When We Speak of Nothing

by Olumide Popoola

  ‘Not going to the police, Karl. Let’s go and cook with your mother.’

  Karl handed him the phone. His friend had decided to get rid of the three and a half hairs that had not made any stubble at all. His haircut was fresh, scissor sharp and recently gelled. He didn’t look at Karl when he took the phone and put it in his trouser pocket. Everything was neat. The outfit, the hair, the room. Only thing that was stalling this whole show of neatness was the way out.

  Karl’s mother had started cooking by the time they finally made it to the small flat.

  ‘I thought you had forgotten me, Karl. Abu, so lovely to see you. How are you?’

  ‘Thanks, Rebecca. Very good actually.’

  He still felt even shyer than usual around her, although since she had motioned for him to leave her and Godfrey to talk alone, she had not shown any sign of anger towards him. Godfrey was responsible, as far as she was concerned, for dragging both Abu and his mother into the whole thing. Knowing full well that they were close. That they would have to lie. It was Godfrey and her who were still working on their relationship. On a more honest new base, as Rebecca said.

  ‘Glad to hear,’ she replied and smiled. ‘Things are hopefully getting back to a better place now. For all of us.’ And she looked at them, not wanting a reply.

  Karl showed Abu his new room. It wasn’t all sorted out yet, just a couple of boxes of his stuff there and the beds exchanged. His mother had moved into the tiny single because she was using the rest of the flat more anyway. And Godfrey was going to help.

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘What do I think? Your mother’s ace.’

  Karl beamed and looked around the room. The window faced the street; he liked it that way. His single bed left enough space to walk around if Abu wanted to stay. Or Janoma, if Karl’s mother let her. She might. There were no pregnancies to fear; he had prepared this argument for when the you are too young for this sort of commitment would come.

  He didn’t need to move his wardrobe, there was a closet in here that was more than enough. The rectangle room would keep feeling airy, big; somewhere where he could stay. Without the walls closing in. Space for those thoughts. Friends. Rebecca’s tough year had finally turned good patch. The doctors were hopeful it would remain that way for a while. She’d rearranged the whole flat and thrown out things they didn’t need. Made room for their new lives, she said.

  Abu sat on the bed. His phone vibrated. ‘Like clockwork, I told you.’

  The message on the display was another sorry excuse for a threat.

  ‘If you don’t go to the police what are you going to do with it, with them?’

  Abu shrugged. ‘All your stuff is in those two small boxes?’

  ‘Some of it is in the closet.’

  ‘So my birthday is tomorrow.’

  ‘I know.’ Karl looked at his friend’s clean-shaven face.

  ‘What should I do?’

  ‘Whatever you want.’

  ‘I mean about Nalini.’

  They were back in business, all the way. Rebecca was calling from the kitchen.

  ‘That’s your mum. Seems like dinner time.’

  ‘You staying here tonight, for a change?’

  The phone was still in Abu’s hand, the message in the dark now that the display light had gone off to preserve battery. ‘Let me just check with my mum.’

  But it didn’t sound like he called his mother at all when someone answered the phone on the other end.

  ‘OK, I’m getting bored of it. You want to get me, do it already. You want to tell the police something I ain’t done so you can feel better about what you have, I have one word for you. Four letters: CCTV. Good luck mate!’

  Bam.

  Hung up, dusted this off his experience board.

  He turned to Karl, who stood at the door. It started raining outside. Abu shrugged again.

  ‘Eighteen tomorrow blud. You’re right. Done with that shit.’

  Karl held up his flat palm. Abu walked over, high-fived him. It all came together; you just had to apply yourself. Like one of his teachers didn’t get tired of saying.

  After dinner, they laid out a few blankets and extra cushions on the floor. The beige carpet was soft and made up for the mattress that wasn’t there, that hadn’t been bought yet. Karl pushed Abu on to the bed and chucked him some new sheets to lay out.

