by Rita Edah
“Because it’s you I wanted. And it’s you I still want. I just wish you were more accepting of your weaknesses…”
“Like?”
“Like, well, refusing to ask for forgiveness. After all, your mother did die at your birth. Could that be causing your inability to become a mum?”
Oh my God! I couldn’t believe my ears. “Theophilus! Can you hear yourself at all? Is this what you really believe?”
“Not really. I just wanted us to cover all the bases, you know? I just want to prove to my parents that we’ve tried everything we could… I really didn’t mean to upset you. I’m the one who should be asking for forgiveness. Will you please forgive me?”
What else could I do? What choices did I have? I swallowed back my bile and rolled over… looking forward to another day at work tomorrow, for my holiday was well and truly over…
CHAPTER 6
December 2001
Ashleigh (aged 12)
My hand went up in a flash. Miss didn’t always choose the fastest, but today she did. I tried to hide my smile. Trace hissed “goody two shoes.” Me, I squared my shoulders, threw my head back and walked to the front. It was after I got the register that I nearly ran out of the classroom. I had to make myself take slower steps as I tucked myself behind the beam thingy that blocked a part of Josh’s classroom window.
Today’s treat was a ball game. Josh, Sam and Jerry were sitting in three different parts of the classroom. I guess it was somebody’s idea of trying to make them behave. From their seats, they were throwing the ball to one another with a dare to see who dropped it first. Mr Langley was writing on the board and moving his lips. When he turned around, everyone was still. When he turned back to write, the ball game started again. I could see some of the other children laugh. Some looked unhappy. I would have been unhappy if this happened in my class. It wasn’t fun anymore. I left my hiding place and took my class register to the school office.
I’m really worried about Josh. Half the things he does, he never gets caught. Like when he put sharpener shavings into Miss Jury’s coffee. Or when he put bubblegum on the teacher’s seat just before Miss Begum sat on it. The whole class got punished for that one though. He told me later that he was sorry it was Miss Begum, the lovely supply who sat on it. They were expecting Miss Jury as usual that morning but she’d phoned in sick.
Then there was the day Josh, Sam and Jerry were in detention after school. Before Mr Baker got there, they had taken the hinges off the teacher’s chair. Josh was suspended for two weeks. And Mum never knew.
She is so annoying, Mum is. She’s like, “Oh isn’t Josh such a darling? What would I do without him?”
This morning, as I rushed about to make sure I didn’t forget any equipment, Josh was already waiting for me on the balcony. Mum was like, “Ash dear, please tidy up your bedroom – borrow a leaf from your big brother.”
I’m like, “Yeah, right.”
And she goes bright red in the face. “Hoy! Don’t mutter under your breath at me, young lady!”
“Okay, Mum.” I raise my hands up in the air above my head. “All I said was ‘yeah, right,’ and I’m running late and I don’t want a fight this morning.”
“Neither do I, sweetie, I was simply saying to follow Josh’s example.”
“Will you stop telling me that?!”
I flew out of the flat with the sound of the slammed door stinging my ears.
After Josh, as usual, went off to join his friends, my steps got slower and heavier as I neared school. I began to seriously think that maybe, just maybe, there might be something in it for me if I acted just like Josh. After all, isn’t that what Mum wants?
December 2001
Melody
I don’t know what’s got into Ashleigh lately. Perhaps some wicked witch put a spell on her the moment she clocked 12 just over three months ago. How else can I explain the swift transformation from sweet to sour? And to think she’s not even a teenager yet.
This morning, she banged the door to the bathroom so hard while I was in the shower that I thought there was an emergency and ran out to quench the fire. Only, it was Ash in a hurry to get in and just couldn’t wait. When I suggested that she woke up earlier next time, she exploded, “But I can’t do that – I’m waking up too early already.” At 7am? I decided to drop it.
The other night I got in at about 11pm. They were both still in the living room, with the TV on and music blaring from the hi-fi. I turned them off before my kids acknowledged my presence in the room. Josh gave me his cheeky grin and a “Hi Mum, good night Mum.” Ashleigh? She rolled her eyes, drew a sigh, pulled herself up to me and said, “Next time, could you at least say ‘excuse me’?”
“Excuse me?”
“Yes. You don’t just go around turning off something others are either watching or listening to. It’s just plain rude.”
“Ashleigh! Do you dare speak to your mother in that manner?”
“You could say I learnt it off you!” My hand flew to my mouth as she trotted off to her bedroom, muttering, “I have a good mind to run away from home.”
Needless to say, sleep eluded me that night. Is it the absence of a father figure in her life that’s the problem? Or is it the post-natal depression I suffered after her birth – is she rejecting me now for having rejected her then?
Beauty doesn’t think so. She says it’s only a phase which will soon pass. She says I worry too much and that if she really wanted to run away from home, Ash would not have kept threatening it… after all, we should know… no one had a clue we were planning to do a runner.
Daisy, however, says I should take the threats seriously, and to have a chat with her about the implications of running away from home. The opportunity came one evening when Josh had gone out with his friends. At the end of the six o’clock news bulletin was a missing person’s appeal. I asked Ash what she thought happened to young people when they ran away from home.
