It would have been a good time to call Godfrey. To mention the detail of the father’s disappearance. Naturally neither Uncle T nor Karl thought of it. Conveniently blanked that part out. They would not be thrown by a little hitch, not in the first week out. Things were just getting started.
Both made their way to their rooms for the night. Their rooms. Meaning one of them was Karl’s. For the time being, but still. He was welcome here. For Uncle T at least. Karl was thinking what to do about this journey. A bit of fear bubbled to the surface. The excitement drowned it straight away. He, the father, would appear. Uncle T had said so. He would know. He was from here. He had known that this would be the best thing, to come here. The best thing for Karl. Meanwhile it was time to find out what the city was like.
It was getting late. The numbness was making his body heavy, very heavy. Time to sleep. He wanted to be up bright and early so John could show him around. So he could get a proper taste of this city in case this was going to be over much sooner than anticipated.
‘I will just send Godfrey an email tonight, OK?’
Two minds. Karl nodded and smiled.
‘Thanks. Was just thinking that. Can you let him know I’ll text him tomorrow, please? I can’t text him like all the time otherwise I’ll run out of credit too quickly.’
Uncle T nodded. ‘Maybe we wait a couple of days before we call. Until we know what to say.’ He laughed. It was like the name-calling. A bit helpless.
‘No need to wake sleeping dogs.’ God, Abu would crack up if he could hear him. Now there were half-arsed sayings as well?
‘Goodnight, Uncle.’
Both doors closed. Uncle T tapped an email into the laptop that spoke of the good arrival. That he was staying a little longer in Port Harcourt with Karl, so things could settle in properly. How interesting Karl was finding everything, already taking to the food and to the distant but much trusted cousin of his wife. That he might take Karl to Lagos for a few days, to spend time at Uncle T’s own house. Meet Uncle T’s wife. That they would call as soon as possible. Probably not the following day because they had planned a full day. Quite full. Very, in fact. Probably the day after. The calling home. That things had been very busy since touchdown. Business. All that business.
* * *
Abu brushed off the dirt. Leicester, Connor and Sammy were at it again. Had been quiet for a while, busy with other targets. When they’d remembered him, they’d run past him, snatching his bag, pretending to be on their way somewhere. Meaning from some building to another, between all the glamour that the new King’s Cross still left them. This was a back-of-a-building road. Small, no reason for many people to be here. Shortcut but also a trap.
They threw the bag in a dried puddle by the side of the road.
‘Whatever.’
It was quieter without Karl. He was an even easier target but the wannabes’ interest had halved. At least he hoped so. He got a few of those words thrown at him that were supposed to make him twitch with anxiety. Like the ‘C-word’. And ‘want to be close with the pavement again?’
‘Whatever. You’ve been there. Do it again. I’ll live.’
The last bbm had been cryptic. cant really say much. Abu had no clue what that meant. More details soon. Abu had replied, landline number pls ur starting 2 wori me. need more info. Ill call u. It was as if his left ventricle had decreased in capacity. Blood flow stagnant. He was missing his main man. What if something went wrong in Nigeria? What the eff would he do? They were an organism that worked best in close proximity. In and out. Ying and yang. And so forth. He got the getting to know yourself Karl was trying to do. But still. King’s Cross was already promising a very dry couple of weeks. And dryness was the least of his problems.
Abu arrived at the tech shop. The wannabes hadn’t followed. Too lazy to make it out into real daylight. Cowards. It was much busier than in their little forgotten quarter behind the fancy-pantsy King’s Cross major reconstruction mayhem. How much building could you do in one effing junction? Talk about out of control. The construction sites spread further and further, some of it unrelated, some of it inevitably part of the whole area regeneration.
The junction by Warren Street tube was busy and it felt like he had suddenly woken up. His street was like, forgotten. Sleepy. Here it was speed galore and pushing your way through people and past major traffic. Rows and rows of cars, different lanes colliding almost, the typical London pedestrian pushing forward in tense hurry as if behind them the world was breaking off into nothingness. Buses weaving in and out of traffic, overtaking each other, unnecessarily, just to make it two seconds earlier to the next stop.
Abu’s mother wanted him to pick up Skype headphones. A little present for Rebecca. You couldn’t be more obvious. Make sure she clocked the whole on-the-other-side-of-the-world thing straight away. Karl had asked him to go see his mum. Take her some of his mother’s food. Make sure she was OK.
