Wahala, page 23
What was I thinking? Ronke tried to remember how this competitive godmothering malarkey started. And how come Simi’s treats involved alcohol, swanky eateries and not much Sofia? Not that I’m being judgy, she told herself.
She snuck a look at her phone. Shit, another hour to go. Breathe … This is supposed to be fun.
A text from Simi:
Setting off now. See you at four. Sx
They were meeting at The Julius for The Mad Hatter’s Tea Party – Simi’s Christmas treat for Sofia. Surprise! Surprise! It involved cocktails. And Isobel and Boo.
For the first time in her life, Ronke wasn’t looking forward to spending time with Boo. She’d been deliberately late in picking up Sofia to avoid any chance of a chat. She’d thought about inventing an excuse to get out of this pretentious tea, but she and Simi were good again and Ronke didn’t want to piss her off. But why did Isobel have to be there? Ronke blamed her for everything – for dating Kayode, for Boo’s sleeping with her boss, for Simi’s lying to Martin. She knew she was being unfair. The Isobel–Kayode thing was an unfortunate coincidence and her friends were both grown-ups. But fact was, pre-Isobel, their friendships had been rock solid. Now there were cracks.
Sofia grabbed hold of her with warm sticky fingers. ‘I love you, Aunty Ronke. This is the best!’
Tears welled in Ronke’s eyes. She pulled Sofia close, kissed her head and laughed as the itchy blonde wig tickled her nose. ‘And I love you right back.’
The auditorium exploded into ‘Let It Go’. Ronke and Sofia sang along at the top of their lungs, waving their arms in unison – almost exactly as the host was demonstrating.
Ronke’s mood lifted and her headache faded. This had been such a good idea. And she still had her favourite song, ‘Fixer Upper’, to look forward to. It reminded her of Kayode.
SOFIA WAS STILL ON A Frozen cloud when they got to The Julius. It didn’t matter how amazing this tea was, Sofia was going to talk about Frozen for weeks. Ronke had won. She hoped the portions weren’t stingy; the Elsa blue jelly hadn’t touched the sides.
She heard them before she saw them: Isobel’s transatlantic twang and annoying laugh, Simi’s trademark cackle.
Sofia skipped across the room. ‘Mama! Mama! We danced and we sang, and I’ve got a wand!’ She poked Boo in the chest.
‘Ow! Where are your manners?’ Boo scolded. ‘Say hello to your aunties.’
‘Hello, Aunty Simi. Hello, Aunty Isobel,’ Sofia said dutifully. ‘How does your hair go long and short, Aunty Isobel? My friend Gemma has a doll whose hair grows when you press her belly button.’
Simi beamed at Ronke and patted the chair next to her. ‘Ronks! Come sit.’
‘She’s a bit overexcited.’ Ronke sank into the chair, glad she wasn’t next to Boo, sad she was next to Isobel.
‘Look, Sofia, I bet you’ve never seen anything as good as this!’ Simi pointed at the two waiters approaching, each carrying a massive cake-stand, tiers separated by giant teacups decorated with clubs, spades, hearts and diamonds.
For the first time since they’d walked in, Sofia was silent. She swayed on her feet, wonderstruck. Ronke was gobsmacked too. Meringues disguised as red and white mushrooms, test-tubes of frothy milkshakes with DRINK ME signs, miniature scones that glittered with silver icing sugar, home-made Jammie Dodgers with heart-shaped holes filled with strawberry jam, mini diamond-shaped tomato quiches, round sandwiches with Marmite clock hands.
‘Would you care for a tea infusion, madam?’ A third waiter appeared next to her, dressed in a riot of colours and a huge top hat festooned with flowers.
‘Oooh yes – mint, please,’ said Ronke.
‘And another round of cocktails,’ barked Isobel.
‘And a bottle of sparkling water,’ added Simi.
‘Next year, Sofia,’ chirped Isobel, in a put-on childish voice, ‘I’ll take you to Lapland to see Santa. We’ll all go. My treat!’
Sofia stared at Isobel adoringly. Ronke slumped in her chair. Maybe Simi was right, she thought. Maybe you can buy happiness.
But the food didn’t taste as good as it looked. All style, no substance, thought Ronke smugly. Sofia ignored the savoury bits and gorged herself on sugary crap – three meringues in three seconds. Boo was oblivious. The three of them had met for brunch and it would appear that Isobel and Boo had been drinking non-stop.
‘Have a sandwich, Sofia – they’re so yummy,’ Ronke lied.