“I’m not in the mood for a lecture!”
“It’s just a question, Ash, you’re the one giving the answers.”
“Well, I’m not!”
“Ashleigh!!!!”
As she slammed shut the door to her bedroom, I could almost physically taste the bleeding in my heart…
I didn’t realise I’d cried myself to sleep till I woke with a start at the sound of the telephone…
“You can’t be asleep already?” the light voice at the other end teased.
“No, I didn’t realise I’d dozed off.”
“Everything okay?” Oh, it’s Daisy. Good.
“Actually, no, things are awful with Ash and me, and… and I really don’t know what to do.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that. It will pass though, you know that, don’t you? She’s a good kid at heart…”
“Yes, I know, but in the meantime, mine is breaking.”
“Awwh! I’m so sorry!”
“No worries, I’m sure we’ll be fine in the end.” I don’t know why I felt the need to reassure Daisy. I was the one desperate for an assurance. Still…
“Anyways, how are you? What’s up?”
“I have some good news, but I don’t know if this is a good time.”
“It’s always a good time for good news, so please, out with it, cheer me up…”
“Okay, here goes – (pause) – it’s official, I’m pregnant!”
December 2001
Beauty
I know the very imperfection of my shape. Breasts that haven’t yet suckled but seem to be filling up yearly – now I have to wear double D cup sizes that five years ago I didn’t know existed. Love handles that I once thought were the prerogative of over-breeding simple women were now proving impervious to being hidden under my clothes, and yet, I have nothing – no one – to show for it.
Just distant memories of butterfly flutterings which I dare not savour… stronger memories of blood clots dripping down my over-embellished thighs as my body once again ejects my heart’s greatest desire.
Memories of Charlie, Alex and Frankie.
Probably I’m not meant to be a mum. Doctors can’t seem to find any medical reasons for the miscarriages – or my inability to get pregnant again since I lost Frankie. ‘Give it time’ and ‘Relax’ is what they’ve prescribed. If only these were pills…
Anyway, I’m happy for Daisy. When she walked into Renee’s yesterday, I kind of knew. There was a lightness in her steps, a light in her eyes and a colour to her skin that had gradually receded these past couple of years as she longed to carry her baby. And when she decided on an orange juice instead of the regular latte, my suspicions were confirmed before she’d said another word.
It was a good day at the library. The pace was slow enough for me to do some more research into the childcare course I’ve been thinking about for so long. If I can’t have biological children of my own, it doesn’t mean I can’t pour my love into others’, does it?
Many local colleges now do a February as well as a September enrolment for adult students. As I’ve missed the September window, I printed off a copy of the application form for a February entry. I’ve already discussed this with my line manager and they’d be willing to flex my work round my timetable.
By the end of the day, I was so excited that I couldn’t wait to tell Theo Daisy’s news – and mine.
His response? “There you go. Daisy’s done it, not rocket science, see?”
“Erm, Theo, can we just be happy for Daisy?”
“Yes, we are. But when are we going to be happy for ourselves? There’s no earthly reason why you shouldn’t be able to conceive or carry to full term, is there?”
“No.”
“So get on with it then.”
“Why are you being so insensitive?”
“Am I? I’d think you’re being oversensitive. After all, birds do it. Bees do it, even ignorant teenage girls do it. Big deal, Beauty, let’s just get on with it.”
And with that he grabbed my bum! What a crass brash ignoramus moron! Yet, I didn’t dare say that to his face. I’m glad my thoughts are private…
So I retreated to the study. Spending the night in the same bed as him was out of the question right now. Better use the time to work on my application form.
Within an hour or so, he was at the door with a mug of hot chocolate. “Do you fancy a drink?”
“No, thanks.”
“Just a little nightcap?”
“I’m fine, thanks.”
By this time he’d plonked himself on a chair beside me. “Come on, Beauty…”
“Come on, what?”
“Please, let’s let bygones be bygones. Let’s relax with each other so we can successfully make and raise many babies.”
“Theophilus, I don’t have to make babies to raise them.”
“I don’t understand – how do you mean?”
“I’m applying for a childcare course – I’ll become a childminder. That way, I can raise babies without having to make them, and at some point we can always adopt.” I was so enthralled by the future that I’d momentarily forgotten his recent infraction.
“You crazy woman,” he snarled, scraping back the chair, swinging out his arms which sent the mug flying. It landed against the bookshelf, baptising many of my precious books before smashing to smithereens on the solid wood floor.
“You crazy woman,” he was louder this time, arms akimbo.
I opened and shut my mouth, fishlike. I could feel my eyes freeze into two big ‘Os’.
“You want to give up a lucrative career to become a childminder? You would rather adopt a child than have one of your own? What’s got into you? What are you thinking?”
“Hey! You are blowing the whole thing out of proportion.”
“Am I? I’m the only one around here who’s being logical. I’m the only one who’s using their brains to the fullest capacity! You? You let your emotions run away with you… I’ve had enough of this. I’d rather kill myself than raise another man’s child. You are such a useless woman. I would rather die first, do you hear me? Do you hear me?”
