Kiss Marry Kill, page 9
Inside are papers, books and other trinkets, remnants of the life Cynthia was trying to build with Ade.
Ife begins with a folder of papers: Cynthia’s lease for the studio, a business plan, a few printed emails from someone named Janine with information about the building.
She puts them to one side, pretends she hasn’t seen the blue-and-white purse tucked into the corner of the box and picks up a book on digital marketing. You’ve got this babe x the inscription in Ade’s handwriting reads. Ife claps the book shut, dismissing the pang of jealousy, and drops it on the paperwork. She peers inside the box again, and that’s when she spots it, sticking out from under another one of Cynthia’s business books.
She tugs at the girl with the Afro and discovers a curved key hanging on the end of it. She turns it over in her hand, back and forth, back and forth, back and …
‘Ife, will you get up here?’ Ade’s voice is loud, angry, and she starts, gripping the door handle for support. She’d been clinging to the hope that the threats wouldn’t become real for a while, but apparently whoever was stalking her was in a hurry to ruin her life.
Her head light, her heart thumping in her chest, Ife slowly makes her way upstairs. Ade screams her name again just as she’s entering the doorway. She can feel his anger bouncing off the walls towards her. She wants to run, knows that the moment she goes in it will be over for them. She can’t bear the thought of him hating her, of the look of disdain he’ll give her when she tries to explain. But, like Mark had said, her only other option is to leave and not look back, something she isn’t willing to do.
She steps into the bedroom and finds him sitting on the edge of their bed. His head is in one hand, and his other hand is in the air, balled into a shaking fist.
‘Where did you get this?’ He doesn’t even lift his head to look at her.
‘Dey, what’s wrong?’
He doesn’t respond. Instead, he opens his clasped hand to show her something.
Confused, she inches towards him to get a closer look, but when she reaches out to take it, he snatches it back before she can even catch a glimpse.
‘Where did you get this from?’ he asks again, his tone low, his voice shaky.
‘Ade.’ She sits next to him, hoping he can’t see that she’s sweating. ‘I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about. Maybe if you tell me what it is, I can give you an answer.’
He finally looks at her, and she sees the same terror in his eyes that was there on their wedding night.
He opens his hand again and reveals a ring. It’s almost an exact replica of the one on Ife’s finger, except instead of emerald green, the gemstones are a blue-grey, the same colour as the English Channel on a frosty winter morning.
She tries and fails to mask her horrified surprise from Ade, who is watching her intently, awaiting her reaction.
‘I don’t understand,’ she says, her mind asking how how how how how is this even possible? Maybe she’d imagined Mark giving her the ring that morning, but even as she thinks it, she knows that can’t be it. The text messages from Mark prove that. She knows, too, that she’d thrown that very ring into the sea, had definitely not brought it home with her, and even if someone had found it, how would they have known where to return it? How would they have got into the house to put it in their bedroom for Ade to find? It makes no sense. So how, then? How?
‘For fuck’s sake, Ife, stop lying.’ Ade startles her out of her thoughts. ‘Tell me where you got it.’
‘I …’ Self-preservation at last kicks in, and Ife pulls her own ring from her finger and drops it in Ade’s hand next to Cynthia’s.
‘They’re almost exactly the same,’ she says, the hurt she’d pushed away when Mark had given her the ring resurfacing. ‘So you tell me.’
When he doesn’t respond, she continues. ‘I’m guessing it was Cynthia’s?’
Still no answer.
‘You proposed to her.’
Ade sighs, closing his eyes. ‘Yes.’
‘And then you proposed to me.’
‘Come on, Fey.’ His hand is on her knee now, and it takes all her strength not to shift away from him. ‘You know it wasn’t like that.’
Does she? All this time she’d been worrying about her mistakes, worrying about hurting him, and he hadn’t given a single thought to how this would make her feel. In fact, up until a few moments ago, he was in the process of blaming her for something that was entirely his fault.
‘Okay,’ she says, slipping her mask back on. ‘But I still don’t understand why you’re acting like this.’
