Arctic Zoo, page 11
‘Where did you go yesterday?’ Orisa asked.
Julius’s fingers dug into the mattress. But he tried to stay cool.
‘I was here,’ he said, doing his best to sound unflustered.
Orisa shook her head. ‘The guard ran to me when he saw you leave through the gate wearing an army cap.’
‘He …’ Julius stuttered, his chest feeling tight. ‘I …’
‘Don’t choke yourself. I covered your lanky butt before he made a call to your mother.’
‘Really?’ Julius gasped with relief. ‘What did you say?’
‘I said you were visiting a school friend who lives a couple of houses up the road.’
Orisa had been running the household since the twins were born. She was part of the family, but his mother would surely fire her for such blatant disobedience.
‘I owe you,’ Julius said, bowing his head as Gabe ran down the hallway outside.
‘You owe me an explanation,’ Orisa said firmly.
‘You must have figured out where I went.’
Orisa nodded. ‘Duke. The one your mother expressly forbade you to see?’
Julius nodded.
A sympathetic smile broke on Orisa’s face. ‘The heart wants what the heart wants.’
Julius took a couple of seconds to unpick this. He’d grown up with Orisa but had rarely considered her life beyond the kitchen. She dressed traditionally when she worked or attended church, but in her free time Orisa was tomboyish, wearing jeans and the twins’ outgrown football shirts. And when visiting relatives asked Orisa when she was planning to marry, her pat answer was I need a husband like I need a hole in the back of my head … Until he met Duke, Julius had felt like the only gay person in the world. Now he wondered if he might not be the only gay person in his house …
But while Julius’s feelings for Orisa warmed, Orisa narrowed her eyes and grasped his wrist tightly.
‘I covered for you yesterday because I don’t wish to see you bounced to military school. But you must be clear: it was a one-off.’
Julius felt hopeful. ‘You could cover for me,’ he began pleadingly. ‘You run this house. If you tell a driver that I need to be somewhere, they’ll do it. You could say I have a dentist appointment or an errand to run for you.’
Orisa tutted. ‘You’re being ridiculous.’
‘Please,’ Julius begged. ‘Duke’s my only friend. I have to see him.’
‘I had crushes when I was fourteen,’ Orisa said. ‘Your head is in the clouds. You don’t really know what you want.’
Now Julius was narked. ‘Were your crushes on boys or girls?’
Orisa reached across the bed and slapped Julius across the face.
‘Enough nonsense,’ Orisa snapped as she stood up. ‘I risked a lot to do you a favour and you try to turn it against me.’
The slap made Julius instinctively angry, but before he could growl back, he was shocked by tears streaking down Orisa’s face.
‘I’m sorry,’ Julius said, his eyes welling. ‘Truly.’
‘Make no mention of this again,’ Orisa said sharply. ‘Funny business will be taken to your mother, without mercy.’
‘I love Duke,’ Julius choked.
Doubt crossed Orisa’s face, but her tone stayed severe.
‘Your mother wants you four boys at church this morning,’ she said. ‘Wear your new suit and be ready at ten!’
EIGHTEEN
Maya and Rolf took Georgia all the way to her front door. She heard her dad snoring as she wobbled up the stairs, kicked off her All Stars and crashed face-first on the bed.
But the alcopops were stronger than they’d tasted, and the world refused to stay still when she closed her eyes. The swaying was better when she rolled on her back, but after a couple of minutes she had a brick in her stomach. It rose up her chest and she only properly realised what was going on a moment shy of disaster.
Georgia scrambled across the hall, mouth filling, then noisily spraying egg-yolk-coloured puke into the toilet. She gasped desperately, fearing she’d wake her dad, who was only a thin partition wall away.
‘Ahh, crap …’
She held aching stomach muscles as a second wave kicked off.
Georgia would have liked a shower, but her body felt leaden and she settled for a swoosh of Listerine and a glass of tap water. Back in her room, she tipped out her laundry basket and left it by the top of her bed as an emergency puke bowl, then lay staring at the ceiling and wanting time to fast-forward to the point where she didn’t feel like this any more.
