CHAPTER 1: THE WOMAN AT TABLE SEVEN
“Madam, I wonder if she can get some of the small chops without any charge?”
I lifted my head to look at the waiter who had just made the ridiculous offer.
“If she can convince the man who brought them, tell her they are free.”
The waiter laughed and said;
“You will agree, she has a sweet face.”
“Since Mira learned to smile she has been using this face to avoid any consequences, tell her to ask properly.”
A little voice came from the chair next to me.
“Mummy, I asked properly, I said please ... .that's the same, isn't it?”
I went back to the idea of the proposal. It was Thirty minutes before the meeting. Half an hour to validate that my little events company could handle a product launch for one of the largest property groups in Lagos.
The contract length determined the amount of three months' salaries I could pay. It was also part of Mira's next school payment.
I'd done the budget twice, triple-checked the numbers and practiced my presentation while stirring pap at six in the morning.
I didn't have time to deal with old ghosts in my day.
But, at table seven, the man laughed.
I knew that, before I looked up, From the bottom of his chest to a short, powerless laugh, like he'd been surprised.
I remember I spent an entire Sunday trying to get him to laugh like that. I did not do well until I accidentally put salt in his tea.
Kola Adeyemi was close to the glass wall holding a water glass in his hand, while cupping the back of the woman at his side.
My sister was wearing a cream dress and a wedding ring.
The bustle of the hotel subsided for a while.
All the sounds were muted, from the clink of cutlery to the scrape of chairs to the hum of the air conditioner. Teni leaned forward towards Kola so as to say something to him. He bent his head to her and smiled at her, with that kind of love that I thought was mine.
“Mummy?” Mira whispered. “Why aren’t you breathing?”
“I’m not?”
“You aren't. Your mouth is doing it again.”
I caught my expression, and straightened my jaw. “Eat your samosa.” I said instead.
“May I have some more?”
“Ask the waiter.”
“Again,” she said louder to the universe, “can I have another?”
I leaned over my tablet. The details of my presentation had gotten blurred in my notes. I could leave. I could let the client know that I had an emergency and pick up Mira and go home on the first ride. I could safeguard a life of quiet that I had built in a room that never was my own.
However, the client was approaching the table already holding a folder under his arm.
“Mrs Afolayan? Excuse me for my lateness; the road traffic on the Island was terrible.”
“You've come at an opportune moment, Mr Daramola.” I stood up, shook his hand.
“If you are pressed for time, I have shortened my presentation.”
“Great, I like a girl that understands deadlines.” He glanced his attention to Mira.
“You’ve got your biggest voice of reason right here.”
“She has a very tight vetting procedure.
I don't give anything less than one star if the food is bad,” I laughed.
In the following two minutes, I was good. I discussed the concept, staffing plan, risk assessment and cost savings. Answered questions at a leisurely pace. When Mr Daramola asked for my contingency budget, I displayed him the other one. When he finally folded up his folder, I thought I might've been fooled into believing that he hadn't altered the shape of my life in this room.
“This, I will have my team look at,” he said.
“Your offer is the strongest I've heard till date, I'll reach out to you tomorrow.”
Thank you, I will look forward to hearing from you.
He went to take a phone call. I exhaled a deep breath and looked for my water.
“That woman is looking at you, Mira,” said.
I didn't have to ask which woman.
Teni had seen me. She was no longer smiling and her face looked strangely young. For a split-second, she was the same girl who used to crawl into my bed on stormy nights and say, "Don't be afraid, don't be afraid.
Then she looked at Kola, straightened her shoulders and stood tall.
“Nadia?”
My name just did not fit in her mouth. This is the fifth year she told it to my face. Five years on from the day she stood in our parents' sitting room and cried and all the people looked at me like I had brought dirt into the house.
“Teni.”
She stopped beside our table. She looked at my face and then at Mira, and then back at me. “You came back.”
Her lips parted. She wanted to laugh out loud but she couldn't. So it was the first thing that hurt, that we could talk to each other still.
At the sound of her voice, Kola looked around. His eyes fixed me, his gaze held.
He looked older. Not dramatically. The lines were barely visible near his eyes and the boyish softness of his mouth was more controlled. But it was Kola. The guy who used to do the wrong thing at the dance party while I was cooking in my kitchen.
The man who had been listening to me, pleaded for his right to be heard, and had determined that it would be safer to keep his silence than ask me one question.
“Nadia,” he said.
Before my hand could betray me, I put my glass down. “Kola.”
I leaned against Mira. “Mummy, is this the man in the picture?” She asked.
The question was minuscule. The quiet that ensued was not.
Kola's eyes turned to my daughter. Teni's fingers clenched over her purse.
“What picture?” he asked.
I stood, put my tablet into the case and held Mira's hand. “We have to go.”
“Wait,” Teni said. “Can we talk?”
“It’s been 5 years.”
“I know.” Her voice dropped. “Please, Nadia.”
I saw the ring on her finger, then the man next to her. I could've said a hundred things. I could have asked if she had gotten a good night's sleep in my bed, if he still disliked cinnamon, if she knew the sound he made when he was scared but didn't show it.
“No,” I replied, “Not here.”
With my daughter walking beside me, I headed down to the exit. I did not run. I wouldn't pay them that much.
To my right, I could hear Kola asking,
“Teni, who was that?”
I kept walking. Then I heard my sister's voice, behind his back and in my ear.
“My sister.”
A pause.
“The one I told you about….”
