Goodbye Lucille

by Segun Afolabi

  ‘She stays sometimes. I go to her place. Now she wants me to move in with her, or we should find a new place together.’ He shook his head.

  ‘But I thought you really liked Angelika? This is a good thing, right?’

  ‘Yes, I do like her. But it’s too much now, all this time with her. There’s no space. I’m confused, man.’ B lived in a three-bedroom apartment in Wedding, which he shared with two students from the Cameroon and a Togolese electrician. Someone always slept in the sitting room.

  ‘Maybe you should stay at her place for a while, on a trial basis. Perhaps for a fortnight or a month.’

  B scowled as if I had spat in his beer. ‘I’m happy as we are now. Why does she have to go and change everything, man?’

  ‘But she’s crazy about you, and you love her, don’t you? What’s the problem? You have to try it sooner or later.’

  I had lived with Lucille in London for nearly six months before I moved to Berlin. Perhaps we hadn’t lived together long enough, because the relief of freedom was immediately gratifying. But I couldn’t tell B that.

  ‘Well, maybe you’re right,’ he said.

  ‘Course I am. I haven’t seen you with other women as you are with Angelika. You’re really happy. And if it doesn’t work out, well, at least you tried.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t it work out?’ he snapped.

  ‘Exactly,’ I said and hoped he wouldn’t pursue it any longer.

  It was raining as the plane touched down at Heathrow, but by the time the Tube arrived at Finsbury Park the sun had emerged. It was almost as warm as it had been in Berlin, but the air was different – thick and gritty – despite the rain. I walked to the Victorian terrace near the end of Marriott Avenue and was met by Matty’s wife.

  ‘Ah, ah, you’ve changed-o!’ Peju exclaimed, even though I hadn’t. She had seen me only a few months earlier, after all. She, however, had changed. The roundness of her stomach was unmistakable now, and even though she wasn’t due until October, she had slowed down considerably.

  ‘Let me go and wake Asa,’ she said. ‘He wanted to see you as soon as you arrived. He’s been asking every five minutes.’

  ‘No, don’t,’ I pleaded. ‘He’ll wake up soon enough. Let him sleep.’

  My nephew Asa was four years old and boisterous. He was the only child I had ever loved, but after five minutes I never knew what to do with him. The thought of having to entertain him always induced panic in me.

  ‘You’re right,’ Peju said. ‘He needs his rest, but not too much. I don’t want him to sleep all day and then keep us awake at night.’

  We went out to the garden – a tiny, ragged patch of land neither Matty nor Peju knew what to do with – and sat on the patio deck chairs. The grass was shin high and dishevelled, the area bordered by weeds and bushes. An apple and a hornbeam tree only further diminished the space.

  Peju sighed as she stretched out on the chair and made exaggerated sounds of discomfort. She wore a navy and maroon wrapper, and an oversized watermelon-pink T-shirt which partly hid her stomach when she was standing, but only emphasized the pregnancy when she lay back. She’d braided her hair in long thin plaits that reached down to her shoulder blades. She brushed them away from her face from time to time, but they eventually fell back. I didn’t think she was beautiful, but she was striking and hard to ignore.

  ‘D’you know what it is yet?’ I nodded at her stomach.

  ‘No, not this time. We’re going to wait until the birth,’ she said. ‘Boy or girl, it doesn’t matter to me. We have Asa already.’

  Matty had told me they both hoped for a girl after the rambunctious parcel of Asa, but they didn’t dare voice their desire for fear of disappointment when the child was born.

  We drank iced tea and – because they didn’t keep alcohol in the house – pineapple juice and lemon squash. After a while I went indoors to use the telephone.

  ‘I’m here,’ I said as soon as Lucille answered.

  ‘Why are you calling me at work?’ she asked. She didn’t seem surprised. ‘Where are you, at Matt’s?’

  ‘Where else?’

  ‘Okay, I’ll call you back in five minutes.’

  I had been to Lucille’s office two or three times before and I remembered the vast ground-floor lobby and the bank of elevators, the smooth ride to the sixteenth floor, the give of the luxurious carpet that led to her office door. I didn’t know where she would be making the call from, but guessed she would travel all the way down to use a phone in the lobby to avoid her colleagues overhearing.