Abu was glad there was something to do. It was cramped at home. The twins were in some loud phase, omnipresent and noisily enforcing their own personality, like they were one single character or something. They were constantly teasing him. See? This is what we’ve both settled for. You will have to deal with it. And in a couple of weeks, when school was out for the summer, they’d proper drive him mad.
Too much for Abu, who was used to offloading and hanging with Karl. All the things he did, he did them with Karl. Listen to music. Check up on those bands they liked, online. Internet window shopping. Walk around the block, the neighbourhood, Karl’s house, youth centre. Talk to the girls (or women as his bloody highness kept insisting). With Karl. Karl was good with the women but Abu liked them too. Just too shy to say much, to even stay long enough, but amazed how they drew their lashes wider and longer, gazing into Karl’s eyes just because he said ‘let’s talk about it’ to them.
Abu’s body was getting grown. His round face started to get longer, losing the baby fat on his cheeks, and it featured a few stray hairs on his chin. It was still brand new, not real growth, but he was liking the way it felt when he caught a glimpse in the mirror.
Abu walked through the aisles of the tech shop. The new phones were wicked. He held a Samsung Galaxy in his hand. I wish. The headphones were further back. The customer service person had followed him. Abu turned around.
‘Looking for something?’
Customer service person just looked at him. No answer, no laugh, no nothing. Just stood, waited. When Abu moved further and tried a few headphones he finally found some words.
‘These are for customers. You have to buy shit if you want to try them on.’
‘Oh really,’ Abu replied. ‘And I’m just wasting my fucking time, yeah? Because I don’t got no money to pick up some bleeping headphones?’
Another man in a T-shirt the colour of the chain came closer, concerned.
‘Everything OK here?’
‘Your colleague needs to keep his stereotypes to himself. Fucking racist.’
The person looked like it had happened before and he wasn’t happy about it.
‘You need to stop that, you know. I will report you. No need to follow anyone on discriminatory assumption.’
The first customer service guy whatevered away, leaving a cloud of effing and blinding in his wake.
Abu pressed the intercom bottom. He could hear noises from the open windows. Mothers telling their kids off, someone else on a very loud phone convo. Rebecca’s voice sounded happy when he said, ‘Hello, it’s me, Abu.’ She hadn’t seen much of them since Karl’s disappearing act. Mama Abu was on strike. Kept saying she wasn’t going to lie. She wasn’t going to sit with Rebecca, pretending. Now Abu had to come up with some bullshit just because everyone was avoiding her.
Rebecca held the flat door open, smiling. A woman had followed her to the door, still talking.
‘Such a waste.’ The friend’s dress was bright green. ‘It’s not just fans; we are all shocked. I cried yesterday, Rebecca. I really did.’
Amy Winehouse had died unexpectedly, after relapsing for the umpteenth time into heavy drinking.
‘Such an amazing voice. Just bad habits,’ the friend continued.
The city was on pilgrimage to her Camden home.
‘Do you listen to her music, young man?’
Abu just shook his head. Not so much. Not his style.
‘Such a waste. But you knew it would happen. You know it’s inevitable. Unless you change your environment. When you’re in that deep, and I mean drugs here, you need to go cold turkey all the way. Even leave your man behind. Anything it takes to get you out of it. Everyone can have another chance but you have to grab it. You really have to want it.’
She didn’t need breath; she was able to yak on without any pause or visible use of her lips. The words just catapulted out in her nice but non-stop voice.
‘Coming back to that Norwegian murderer …’
Rebecca stopped her. ‘No no no, I do not agree with you. Since when does the terrorist get all the attention? The victims should. Not his sorry excuse of a being.’
Abu closed the door. The two women were already back on their way to the living room. Rebecca looked better, the chalkiness gone and her eyes alert again.
The woman in the green dress responded, ‘But it is important to understand him, why he has done such a horrible thing.’
‘Why?’ Rebecca was unconvinced. ‘What do you get out of it? Other than him spewing more of his hatred on national and international television.’
Rebecca went into a proper rant. She could get like that. All righteous. Could break it down like no man’s business and you had to be quick to keep up and find your own shit to say. That’s where Karl got his the order of things and how they are so out of order opinions from. Not that he agreed with Rebecca. Most of the time they didn’t. But they liked to reason.
Now Rebecca was going on about white supremacists taking over, etc. etc. She got well heated up saying that normally a terrorist wouldn’t get so much airtime but of course, because he was white and shit, we got to know all about his bad childhood. About why and whatnot and his inner life. No time for the actual monstrosity. Or the victims.
‘There is some understanding that needs to happen. On society’s side,’ her friend offered.
‘Not on that level. Not by giving room as if his sick mind had some justifiable reasons. I don’t think so.’