It was light when she woke. Her throat was raw from all the smoke at the party. Her brain felt like it had swollen up inside her skull and she had dried sick on her chin and pillowcase. Her sweat smelled boozy and she dry-heaved as she sat up.
‘My first hangover,’ she told herself, prodding around her throat and wondering how long it would last. Her instinct was to google hangover cures, but her phone wasn’t on charge and she spun around frantically when she realised it didn’t appear to be anywhere. ‘Christ …’
Georgia flicked off her bedsheet, looked on the floor, behind the bedside table.
Where did I see it last?
The skirt and top she’d worn to the party didn’t have pockets big enough for her phone, so she must have had it in her jacket.
But it was hot at the party. Did I take the jacket off? I can’t remember wearing it on the way home. Dad will crack up if I’ve lost another phone …
Georgia needed to pee, but finding her phone felt more urgent. She shot downstairs and saw her black denim jacket on the floor below the coat rack. She was chuffed as she squatted down and felt the phone and her door keys in the pocket. The battery was down to eight per cent, but that wasn’t a biggie.
‘Good morning,’ John said brightly. ‘Beautiful day out there, isn’t it?’
‘Dad,’ Georgia croaked, trying to fake some enthusiasm as she turned round and saw him standing in the kitchen, with his hands holding the top of the door frame. ‘I thought you’d have gone to work already.’
‘It’s only eight,’ John said. ‘So, you didn’t sleep over in the end?’
‘Maya’s got a house full of siblings,’ Georgia said. ‘I got in before eleven. You were snoring, so I didn’t wake you up.’
‘Good time?’
‘Sure,’ Georgia said, trying to disguise a gruff voice. ‘We dragged out a board game. Sang along to a couple of lame Disney movies …’
‘Very wholesome,’ John said. ‘I’m making breakfast. Liver and bacon, would you like some?’
Georgia retched at the thought of liver. ‘I’m gonna shower,’ she choked.
‘Or I can cook eggs with runny yolks, or fry up some squid in olive oil with extra tentacles …’
Georgia froze at the bottom of the stairs. He knew …
John smiled. ‘Or maybe you’d prefer the Alka-Seltzer and paracetamol I’ve put out on the kitchen cabinet.’
‘So, I’m busted,’ Georgia said warily.
‘You’d have woken a hibernating bear with that retching in the bathroom,’ John said, smirking. ‘At least you made it to the bathroom. The first time Sophie came home drunk, she hurled in the umbrella stand in the hallway.’
‘Really?’ Georgia said, relieved that her dad was seeing the funny side, but not daring to push her luck.
‘I turned you onto your front,’ John said. ‘You were on your back, but that’s dangerous if you vomit in your sleep.’
‘I don’t remember,’ Georgia said, touched.
‘You were blotto,’ John said. ‘But you did tell me I was the best daddy in the world at one point.’
‘Must have been drunk,’ Georgia said, smiling cheekily as her dad stepped out of the kitchen doorway for a quick hug.
She felt like a little girl again as his big hand pressed between her shoulders.
‘You get one free pass, because you’re a good kid and it’s been a rough few weeks. And don’t say anything about this to your mother.’
‘Love you, Dad.’ Georgia smiled.
‘Back at you,’ John said. ‘And I had an email from the organisers of Rage Classic. They said they’re sorry you missed out because of your bereavement and they want to offer you direct entry to next year’s final.’
Georgia’s head was fuzzy, but her dad had just been super-nice and next year was way off.
‘That’s really cool of them,’ Georgia said, then pointed up the stairs. ‘Gotta pee.’
John had left for the workshop when she came back down, dressed for self-pity in a big orange hoodie, with damp hair and a ball of evil-smelling laundry. He’d left the TV at the end of the dining table on and Sunday Politics was showing as Georgia stuffed the washing machine.
Normally she’d have gone straight for the off switch, but Georgia was curious after her meet-up with Zac the day before.