I nodded. Frantically. Of course I could hear him. Loud and clear. He was in my face, all six foot four inches of him. How could I not hear him? I shivered so much I thought I was going to go into a convulsion. I wished I would, for then I might die.
CHAPTER 7
Spring 2002
Beauty
Christmas came and went in a blur.
I don’t recall much of what happened between the night that Theo threatened me with his suicide and this good April morning.
I remember feeling cold. All the time. No matter how high the thermostat was, my hands and feet were like a dog’s nose.
I seem to have lived through work, through Daisy, through Mel and her difficulties.
Needless to say, I didn’t complete the application for college.
I don’t recall much of what else went on. But I recall Theo calling me ‘useless’ over and over again. I recall wanting to leave him and wanting to be with him. I recall thinking that maybe I am indeed useless if I couldn’t make up my mind what it was I wanted with my life.
I recall him saying “Intelligence is not common sense – you have a lot of one but are severely deficient in the other.” I recall thinking that maybe, just maybe, he was right.
I recall him saying I was selfish. That one really confused me. How could I be selfish if I wanted to give of my life to be of assistance to other mothers even if I couldn’t be one? How could I be selfish if I wanted to take up a child who was given up for adoption, for whatever reasons? But then, he is an intelligent man with lots of street sense. And he loves me, doesn’t he? Does he? Is there something he is seeing that I am blind to? Am I really too emotional to be logical?
I remember his explanation for why we were having more and more rows. He said his love for me had died somewhere along the line. That maybe he was spending too much time at work away from me, and so we had grown apart. But that he is working hard to revive it, and he is pretty sure that we will settle again into the love-struck couple we were when we first started dating.
I recall thinking that if I don’t know what caused his love for me to die in the first place, how can I be sure it will ever be revived, and if it were revived, what would stop it from dying again? I recall wondering if he ever really loved me at all. And then deciding he must have loved me at some point – if not why would he marry me? Why would he bother whether I was reconciled with my dad or not? And why would he go out of his way to give him an outstanding in-laws’ homage which is still the talk of the town in Warri? Maybe he loves me and doesn’t know how to show it? Or maybe I’m too needy? Too highly strung? Too sensitive?
I remember him saying that once he puts his mind to something, he will ensure that it works. And that he has put his mind to our marriage, and therefore it will work. And that he loves me and would never again hurt me.
I recall thinking that I’ve been down this alleyway so many times already. Since leaving is not an option, then perhaps staying and hoping for the best is all I can do? Or maybe staying and resigning myself to the worst is more practical?
I recall thinking that I was going to go mad with too much thinking.
And so I wanted to sleep all the time. Except when I was at work, where I wanted to cry half the time…
As the sun peeped through the cracks of my curtains this good Saturday morning, however, for the first time in a long while, I was not sad to be awake.
Spring 2002
Melody
By the end of my meeting with Josh’s tutor and principal, I was once again the little girl caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Even before it started, I was already outnumbered two to one. At times like this I could kill Nick with my bare hands – he should have been here.
The office is how I remembered it to be when I did some cleaning job here many years ago. About the size of my living room and crammed with too many filing cabinets. However, it looks like someone has gone over it wi
th a lick of paint recently, and there was no academic gown hanging from the coat hanger. That tradition seems to have gone with Mr Pullinger’s retirement. Instead there was a beige fashionable mac – I would never have thought Mrs Beam would wear beige, she was more the navy/grey/black type.
“You sounded surprised, Mrs Iroro.”
“Ms. You may call me Melody.”
“Ms Iroro, you sounded surprised to hear that Joshua is one of our biggest bullies.”
“Yes, I am, as a matter of fact. I don’t see how he could be a bully when he takes such good care of his sister.”
“Ah,” Mr Langley intoned, “Joshua is a good boy at home then?”
“He most certainly is.” Looking from one to the other before deciding to focus on Mrs Beam, I went on, “If you’d called me in because of Ashleigh, I’d have understood that.”
“Why so? She’s a model pupil.” It was Langley again.
“Really? She’s a terror at home.”
And so I spent a double period at St Katherine’s High learning about my children: Ash, the straight As compliant student whose only slur was covering for Josh. And Josh, the school bully, truant and thief whose only good point was protecting Ash.
By the time I’d stalked into the flat, I’d stopped trying to wipe away the tears that streaked ceaselessly down my face.
Later that evening, I called a meeting with my offspring.
“Which of you is going to tell me what is going on at school?”
Josh stroked his invisible beard. Ash simply stared at her nails.
When she spoke, it was to say, “I’ve got homework due in tomorrow. That’s what’s going on for me. And if you don’t mind, I need to go get it done.” And before I could respond, she’d upped and left.
I let her go, making a mental note to pull her up on the attitude later. For now, Josh was the bigger issue.
“So, Josh, what about you?”
“What about me what?”
“Have you any homework?”
“All done.”
“Can I see?”
“Hunh?