Deola fell in love with the flat as soon as she opened the door. Renting a one bedroom flat in Alagbodo GRA was almost 900,000 naira per annum. Yet this flat – while small by Lagos standards – was perfect. She would share a large sitting room and a kitchen with the other girl living there. The sitting room had been painted a light aquamarine and cream, and a large coffee table sat in the middle of the room. She could sit on the big cream sofa with her laptop and work from home when she wanted. She would write press releases and work on campaigns undisturbed. Her neighbours were a friendly young married couple on the ground floor, and there was an elderly man who lived by himself on the top floor. It was nice, clean and affordable and easy to commute to work – but in the first few weeks she found life a bit funny.
She hadn’t lived in Nigeria for almost twenty years, and found it difficult getting used to things. It was as hectic as London. She had to reacquaint herself with the chaotic traffic jams, some that could last for hours. She had seen some houses here that wouldn’t be out of place on a millionaire’s island. She had forgotten what a goldfish bowl existence it was. Everybody seemed to be monitored or was monitoring someone else for how they lived, drove, wore, ate, married or where they lived.
A week after moving into the new flat, Deola sat on the sofa staring at her screen, deep in thought. She needed to write a press campaign for a leading beauty brand and her mind was oversaturated with information from all the research she had done. She had to produce a lot of strong, engaging copy, edit it and get it to her boss before the meeting with the client.
Then a blast of music from a car, which cut off quickly. Footsteps, and a door opening.
Her flatmate, Funmi, burst in and surveyed the sitting room.
“Bawo ni?”
Deola didn’t look up from her laptop. “I’m fine. You?”
“Sometimes I wonder whether the men in this city are crazy or just wicked.”
Deola made the effort to look up, realising from her short acquaintance with her new flatmate that the girl was on an endless quest for The One. She had the feeling this particular adventure might be headed for the rocks.
“What’s up?”
“Can’t make up his mind. Commitment phobic.”
“So, cut him loose.”
“But I love this bobo.” Funmi took a few steps towards the kitchen and peered into the fridge, bringing out a carton of mango juice. “Besides I’ve been with him for about four years now. That’s like a lifetime in Lagos. We’ve been through so much drama together. I don’t think I could bear to do that with someone else again. Too much stress.” She emptied the contents of the carton into a glass and stared at the contents. “Maybe I keep falling in love with the wrong kind of guy?”
“Hey, I’m no agony aunt.” Deola sighed. Her train of thought on her work had now come to a halt, and before she could get her creative juices running again she might have to go to the fridge herself and get a piece of cake – but that would be naughty. She was trying to stay healthy.
Funmi came over and sat on the sofa facing her. “Still, talk to me. Maybe I’m doing something wrong. What advice do you have for me from London? What are English men like?”
“Uhuh … I hate to ruin your romantic fantasy, but Mr Darcy is just a figment of imagination. There are not carbon copy Colin Firths on every corner. Men are men, whether they are in Arkansas or Aba.”
“So what’s your kind of guy?”
If someone had asked her that question a couple of years ago she would have said Chris Attoh, because her ex had looked like him and had that kind of build, just a bit bigger. Tall, dark and smooth, like dark coffee that left a hint of bitterness on your tongue. Confident, charming and seductive. A man that knew what he wanted and how to get it. Now what she wanted had more to do with the inner qualities of a man and not just what he looked like on the outside.
“OK, supposing he was a bit older – had that kind of slightly matured distinguished gentleman look. Kinda old school. A keeper. A bit like RMD?”
Deola stared at her. “Who?”
“Richard Mofe-Damijo.”
She had got her bearings back now. “You and your Nollywood types, sha.”
“The boss is a bit like that though. He has that strong dependability about him. Great dad too.”
“Don’t you think it’s really weird discussing Femi like this?” Deola said warily.
“Kini? No. Everybody talks about everyone – but in a nice way. We are like one big happy family at Target PR.”
Deola’s hands hovered over the laptop. “Someone told me about his wife. What were things like … I mean, what was it like when she died?”
Funmi shook her head. “Bad. It was like sun had been taken out of his sky.”
“I guessed so.”
Her flatmate sighed. “He works hard. He cares about us all. Sometimes I think he feels he has to be strong for everybody. I mean, if he didn’t pull himself back from the brink after Sola’s death, we could have all been out of a job. I get a bit worried about him sometimes. He is a total workaholic.”
“I’ve noticed. He practically sleeps in the office.”
Funmi laughed. “That’s funny. You are a workaholic yourself. So what do you do for fun?”
I read. I work. Occasionally I watch a film. Sometimes it’s even a Nollywood one. That’s about it.
“To be honest, fun is overrated,” Deola said aloud.
Funmi looked at her for a long time and shook her head. “Who was he?”
“Who what?”
“Which guy did this to you?”
How was she going to get this work done? Funmi was a nice girl, but boy could she ask questions upon questions.
“I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“Just forget about him. Correct man dey plenty for Naija.”
“I didn’t come here to look for a man. I came here to work.”
Her flatmate laughed again. “All work and no play … ”
***
Femi looked at his mobile, and his heart sank when he saw the text from a potential client.
Why don’t you answer my calls? Why are you trying to avoid me? We need to talk!!!
He searched his emails and began typing frantically, sending a hurried email to his new consultant.
Please find the information attached for the Amber Cosmetics contract. Would like you to take this on – would really value your expertise in securing this contract. I will send you the zip file if you confirm.