Her friend stopped and smiled. ‘I think your young friend needs some attention.’ She pointed to Abu, whose body was all inward-pointing, shy. It always happened around Rebecca. He was still standing at the door to the room, bag in hands. She stopped herself, motioned for Abu to come closer, hugged him.
‘How are you dear? Mum and dad? The twins? Haven’t seen any of you. If I didn’t know better I would think you are all avoiding me.’
Abu looked at his beige boots. His denims were folded over. On his waist, a leather belt with a shiny buckle. Armani. Karl thought it was a bit too much. And embarrassing. Not the buckle itself but the free advertising Abu was giving. Whatever. It looked wicked.
‘Everyone is well, thank you. Just busy, end of term, you know. My mum asked me to bring some food. Just something simple. Rice and vegetables.’
Rebecca perked up. The Tupperware opened with four separate clips.
‘Your mum is such an angel. Please tell her how much I appreciate it.’
She patted Abu’s arm and put the container on the side table.
‘And you? How is everything? Have you heard from Karl? He texted me yesterday and said he was getting on well.’
‘Haven’t spoken to him yet.’
Rebecca doubted the story everyone was keeping up about Karl’s whereabouts. He had been on weekends away with one of his support groups before but two weeks was taking her for a ride. During term time. They had caught her in a low phase. Was easy to play her then. She had just gone along, with those questions in her eyes of course. But Godfrey shrugged it all off. Avoiding.
‘Will you tell your mother that I’d like to speak with her?’
Abu felt the room close in a little more. Why did he have to straighten out all of Karl’s bull? Why?
‘I’ll tell her.’
‘If she’s busy I’ll call her. The twins are off already?’
‘They’re breaking up next week. Starting summer programme the week after. Here, my mother also wanted you to have this.’ He gave Rebecca the plastic bag with the headphones and mic inside.
Rebecca was pleased when she opened the box.
‘Look, I’m going to be a cool mum now and stay in touch with Karl, in an up-to-date way. I’m finally arriving in this century.’
Her friend laughed. Abu was all like why me inside. But he smiled as well. Awkward.
‘Yes, they are quite handy. If you get good Internet. Not sure Karl has much connection actually.’
It was proper awful. Rebecca’s excitement. Abu made his exit. Yes, he would pass it on. All of it. For sure.
* * *
In the morning Karl was determined to speak to Abu. Before he could follow John to yet another unknown place he would have to use the phone. The landline.
i’m goin 2 call frm my numba. call me bck NOW.
When John returned, Karl was sitting sideways on the large armchair, legs dangling over one side, chatting away. His face relaxed, his cheeks rosy in excitement. He was laughing.
‘I’m not sure,’ came through the receiver. Abu was shouting. ‘Godfrey is going crazy, man. He’s worried sick. You need to call, like for real.’
‘I’m here, innit? No point to run straight back. How’s mum?’
The last bit had an edge to it. Like when they saw the wannabes strutting down towards them and they quickly checked, left, right, behind them and in front, to see whether anyone else was on the street. Anyone who would help.
‘She’s good. Karl, call her. It’s not fair, you get me.’
‘Thanks man. I will, I will.’ It wasn’t that easy. Who and when to call. And the what to say? What could you say? Better just let that shit take care of itself, right? Karl saw John and straightened up.
‘Need to go bruv. We do the same again soon. I’ll bbm you when you can reach me on this line.’
He jumped off the armchair, still laughing.
‘Well, you got Internet at your disposal. Cheap calls. Use it.’
All of his gangly self was swaying from the abrupt movement. Abu had told him funny things. Nalini was teasing him. In a good way. Giving him proper lip and everything. Was it his ears that made him shoot off each time they came closer to him? If he thought they were for flying she would have to tell him that they were just cute. Something, something distinctive. Winked, walked off. Afsana had been off sick the last few days and Abu had caught Nalini alone. Just the two of them.
And now Abu, of all people, started talking to her regularly. First shy, then oh OK you do like me. Karl couldn’t believe it. Abu, who’d push him forward when they bumped into the women. Who was fascinated but would run off to class instead. Things were changing, for real. He had only been gone a couple of days. Ha. Abu. Wasted no time. Karl didn’t think he had it in him.
‘I’m ready,’ he said and John looked up from the paper in his hand. A blue taxi was parked in front of the bungalow. The driver was leaning against the door, going through his phone. Still had the thin plastic film to protect the display. The man looked up and nodded, opened the door and sat in the driver’s seat.
‘Your uncle is using the car today so I booked a taxi,’ John said.