‘Eugh! Meringues are yummy,’ said Sofia, mouth full.
‘How’s Kayode?’ asked Isobel. She dragged out each syllable, an ugly twist to her mouth.
Ronke smiled. She was ready for this, had hoped it would come up. ‘We’re off to Nigeria for Christmas. He wants me to meet his mum.’
‘Wow! Well, I hope he’s flying you first class,’ said Isobel. ‘Nigerian flights are awful. Especially at Christmas with all those proles going home. I’d rather not go at all than fly steerage.’ She flicked a hand under her nose twice, as if trying to get rid of a bad smell.
‘Premium Economy. For me it’s a treat. I guess I’m a prole.’ Ronke looked at Boo for support. When Simi had suggested they upgrade on their trip to Rome last year, Boo had called her a poser with more money than sense.
‘Let’s hope he turns up this time,’ said Boo.
Isobel did her tinkly laugh and touched Boo’s arm. ‘Oh yes! He left her standing at St Pancras like a lemon. If he’d done that to me, I’d have killed him.’
Boo tinkled with her.
Simi nudged Ronke’s knee: ignore them. Ronke felt her nails bite into her palms. She wasn’t surprised at Isobel but what had happened to Boo?
‘Martin’s coming home on Friday,’ said Simi. ‘We’re going to say yes to his job.’
‘Friday? I’ll make him a cake. He was disappointed I didn’t do Sofia’s this year – said her birthday cake was sickly.’ Ronke was pleased with this put-down. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t interrupt you love birds, I’ll drop it off with Ebenezer.’
‘He’ll love that. But he’ll want to see you. I’m sure I can unchain him for half an hour.’ Simi did her dirty laugh.
They all joined in. Except Isobel.
‘What’s wrong?’ asked Boo.
Isobel looked around furtively then scooted forward in her seat. ‘I wasn’t going to say anything; I don’t want to ruin the mood. But all this talk of happy couples makes it so much worse. It’s Chase.’
‘What’s he done?’ asked Simi.
‘Nothing yet,’ said Isobel. ‘He’s got a shoot in London. The bastard is going to be here for six fucking weeks and I can’t do anything to stop him.’
‘Little pitchers have big ears.’ Ronke raised her eyebrows and tilted her head at Sofia.
‘Show a bit of compassion, Ronke,’ said Boo. ‘And where on earth do you get these parochial sayings?’
An hour later, Isobel was still ranting about Chase, Simi and Boo were still consoling her and Ronke was trying to convince an overtired Sofia that lying on the floor was not a good look. The waiter stepped over Sofia to deliver more drinks. Cocktails for Boo and Isobel, tea for Ronke, an espresso for Simi.
‘You should take her home, Boo.’ Ronke pointed at Sofia, in case Boo was too drunk to know who she was talking about.
‘I don’t want to go home,’ Boo pouted.
‘Vadim will take her,’ said Isobel. ‘Let’s make a night of it. I feel like dancing.’
‘I need my bed,’ said Simi. ‘This is the first drink I’ve had all week. I’m out of practice.’
‘What’s happened to Simi?’ asked Isobel. ‘She used to be fun.’
‘I’d love a night out,’ said Boo. ‘I’ve been so stressed.’
‘You deserve Boo-time,’ said Isobel. ‘Tubby hubby will understand.’
Ronke was amazed. Stressed! Boo-time? Tubby hubby? What was wrong with them? Was Boo having some sort of breakdown? And she wouldn’t send her child home with a steroid-pumped Russian. Would she?
‘Vadim won’t mind?’ asked Boo.
‘He does what he’s told.’ Isobel reached for her phone. ‘You can be my alobam. Simi’s sacked; she’s become a bore. You’re coming too, Ronke. I insist.’
It appeared that Boo would send her daughter home with some random bloke. Ronke lifted Sofia off the floor. ‘Sorry, I’m meeting Kayode.’ She wasn’t. ‘I’ll take Sofia home.’
‘THANK YOU FOR BRINGING HER back.’ Didier joined Ronke in the kitchen. ‘She’s tucked up in her princess dress. I didn’t have the heart to wake her.’
‘Will she sleep through?’ asked Ronke.
‘Till six with any luck. Please stay for a quick drink?’ Didier pulled out a stool for her. ‘Are you hungry? I can make you an omelette?’
Ronke was about to say no, but there was something melancholic in the way he asked. And she was starving. She smiled her assent.