The screen showed protestors being chased by police outside a council building, cutting to a shot of a cop being hit by a flying traffic cone, then to an enormous woman yanking a man in a suit and helmet off his bicycle and screaming, ‘Dirty fascist! What about the kids and pensioners?’
‘Similar scenes were played out in Liverpool and Leicester,’ the voiceover purred. ‘In Truro, the budget meeting had to be abandoned after protestors blockaded the town hall, preventing councillors from entering the building. This week, the focus turns to the south-east, with police on alert for trouble as the leaders of twenty-six councils and all thirty-two London boroughs meet to agree budgets.
‘Joining me in the studio to discuss the budget protests are Diane Mooney, our local government minister, along with Vincent Ludsthorp, a spokesperson for the National Public Service Union. Mr Ludsthorp says many of his members face job losses and pay cuts under the new budgets, and he spent the early hours of Thursday in a police cell after being arrested outside Harrogate town hall.
‘Minister, I want to begin with a question for you. How can a government, elected less than eighteen months ago with promises to improve public services, bring in cuts described as the biggest in a generation? Have you betrayed the people who voted for you?’
NINETEEN
The Healing Prayer Church began in an abandoned three-hundred-seat cinema. Now its main Sunday service took place inside The Cross, a purpose-built arena that could seat four and a half thousand and beamed the service to hundreds of thousands more across West Africa.
As a kid, Julius had enjoyed the spectacle. Crowds in their best clothes carrying fancy Bibles with leather bindings and gold clasps. The services were kept short and loud, and he’d lapped up the attention that came with being the son of the founder.
Now, Julius was a teen cynic, who’d rather spend Sunday morning in bed than in a suit and tie. He thought the congregation were fools, dazzled by whiz-bang as they sang and shouted, before queuing up to pour hard-earned wages into his mother’s pockets.
‘Today we are truly honoured,’ Preacher Pepple shouted from the circular stage as drums rolled and spotlights pulsed on all sides.
‘Honoured!’ four thousand people shouted back.
‘The founder will speak briefly, in person!’
Julius was high up, in a ring of seats reserved for VIPs and the Church’s biggest donors. Gabe glanced up from his phone as lights strobed and a fake thunderclap boomed around The Cross. The crowd were on their feet, cheering as Bunmi Adebisi stepped between the lights. Tiny on the stage, but vast on the circle of six video screens above it.
‘Are we happy today?’ Bunmi shouted, breaking into a huge, gawping smile.
The crowd roared in agreement.
‘Are our tomorrows bright, because of the love God shares with us all?’
Nobody in the crowd disagreed, but Julius hated the power of the person who stood between himself and Duke.
‘Yesterday people from this church were treated with brutality in the precinct,’ Bunmi said seriously, then paused for the hissing and tuts that rustled through the crowd. ‘There was rioting and disorder through the whole of Akure.
‘Last night, I visited my beloved brother, our state governor, SJ Adebisi. A man I love with all my heart. A man who has done so many things of which I am proud. I want you to know that he is not scared by these weak-minded troublemakers. The culprits will be found and punished under the eye of God and I ask you to pray for decent elections over all of Nigeria in the months ahead.
‘Now I call this service to a close, and wish peace, health and prosperity to you all. Amen!’
‘Amen!’ the crowd shouted back, before erupting with applause.
The lights in The Cross came up and Julius watched the crowd split. Most pouring to the exits via strategically placed donation boxes, while a sizeable minority queued at folding tables. Some tables sold books and charms, but the biggest queue was of tween girls, who wanted the handsome and hunky members of The Cross’s house band to scrawl signatures on glossy pics and phone cases.
The twins had wangled their way out of church, so the bodyguards just had Julius and Gabe to marshal from the arena. Rather than fight the crowd, the brothers were led through a private door and down several flights of carpeted steps.
Bunmi was waiting for them when they exited into a gloomy concrete space, beneath The Cross’s steeply raked seats.
‘Hey,’ Julius said warily, as Gabe put his arms around his mum’s waist.
‘You were good,’ Gabe told her cheerfully.