Uncle T appeared on cue on the little lawn in front.
‘Call me, Karl. If there are any problems, you have my number. I know John is already waiting for me to get back inside.’
It seemed true. John was cheerful. It was proper moving. All because of him? Some strange teenager who appeared out of nowhere? Maybe he was just a morning person.
‘John. Ahbeg. Make you take care of dis boy very well o. Anything happen, me I dey find you. You hear?’
‘Yes sah.’ He looked mischievous and winked at Karl. ‘Nothing go happen sah.’
Was just like Karl, like Abu, and a whole lot of other peeps: John liked to have himself a main man, someone to roll with. And since working and trying to build his own business and his wife having their first baby and all those damn things that needed taking care of there hadn’t been much time for any of that sort of thing. Karl was welcome, very welcome indeed.
They went to John’s place. An apartment building located on a wide dirt road that heaved with activities. Small traders lined the length of the street with their little ramshackle stands. The sun climbed from behind the edges of a city that seemed to burp, constantly shaking and pushing out more. People, vehicles, dust and commotion. Hectic. It had something of rush-hour Tube service. We are stuck in the tunnel before the one in front moves. Karl smiled.
Only here it was so much louder, shouting and horns beeping and arms swaying upwards, exclamations, frustration. The taxi driver didn’t participate. He had something very, very cool about him. When the taxi got stuck for a good twenty minutes between rows of other vehicles, he got his phone out of his back pocket again and spoke in a low voice to what sounded like his wife or girlfriend.
Karl sucked in the scene. The stalls at the side of the dusty road with women sitting behind them, legs apart, leaning slightly forward on their thighs, mostly chatting to each other, or fanning themselves with a bit of cardboard. Pyramids made of tomatoes, grains, beans, smoked fish, vegetables and tins. All perfectly balanced on enamel trays. Customers in front, haggling. Kids with or without clothes running in-between, playing and shrieking and waving and looking at Karl with open mouths. Karl aware. He was the main attraction. The one sticking out, being random in all the chaos.
People were in bright outfits with so many colours it was unreal, let alone the patterns and textures, sometimes all proper coordinated, matching purses and shoes for some of the glam-looking ladies. Others were in faded, washed-out clothes that had probably never gone together in the first place. Some of the women walked so slow they were, like, floating. For real. Heads perfectly straight. Hips swaying, left, slow, right, slow, step, slow. If you didn’t concentrate you would think they weren’t moving at all, their bodies just hanging in space. Karl’s eyes followed them. They were fully inside. Their own skin. Nothing spilled over, nothing shrank inside. Comfortable. Abundant. Themselves.
Men in suits. Men in long shirts in the same fabric as their trousers and small bags in their hands. Kids, women, men, shouting, trying to sell Karl a hand vacuum cleaner or CDs or handkerchiefs or second-hand books and magazines or ‘pure water’ (which John said was not as good as bottled and not for him, just for the locals), or crisps or sweets and a million other things. The car completely surrounded, drowning in the sea of people trying to get or sell something. And watching him with open mouths. Beggars with all sorts of limbs missing, waving half an arm or a deformed leg in front of the window. Looking straight at Karl, hands asking. For money. Karl frightened. John just waving them off.
‘Don’t mind am.’
Then suddenly there was an opening and traffic moved again, slowly, but at least they were in business. The house was near, at a street corner, a short way from a small, local market.
‘In the day the activities here are too much,’ John said. He turned around once in a while during their journey, like Uncle T had done when Karl first arrived. But John was stiffer, never jumped or anything, even when the car jerked them all around in sudden moves. Instead he moved up and down, all graceful and shit, as if he were advertising perfect posture and the smoothest streets ever. Not as smooth as the women Karl had seen, though.
‘I will show you tomorrow. The market.’
The house had a cemented parking area in front and a woman was selling small items from an overloaded wood stall, which was positioned at its edge, where the property made friends with the dust road. Little packets of coffee and laundry powder dangled in portioned sachets from both sides of the wood edges. There were a couple of shops at the bottom of the road. Between them the way inside the building. He couldn’t see much; it was dark. Stairs led up, probably to the occupants’ flats, and as they walked closer he inhaled the smells that called for attention: breakfast, brunch, almost lunch. Some people were already cooking. A dark woman with hair in shiny, spiky twists, greeted them with two perfect rows of white teeth.
‘Good morning. How are you?’
Karl couldn’t be too sure. The words felt familiar and strange at the same time. He wasn’t required to respond. Was he? He nodded instead, only so much he could do, shy or not.
