Hush Hush

Chapter 2

"I thought you were not coming anymore. Please, come in," The Frenchwomen said, opening the door wide enough for us to enter.

It was my first time visiting her home. She was in a sleeveless summer dress, hanging loosely on her body and had diamond earring which seemed to weigh heavily on her wrinkled ears. A big portrait with rough texture, red roses laid at the bottom but they didn’t hide the tinge of anger in the man’s eyes nor the tall, pale, shadowy figure tramping through behind him.

" Evening Mrs Vitug. Thank you for the invitation," Paul said as she closed the door. I felt horrible that my husband remembered her surname and I didn’t.

"We brought something along. We couldn't help ourselves and come empty handed," I handed her the bowl of salad. I didn’t know what to bring along, even though she told me so well not to bring anything but Paul insisted we bring something along, he suggested wine but since I had attachment issues with my babies (wine bottles) I prepared an African signature salad, coleslaw.

"It’s okay. We still have space for another dish, thank you. This way please," We followed the dimmed passage, passed a closed room before we got to then dining area. It was styled in vintage. The decoration was of an old woman but it still looked beautiful. At the far top, there was a frame, of a women who looked old and wrinkled. She resembled Mrs Vitug so much that you would mistaken them for twins.

"Have a seat please,"

The table was already set, it was a simple yet nice setup. Her house felt homely and welcoming.

"This looks nice,” Paul complemented.

"Thank you, you'll forgive me, I couldn't go all out. It was just a spur of the moment,”

"Don't be silly. This is perfect," I wasn’t lying.

Bowls of food were laid in the middle the buffet style, wooden placemats were holding the white cylindrical plates in place. My mouth produced more saliva at the smell of the food.

"Please, help yourselves, " She said and sat down across the table. It was just the three of us.

" Can we say grace first, if you don't mind of course," I requested as I saw Mrs Vitug about to dig in. Her red-rimmed, hesitant eyes darted from me to Paul and back again. Through the emptiness of her eyes, rested a petrified emotion. Red thick veins refused to stay hidden on her arm, they reminded me of when I was taking an injection before I committed to Paul.

“Baby!” He reproached my request “Please forgive my wife. This is your house, we do what the Vitug's do.”

She remained quiet, her eyes reflected her miles away mind. Paul was right, I had no right to make the request. It wasn’t my place to request nor was it my house.

"Penny for the thought? Mrs Vitug…” I asked as I stared at the woman’s empty, soulless eyes staring back at me as if they could somehow erase my request. Instead of an answer, her pale face mocked our presence.

"Mrs Vitug are you okay?" He shook her arm, she reciprocated to the touch and jumped a little.

"What? I'm sorry I zoned out a bit." she apologised. A bit?

"Are you okay," I asked " I mean you don't look okay,"

She nodded her repeatedly, her earrings followed movement and danced around.

"I'm fine, do not worry yourself. You were saying?"

"I hope we did not offend you in anyway. I was requesting to pray before indulging?" I said, uncertain. Thoughts of forwardness grouped my mind.

"Yes you can pray. I'm just not used to praying. Old age," She murmured unconvincingly, throwing a chuckle which remained inside her mouth. But her voice did carry fright publicly, it betrayed her.

Paul started praying, as the only man present. My left hand was laid on the table as my other hand was intertwined with Paul’s. An almost unnoticeable movement shook the table sideways, lightly and measured. A heavy feeling of someone staring at you fell on my body as I tried to ignore it.

"Amen,"

"Amen," Mrs Vitug and I chorused When my gaze turned to her, bloodshot red and watery eyes grinned at me. I couldn't understand why they were suddenly this red, they almost looked painful. They where that of someone has been crying.

"Mrs Vitug are your eyes fine? They seem red," I asked concerned laced in my voice. She didn't look okay. She looked different from the time we arrived.

"Yes, my eyes are just burning. Don't worry about them. Born appetite, "

We dished up for ourselves and indulged in the food. The food was delicious, she outdid herself. She had added a bottle of white wine on the table and filled our glasses. The conversation was flowing on the table, like the well known waterfall Nigeria Fall. We were telling her stories about our childhood. It was such a nice moment to share with her. She was free spirited. She would constantly laugh and ask questions here and there. We were now seated in the siting room, going through her album with me and Paul on either side of him. She was now telling us about her childhood in France. The stories were quite interesting, I must say. She had an amazing childhood. She moved here with here husband fifteen years ago and the had to separate due to unforeseen circumstances, which was death after ten of living here together. I felt her emotions as she told us stories about her husband. He sounded like a gentleman.

"How did your husband die Ms. Vitug? Was he sick?" I asked trying to understand the whole thing. People die, I know but they do die differently.

"He was as healthy as an ox my child, he was not sick," She added to my confusion.

"Was he shot? What was the reason for his death?" She was getting so emotional that her eyes got glassy and angry.

"My children, you are still young. You have to live your life to the fullest. This place is not good for neither of you. Just do yourselves a favour and get out of this place while you still can," Neither of us understood. What did she mean 'while we still can' She was just speaking in riddles and nothing made sense about what she said.

"Mrs Vitug what exactly are you saying? You are speaking in riddles," Paul asked, as if he could sense my confusion. She closed her eyes momentarily and opened them again.

"It was Just after a year since we moved here. We were staying on another flat on the last floor up there when..." She didn't continue as she looked, more like stared on the wall behind us which had a c***k and a little black butterfly holding for dear life on the wall.

"And?"

"I'm sorry Mr and Mrs Griffiths, I think you should leave. I'm not feeling well," Mrs Vitug said, getting up from the couch to the door. She was serious, very serious. But why? How is it that she was suddenly 'not well' ? Did we say or do something that she perhaps didn't like? Paul and I looked at each other. We were both amazed at how fast she changed from the bubbly, story teller to that. We followed after, respecting her wishes. She held the door open. I looked at the wall one more time and that black butterfly was no longer there. It must have fled off.

"Do get better Mrs Vitug. We enjoyed the meal, thank you." Paul said, tugging my hand unto his.

"Thank you for pitching in also." She then closed the door. I thought we were talking just fine, nice actually until...until she just stared at the beautiful butterfly which I doubt could be the reason she suddenly changed.

"And what was that all about?" Paul asked as we stood in front of our door. I was glad I was not the only one who was left hanging at the tip of the mountain.

"I don't know. I'm just as confused as you" He unlocked the door and we went in. The place was still the way we left it, except for the opened windows which made the place colder than it already was. The curtains were blowing furiously. Paul's work papers which were on the table were scattered around the sitting room.

"Paul how many times did I tell you to close the windows before we leave the house? And how many times did I tell you to put you important documents safe?" I turned to look at him but he was no longer in sight.

He must have went to the bedroom. Paul will be the dead of me, I tell you but I loved him. I walked and picked up the papers which were scattered around. When I was about to pick up the second last, I saw a foot trail, a foot print. The print was like someone had walked on ashes. The trail of foot steps were thick and dark. I squatted down to touch the print. It was thick and a bit muddy. You know what, I will see to it tomorrow... I was exhausted and my mind was still in a fog by what took place at Mrs. Vitug. I still needed to know the whole story about what caused Mr Vitug's death. She was still in the beginning of the story. She couldn't get to finish the sad story because she suddenly felt ‘sick’. I closed the windows and took the papers with to the bedroom. Paul was already inside the blankets. Suddenly the rain started pouring, the weather here was just out of order, doing as it pleased.