Bunmi laughed. ‘Thank you, Gabriel. You must be after something …’
‘No,’ Gabe protested, then tilted his head and grinned ridiculously. ‘Though I wouldn’t say no to a dirt bike …’
Julius envied Gabe’s rapport with their mother, but was quickly distracted by a two-man security team dropping one of the metal collection boxes. Hundreds of tightly folded banknotes sprang out and coins rolled in all directions over the bare concrete.
‘Imbeciles!’ Bunmi snapped at them. ‘I will dock wages if I see this again.’
Gabe charged off and started helping the bumbling security crew chase rolling coins. This left Julius facing his mother alone.
‘The new suit fits well,’ Bunmi said admiringly, as she took a small bunch of keys from her handbag.
Julius looked baffled. ‘Who do I give these to?’
‘For the meeting room upstairs.’
‘Am I not going home?’
Bunmi opened her eyes wide, as if her middle son was a fool. ‘You and Gabriel are attending the family lunch in support of your uncle’s re-election campaign. It’s at 1 p.m. You will wait in the conference room until they are ready for our entrance.’
‘Are you kidding?’ Julius groaned. ‘That’s half my Sunday. I’ve got homework.’
‘You could have brought your homework to do in the meeting room.’
‘I didn’t know,’ Julius whined.
‘Orisa didn’t tell you?’
Julius shook his head, knowing she’d not told him because she didn’t want to listen to him moan about it. ‘Why have I got to sit through this?’
‘This is an event for families,’ Bunmi said. ‘You will interact and be happy. Do not skulk in some corner with your telephone or I will take the telephone away.’
Orisa hadn’t told Gabe either. The ten-year-old was wily, knowing he’d get nowhere by complaining in front of his mum, but swearing as he stomped up two levels behind Julius.
A bodyguard led them along a curved hallway that ran behind the arena’s seats. The conference room had a marble floor and huge wooden table with twelve seats along each side. A glass wall gave a grand view over The Cross’s thousands of seats.
Julius peered down at crews of volunteers, still in church clothes, walking the empty rows, picking up litter, while in the centre the hydraulic stage had lowered and the innermost banks of seats were slowly retracting to make a space for the family banquet.
As Gabe spun himself in a plush leather chair and flipped channels on a TV, Julius sat at the other end of the table and took out his phone. After checking his messages, he remembered that he’d been meaning to google Duke’s Uncle Remi.
Typing in ‘Remi Balogun’ brought up a short Wikipedia entry, along with a bunch of photos and video clips from his newsreading prime. Things got more interesting when Julius added Adebisi to the search.
The first article in the result was from the Lagos Times and had been written by Remi six years earlier. It was a lengthy and well-researched exposé, describing how a London-based company had bought sixteen million pounds’ worth of vaccines and medicines from Indian pharmaceutical companies, then resold them to the Ondo State healthcare system for more than forty million. Twenty-four million profit had been stolen from Ondo State’s meagre public health budget, and while the article made no specific allegations for fear of being sued, Remi clearly thought the Adebisi family was behind the Lithuanian shell company that scooped the profits.
As Julius scrolled more search results, he found articles by Remi linking his mother’s illegal imports to the collapse of Nigerian textile manufacture and the Adebisi family to multiple scandals. These ranged from a contract to build two gas power stations, that cost over 70 billion naira but were never completed, a soccer stadium that went eight times over the original budget, to a colossal deal with the Chinese Development Bank that involved pre-selling a quarter of Ondo State’s oil production for the next thirty years, in return for a vast loan that had been used to fund the governor’s mansion, and dozens of other projects from which Adebisi-owned companies stood to profit.
Julius had grown up hearing that corruption was part of the Nigerian way and that it was so ingrained in society that you had to go along with it to have any chance of success. But if what Remi had written was true, his mother and uncle had made all the money they could ever need but kept stealing anyway.
The opening line from one of Remi’s blog posts clawed at Julius’s conscience: In Ondo Province, the lights stay out and one child in three goes hungry, but a new survey of wealth in Africa shows the Adebisi family are now worth half a billion US dollars …