John answered and they exchanged friendly words, her eyes wandering to Karl, looking at him, just straight at him, not even once taking the bloody time to blink. It wasn’t a bad look though; it was something else. Like in, good. Like in doing something, something inside of Karl. His palms got sweaty. She stood in front of the shop, which John explained was a little canteen, some aluminium pots in her hands. Water dripped off their sides.
‘You come eat here. Later. I’m Mena. We go talk small. You’re welcome. Welcome to your country.’
She looked at Karl, smiling. Her face all open. Her black top was cut deep enough to show cleavage. Karl was staring too. She had the usual wrapper tied around her waist. Karl threw his best cute boy smile her way, eyelashes patting each other. Hoping – you could only hope – for maximum effect. She was probably a good few years older but seemed like she was up for teasing him as if he was her equal. She winked and laughed, from deep inside her tummy. Karl didn’t know what was so funny.
‘See you soon.’ And she took her pots, turned around and went inside the shop, waving with her free hand.
Karl confirmed, ‘Yes. I will try your food soon.’ His heart slightly giddy. And defo. Without volume. I’m going to be back here in no time.
John was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, reading his folded paper. ‘She only does lunch. She closes in the evening. Now she is busy preparing. We call it bukateria. Or buka. A small place to eat when you are not eating at home.’
Karl followed him up the stairs. Uzo, John’s wife, opened the door, baby in arm. It still had the undefined, young-baby face, all plump cheeks. John put his paper on a little side table. He grew in size as if his feet were soon to take off and he to hover over Uzo and the baby. Funny noises and funnier words came out of his mouth. Karl had to bite the inside of his lips. So much for the properness and perfect posture. Levitating would count as quite the feat but the baby talk and creased face probably didn’t. He shuffled out of the way. You had to know when to give a bit of space, right?
The living room was a lot smaller than his father’s. Three armchairs facing each other with a small table in the middle. A TV. His father’s place felt too proper (other than the bedrooms). All white leather and whatnot, all showing off in that I’m understating here! way but blowing it all up in your face. John’s was just warm. You knew you could hang here; this was for being in, not for showing to someone.
Uzo’s relaxed hair was pulled back into the shortest ponytail ever. Her face and hair almost one thing: from chin to nose to forehead to hairline.
‘Her name is Rose. We are so happy. My wife was very sick but by the grace of God …’
They split apart slightly and his wife extended her right hand, the baby still on her arm.
‘She is beautiful,’ Karl contributed, fingers stroking the infant’s cheeks.
‘You must be hungry. You like our Nigerian food?’
‘I’d love to try whatever you’re making. Thank you.’
He followed her into the kitchen to show that he could be very useful, master dishwasher in fact, helping mothers in England and Nigeria alike. Reel them in and impress was one of his transferable skills. He was still waiting for his career advisor to pick up on it. At least that would make for a useful session.
Abu always said that. ‘If nothing else, you could make a living with that. Mama’s boy gets a whole new meaning with you, man, although you do forget your own, you know. You should offer services; take the whole mother-pleasing thing off the shoulders of stressed teenagers. Let us get on with business.’ And Karl always replied, ‘Whatever. I do take care of mum. It’s just different. Someone has to show that not all is lost with our generation. I’m doing you a favour.’
Usually they would be on to a lengthy discussion then. The state of the youth. Why not all was lost but why some were acting all gangsta all the time. You know the type that rules the street and makes things difficult, whether you were Karl or Abu or just bloody in the way. And mostly why Abu felt like he had to pretend sometimes as well, even when they were smashed into gates and metal fences together, and not only on snow days.
And Abu would hurl back that there was no place for no black or Asian youth in London. You didn’t even have to be smart to know that. But you didn’t have to be all political analysis all of the time. All that talking didn’t change a bloody thing. What was Karl going to do about it? And how come all his sense-making came with running at night, and why was he not doing the one thing, calling Godfrey, when he did? What was that? Wasn’t even meant to be an insult or anything.
Karl didn’t take any offence. Was just that they knew their shit. The stuff they did. Like Abu being all mouthpiece. And Karl all Nike advert gone proper inclusive. There wasn’t anything to do about it but accept and keep being friends. The ‘fag boys’ from around the corner. ‘Pussy boys’ as the wannabes liked to add. Both their words. And Karl would be all, ‘You know you can just tell them you ain’t gay and be done with it. It’s just me this is for anyway.’ And Abu would be, ‘For real? Bruv, do I look like I have a problem with gay or anything? They know we ain’t gay. I’m not even going to go there. When have I ever let you down? Tell me? Do I really look like I will talk to some pisshead? Got better things to do with my time, mate. If you want to preach again find yourself someone who doesn’t know how to act. Ain’t me.’