  ‘So, you’ve decided to visit,’ she said coolly. ‘Is there a special reason, or are you just passing through?’

  ‘I thought we could meet, maybe, and talk,’ I said.

  ‘Talk about what?’ There was a harshness to her tone that made me tread carefully.

  ‘Just talk, Lucille, like sensible adults. I don’t want to argue or discuss anything you don’t want to talk about. I thought we could maybe meet, if only for five minutes. I don’t want to pressurize you or anything. You don’t have to talk to me at all if you don’t want to. Seeing as I’m here at Matty’s, I thought we could at least say something, or meet. What d’you say?’

  ‘Why are you whispering?’ she asked.

  ‘Eh? Oh, it’s Asa. He’s asleep. I don’t want to wake him.’

  She laughed and sighed. I didn’t speak for fear of saying the wrong thing.

  ‘Okay, then. How about Sunday? I’ll meet you in Hyde Park. At Speakers’ Corner. Listen, I have to go, Vincent. I’m in the middle of something.’

  I could hear Asa upstairs, calling for his mother, sounding sleepy and confused and already upset.

  ‘Okay. What time, then?’ I asked.

  ‘At one. Wear comfortable shoes.’ She hung up.

  There was a thud on the landing. I looked up and there was my nephew frowning down at me.

  ‘Hello, Asa,’ I said, the receiver still in my hand.

  He continued to stare as if I were an intruder.

  ‘Asa, is that you?’ I spoke into the receiver. ‘Can I speak to Asa please?’

  His frown moved to bewilderment and then he grinned.He made a fist and used it as an imaginary mouthpiece and answered, ‘Yes, I’m Asa.’ He spoke quietly, uncertainly. ‘Are you Asa too?’

  ‘No, I’m Uncle,’ I said. ‘Don’t you recognize me?’

  He nodded and I replaced the receiver.

  ‘Asa, Mummy’s in the garden!’ Peju called. ‘Come downstairs and greet Uncle like a good boy.’

  He refused to budge. He still held his fist to his ear.

  ‘Come down and have some lemonade,’ I said and moved outside.

  ‘Hello, I’m Asa,’ he called from the landing. The shyness was already leaving him. ‘Can I speak to Uncle?’

  ‘Asa, come outside and stop being naughty,’ his mother said. She craned her neck to see if he had appeared.

  ‘Is Asa there? It’s Uncle. I want to speak with him.’ It was far easier to collude than wait for the unexpected.

  ‘Yes, Asa’s here. Is that Uncle?’ he asked brightly.

  ‘Uncle wants to see Asa downstairs quickly before all the lemonade disappears.’

  We could hear him bumping down the stairs on his bottom, and then he ran out to us looking wildly at the cartons of juice.

  ‘What do you want – lemonade or pineapple?’ Peju sat up.

  ‘Lemonade, lemonade, lemonade!’ he chanted. He hopped up and down as she poured the juice into a green plastic tumbler. Then he attempted to drain the contents in one gulp, spilling liquid onto his T-shirt.

  ‘Wait now – ah, ah!’ Peju pulled the tumbler away from him.

  ‘No!’ he screamed. He tried to grab the drink back, but she gave him such a severe look he didn’t try again. Then the tears began.

  ‘What’s the crying for now, Asa?’ Peju’s voice was calm. ‘You didn’t even greet Uncle and now you’re crying. What’s he going to think?’

  He looked at me with hatred,
and sniffed, then stared at the tumbler in his mother’s hand. He pointed to the lemonade and glanced at me again and giggled. Peju conceded defeat and handed him the drink.

  Asa had been diagnosed as hyperactive. He was disruptive in the classroom, and a handful for Matty and Peju, who welcomed any outside assistance they could get. They even valued my presence, although I tried to spend as little time as possible with the boy.

  He led me upstairs to the spare room and in great detail illustrated how all the lights worked, where to put my things, how to draw the curtains. A framed photograph of Matty and me, aged thirteen and seven, stood on top of the chest of drawers. On either side of that was a photograph of our parents and one of Aunt Ama and Uncle Raymond. I placed my clothes in the empty drawers and when I thought Asa wasn’t looking, I stuffed the photograph of my aunt and uncle beneath my socks and underwear.

  ‘Why are you hiding that?’ Asa asked, alert as a Doberman.