‘I came out of the shower, and it was on the bed,’ he says carefully. ‘I thought, I don’t know, maybe you put it there.’
‘Why would I—’
‘I know.’ He cuts her off. ‘When I proposed …’ He glances at Ife. ‘When we broke up, I told her to keep it, and I haven’t seen it since. It doesn’t make sense.’
It’s Ife’s turn to stay silent. Again, she’s reminded of Mark’s accusations, about the fact that Ade had lied to her about how his relationship with Cynthia had ended. If he could lie about that, maybe he was also lying about … Ife squeezes her eyes shut. She has to stop letting her thoughts go in that direction. Lying about one thing didn’t make someone a killer. She’s lying to him too, and, like her, he’s probably just trying to protect her feelings.
‘I’m sorry, okay.’ His hand returns to her knee, and this time she is happy to let it rest there. ‘It just feels like … like something isn’t right. I mean, first the wedding, now this.’
‘What do you mean …?’
The fire alarm erupts around them. Ade is on his feet, and she follows him downstairs and into the kitchen, which is cloudy with smoke. He motions for her to stay back as he turns off the cooker, opens the windows and the back door to let the smoke out and the cold air in.
Once the kitchen has cleared, and his breakfast has been dumped in the bin, Ade leans against the counter, observes her for a moment, and then bursts out laughing.
It begins as a sob, and Ife thinks he’s crying, instinctively moves closer to comfort him. But then his mouth widens, and his whole body shakes with laughter so he has to lean on her for support.
She rolls her eyes at him, though she is glad to see him laughing, even if it is at her cooking. ‘I swear I turned it down.’ This sends him into another fit of laughter.
When he is done, he pulls her into him and squeezes tight.
‘I love you, Fey,’ he tells her for the first time since before their wedding. ‘You know that, right?’ He looks into her eyes, and when she doesn’t respond, he kisses her forehead and hugs her again.
‘We should get going,’ he says, pulling away from her. ‘Time to meet our baby.’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Three weeks before Cynthia’s disappearance
‘You look great, by the way,’ Ife said when Cynthia returned from the bathroom. Cynthia had to admit that her skin was practically sparkling from the treatment that Ife had suggested. Even the aesthetician had been impressed by Ife’s skincare knowledge, and, rather than feeling resentful, Cynthia had found herself handing over her phone so she could put in her product recommendations.
‘Thanks.’ Cynthia let Ife pour her another glass of Prosecco and downed it in one go. She smiled a smile that felt a little too big for her face, but she didn’t care. She deserved to enjoy herself after what Ade had put her through, and, besides, Ife was smiling right back at her.
‘So …’ she said, linking arms with Ife as they made their way to the spa’s café. ‘You and Ade have never had a thing? Not even a little one?’
Ife paused, but Cynthia couldn’t quite gauge her reaction.
‘Well—’ she began.
‘I knew it!’ The words escaped before Cynthia could stop them, and she winced, the bubbles drifting to her head.
Another painful pause as she waited for Ife to continue.
‘I was speaking with Ade the other day,’ she finally said. ‘About what happened at dinner a couple of months back. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything at the time. It was all just so—’
‘No, it’s fine,’ Cynthia rushed in, noting that Ife’s apology somehow seemed more sincere than Ade’s had. ‘I wouldn’t mind so much if he actually had the balls to stand up to her.’ She closed her eyes, once again regretting how quickly she’d spoken. Ife could easily relay all this to Ade, and then what?
‘Yeah … neither can do wrong in the other’s eyes. But I wouldn’t worry about it. You’re not the first girlfriend this has happened to.’
‘Were you one of them?’ Cynthia asked, returning to her initial question, not wanting to think about the deserted cemetery filled with relationships Mama had killed. ‘You’ve known each other a long time. It seems almost inevitable that you would have—’
‘Nope. Just friends.’
‘Any reason?’
‘Oh … he’s not my type,’ Ife said, gently unlinking her arm from Cynthia’s and tucking her hands into the pockets of her hoodie. ‘Besides, I know him too well … kind of ruins the magic, you know?’
