That evening, after Kemi and Miriam had gone to sleep, Tayo went to his study to read. He started with what lay on his desk, some academic journals and Ngugi’s Petals of Blood, but soon he had put down his reading and was looking in his drawer for something else. The object was a tattered diary, which had found its way to him in 1979 via his father’s old address in Ibadan. The address on the inside cover was the only bit of writing still clearly legible in Vanessa’s handwriting, yet he kept these torn and yellowing pages and would look at them from time to time, dreaming of what might have been. How would his life have turned out if Vanessa had stayed with him in Nigeria? If he’d returned to Oxford, or if he’d been able to join her in Dakar?
He looked up when he heard a door creak, followed by the sound of flip-flops slapping gently against the concrete floor. It was Kemi on her way to the toilet. ‘Vanessa,’ Tayo muttered wistfully, turning back to the journal. Had it not been for his mistake, had he known, had they known that the pregnancy would not hold … but what was the use of wishing now? It was all in the past. Now Vanessa was a well-known writer and one of Africa’s most lauded journalists. So much for him wondering whether she would fit into West Africa; of course she did. He reached for the wedding photograph that sat on his desk and used his sleeve to dust it off. What if he’d married Vanessa regardless?
But he couldn’t have left Miriam when she was pregnant. His whole family loved Miriam. Miriam had looked after Father after his stroke, and because Baba always attributed his speedy recovery to her nursing, she became an honorary member of the Ajayi family even before he married her. The affair with Miriam happened on a whim, in a moment of weakness. She was the one that had come to him after Baba’s operation, comforting him when nobody else thought to do so. He’d been touched by her kindness and felt indebted to her. He’d taken her out for a drink one night, and then met with her a few more times in the weeks that followed. And then, even though he hadn’t intended to and didn’t even really want to, he hadn’t been able to resist her and they had slept together. She was beautiful and religious and so it had happened despite her religion or maybe because of it. Perhaps it was the taboo of her tightly-held religious views, and the fact that she wanted him in spite of this, that had excited him. When she fell pregnant, he felt he had no choice but to marry her. But had he known …
‘What are you doing, Daddy?’ Kemi asked, causing Tayo to jump and knock over the photograph. Kemi stood by the door watching him, squinting beneath the glare of the bare yellow light bulb dangling from the ceiling. She wore her Snoopy nightdress, which read, ‘Love is the whole world.’
‘Just working, baby,’ he answered, watching as she started rubbing one foot rapidly against the inside of her standing leg. ‘I need to spray your room for mosquitoes.’
She dropped the foot and wandered closer to his desk, yawning. He reached quickly for Ngugi’s novel and placed it on top of the journal.
‘You work too much, Daddy.’ Kemi said picking up the wedding photograph. She removed the cork backing and straightened the print before pressing the frame back together. ‘There.’ She smiled, propping the photograph back on his desk.
‘And you should be sleeping, my baby.’
‘But I can’t sleep Daddy. I’m too excited about the holidays. I can’t stop thinking about it.’
‘All the more reason to try. That way time will go faster. Before you know it, we’ll be off to Lagos.’
‘Okay,’ she smiled, walking towards the door, ‘but Daddy,’ she stopped and turned back, ‘will you tell me a story of when you were a child? Just one! Please?’
He smiled, knowing already the one she wanted to hear. ‘Come then, baby. Come and sit on my lap and I’ll tell you a story.’ He pushed his chair away from the desk and she hopped onto his knee. ‘In 1951, there was a little boy…’
‘Was it you, Daddy?’
‘Yes,’ he smiled. ‘Now, are you sitting comfortably?’
‘Yes,’ she nodded.
‘I’ll start again then.’
‘Once upon a time, in 1951 there was a little boy called Omotayo, who was visiting Lagos for the very first time. The boy came with his father from Ibadan and this was their second day in Lagos.’
Kemi smiled as he began this story of his childhood, describing how he’d been forced to sit patiently in church waiting for the service to finish before he could run outside and see the fine ocean liner called the Aureol.
‘And who else gets impatient? Tayo smiled, tickling Kemi’s tummy.
‘Stop it, Daddy!’ Kemi giggled. ‘Tell me the story!’
‘Shh! You’ll wake your mum.’ But it was too late.
‘Ah-ah! You two!’ Miriam stood by the door, shaking her head.
‘Look, we’ve woken Mummy now.’
Miriam smiled and walked to where the two of them sat. Kemi was rubbing her eyes sleepily.
‘Just finish your story and come to bed, both of you,’ Miriam said, kissing them both on the forehead.
‘Come,’ Tayo called, touching Miriam’s leg. ‘There’s room in the armchair for you two,’ he said, stroking the side of her large tummy.
‘Come to bed,’ Miriam smiled, massaging the back of his neck.
Tayo dropped his arm behind Miriam’s back where Kemi could not see what he was doing and lifted Miriam’s cotton nightdress to caress her naked thighs.
‘Hey!’ Miriam whispered, moving away.
‘I’m coming soon!’ Tayo called after her.
‘Daddy!’
‘What?’
‘Finish the story!’
‘So Omotayo was standing there, waiting and praying to see the ship again when suddenly his father seized his hand, and lifted him up. ‘THE AUREOL,’ Omotayo screamed excitedly. On his father’s shoulders he could see the entire ocean. He watched people running on deck in white shirts and shorts, and he wondered how the ship knew which way to drive. Would it get lost? Who would find it then? Omotayo lifted a hand from his father’s head to wave at the passengers. Then the church people started singing and he joined in with words he didn’t understand but which still sounded good to him: ‘My Bonnie lies over the ocean, Oh bring back my Bonnie to me.’ It was then that Omotayo saw something that made him jolt and nearly lose his balance. His father said children couldn’t go on ships, but look! There was a child just like him, held up by her mother. She must be what they called the maiden voyage!’
‘Was that me?’ Kemi interrupted.
‘No,’ Tayo laughed. ‘You weren’t born yet.’
‘Was it Mummy then?’
‘Listen,’ Tayo smiled. ‘Omotayo wished with all his heart that the maiden were his friend. That way they could sail the seas together and see all the countries, the pirates, other ships and the sharks — everything. He would protect her, and they would find the golden fleece for their families. He felt very sad that he wasn’t going on the ship, and he slumped on his father’s shoulders. ‘Baa mi. Igba wo lemi n’lo? When can I go Baba?’ he pleaded, and rubbed his eyes to stop the tears from falling.’
‘And the little girl was Mummy!’ Kemi jumped in to finish the story. ‘And when you were grown up you went on the boat to England, then you came back and you married Mummy, and we all lived happily ever after.’
‘Yes, darling.’ Tayo hugged her tightly. ‘Yes.’