Would shut Karl up ’cause it was true. No one had a thing, not one single bit of competition, nothing at all, on Abu. That guy was major correct, knew how to brother from another mother like nobody else. If Karl wanted to talk he could, could tell Abu all about what and how, the whole how Karl wanted to be Karl. But you couldn’t pretend like you were better because you had read some books on the topic. Abu had too. Abu who hated anything college with a passion, which meant he hated anything book-related, had been first to say to Karl, ‘Look mate, found this online. Anything of interest there? Should we get it?’ From there they passed each other the brochures Karl got in the support groups. Karl teasing, ‘If only your teachers knew that you can actually read.’
And Abu, ‘If only yours knew you’re not as nice as you seem.’ And kicking Karl with his bare feet.
Uzo handed Rose to him.
‘I have cooked yam. I will fry some egg.’
Karl got all cosy; the mushy feeling poured over him as if Uzo had always known he was coming. He wondered if she could smell he was a runner? Not good at sticking to things in the moment. Not when they came head-on.
After the food, John sat down and explained a few ins and outs about Karl’s father’s work. It made Karl’s head dizzy. It was all hot and bothered, humidity like there was no bloody tomorrow, coming through the open window, full-on assault. Not one bit of draft. With a full stomach Karl could feel how tiring the last days had been. The flat had a keeping-the-outside-out-ness about it. Proper relaxing. There had been a lot of info lately. Too much push and pull, everything different and new. And those endless questions. Had this been the right thing? To come here?
The words John used didn’t seem familiar. Maybe he was speaking his own language? Had forgotten that this was Karl, yes, new mate and all, but London through and through. Or maybe, again, it was just how he pronounced them. He interrupted him every other sentence.
‘Pardon me. I’m really sorry, I didn’t quite understand.’
Didn’t take long before his mind drifted completely and he just installed the listening intently, yes very much so look. Was so much easier when you just let your face do the job, your mind resting, total peace.
‘Mmm, I understand,’ Karl nodded. To not leave those eyelids lying on top of each other too long. That was the trick. But of course they did their own thing, as if they were freelancing, and not part of the whole team. When he opened his eyes again he heard John and Uzo talking in low voices. She was sitting on the armrest, Rose held close. Both looked up as Karl stirred.
‘I’m sorry. Not sure what happened.’
Karl looked around. Uzo was smiling.
‘Ah, please Karl. Be at home here. We have a small room at the back, you can use it if you are still tired.’ She winked at John, who seemed to gel with the whole thing. What was it with the guy? Karl liked him too but it had been like, two minutes. You couldn’t really call that deep connecting. John showed him the small room. Looked like it was used to store all the stuff that had nowhere else to be. Proper full up and cluttered. But there was a single mattress leaning against the wall.
‘It’s not much. But if you like to rest properly, you can sleep here.’
Karl had to laugh. Not like loud – that would have been rude – just it was too much I’ve been before in a whole different setting. The single mattress thing on the floor seemed to be the new global language of friendship. You just crash here. Any time. Maybe it was a shortcut to making ties.
‘This reminds me of home. I sleep in my friend’s place on a mattress like this.’
John nodded. It seemed to make him happy.
bond /bɒnd/
verb
Instead of more sleep, Karl asked if they could go out. The taxi was hired for the day; might as well get the most out of it, right? Like throw yourself into the mix, check out the scene Port Harcourt-style. He was thinking about Mena, the cook. She might be out again and throw him some attention.
John did not telepathically get the thoughts in Karl’s head one single bit. He was all business now, excited about showing him the Garden City, the one that was known all over Nigeria for its beauty. He rushed Karl past the yard; Mena was waving from her little eatery but John, not wanting to stop at all, just threw back one sentence, totally lost on Karl again.
He entered the waiting taxi. John was into sharing mode, info sharing, big time. Karl had already missed that bonding session earlier when he had snoozed off. Now John was all about trying to make some context, for the missing father, the oil, the city, the Nigeria. How the beautiful city had lost its beauty. How oil money was not invested properly. How developments were not for the general population. How the city was bursting. How this and that wasn’t and hadn’t and wouldn’t be done. The foundations for a monorail, an electric inner city train, had begun. It was supposed to ease the congestion problem. But it was going slow, very slow. Like so many other things that were supposed to happen. How it was off, really off. How the father was working for an oil company, meaning not part of any developments, not good ones in John’s eyes, either. Not for the people. But how he was making good money, and that was something. And because the father was making money John was making money by working for the father. Karl just wanted to drive around.