‘Yeah, makes sense.’ Cynthia couldn’t tell whether Ife was uncomfortable because of the subject matter or because she was trying to hide the truth, and, in all honesty, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. Either way, it didn’t matter. Not unless there was something going on between them now.
‘So?’ Cynthia put on her best Mama accent as they took their seats. ‘Are you seeing anyone?’
Ife didn’t even crack a smile.
‘No, not for a while … I’d been in Dubai before Ade offered me a job, and now, well … I don’t really have much time for romance.’
‘Doesn’t it get lonely?’ Cynthia asked.
‘It started to,’ Ife admitted, studying the circular pattern on their table. ‘That’s why I came home.’
Cynthia had a sudden urge to give Ife a hug, but she wasn’t that tipsy, so instead she changed the subject, asking Ife about her time in Dubai – and, later, for advice about Ade.
‘Give him a chance to cool off,’ she told her. ‘He’s more stubborn than usual when he’s angry, but he’ll come around.’
‘Right.’ Cynthia hadn’t told Ife about Mark, and so her response didn’t exactly fill her with optimism.
‘Excuse me?’
They both swivelled their heads in the direction of the unexpected voice. It belonged to the man with dreadlocks Cynthia had seen hugging the receptionist earlier.
‘Hi,’ Cynthia smiled up at him, then glanced at Ife, whose eyes were practically glued to the carrot cake she was picking at with her fork.
‘I think one of you ladies might have dropped this?’
He fished around his pocket and revealed a twenty-pence coin. Cynthia tried not to laugh at the cheesiness of the line and shook her head at him. He was laughing too, and the corners of his eyes creased into a smile that wasn’t directed at her but at Ife, whose attention he had finally managed to grasp.
‘Mind if I join you guys?’ he asked, once his window was firmly established. ‘This place is pretty packed.’ Cynthia didn’t need to look around to know that there were at least two empty tables he could sit at.
‘You sure your girlfriend won’t mind?’ Cynthia asked, and he reluctantly turned his attention back to her.
‘Sorry?’
‘Tall, blonde, chews too much gum …’ Cynthia replied, waving her hand in the general direction of the main reception area. The man’s handsome face collapsed into one of genuine annoyance, he scrunched his face, and three almost imperceptible lines appeared on his forehead. ‘That’s my cousin. Her parents own this place,’ he said. ‘And yeah’ – he cracked another Colgate smile at Ife – ‘she does chew a lot of gum.’
‘Right,’ Cynthia nodded, and gestured at the seat next to Ife, giving him permission to sit down.
When he did, he offered his palm to Ife, and Ife placed her hand in his, smiling shyly.
‘I’m Anton,’ he said, wrapping his long, manicured fingers around her equally long, equally manicured ones.
‘Ife,’ she said.
‘What a lovely name. Where’s it from?’
‘Um … Nigeria?’ It sounded more like a question than a statement, but Anton, or Casanova, as Cynthia was now calling him in her head, soldiered on.
‘Nigeria, huh? I’ve always wanted to go there.’
Cynthia downed the rest of her tiny cup of herbal tea, taking the brewing romance as her cue to pay and leave. She managed to catch Ife’s eye and tilted her head towards the cashier to signal that she was leaving. Ife nodded and waved Cynthia goodbye before returning to her conversation with Anton, giggling as he whispered in her ear.
Cynthia made her way to the till and waited for the woman in front of her to finish paying. She told the cashier her table number, took her purse from her bag and opened it to get her bank card, only to discover that it was missing. At first, she thought someone had stolen it while she was getting her treatment, but she couldn’t remember leaving it unattended. Besides, why would they only steal her card and not the whole purse?
‘Excuse me, ma’am,’ the cashier said.
‘One sec.’
Cynthia opened the coin compartment and found the twenty-pound note she kept there, confirming that it probably wasn’t a thief. Which only left one person pissed off enough to mess with her.
Once she’d paid for the drinks and Ife’s carrot cake, she pulled out her phone to call him, but after two rings it went to voicemail. She tried again, and the same thing happened.
