His Old Money World

Chapter 20 - The Gate

Madam Adeyemi was still standing at the door.

She wasn't wearing her usual silk wrapper. She was wearing a simple black dress. The one she wore to funerals. Her eyes were not angry. That was worse. They were wet.

"So this is where you hide to make stupid decisions, Jide?" she said, her voice calm. Too calm.

Jide moved. Fast. He stepped in front of me, blocking me with his body like I was something that needed hiding again.

"Mother, we were just —"

"Don't." She held up a hand. "I heard everything, Jide. 'Old money or you.' 'Build my own company in Yaba.' My son, the CEO of Adeyemi Holdings, wants to go and enter danfo in Yaba because of a girl who irons agbada?"

She looked past him to me. At my uniform. At my rough hands clutching each other.

"Amara," she said, and my name sounded like a curse in her perfect accent. "Go to the BQ. Pack your things."

My heart dropped to my stomach.

"Ma?" I whispered.

"You are fired." She said it like she was saying "bring more tea." Simple. Final. "Your salary for this month will be sent to your mother. With extra. Don't come back to this house."

"No," Jide said.

"Yes," Madam said, and finally looked at her son. "If you leave this house with her tonight, you will not enter this gate again. Your father and the board have agreed. You choose Tolu, you keep your name. You choose her, you lose everything. Even me."

The hallway was silent. The other staff — Felicia, Musa — had gathered at the end, peeking. They knew. In this house, when Madam fires you by 8pm, you are out by 8:15.

I looked at Jide. His jaw was tight. His fists were closed.

"Amara," he said, not looking at his mother. "Go and pack. I will meet you outside."

"Jide!"

"GO AND PACK!" he shouted. Not at me. At the whole house. At the walls. At the old money that had choked him since he was 12.

I ran.

The BQ was small. My single bag was already half-packed because maids in Ikoyi always have a bag half-packed. I threw my few clothes — two uniforms, one Ankara gown my mama gave me, my small Bible — inside. My hands were shaking so bad I couldn't zip it.

Felicia came in. "Amara, sorry. Madam said make you no carry the uniform. Na company property."

I removed the uniform. I was left in my old singlet and shorts. A maid even when fired still not allowed to wear dignity.

When I came out, Jide was in the compound, arguing with the gateman. Madam stood on the balcony upstairs, watching. Like a queen watching a prisoner leave.

"My car," Jide said to the gateman.

"Oga, Madam say make we no open gate for that girl," the gateman said, eyes down.

Jide laughed. A cold, scary laugh. "This is my house. My father's house. Open the gate."

The gateman looked at Madam. Madam nodded once. The gate opened.

I walked. Barefoot. Bag on my head. Like I walked when I first came to Ikoyi three months ago thinking I would be invisible.

Only this time, Jide Adeyemi walked beside me, in his Swiss shoes, carrying nothing.

We got to the main road. Lekki-Ikoyi traffic was honking. No one knew that the heir to Adeyemi Holdings had just become homeless.

Jide stopped a Keke. "Yaba," he said.

The Keke man looked at him, at his suit. "Oga, Yaba na 2k."

Jide brought out his wallet. His black Amex. The Keke man laughed. "Oga, we no dey collect ATM."

I brought out my own purse. My last 2,500 naira. The money meant for my mama's drugs. I paid.

We entered the Keke together. Ikoyi behind us. The gate closed.

Halfway to Yaba, Jide's phone rang. He looked at it. "Arthur Adeyemi calling." He picked.

"Father."

I could hear Arthur shouting even over the Keke noise.

Jide listened. Then he said, calmly: "If you remove my name, remove it well. Because I am not coming back until Amara's name enters that house before mine."

He ended the call. Switched off the phone. Threw it into the Lagos lagoon as we crossed Third Mainland Bridge.

And then he looked at me, in that noisy Keke, with nothing.

"Amara, we have no house. We have no money that works in Keke. What do we do now?"

I looked at my bag. At my mother's address squeezed on a paper.

"We go home," I said. "To my real old money world."

The Keke drove into Yaba darkness. Behind us, a black Prado was following us. Not Jide's. Madam's.