‘Maman recommended this red.’ Didier opened the bottle in showy French waiter style, sniffed the cork and poured a splash into a huge glass. ‘Spicy and rich. I think you’ll like it.’
Ronke swirled it pretentiously, stuck her nose in, took a sip and smacked her lips. ‘It’s all right – not Mateus Rosé, but it’ll do. I’m kidding – it’s delicious!’
He grabbed a bowl and three eggs. ‘So, who is she out with? Wait, let me guess – Isobel, la magnifique?’
‘Yup. Her new bestie. Can I be honest? I don’t like her. I’ve tried to be empathetic. I know what it’s like to lose a parent when you’re young – it changes you. And losing your mother must be even worse …’
‘Non,’ said Didier. ‘Her mum lives in Moscow.’
‘She’s dead. She died when Isobel was twelve.’ Ronke yawned.
‘Boo told me her mum was in Moscow. Maybe I’m wrong. I glaze over when she talks about Isobel.’
While he cooked, Ronke talked about her Christmas plans. Unlike Boo, he was pleased for her. She ran through her must-do list – eat original ofada rice in Sagamu, catch a speedboat to Tarkwa Bay, visit the slave museum at Badagry. ‘I’m a bit worried about meeting his mum. It’s a big deal, you know.’
Didier ran the spatula around the pan and folded the omelette into thirds. ‘Anyone can see you’re good for him. He loves you. She will too.’
‘I hope so.’ Ronke took a mouthful. It was delicious – light, fluffy, almost perfectly seasoned (just missing a heavy pinch of cayenne). ‘Thanks – it’s so good!’
‘You’re welcome.’ Didier sipped his wine then blurted out, ‘I’m worried about Boo. I don’t know where her head is. Has she said anything to you?’
‘No! Nothing.’ Ronke kept her eyes on her plate, shovelling egg on to her fork.
‘I don’t know if we’re enough for her. I thought we were happy. But she’s not.’ Didier sounded close to tears.
‘Look, it’s a blip. You guys will work it out. Take her away for a weekend break. I’ll have Sofia.’
‘I think it’s more than that. Ronke, tell me.’ Didier’s eyes were pleading. ‘Is she having an affair?’
Reckless, stupid Boo. Ronke looked straight into Didier’s eyes. ‘No! Of course not. She loves you.’
Didier’s face brightened. ‘Don’t tell her I asked you. Please. I’m being paranoid. I trust her.’
‘My lips are sealed.’ Ronke studied her feet.
They moved to the snug, Ronke with a green tea, Didier with his wine. They talked and talked. She closed her eyes to let them rest. For a minute.
26
Boo
BOO TRIED TO FORCE the key into the lock. The pavement shifted. She leaned on the door to steady herself and toppled when it flew open.
‘What time do you call this?’ Didier gave her the look.
‘I didn’t realize I had a curfew.’ Boo wished the floor would stop undulating.
‘Don’t shout – you’ll wake Sofia.’
Boo decided her shoes were the reason she was wobbling. She kicked them off and followed Didier into the snug. Ronke was asleep on the sofa, a Welsh blanket tucked around her. How fucking cosy. ‘What is she doing here?’ Isobel was right – you couldn’t trust a friend when she wanted your life.
‘She brought our daughter home,’ Didier whispered coldly.
‘That was hours ago. Why is she still here?’
Ronke stirred and rubbed her eyes. ‘What time is it?’
‘It’s late. I’ll give you a lift home,’ said Didier.
‘What’s wrong with an Uber?’ Boo snatched the blanket and wrapped it round herself.
‘I want to see she gets home safe. I’ll be ten minutes. Go to bed.’ Didier walked out of the room.
‘What have you been talking about?’ said Boo.
‘You mostly. He’s worried,’ said Ronke.
‘What did you tell him?’
‘Nothing.’ Ronke held a finger to her lips.
‘You need to stop being jealous of me. And of Isobel.’
‘Go to bed, Boo,’ said Ronke. ‘You’re talking crap.’
Boo decided sleep was a good idea. She stumbled up the stairs, twisted her ankle and yelped. ‘Sorry,’ she whispered dramatically. But it was too late. Sofia’s door opened and she peeked out, still in her stupid Elsa dress. Didier had obviously been too busy entertaining Ronke to put her to bed properly.
‘Is it morning, Mama?’