  ‘Do you think I’d let a half-dead man sleep on the floor? Besides, I’m used to it.’

  And he told him about John’s flat and the thin mattress that had reminded him so much of Abu’s place. Only that there hadn’t been anyone to talk, like, proper talk to. Until Nakale. But that was different too. A learning, a big-brother situation, a getting-to-know-each-other and being at ease, but it wasn’t the same as knowing each other your whole life.

  And Abu talked about Nalini and the slavery trail. How he wanted to impress her but didn’t even know why. How he never used college to impress anyone, and Karl said: ‘Because you get bored as soon as the “assignment” is involved.’

  ‘Innit. But then it wasn’t just for her. I wanted to know. It wasn’t an assignment; it’s real, you know.’

  Morning came. They finally fell asleep, heads on crossed arms, both on their stomachs, turned toward each other. The milky sunrise lifted the room into a bright orange before it settled on that nondescript white that hung low over the city on too many occasions.

  Karl woke first and snuck out of the room. There was no way they weren’t going to celebrate today. For the both of them.

  Abu was born this day, eighteen bloody years ago, and they were tight as ever.

  34

  * * *

  Sometimes

  you just have

  to lean in.

  She was standing at the entrance to his building, back to the gate.

  ‘How long have you been here?’

  Nalini picked up her bag from the floor, shy all of a sudden. ‘Since nine. I thought you lot were up early.’

  Abu was confused. ‘You’re waiting for me?’ It was already after ten. He was coming back from Karl’s to let his family congratulate him on his big day, then he would catch up with Mr. Transformed, who had said he needed some time to work out the details of Abu’s birthday programme. Nalini here, now?

  ‘I’ve been waiting anyway.’

  Her expression changed and they were facing each other. Now it was Abu who felt there was nowhere to look, nothing to do. Nalini nodded. With purpose. Today they were going to speak.

  ‘Should we go somewhere? I mean, I need to go up soon, my mum will be disappointed, it’s my birthday and—’

  ‘I know that it’s your birthday.’

  Abu’s thoughts seemed to make a U-turn and for a split sec there was nothing. Then he pulled her by the hand back from the small street to Euston Road. They crossed and walked towards the British Library, then past it where it was quieter. No one they knew would be here. Not this early. He was rushing, but with steady steps, not hectic, just determined. There was a green bit behind a small street and Abu motioned to the bench. When they sat there was nothing else to do but look at each other. And away. At each other. Away. They hadn’t said a word since they’d left.

  ‘Do you, I mean, can I ask you out?’

  ‘Out where?’

  ‘I mean, I don’t know.’ Abu’s eyes were pleading. Help us out here.

  She leaned her head on his shoulder. ‘Everybody thought I’m so strong, I knew how to handle it. Brave, you know. That I was doing exactly the right thing.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘You. I’m talking about you.’ When her head lifted he could see the tears. ‘And nothing. You did nothing.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ He had put his arm around her shoulder.

  ‘Nothing but breathe.’

  He pulled her in and she gave in to his arms. When his hand touched her cheek it moved further, to her ear, to her neck. His face followed until he was close to her face.
>
  ‘And now I’m back. I can talk a whole lot, you know. Soon you’ll wish I’d just shut up and just breathe. Trust me.’ He was whispering in her ear.

  ‘Never,’ she replied. Louder than him. ‘But don’t just talk. Not all the time, anyway.’

  He leaned in, his head tilting so he could smell her neck. The skin there. He had to put his mouth on it. His tongue moved upwards, found her lips. She kissed him. Back. Nalini. His head was spinning.

  35

  * * *

  Full circle is sometimes

  like derailed. You have to

  start from scratch.