When they pulled back up at the flat, Mena was serving a late lunch. A young girl in an old white dress was cleaning the used plastic tables, making space for the next customer. Mena waved again.
‘Karl. Come and eat,’ she demanded.
‘Hi.’ He was pleased. She remembered his name. That’s what you get when you got it, you get me?
‘You look busy. Should I come back later? Make it easier?’
She nodded.
‘Easier for what?’ John mocked but she had already turned away, her hands dishing up the latest order. Karl followed John into the dark hallway, then up the stairs.
It was late afternoon when he bounced back down the uneven cement steps in the stairwell that divided the building in half. The girl in the white dress was sitting in front of the buka on a small stool. She was soaping plates in a large plastic bowl between her outstretched legs. Inside the small hut-like shop, Mena was packing away large pots.
‘Hi. Hello.’
She turned around. ‘You’re back.’ She seemed pleased. ‘Karl. Come and talk to me. Sit.’
Karl’s throat felt scratchy. The blood had vanished from his face and upper body and was now pooling in his feet. It was difficult to make the few steps. This wasn’t a girl from college down the street. His ‘wow’ eyelashes might do nothing at all here. He managed to make it to the bench she pointed at without knocking down the whole stall. It was low, wooden; he sat down carefully. Mena came closer and put her hand on his arm. She looked at him for a while, nodding but without movement, internal, if you know what I mean. As if she recognised him from somewhere. A tiny bit of a twinkle in her eyes, narrowing them the slightest bit. Karl could feel her thoughts on his skin, whatever they were. One thing was clear: she was defo not teasing him schoolgirl-crush-like. Not one bit. She was probably Godfrey’s age. Like Godfrey, she was black-don’t-crack all the way. She could have fooled you, looking like a teen.
‘How do you like dis our Port Harcourt?’
Her hand was still on Karl’s arm but she was watching the girl outside.
‘A lot. Very interesting.’ Karl was all what now? No game, no plan, nothing.
‘John don show you de city?’ She lifted her hand, turning.
‘A little.’ Karl didn’t know where to look.
Her blackness was that rich and deep kind that reflected back. She waited for a bit, thinking, then, she looked at him. ‘At home everything na fine?’
What was she on about?
‘What do you mean?’ This was turning out to be weird.
‘You come for visit, first time, from far, very far. Then your father no be here. I hope dat at home, everything is fine?’ She laughed. ‘Nigeria, I mean, how do you say it? It never make a good impression.’
Karl laughed too. ‘It did. Sort of.’
‘No!’ she was adamant. ‘Not like dis. Dis no be de way. Sorry for John telling me. We talk sometimes. He say he like my special opinion.’
She laughed again. Karl nodded. The going-along type.
‘I am not a special person. I just cook. But John’ – and she winked at Karl – ‘him say I can see more than de junction. Maybe because so many people I see every day. I get used to seeing more than people show. Sometimes at least. You ask him what is there to see at the junction. He will laugh. He will not reply. He will not know what kine junction he dey talk.’ She rolled her eyes, still laughing. ‘Don’t mind John. He is special. Junction, no junction. Your father. They will find him. For de rest, dat be your own story. You will do it de way you want. You understand?’
Karl nodded some more. Like what the heck was going on here?
‘It is OK, really. John has been very good to me.’
‘Anyway’ – and she rose – ‘all I want to say is it is well. Don’t worry. It is well.’
A young man rushed in. ‘Good afternoon, auntie.’
He almost bowed respectfully, then laughed. He looked at Karl and folded his skinny, stilt-like legs, swinging to sit next to him. All had taken a split second. Much less than Karl’s complicated journey from the steps to the inner workings of the hut.
‘Here you dey chop well well,’ and he smiled at Karl. Then back at the woman. ‘Ahbeg Auntie, anything.’
Mena’s face lit up. She obviously knew this guy and she went behind the counter and lifted a plastic cover. Underneath was a full plate, dished up, all ready and just waiting for the right dude to come and ask for it. Chunks of meat in a thick stew on top of a whole lot of boiled rice. Karl, now used to the dim light, saw that there were several portions lined up on the narrow counter.
‘Nakale, na late. Time don pass too much. You never finish before?’ She looked up at Karl. ‘Dis one him no go eat.’ She hesitated. ‘Or you wan try it?’
