WHEN BECKY MET THOMAS

CHAPTER 1: THE LIE Becky Osas was not supposed to be in Thomas Cole's car. She was supposed to be in her shop in Ekosodin, arranging her new coral beads that just arrived from Auntie Faith in Lagos. Instead, she was in the passenger seat of a very clean Toyota Camry that smelled like expensive perfume and air freshener, holding a small bottle of water that Thomas had given her like she was a guest on a talk show. Thomas was driving and sweating. Not normal sweat. Panic sweat. The kind that made his white shirt stick to his back even though the AC was on full blast. "Becky, thank you for coming," he said for the third time in four minutes. "You already said that," Becky said. "You called me 18 times this morning. I counted. My customers thought I had a stalker." "I know, I know. I'm just... my mum is landing in 48 hours." Becky frowned. "Okay? And that's my business how? Thomas, you know I like you, but you are doing too much. Since you came back from London you have been acting like Benin is a village you came to save." Thomas hit the brake too hard at the traffic light by Uniben main gate. A keke driver shouted, "You dey learn?" He ignored him. He turned to Becky. "My mum thinks I am engaged." Silence. Becky stared. "Engaged? To who?" "To you." Bigger silence. Becky almost choked on the water. "To ME? Thomas Cole, are you mad? When did we discuss engagement? Last week you told me my business name sounds like a salon!" Thomas ran his hand through his hair. That British-Nigerian hair that was always neatly cut. "Okay, let me explain from the beginning. My mum, Mrs. Margaret Cole, lives in London. Peckham. She has not been to Nigeria in 10 years. She is coming on Friday for my cousin's wedding in Benin. She is very... British-Nigerian mother. You know the type. If you are 28 and not married, you are a failure. If you are 28 and not married and you left London to come and do 'brand strategy' in Benin, you are a double failure." Becky started laughing. "So you lied?" "I didn't mean to lie! She called me last night on video. She asked, 'Thomas, how is Benin? Are you eating well? Have you found a good Nigerian girl?' And I... I panicked. I said, 'Yes mum, I have a fiancée. She owns a jewelry business. Her name is Becky.' And she said, 'Oh my God, finally. I am bringing aso-ebi for her.'" Becky's laughter stopped. "Thomas, you used my name? My real name? Without asking me?" "Your shop name is Shop with Becky. It was the first name that came to my head!" Becky opened the car door. "Stop this car. I want to come down. This is not comedy, this is kidnapping." "Becky wait! Please!" Thomas locked the doors. "Listen, just listen for 2 minutes. My mum is only staying for 4 days. Friday to Monday. You just have to pretend. You come for dinner on Friday, we greet her, you wear one of your nice brown gowns, you act like we are engaged, she goes back to London happy, I will pay you." Becky paused. Pay. That word entered her brain and sat down. She was broke. Not rent-broke this time. Trade-fair-broke. The Lagos Jewelry Fair was in 3 weeks. Table price: ₦1.2 million for small vendors. That fair was where Auntie Faith made all her big customers. Becky had applied and they gave her a slot but she had to pay in 10 days. She had ₦180k in her account. "How much?" she asked quietly. Thomas knew he had her attention. "₦1.2 million." Becky's heart jumped. Exactly her fair money. "You will give me ₦1.2 million to pretend to be your fiancée for 4 days?" "Yes. Plus you keep all the jewelry my mum will buy from you. She always buys plenty when she comes to Nigeria. Last time she bought lace worth £800." Becky calculated quickly. ₦1.2m + lace + possible i********: content = very good deal. But there were conditions. "First," Becky said, raising one finger. "I am not kissing you. Fake fiancée does not include kissing. My lips are not part of the contract." Thomas looked offended. "I was not planning to—" "Second, you will not touch my waist in front of your mother. Nigerian mothers watch waist touching like CCTV." "Okay." "Third, if your mother asks me to cook, you will tell her I have injury on my hand. Because I will not cook for a lie." Thomas nodded. "Deal. No kissing, no waist touching, no cooking." "Fourth," Becky added. "You will follow me to my shop now and you will help me pack 30 orders that I have not packed because you kept calling me 18 times." Thomas smiled for the first time that day. A real smile, not panic smile. "Deal. So you will do it?" Becky sighed. "Thomas, if your mother is as strict as you say, she will know we are lying in 5 minutes. We don't even act like couple. We argue like landlord and tenant." "That's why we need training," Thomas said, starting the car again. "We have 48 hours. Today and tomorrow. We will learn everything about each other. Favorite food, childhood, how we met. My mum is smart. She will ask." "How did we meet in your lie?" "I told her we met at your shop. I came to buy a gift for my sister and you insulted my accent." Becky burst out laughing. "That actually sounds like us. That's true." Thomas drove back to Ekosodin. The road was bad, with small potholes filled with rainwater from last night. Bikes and keke everywhere. He drove carefully, like a London boy. When they reached Shop with Becky, Linda was already there, sitting on Becky's stool, pressing her phone. Linda looked up, saw Thomas and Becky entering together, and her eyes became big. "Ehn ehn? Two of you? Inside one car? Becky, you didn't tell me—" "Linda, close your mouth," Becky said, dropping her bag. "It's business." Thomas greeted Linda, "Hi Linda." Linda stood up. "Business? What business needs car and AC? Becky, are you pregnant?" Becky threw a jewelry pouch at her. "Linda I will slap you." Thomas laughed. "Linda, I need to borrow Becky for 4 days. For a family thing." Linda looked between them. "Family thing? Which family? Your family or her family?" "My mother is coming from London. Becky is pretending to be my fiancée." Linda screamed so loud that Mama Nosa from two shops away heard. "FAKE FIANCÉE! Becky! You don finally enter Nollywood! How much is he paying you?" Becky covered her mouth. "Linda shut up! It's secret!" Linda was already dancing. "My friend is about to be London wife! Thomas, you need best friend for your best man? I am available!" Thomas looked at Becky, helpless. "This is why I didn't want to tell anybody," Becky whispered. "Too late," Linda said. "Everybody for this line will know before 6pm. But don't worry, I will coach you. To be a good fake fiancée, you must know how to feed him in public. Like, 'Baby, open your mouth.'" "I said no kissing!" Becky shouted. "Feeding is not kissing!" Linda shouted back. Thomas sat on the small stool — the same stool he broke last time — carefully this time, and watched the two friends argue about how to lie to a London mother. His phone buzzed. Mum calling. *Mum (London) is calling...* Thomas showed Becky the phone. Becky's eyes widened. "Answer it on speaker," Becky whispered. "Let's start training now." Thomas answered, putting it on loud. "Thomas? Darling? Did you tell Becky I am coming? I bought her a lovely bag from Zara!" Becky and Linda looked at each other. Zara bag. Becky smiled for the first time since entering the car. Maybe this fake engagement would not be so bad. "Yes mum," Thomas said, looking at Becky. "She is right here with me." Becky leaned to the phone. "Good afternoon ma!" Mrs. Cole's voice became excited. "Becky! My daughter! Finally! Thomas has told me so much about you!" Becky looked at Thomas. Thomas mouthed: _Sorry._ Becky took a deep breath and entered character. "Thank you ma, we have been waiting for you ma," she said, in her most respectful Nigerian wife voice. Linda covered her mouth to stop laughing. Operation Fake Fiancée had officially started. And Becky had not even collected the ₦1.2m yet. --- *End of Chapter 1