On her third try, it didn’t even ring. She glanced over at Ife, but she was engrossed in her conversation with Anton, and Cynthia didn’t want to disturb her.
Ade was meant to be picking her up, but she had no intention of waiting for him. She’d book a cab and confront him when she got home.
As she made her way through the grounds, Cynthia spotted a familiar car, parked in a corner a few metres from the front entrance. She wouldn’t have noticed it if she hadn’t been scanning the car park for Ade’s Jag, just in case he’d turned up early.
Cynthia rapped on the window, and Mark almost flew through the roof when he saw her. Then he smiled and rolled down the window.
‘Hey, what’s up?’ he said.
‘Oh, nothing,’ Cynthia replied, trying to figure out how to segue into why she needed a lift home. ‘What are you doing here?’
Mark scratched his messy head. ‘What? A man can’t get a pedicure?’
‘Really? You don’t strike me as a pedicure kind of guy.’
‘Looks can be deceiving.’
He seemed annoyed, and she immediately felt bad. Maybe he was waiting for his secret lady friend.
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to … I’ll just …’
She turned to leave, but Mark grabbed her arm through the open window.
‘No, it’s fine. You just caught me off guard.’ He studied her for a moment. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘Yes.’ She sighed. ‘No, not really. I need to get home, but—’
‘I’ll take you.’
‘No,’ she shook her head. ‘It’s fine—’
‘Cynthia.’ He unlocked the door. ‘Let me take you home.’
Mark obviously hadn’t meant it that way, but she suddenly felt warm.
‘Okay,’ she croaked, rushing to the other side of the car in embarrassment.
She got in, and the car roared to life.
‘Tell me everything,’ Mark said.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Ife, present day
At the hospital, Ade is silent. As Ife lies on the bed waiting for the doctor to arrive, she wonders if he’s thinking about the ring, about his breakup with Cynthia, about whether or not he wants to be with her. She considers telling him that Mark had given her the ring, but what good would that do? It wouldn’t explain how the ring found its way into the house, and if what Mark said about Ade being jealous of him and Cynthia was true, it would only make him angry to know that he’d approached Ife.
The doctor, a short stubby man with a smooth bald head, enters the room with a nurse, who is tall and pale, with a head full of curly auburn hair trying to escape from her ponytail.
The doctor introduces himself and explains the procedure. His voice is soft and patient, soothing.
Ade, on the other hand, is anything but relaxed. He’s taken her hand, the one that a few moments earlier Ife had been swinging from the side of the bed to prevent herself from biting her nails, and is gripping it tightly. Still, Ife can’t bring herself to look at him.
The doctor asks her to lift her top and tells her that the gel they are going to apply will be cold. She braces herself, but the cool gooey substance is strangely comforting.
The doctor takes the ultrasound device, places it on Ife’s belly, and moves it around. She waits, suspended in time, for the sound she thinks she’s supposed to hear. She’s watched enough soaps, she thinks, to know what should be happening. He moves the device around more, his brow furrowed with concentration, and Ife wonders what’s going on.
Perhaps there is nothing there. Perhaps she’s made this whole thing up, has wished herself pregnant so badly that she has somehow managed to manifest real symptoms.
There is no baby, she says to herself, and squeezes Ade’s hand. Everyone’s going to think I’m a liar. He’s going to leave me.
‘Ah, there we go,’ the doctor says, and he’s back to smiling again. ‘Hear that?’ he asks, then points towards a small screen. ‘The baby’s heart.’
Tears spring to Ife’s eyes as she looks at the little human that lives inside her and listens to the rhythm of its heartbeat. She is relieved that the baby exists, that it is not a figment of her imagination, that she has not simply convinced her body to do the one thing she needs to keep her family together.
The relief is followed by amazement at the fact that she’s quite literally growing another person. It seems more real than it ever has, yet somehow strange that this baby, that did not exist before, is now suddenly something with a heartbeat; that her body, for the next few months, is going to be its home, and that for the rest of her life she will be responsible for its well-being. Her and no one else.