  He started calling. Karl’s father. At the most annoying times. Uncle T had given him Karl’s number when he never made that promised call. Whatever happened in that one hour after Adebanjo finally reappeared, surely it couldn’t be so bad that it kept father and son apart? Uncle T didn’t think so. Couldn’t imagine it. And now Adebanjo flung himself all the way into project reuniting with and getting to know Karl. After the event. After when he should have been there. At the airport for starters. Then in his own house in Port Harcourt. Around. For Karl. Instead of pretending he had disappeared. It was difficult to be excited when Karl knew the only reason he had been MIA was to avoid him. It made it harder even to have any faith into this being more than a random thing. Adebanjo was just feeling guilty for having wasted everyone’s time, as far as Karl was concerned.

  Karl booked a table at the pizza place in the Brunswick centre for Abu’s birthday. A whole table just for them, Nalini and Afsana, the families. Reserved and everything.

  ‘Did it in case,’ Karl said. There was no ‘in case’ really; it just made it all proper dining.

  ‘Table for ten? Abu, right? Please come with me. It’s right there. And a happy birthday to you.’

  Abu was pleased, all smiles. Then to triumph the whole thing the waiter added: ‘Sir.’

  Eighteen promised to be big. Bigger than anything before. As for the party: they could always plan a proper one another time. Or go to the movies or stuff.

  Godfrey stopped by and Rebecca and Abu’s parents, twins in tow. Just for a minute, to share a soft drink and give some presents. Let the youngsters do their thing. They could always celebrate another time, now that Abu was back. Karl was back.

  Then Karl’s father called. Annoyed the hell out of him, which got his mother alert now, wondering what put Karl on edge like that when he was all smiles and giddiness just a second before. So far Karl avoided telling her the details. The counsellor had said, ‘A step at a time’.

  Karl left the restaurant and stood in the plaza surrounded by shops, flats above, hanging over the whole thing, fanning out so that the lowest were the most in, the highest further back, so everyone got some light. All of it was supposed to be some good inner city space, and just a few years earlier, had been nothing at all. You know how it is: nothing but some ugly architecture, almost abandoned, but now all poshed up. There was even a water feature that usually had no water, but when it did, and if the sun was also out … you can imagine. London can be like that sometimes: convincing. Telling you that nothing at all was wrong with this place, that in fact it was proper beautiful.

  Karl sat on the concrete edge of the waterless water feature. He could still see the others inside. Abu shining from his eyes, the same way his clothes stood out. Every other minute glancing at Nalini who was all chatterbox again, head thrown back when laughing, her hair falling down her back. Abu was watching her every move from the corner of his eye.

  ‘I don’t think you have to do anything man. Just keep talking to her.’ He had told his best friend the night before. ‘I’m not sure why, but you seem to be doing this thing right, very right. Just be yourself. For some very strange reason she’s crazy ’bout you.’

  Abu had thrown the pillow. ‘It’s called being irresistible.’

  Karl had no idea. How right he was doing things with Nalini. They hadn’t had time to speak.

  Nalini brought a present. A belt that was not from some brand but that would still stick out and more importantly, match Abu’s shirts. She was making a point about the riots, about the things that were taken. How people had loaded up on branded clothes. They talked about it the other day, Nalini all intense. ‘I don’t care about the big shops, I get that, but Abu don’t tell me that it was just about some big chain. It wasn’t! Some neighbourhoods were proper mashed up. It could be one of us, you know, I mean some of the shop owners. Your older brother or something, trying to make it.’

  But Abu had done some thinking too. ‘Yes, true. But still.’

  ‘Still what?’

  ‘Things are wrong, Nalini. People were just showing how wrong. You don’t always get to go to the boss, innit. You don’t even get close to where the real shit is sometimes. You just get angry when you are angry, wherever that is. But that doesn’t mean Tottenham wasn’t real. Some people were really about that Duggan guy.’

  Nalini had been quiet. ‘OK, fine. I see your point. When you put it all together.’

  ‘It’s too many things to say it was about this and that because it was too many people, you get me.’

  You didn’t need no bloody riot to have some nice things. That was Nalini’s point. Abu agreed. But maybe you needed a riot to show how fucked up the country was. How pissed off people were about it. Even if there were some who didn’t even care about that, but just cared about themselves. You could find those anywhere. Abu felt all mushy when he put the belt back into its box.