‘No, darling. It’s sleep time. Back to bed.’ Boo hiccupped. Ronke and Didier stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking up, judging her. Sofia didn’t look too impressed either. Fuck the lot of them. Having fun wasn’t a crime. She collapsed on top of the bedcovers. If Sofia could go to bed with her clothes on, so could Boo.
She woke at seven. Her head felt like it had been pierced with an ice pick. Sofia was sitting cross-legged on the bed. ‘What are you doing?’ Boo asked.
‘I’m talking to the head.’ Sofia tried to lift the Ife head, but it was too heavy and tumbled to the floor. Its malevolent eyes stared up at Boo.
‘It’s not a toy, don’t touch it,’ Boo said sharply. When Sofia’s eyes welled up, she added more gently, ‘I mean, it’s heavy – you could hurt yourself.’ And, of course, Didier chose that moment to walk in.
‘Papa!’ wailed Sofia.
‘Let’s get breakfast, mon bébé. Mama needs more sleep.’ Didier left her a bottle of water and paracetamol. ‘Take two, it might help.’
Boo checked the head – no damage – popped the pills, took off her clothes and got back into bed. She was still asleep when Didier came back with a tray two hours later. ‘I feel sick,’ she said.
‘I’m not surprised – you were smashed.’ Didier kissed her forehead. ‘Stay in bed. I’ll take Sofia to soccer school.’
She sipped the tea. Dark and strong. Perfect. ‘Thanks.’
‘You’re welcome.’
She nibbled a corner of the toast – light on butter, heavy on Marmite – exactly how she liked it.
Didier put her phone on the bed. ‘It keeps buzzing. Your friend Isobel. What is it with her? You talk to her more than me. Ronke thinks she’s—’
‘So Saint Ronke has been bad-mouthing her,’ said Boo with a sudden flare of anger. ‘I should have guessed. You know what, I don’t care. Isobel is my friend. I can’t do this now.’ Boo pulled the covers over her head. When she peeked out, he was gone.
AT TWELVE, BOO FORCED HERSELF out of bed and read Isobel’s messages.
Alobam! What a good night! I’m hitting the gym, join me? We could do lunch after.
Wakey! Wakey!
I’ve given up. Guess tubby hubby has you on lockdown. See you Wednesday. Ix
Boo liked being Isobel’s alobam. She wished she could be as commitment-free as her. Green-eyed Ronke didn’t know how lucky she was – it was easy to believe you’d make the perfect wife and mother when you didn’t have a husband or a kid.
She checked her emails – a raft of rubbish. Net A Porter, Sweaty Betty, ASOS, Jenny from the BBs checking on Sofia (how many times did Boo have to tell her Sofia didn’t have chicken pox?). One from Neil.
From: Neil@ModernScience.com
To: Boo@ModernScience.com
Subject: Lunch?
Hey you,
We keep missing each other. I’m in the office Monday – let’s do lunch. Wear the sexy dress again – you know the one I mean. We can make it a long one.
She felt disgusted. And excited. Guilty. And empowered. She’d kept all his messages, re-read them most days. They went from flirty to filthy. Her replies were all about work. She wasn’t encouraging him. But she wasn’t telling him to stop. Maybe she had schizophreniform disorder? Or maybe she was just fucking stupid. She heard the door.
‘I scored a goal, Mama!’ Sofia ran into the kitchen, the plastic studs on her football boots clattering on the wooden floor.
‘Good girl, well done. But not so loud.’ She watched Sofia deflate.
‘How’s the head?’ asked Didier.
‘It was fine. It’s pretty solid.’
‘I meant your head,’ said Didier.
‘Oh, much better,’ Boo lied.
‘Lunch?’ asked Didier. ‘I could do pasta. Or we could go to Pizza Express?’
‘Pizza Express!’ shrieked Sofia, pogoing around the kitchen, her football boots making an awful squeaky sound.
‘Pasta.’ There was no way Boo could cope with a room full of rowdy kids being ignored by their stressed-out parents. One child was enough. Today, one child was too much.
While Didier cooked, Boo played Sushi Go with Sofia, letting her win round after round. It wasn’t difficult; she couldn’t focus.
She popped to the loo and when she came back, Didier was using her laptop. Boo couldn’t remember logging out. Which meant her emails were open. Which meant … Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. She felt a pulse beat in her neck as she yanked the laptop away from him, her hands clammy. ‘Excuse me, that’s my work computer.’ She risked a glance. Sky Sports.
‘What’s the problem?’ he said.
‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘I’m tired. Sorry, I’m being a cow.’