  ‘I … I don’t want it broken, Asa,’ I said. ‘If I put it in the drawer, it won’t fall and the glass won’t break.’ I smiled at him, but he didn’t smile back. I thought of Frau Bowker and Schnapps, how similar they all seemed to be.

  ‘Let’s go downstairs and help Mummy,’ I said.

  ‘Mummy’s in the kitchen,’ he glowered.

  ‘Yes, I know. Maybe we can give her a hand?’

  He frowned and pursed his lips for a moment and then, when I feared he was going to throw a tantrum, he said brightly, ‘Okay!’

  Matty arrived shortly after six, and we stayed on the patio for supper. Peju had boiled basmati rice and made a green salad and efo soup, along with fried plantain. Asa refused to touch anything other than the plantain.

  ‘I’m going to count to ten,’ Matty said. ‘If you don’t eat your food properly – and dodo doesn’t count – you’re not having dessert.’

  ‘What are we having for dessert?’ Asa asked. There was no dessert, but Matty didn’t know that. It made no difference to Asa. He looked to his mother, who shrugged, then glanced at me. I winked.

  ‘Uncle is hiding the picture of Granny and Grandy!’ he burst out. ‘He put it inside the drawer!’ He beamed at his father as if this would excuse him from eating his food, but Matty began to count to ten regardless. On the count of eight Asa began to eat the rice, but the corners of his mouth were turned down and he took long gulps of juice in between.

  ‘How’s that place of yours?’ Matty asked. ‘Still the same one?’

  ‘Still the same,’ I replied. ‘Suits me fine; the rent’s low.’

  ‘Lucille thinks you should move to a better place,’ he said. ‘Pay extra for a bit more comfort.’

  ‘She told you that?’ I said. ‘When was this?’

  ‘Hey, easy now. She didn’t tell me.’

  ‘She only mentioned it,’ Peju said. ‘You know we talk from time to time.’

  ‘What else did she say?’

  ‘Nothing. She just mentioned that you could do better, that’s all,’ Peju said.

  ‘Why? Is there something else?’ Matty asked, as he wiped his plate clean with a slice of dodo.

  ‘No, of course not,’ I said, but I guessed they knew more than they were saying.

  ‘Does Uncle live in a nice house?’ Asa asked.

  ‘I live in a very interesting place, Asa,’ I said. ‘One day you’ll come and visit me, won’t you?’

  He nodded vigorously, shovelling rice and soup into his mouth, forgetting his earlier aversion.

  It was always like this, the reference to my existence, my choices. Matty was the one with the cars, the wife, the child, the baby on the way, a career others could only envy. He had worked at this thing called life and it had paid dividends. My own life seemed shameful and shabby compared to his.

  It was barely 9.30 and they were already exhausted and I could stand it no longer. ‘I’m going out for a drink,’ I said.

  ‘What, now?’ Matty asked. ‘It’s going to ten.’

  ‘It’s not late. I won’t be long.’ I went upstairs to fetch my wallet. When I returned Matty had put on his shoes.

  ‘I’ll come for a round,’ he said.

  We walked, still in our shirtsleeves, to a pub three streets away. Streetlamps flickered on, but it was light outside. I pushed my way to the bar, and while I waited, turned to look for Matty as he stood outside with the other drinkers. He didn’t like places where people gathered in crowds and drank and grew raucous and disgraced themselves. He stood on the pavement – a tall, slender man in a white linen shirt, beige chinos and polished brown brogues – and I thought no one would guess we were brothers; the pristine accountant and the hefty photographer. I didn’t even think our faces looked similar.

  ‘This your local?’ I asked when I returned with the beer.

  ‘I suppose so. First time I’ve been here, actually,’ he chuckled. ‘And probably the last.’

  ‘So, what’s with Asa calling Ray and Ama his grandparents?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ he said. ‘Most of his friends have grandparents. There’s no harm in it.’

  ‘It might be nothing now, but it’s going to confuse him later on, don’t you think?’

  He waved away the suggestion with a flick of his hand.

  ‘No really, I don’t like it when he calls them that,’ I said. ‘He’ll never know his grandparents. That’s the truth. You can’t go putting ideas into his head. It’s not right.’

  ‘Like stuffing the photograph away because you can’t stand Ray? Did you tell him the truth about that?’