To his relief, ten minutes later he got a reply from Deola. He leaned back against his chair and closed his eyes.
One less thing to worry about. One more to go.
He got home that night to the smell of warm cinnamon and vanilla. The tension around his forehead and neck loosened its grip. He hadn’t smelled anything this good since …. well, since Sola used to bake for him.
Morenike appeared at the door. A shadow of a smile hovered around her mouth.
“Hi Dad. I am baking a cake.”
“Well done.” He hadn’t forgotten her duplicity two weeks earlier. Forgiven but not forgotten. His mother had lectured the girl, he had told her how disappointed he was with her behaviour, and had forbidden her to see the guy – but he realised that, short of locking her up every day, she was free to do as she pleased.
“How was work, Dad?”
He wanted to shut her out – to show her he was still angry with her, but he couldn’t. Her smooth fair skin, long curly natural hair and amber gold eyes reminded him of her mother as she stood there in the passageway with hesitancy written all over her face.
“Work was fine. How are your studies coming along?”
“Fine. I went to the Library.”
He wanted to ask her whether she was still seeing her boyfriend but decided against it. He couldn’t bear any more lies. He sat down heavily in one of the settees, pulled at the knot on his tie, and picked up the remote control as he saw Morenike return to the kitchen. Eventually, he got up and was about to make his way upstairs when she came out to meet him again.
“Dad, are you not having anything to eat? I can heat some stew and cook a little rice or something?”
“I’m tired and I want to go upstairs and rest.”
“That’s all you ever do, Dad. You come home and you go straight to bed.”
“Let’s not go over all this again, Morenike. All those long hours I spend in the office are because of you. I want you to have the best.”
“Dad, I’m tired of you using me as excuse. You spend those long hours there because it’s your way of trying to forget about Mum.”
Femi’s lips tightened. She had hit a nerve. “Don’t be silly.”
“Dad, I am tired of being treated like a kid. I know you. I know you miss her. Look, I miss her too. Every single day. I remember when this was a house of laughter and fun. When we all used to talk. Now you just want to pretend as if I’m one of the workers at your firm and it’s business as usual.”
“Morenike, look. We will talk about this another time.”
“Dad, I have always been in awe of the love you guys had. It was the little things like when you were getting ready to go to work and she would reach up and neaten your tie. It was running into the kitchen and seeing your arms around mum whispering something in her ear as she cooked. Or the quick pat on the bottom when you thought I was too young to know what was going on.”
Femi’s lips relaxed into a smile. “You saw all that? You must have been about five or six.”
She chuckled. “You grown-ups … Do you think we don’t have eyes, eh?”
Femi gave his daughter a hug. “Seriously though. I think about her too, my dear. I have good days and I have bad days.”
“Me too, Dad. Me too.”
He sighed. “I will have some rice later. Now I need to rest and you need to study.”
She smiled. “OK Dad.”
Femi walked upstairs slowly. When he got into his room his sigh seemed as if it came from the centre of his soul. He closed his eyes, trying to get the picture of Morenike dressed in her red dress, creeping into the house at dawn, out of his mind.
A sense of failure washed over him.
I’m sorry, Sola. I can’t do this. I can’t do this without you. Our daughter needs you. I need you, so much …
Deola scrolled through her iPad as the roundtable briefing where everyone updated the boss on their assignments was in progress. She leaned forward and looked around the table at her colleagues.
“Last week I worked on identifying five of our main clients and audiences. I visited them just to ensure they are happy with our services. Part of my remit is to look and see what we can do to maintain and upgrade our existing accounts before we branch out to start looking for more.”
Femi nodded. “Thanks, Deola. How are you getting on with the Amber Cosmetics proposal?”
“I’ve done the research and the proposal is looking good. I’ve got an appointment with Ms Gogo in a couple of weeks.”
Ify, one of the other PR specialists, gave her update. “I’ve been looking into the new arts gallery in Dolphin Island. The owner’s work is heavily influenced by post-colonialism and displacement. So we’ve got to set up a promotion that best showcases her art. Then it was the turn of Dabele, a bubbly fresh graduate from Unilag. “I am working on a sponsorship party for a charity and getting lots of publicity. We now have an event planner organising refreshments and parking. We are also promoting the event on social media and getting lots of attention there.”
Femi nodded his head. “Yes. I’m a fan of social media. Let’s utilise everything we’ve got to promote what we do – but we must never forget that the old traditional way of doing things still works.” They all nodded as he continued. “We also need to do some work on the South African account. We need to run a campaign for that. Create awareness. Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, whatever.”
Deola listened as Femi went on to update the team about his plans for the week. He had a conference in Abuja in a month’s time, a meeting with a couple of new clients, and an old client that had taken their business elsewhere, not been impressed, and was coming back to them.
After the briefing people packed up their laptops and iPads and filed out of the room. Femi signalled for Deola to stay behind.
“OK.” She sat down again.
“About Amber Cosmetics. They’re an old customer, but a new account, really. I’m excited that you are taking it on. I just wanted to say thank you.”
She sat up a little higher at this recognition. “I’m going to give it my best shot.”
He nodded. “So how are you finding it here? Settling in well?”
“Yeah. It’s been great. Everyone – Tuyi, Ify, Peter, Dabele and the office manager … ”
“Irene.”
“Yep. Everyone has been really welcoming and helpful.”
“Great. Well, all the best with the Amber Cosmetics Account.” He paused and looked at Deola closely. “Keep me posted.”
She smiled, suddenly feeling a little bashful. “Will do.”