atelier?”

I
nodded,
Amber Rose was an indigenous fashion label which had recently started to make waves internationally, the designer,
Tinuke
Adesida
, was a socialite as well as a fashion design genius.

“There were all sorts of society types there” Ada continued. “After the guests had left, I waited because
Mrs.Adesida
wanted me to do a portrait of her in the studio for her private portrait collection”

I nodded again, eager for her to get to the point.

“Well while I was waiting, I noticed a dress I liked, so I decided to try it on, even though the price tag was outrageous.” She rolled her eyes. “So I went inside one of the cubicles and started to change”

“And then?” I prompted.

She gave me a look that showed that she didn't appreciate my impatience and pursed her lips, “While I was there two ladies came in for some last minute shopping I guess, because it was late evening and all the guests had left or were leaving,” she paused. “It was your Folake and one of her friends.”

“She’s not my….” I sighed, exasperated. “How did you know it was her?” I asked
skeptically
. “You’ve never seen her before, or heard her voice for that matter”

Ada gave me a huge frown. “
Shey
I should shut up?” she asked, still frowning.

“Ok sorry” I smiled. “Please go on”

“They were talking” Ada continued. “I wasn’t eavesdropping at first, but when I heard the name Folake
like three times, I started to listen.” She looked apologetic, as if I would judge her.

“What were they saying?” I asked.

“The one that wasn’t Folake kept saying ‘Folake I envy you
o
! I really envy you’. She kept going on about a gift some Chief had given Folake, how she wished someone would give her a car like that” Ada nodded at the disbelief on my face. “At some point she was like ‘Does Michael know who got you the car?’ and then the Folake one said “No he thinks it’s an official car’ and they both started giggling.”

“Imagine that” I said indignantly, annoyed on Michael’s behalf.

Ada shrugged. “The Folake one said how Chief is trying to butter her up her up because even though he doesn’t want to admit it, he’s afraid that she’s really going to marry Michael, then her companion was like “and you won’t?” Ada paused, as if trying to decide whether she should tell me. “Then Folake said something about
Lakunle
and
Baroka
.”

“No she didn’t!” I exclaimed. “That bitch.”

Ada nodded. “Exactly, I thought that was mean of her too, she obviously has no idea what’s important in a man”

“She’s a bleeding idiot.’ I said hotly. “How dare she? Michael is ten times too good for her!”

“She actually said the Chief was her first choice, ‘if only he wasn’t so scared of his wife’ ‘she lives in the US’ ‘what can she do?’ ‘Blah
blah
blah
’” Ada grimaced. “I got tired of listening and came out of the cubicle” she smiled. “I put my ear buds on before I came out so they probably thought I didn’t hear a thing”

I laughed. “You’re such a spy!”

“Information is power” she said seriously.

I sobered up as I thought of everything she had said. I shook my head, “Everybody knows, I think deep down Michael knows”

“Then why isn’t he doing anything about it?” Ada asked. “A typical Nigerian man would have broken up with her like ages ago.”

“I know” I said. “But Michael is not a typical anything. Is he?”

We were still in the living room, talking, when Michael called again.

“Hey” He said.

“Hey” I replied, my voice soft.

“We’re about to board.” He said. “I actually dozed off a little.”

“You must have been tired” I said. “Are you okay now?”

I could almost hear him smile. “I was tired, but I’m fine now, thanks, I’ll probably sleep on the plane though.”

We were both silent for a few moments.

“I’ll be back in a few days.” He said at last.

I smiled. “Okay.”

“I’ll miss you, Sophie.” He said softly.

I could have stayed quiet, I could have just said ‘goodnight’ or ‘safe flight’ and cut the connection, but I couldn’t let him go just like that.”

“I’ll miss you too” I said.

I heard him breathe deeply. “Sophie” he started. “Sophie, I….” He stopped. “I’ll see you when I get back.” He said finally.

“Have a safe flight.” I whispered. I waited for a while before I cut the connection. I sighed,
then
looked up into Ada’s questioning face.

“Are you alright?” she asked, concerned.

I nodded. “I think so.” I said with another sigh. “I hope so.”

It had been raining all day on the mainland. Not the kind of rain that cooled the air, wet the grass and lifted everyone’s spirits after days of relentless sunshine, but the kind of rain that fell on a day that was already wet, fell and fell and fell for hours with no signs of stopping, rain that raised floods everywhere until people had to wade in waist deep water. Until shoes were wet and limbs were cold, and everyone was miserable.

I had been on the mainland all day, and it hadn’t been easy, I was interviewing three people for a feature we were doing on young, successful women in Lagos, and contrary to what I’d assumed, all young successful people did not work on the Island. I had started my day at 7 am by driving to
Apapa
, then
Ilupeju
and then
Ikeja
. Now it was almost 6.pm and I was only just leaving my final interview at
Ikeja
, because of the flood there was traffic everywhere. I frowned as another Okada drove past my car causing a spray of brown muddy water to splash on my windows. I hissed and consoled myself with the fact that the interviews had been good.

The first was with
Ese
Idehen
, a manager at one of the fishing companies at
Apapa
, slim, small and graceful, she had barely reached up to my shoulders, but her personality was so great, she cracked me up with almost every response. Anita Young at
Ilupeju
was managing an
indigenous cosmetic company that made products specifically tailored for black skin and the African climate, she was in her late twenties and had a stern, no nonsense attitude, but somehow I still found myself warming to her.
Ify
Madiebo
, who, at twenty seven, had been appearing in the society columns since she was sixteen had transformed her love for books into a three storey bookstore, book club, library, and book lover’s hangout called The Incurable Romantic’s© Plaza. It had become the ‘go to’ place for intellectuals and had a popular book and poetry reading night, which was as well attended as any night club.

Ify
Madiebo
had been the most
fun,
she talked to me like I was her long lost best friend. She was also an avid reader of “Living Lagos” and could almost completely quote some of our articles off hand. She even showed me around the plaza while entertaining me with quips about customers, clients and club members. I had been enchanted.

Another Okada passed me and knocked my side mirror back with his body. I grimaced and opened the window to pull it back, and narrowly missed being splashed with muddy water as another one sped by. I almost screamed with impatience and annoyance, I had an article to write, I didn’t want to be stuck in traffic.

My phone was lying on the passenger seat. I sighed tiredly as it started to ring then smiled in delight when I saw that it was Michael. I pressed the button on my
headset still smiling idiotically “Hello, runaway Nigerian” I said teasingly. “Are you
back
in your motherland yet?”