Karl swallowed. His mouth was still too dry. And now he was proper confused by that random convo. Which junction? And what was supposed to be going on at home? Or was it here she had talked about? He would choke, for sure, proper, if anything required salivation. Like speaking, coughing, doing anything else but sitting here, concentrating on keeping his body arranged, his torso upward, his legs un-shaking, his hands steady. Independent, he was for the first time hanging in this Nigeria. Now this was the real shit.
The young man, Nakale, had got up as soon as Mena lifted the plate. His grin looked childish, his face a shiny schoolboy’s complete with sweat bumps and greasy skin.
‘Auntie, I de thank you.’
His hand lowered as soon as he sat back down, now opposite Karl, the plate in front of him. He attacked the food in a precise manner, not wasting any time, full spoon straight into lowered mouth.
‘Karl be him name. John brought am. He come from London.’
Nakale looked up but didn’t move his face any higher. The spoon kept shoving rice and stew, in even movements. He was still chewing but he stopped for a second. His hand reached for another spoon and handed it to Karl.
‘Come and eat.’ And he was silent again. There were no words but a lot of noises. All of them appreciative.
Mum, it’s like proper cool here. Learning lots. Don’t worry, all is good. Will call soon. Karl
* * *
Abu would have liked her to say something about him. Nalini was still talking about Karl and him being so understanding, sweet, different, etc. etc. Since that first time she had said nothing about him. Nothing at all. No sign at all. He was hoping, despite her reeling off Karl’s better attributes, that she also noticed how he was growing into a man. The halal perfume (fakes he got from his mate down the road that matched all the latest trendy smellies almost accurately) he dabbed on in the morning, at first break, after college and sometimes in-between; the clothes that showed he knew his stuff. Well put together. Outfits that were proper coordinated. Karl would have made a double flip had he seen what happened to him in a bloody week. Anticipation that made him wake early on Monday and without Karl to talk things over with, left his thoughts trailing, always ending with the image of her face.
‘It’s a shame if he doesn’t make it back for his birthday. Remember last year? We ended up going to that place at the Brunswick.’
Her eyes widened, reminiscent of the grown-up experience, when Karl and Abu had spontaneously invited her and Afsana to go for a cheap lunchtime-deal meal when they had accidentally run into each other on Karl’s birthday, almost a year ago.
‘We could look out for any of these offers this year, you know what I mean. Groupon. Get a proper deal. Like a proper three-course meal or something.’
Abu nodded. ‘Not sure he’s going to be back. You know how it is.’
Karl. Nothing to say here.
He was aiming for mature and world-knowing, as if he was assessing the larger state of things. He didn’t even know how anything was, let alone Karl’s latest doings. All he knew was friendship didn’t seem to be all the same to Mr.-quickly-getting-occupied-otherwise.
‘Where is he anyway?’
These were things that no one had bothered to brief Abu on. He had no idea what he was supposed to say. Neither Godfrey nor Karl had given any real instructions.
‘Taking care of business, innit.’
Nalini fell for it. Impressed, she glanced at Abu sideways, her cheeks flushed from the cold this time.
‘Tell him I said hi and I hope everything works out well. You gonna talk to him?’
‘Defo. Sure thing. I’ll let him know.’
Afsana was almost catching up with them at the gate. She had forgotten the paper that she had done for college and didn’t want to miss out on the praise. It was on the local history they were all working on. Nalini and Abu had chosen Slavery and The Bloomsbury Group, with a few others in their year. It had hit home for all of them.
‘He would never believe I actually did it on time and OMG I did so much work.’ Afsana had been in overdrive, her mouth babbling away. ‘He’s just gonna think I’m being funny. No way. I’d rather come late.’
And she’d rushed back. Now she was swaying in a skipping motion down the street towards them, winner’s smile on her lips, her silk headscarf reflecting the bright day’s sun.
‘Can we, erm, do you, I mean, what do you think of …?’
Abu’s lips tripped over the words that came out of his mouth without his permission. Nalini waved at her friend, come quick, almost time, you’re still gonna make it, and directed her attention back towards him. What was it?
It was time. Time to grow up, Abu figured. Karl wasn’t here to help him through the endless days now. And even if, they couldn’t act like conjoined twins for the rest of their lives.
‘I mean, maybe I can walk home with you after college?’
Afsana arrived, running the last bit, and swung her arm around Nalini.
‘Got it.’ She patted her bag proudly.
A small hand squeezed Abu’s. Quick. Nalini looked at him.
‘So those ears do pay attention.’ And she pulled Afsana towards college, looking back once over her shoulder. Smiling.