It was a perfect day for walking. The paths were a rustling carpet of golden leaves, and the air hung heavy with the smell of dry brush and bonfires. Vanessa and Tayo were walking in the direction of the meadows, discussing Malcolm X’s visit to Oxford. Vanessa was eager to hear the story of how a member of the West Africa Society had been instrumental in organising X’s visit, while Tayo wanted to know from Vanessa what most English people (not just those at the university) thought about Malcolm X. Vanessa found Tayo’s question challenging and felt torn between reality and her own idealism.
‘I wish that England was less racist than America,’ she said, ‘but then, when you have politicians like Enoch Powell saying the things he does, it doesn’t really inspire hope.’
‘It is discouraging,’ Tayo acknowledged, ‘but people do change, especially the younger generation, and I have hope in the British.’
Vanessa raised her eyebrows, wondering if he was just being polite, but he seemed not to have noticed her skepticism. Instead, he spoke about some of the encouraging interactions he’d experienced with school children and church groups.
‘Besides,’ he added, ‘in Yoruba the meaning of my name is someone who brings joy, so I’ve got no choice but to be optimistic!’
She smiled, thinking that the name suited him.
As they continued on their walk, Vanessa noticed that Tayo had a habit of picking up twigs that he would play with for some minutes before sending them twirling away into the bushes. She liked the way he carried himself — so at ease in his body. It was obvious that he was clever and accomplished and yet in his manner he was humble, never once flaunting his knowledge in the way that she’d grown to dislike in men like Charlie and Mehul. Tayo also seemed to be more serious and less flirtatious than when she’d first met him, which prompted her to share something that had been bothering her. Oxford was a small place and she preferred that Tayo should find out about her family from her and not from others.
‘I have a small confession for you, Tayo. A small confession.’ She laughed, tapping him playfully on the shoulder when he stopped dead in his tracks. ‘I just wanted to say …Well, do you remember when you asked me about my interest in Africa? I felt a bit embarrassed, in light of the debate that evening, to admit that I actually do have connections to Africa.’
‘But why so embarrassed?’ he asked.
‘Because,’ she hesitated, ‘well, because my father and grandfather were in the colonial service.’ They had stopped on a bridge and were leaning against a wooden railing, peering at the water flowing gently downstream. Two ducks paddled close to the riverbank, leaving room for a punter to glide silently past. And there, as they stood side-by-side, she told him about her father’s colonial tours in West Africa. She chose her words carefully, hoping he wouldn’t form a bad impression of her family and, as a result, found herself saying more positive things than intended. It wasn’t true that her father had been won over to the idea of African independence, so that when Tayo told her she ought to be more proud of her father, she felt guilty.
‘My father also worked in the British Administration,’ Tayo said, as a way, Vanessa thought, of reassuring her. His father, he added, had been a court messenger in the 1950s and an interpreter in the Native Administration before becoming a policeman. His father had made many British friends including some district officers. Tayo wondered whether their fathers might have met.
‘Perhaps,’ Vanessa replied, knowing this was doubtful. Her father did not fall into the category of colonial officers who were loved by locals, and she regretted misleading Tayo into thinking so. She hoped he would never have occasion to see the less attractive side of her father. At least she could count on Father to put on a good act. For a few moments they walked in silence, in single file, along the narrowing path. She wanted to ask Tayo more about his family but didn’t want to seem rude, so they talked, instead, about college and the people they knew. She hadn’t realised how far they’d come until she saw they were nearly at The Trout, a country pub where she’d been several times before, but always by car, never on foot. Her feet hurt from her new boots and she was weary, but Tayo didn’t look tired at all, no doubt, she told him, because of all the sports he played.
‘Do you play any?’ he asked.
‘No, not at all.’
‘None?’
‘None,’ she said. ‘Is that bad?’
‘Terrible! come on, let’s run. I’ll chase you to The Trout.’
‘Oh no, I can’t run!’
‘Yes, you can.’ He tugged at her arm. ‘Last one buys the drinks!’
‘Then I’m buying.’ She laughed watching him crouch like a sprinter, waiting for her to start.
She was breathing heavily by the time they got to the pub and could only nod when Tayo offered to relieve her of her coat. He laughed, showing no sign of being short of breath.
‘My goodness, you are fit,’ she gasped.
‘I’m sorry, what did you say?’
‘You heard me!’ She laughed.
‘What can I get you, love?’ the bartender asked, interrupting their laughter.
Vanessa ordered a beer, and Tayo a pineapple juice. They were looking around for a place to sit when two men passed in front of them and bumped into Tayo, spilling the drinks.
‘Do you mind?’ Vanessa said crossly when no one apologised.
‘Maybe the bloody wog ought to look where he’s going!’
‘Maybe you two bloody idiots should learn some manners!’
‘Just leave them,’ Tayo whispered, placing a hand gently on Vanessa’s wrist. She started to protest, but he was restraining her so she just stood, staring in shock.
‘It’s fine,’ Tayo insisted, having put the drinks down so he could brush pineapple juice and beer off his cardigan. ‘Here, let me fetch you another.’ He reached for their half-empty glasses.
‘No. But thank you.’ She said, taking hers from him while she looked in the direction of the men. ‘Could we go outside?’
They passed close to where the men now sat at the bar, beers in hand, and Tayo stopped. Alarmed, Vanessa tugged at his sleeve, but Tayo stood still, staring at the men until they were forced to look away.
Outside, a smoky haze had fallen across the meadows and squirrels darted across paths and up into trees. It was mid-afternoon, but the sun had already begun its descent and a cold wind was lifting a pocketful of leaves and tossing them into the air.
‘Were you afraid?’ Tayo asked, softly.
‘No,’ she lied. ‘I felt like punching them.’
‘Ouch! Not such a gentle butterfly after all! I tell you what,’ he said, smiling at her. ‘How about I give you a new name?’
‘A what?’
‘Something to capture your fighting spirit. How about Moremi?’
‘What’s that?’
‘It means as tough as a nut. A little Miss Cassius Clay. Legend has it that Moremi saved the Yoruba kingdom.’
‘Well I’m not sure that Mora-’
‘Moremi.’
‘Moremi. I’m not sure that’s me. But Omotayo is certainly you.’
‘Omotayo Oluwakayode,’ he added. ‘Oluwakayode is another of my joyful middle names.’
She looked up and found him smiling.
‘Do your names really mean what you say they do?’ She started laughing. ‘Or is this how you like to charm the girls?’
‘Now why would I possibly wish to lie to you, Miss Moremi? I’m sincere, really sincere.’
‘Okay.’ She laughed. ‘So, what is Mr. Sincere doing over the Christmas holidays?’
‘Nothing that can’t be changed,’ he said.
‘In that case then, come to my grandparents’ Christmas party.’