THE FLOOR SEEMED TO lurch below Daniel’s feet. Chris, the man who might be his father, was alive. Femi had seen him. He would know where to find him.
‘He’s alive,’ Daniel said. ‘He’s alive?’
Femi gave him a puzzled look. ‘Yes, of course. Well, he was alive when I saw him about a year ago. We talked.’
‘You said you didn’t know who he was.’
Femi laughed. ‘Did I say that?’
Daniel didn’t answer.
Femi gestured, waggling his fingers. ‘It’s just that he said not to talk about seeing him. At the time it didn’t matter. I had no idea someone might ask.’
Daniel’s heart sank. ‘Why? Is he in some kind of trouble?’
‘No. I don’t think so. It was something to do with his business. I don’t know. He didn’t really give me any details. I expect it’s all blown over now.’
‘What does he do?’
‘Some kind of import–export thing.’ He paused, crinkling up his forehead in thought. ‘Wait a minute. He gave me a card with his business address.’ He tapped his forehead. ‘Oh, I forget what it was, but I’ve got the card somewhere. Maybe in my office.’ He looked at Daniel, his eyes intent and serious. ‘Why is this so important?’
Daniel fumbled for the right answer. ‘There’s no point in putting this party on if I miss out my mum’s best friends, is there?’
Femi nodded as if he was convinced. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘Hang on.’
He turned around, went through the turnstile and vanished up the stairs. Daniel waited, his eyes fixed on the top of the staircase. Femi was only gone for a few minutes, but it seemed like an age. When Daniel saw him coming back he let out his breath. He seemed to have been holding it for a while.
Femi held out a card. Daniel read it in one quick glance. It was the right name – Chris Adebowale, and printed under it was the name of the firm – Adepo Imports. Below that was the address of an industrial estate in Tottenham.
‘Thank you,’ Daniel said. He felt like hugging Femi. ‘Thanks a lot.’
It was past six when he left Femi’s college. By this time offices would already be closed. It was much too late to go running over to Tottenham. He walked north towards the river. Once there he crossed a bridge and leaned over to look at the muddy water. Behind him the lights of the London Eye wavered slowly through the air. He walked away from them strolling towards Tower Bridge.
The last time he had walked here was with his mother. Thinking about her made him realize what he was doing. Dawdling by the river was an escape, he thought. Standing there, he wouldn’t have to think about what to do next. He wouldn’t have to think, either, about meeting his father. If he was honest with himself the idea frightened him.
What could he say to the man? Perhaps he could tell him how much he had missed having a real dad. Perhaps he could ask about his mum. He could ask why he had left, and why she had kept the truth hidden. Perhaps, he thought, it was all his mum’s fault. Perhaps she had been cold and distant, the way she was sometimes. He didn’t believe everything he had ever read or heard about Africans. He was half an African himself, but he had begun to think of Chris as hot blooded, full of laughter and passion. So much about his mum was cool and formal. Maybe she had put him off.
Looking up he realized that he had walked a long way. He was now somewhere near Canary Wharf. All of a sudden it struck him that he was tired. The night before he had been restless, his mind full of confused thoughts. He had only managed a couple of hours’ sleep. Sitting on a bench looking across at the giant cliffs of concrete, he phoned Louise. She answered quickly, as if she’d been waiting. ‘I phoned home,’ she said. ‘I thought maybe you’d gone to see your mum.’
He told her about Femi, and her voice took on a worried tone.
‘Shall I come back?’
‘No. I’ll be OK. I’ll call you tomorrow and tell you how I got on.’
He already had the plan in his head. Next day he would go to the industrial park and talk to Chris. Thinking about it, he realized that going after school might be too late. He rang the number Judy had given him earlier.
‘We missed your wise counsel today,’ she said, ‘but you did get a couple of horrible little jobs. That will slow you down when you come back.’
Daniel ignored the banter. ‘I need to get off at lunchtime,’ he replied.
The sound of her tongue clicking told him she was annoyed. ‘OK, Daniel. I’m giving you some space, but don’t do this too often.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Daniel said. ‘I’ve got to sort something out.’
‘Why don’t we have a talk tomorrow?’
It’s none of her business, he thought. His next thought was that things might get awkward if he upset her. ‘I’ll need to get away quickly tomorrow,’ he said. ‘ I’ll tell you what I can as soon as this gets sorted.’
He put the phone back in his pocket and stayed sitting on the bench, too tired to move. Tomorrow, he thought. I’ll see Chris tomorrow and I’ll know all I ever wanted to know.
‘Tomorrow,’ he muttered aloud to himself. ‘Tomorrow.’