  ‘Come on, that’s hardly the same thing.’

  ‘Well, it’s a question of the truth, fudging the truth for the child’s benefit. Yes or no?’

  ‘I suppose so, but …’

  ‘Well, there you go,’ he said. ‘I don’t even know what we’re arguing for.’

  ‘We’re not arguing. I just don’t think it’s … Forget it,’ I said. I hated arguing with Matty because, somehow, I was always wrong.

  ‘They’re getting older now, anyway,’ Matty said. ‘And Ray’s not well. You never go and see them, and they’re always asking about you.’

  ‘How many times have they come to visit you here since Asa was born?’ I asked.

  ‘Two or three, I suppose.’

  ‘Three. Three times in four years,’ I said. ‘And how many times have they visited me?’

  ‘Come on, Vincent. You never write or phone or answer their letters. They didn’t even have your address for years, and it wasn’t for lack of trying. We go to see them every year, remember. How many times have you been?’

  I shook my head. I had seen them occasionally over the past seventeen years, but what did we ever have to say to one another? What did I have to say to Uncle Raymond?

  We dropped the subject – it always made me angry – and bought another round of drinks before the pub closed.

  A glass smashed against the pavement and when we looked, two men were playing chest tag. In no time they were in full brawl. Some of their party attempted to separate them, but so half-heartedly it would have been better had they not bothered. The middle-aged publican and a titan from indoors came out and wrenched the brawlers apart. They were young, no older than twenty-one, and surprisingly slight when removed from the tussle. They had seemed formidable during the commotion.

  The publican rang his bell, but many of the drinkers had already dispersed at the first sign of trouble. The atmosphere had soured. Only Matty and I and a handful of stragglers remained on the pavement under the streetlamp.

  ‘What do you mean, Ray isn’t well?’ I asked.

  ‘He’s old now, Vincent. Older, in any case. The last time I saw him, he didn’t look so good. Ama says he isn’t eating properly. He’s been in and out of hospital, but he’s not so concerned.’

  ‘It’s just like him not to be concerned,’ I said. ‘If he showed a bit more concern, maybe I’d bother to write once in a while.’

  ‘Come on Vincent,’ Matty sighed. ‘He’s not well.
How long are you going to go on hating him?’

  ‘He never liked me, that man.’ I shook my head. ‘He never cared.’ The anger had brought tears to my eyes; I couldn’t help myself.

  ‘Of course he cared,’ Matty said. ‘He did, Vincent. Of course he cared.’ And I was seven years old again, at school, and Matty was having to comfort me as he always did when I was distressed and could not grasp the fact that our parents would never return.

  18

  PEJU AND MATTY had been invited to Sunday lunch at a colleague’s house and thought Asa would prefer to spend the afternoon in the park. I said I didn’t mind.

  I soon regretted the decision on the Tube to Marble Arch when he refused to sit still. He stood on his seat, wiggling his hips for the benefit of other passengers. A woman glanced at his unsteady form and glared frostily ahead of her.

  ‘Sit down, Asa,’ I whispered, in the silence of the carriage. This only encouraged him.

  At Oxford Circus he stepped down from his seat and moved towards the doors, looking at me uncertainly, as if he might bolt free of my gaze.

  ‘It’s here, Uncle!’ he cried.

  I gave him a hard stare. ‘Come and sit down.’

  At the last moment I realized we did indeed need to change lines. I rose quickly and Asa held out his hand for me to lead him to the platform.

  ‘Asa, you have to listen to me when we’re in public. You can’t just go where you want to. What would happen if you got lost?’

  ‘Can I have an ice-cream?’ he asked, ignoring the question.

  ‘Only if you’re good. You’ll be good, won’t you?’

  He nodded enthusiastically.

  We arrived at Speakers’ Corner at a quarter past one, but there was no sign of Lucille.

  ‘Uncle, who are we waiting for?’ Asa asked. ‘Is it a lady or a big dog?’ He giggled to himself, then snapped his head round as if someone had whistled. ‘Is there ice-cream here? What kind of ice-cream do they have?’

  I ignored him and glanced round for Lucille, but couldn’t see her. The speakers were trying to out-shout one another. Their audiences shrank and swelled and I thought Lucille might be among them. A stretch of clouds appeared and the park grew dull and humid. The traffic on Park Lane purred.