  There was another side to all of it. The small picture that was so big it hurt sometimes. It was so huge you couldn’t see all of it; the showing up, the being there for your inner circle. The making that happen.

  loyalty /ˈlɔɪəlti/

  noun

  The quality of being loyal.

  Massive feeling, all intense and proper real.

  Holding up your people. The right ones.

  Being there for them as in reliance (they can rely on you).

  Reliance as in bond, as in trust, as in depending on you

  As in: I got you.

  Adebanjo was going on about how he wished to have a conversation, a really proper one. Revisit what they hadn’t been able to finish when Karl rushed off. Karl mmm’ed his way through. Not today. No way. And he thought of how he had not rushed off at all but had been there much longer than was good for his relations here. Too bad life couldn’t wait for everybody to sort out their stuff. How it was always when it was too late that the penny dropped.

  Luckily he, Abu and Godfrey, his mother and all had other chances. He wasn’t so sure about the man on the other end of the line. One thing was for sure: he loved the sound of his own voice. Loved the way the authority dropped in it, heavy, like it just laid down the earth itself. He seemed like a guy who told, not asked.

  Abu, still at the table inside, was raising his shoulder, and giving him his what the eff? look. Karl shrugged and promised the stranger on the phone he would call back the following day. It had been seventeen years without a father. A few weeks of his existence and Karl decided this chapter was better closed.

  He slid the mobile in his pocket and walked back into the restaurant, sat beside Abu, handed him the smart shirt and sparkly bracelet he’d bought, with a little help from Godfrey and Rebecca. The thin leather band held pretend-diamond sparkle blobs, small and round. The adults, the older ones, left, taking the twins with them. They all trailed down the stairs, past the old-fashioned cinema, down to the street that led back to their flats.

  The youngsters stayed, chatting, totally old skool; although the gadgets were displayed all over the table, the grinning and sharing was like, face-to-face, until it was time to call it a night.

  Abu received a few more texts. More threatening, more specific in what and how they would, could, and wanted to do him in. He kept them all. CCTV, GPS, all that sort of stuff could tell the location. It could tell the same story the texts were trying to deflect. There was no need to overreact. You ju
st had to wait and see. Karl was still trying to get him to call the police.

  ‘If you know they can’t get you ’cause you got stuff on them, why not get it over and done with?’

  Why not? Because Abu turned eighteen a few days ago. ‘New and improved version, innit. Not taking threats any more. That was before. Now there is standing my ground. Wear them out. Let them come.’

  Karl figured he always stood his ground and said so. That he was usually talking too much while doing so.

  ‘That’s what I’m saying. Gonna be different now. Anyone coming to threaten me, I’ll give a piece of my mind. I’ll do it when the time is right, innit. No rush.’

  Godfrey was trying hard to get back into Karl’s good books.

  ‘I was wrong. I know it. It wasn’t just outing you, I swear. It was about your safety.’

  Karl was like I swear? You got to be kidding me and not convinced. That sort of intel, personal one, was never disclosed, unless there was explicit permission. Godfrey didn’t have that and couldn’t get out of it now, after the event. He could have asked; he could have just discussed it with Karl. There had been no need for a clandestine affair. Godfrey countered, ‘But you wanted to keep the whole thing a secret,’ and lost Karl again. Nothing but side-eye in response.

  He started pressing Karl to deal with it already. ‘Call your father. First you blackmail me to let you go and now you can’t have one conversation with him?’

  Karl following Abu’s lead. No need to show any fear if you got none.

  ‘Not calling, simple as that. As soon as I have something to say, I will. Until then, I’ll handle my own things. And while we’re at it, don’t ever chat my business to anyone again without asking.’

  He and Abu had fallen back into twin mode like sales after Christmas: straight away.

  ‘Do you have some time, mum?’

  ‘What is it, Karl?’