Web of Lies (13 page)

Papa used to joke that Femi was like a tortoise hiding under his shell when he was silent. But now Femi felt as if he had been scooped out and there was nothing left inside. He hadn’t eaten for twenty-four hours, but his stomach had been so cramped by fear that he hadn’t noticed his hunger. Even after the cup of tea and two slices of toast, he felt empty. Drained.

Femi watched listlessly as Mr. Nathan was ushered into his cell. Papa had told him how lucky he was that Mr. Nathan had agreed to come, especially on a Sunday morning. Mr. Nathan, with his wrinkled, weather-beaten face and blown-about gray hair, had helped Femi and Sade before. Femi remembered how Mr. Nathan had tried to protect them from the immigration officers who insisted on taking their fingerprints as if they were criminals.
Mr. Nathan hadn’t succeeded then. Perhaps he wouldn’t be able to protect Femi from the detectives now.

Mr. Nathan only had time to hear Femi say that he had never attacked James when a policewoman announced that the detectives were waiting.

“I advise you to tell them exactly what happened,” said Mr. Nathan. “Just tell them the truth.”

Femi wondered if Papa had asked him to say that.

“I shall sit through the interview and intervene if I think something is unfair. You don’t have to answer their questions, but—if you’re not guilty—it’s in your best interest to tell the police whatever you know.”

Best interest.
Obviously Mr. Nathan knew nothing about Errol.

It was a short way down a couple of corridors to the interview room. Walking in front with the policewoman, Femi heard Papa’s anxious question to Mr. Nathan.

“Will the police notify Immigration about this? Can it affect our application?”

Mr. Nathan’s reply was smothered by a sudden clamor. Someone was yelling and cursing while battering a door. Femi winced as if he was the object of the blows.

The first thing he noticed about the two detectives was that they were not in uniform. The second thing was that one detective was black, the first black officer he had seen at the police station. He was very tall, with broad square shoulders. Femi imagined the powerful muscles of someone who trained a lot. Not the kind of person to mess with. He was
younger than the white officer, who had light gray hair, a narrow mustache, and metal-rimmed glasses, similar to Papa’s, over which he peered. Femi avoided both pairs of eyes but followed the large hands of the body-builder officer as he peeled the cellophane packaging off two tapes and inserted them into a recording machine.

Femi watched the tapes begin to turn as the older detective announced the date, the time, and the names of everyone in the room. He explained what they were going to do. He made his voice sound ordinary. But Femi knew that the detectives were already prowling around him. They would examine his every word, as would Papa, who sat stiffly beside him, and Mr. Nathan, with his small wire-bound notebook. So would the fifth person in the room who stood invisibly at the door, circling him from behind dark shades. Only Femi knew he was there.

You think I stupid, Mister African bwoy!

But he had already told Papa the truth. There was no going back.

The questions seemed endless, and he began to think that he had answered some of them before. They were setting him traps, weren’t they? He was beginning to get muddled and his head was spinning when Mr. Nathan interrupted.

“My client is getting tired. You’ve no evidence connecting him to the offense. He should be released.”

“That’s not possible, sir. We’ve the blood all over his shirt! He was clearly a witness, and we don’t know yet that he’s telling the truth,” the gray-mustached detective replied calmly.

“He’s a vulnerable boy—a victim in all this—who got himself into something very nasty,” Mr. Nathan persisted. “You can tell he’s scared out of his wits!”

“If you think we’re going to let our only witness go before we’ve checked his story, you’re sadly mistaken, sir. This could still turn into a murder inquiry.”

Femi’s heart froze.

“We’ll bring in Errol Richards,” the body-builder added quietly. “Once we’ve interviewed him, we’ll decide about Femi.”

He had told them the truth, but they were still going to keep him! He was exhausted and it took too much energy to follow what Mr. Nathan was saying. Wearily he watched the tapes being individually sealed and one handed to his father. What was Papa meant to do with it? Listen to it over and over again? When he saw a black-and-white uniform at the door, he got up without being asked. He just wanted to get back to the cell, to sleep, to forget. As he left the room, he heard Papa say in a hushed voice that he would like a word with the detectives. Something about a threatening phone call. Papa didn’t need to whisper. Femi didn’t want to hear.

S
UNDAY
12
TH
O
CTOBER

Sade tried to take no notice of the glances as Papa walked with her into Avon High School on Monday morning. They had left Femi sleeping at Aunt Gracie’s. Papa was coming to speak to Flash Gordon so the school would know the truth rather than relying on rumors. Papa also said he wanted to find out more about James and his gang. She kept the thought to herself that Papa was wasting his time. What did Flash Gordon or any of the teachers know about what went on outside lessons?

She left her father waiting at the school office and headed straight for her tutor group. Mariam greeted her in the corridor beside their tutor room.

“What’s this about James Dalton?” asked Mariam, adjusting the headphones under her scarf. “They say he was stabbed and your brother was there!”

“I know,” Sade mumbled. Her heart sank. Rumors
were already flying. Even before entering the classroom, she sensed that people were talking about James. The desk where he usually sat in the far corner was empty, and a group of students were clustered around Marcia. Voices were rising. Marcia’s was the loudest, but it stopped as soon as Sade appeared at the door. Marcia scowled. Sade would have ignored her, but Marcia threw out a challenge.

“You’ve got a nerve, showing your face!”

Sade stared back. Marcia trampled over anyone who showed weakness.

“What do you mean?” Sade asked steadily.

“Don’t play innocent. Your brother is a lying little git. He’s got my brother in trouble. The police came crawling all over our house!”

“Aren’t you leaving something out?” Sade was surprised at how calmly her voice hovered in the air above the sudden quiet.

“What?” Marcia thrust her chin forward. Today her hair was in plaits, bunched together in a swinging pony-tail, with clicking beads.

“That’s for your brother to tell the police,” Sade replied sharply. “If he and James want to kill each other, that’s nothing to do with Femi.”

“My brother never had beef with James until you came along, Miss Queen of Africa.”

Marcia was spoiling for a fight! Imagine accusing her, Sade, of coming between James and Lizard Eyes! Her stomach tightened and her heart beat faster, but she shrugged her shoulders as if she couldn’t be bothered to reply.

Mariam pressed closer. “What’s your problem,
Marcia?” Mariam demanded. “Sade’s never—”

“What’s going on here? Quiet down, year ten!” Sade caught her breath as Mr. Morris’s voice cut in from behind. She and Mariam moved aside to let their form tutor into the room.

“I have serious news about a member of our form,” he said severely.

Marcia glowered before turning her back. She flounced to her desk with Donna in tow. As Sade and Mariam slipped into their seats on the other side of the room, it struck Sade that Donna had been unusually quiet.

As he called out names at form time, Mr. Morris lowered his voice at “James Dalton” but didn’t stop. Instead of the usual chatter, the class was hushed and tense, waiting for the announcement.

“I expect most of you already know that James was stabbed on Saturday.” Mr. Morris surveyed the class. “I’m glad to say we’ve just heard that the doctors have taken him off the critical list.”

Sade closed her eyes, letting the cheers ripple past her. Of course it was good news. Since the moment she had heard that James was fighting for his life, she had largely thought about what it would mean to Femi if James told the truth. She had tried not to think too much about James…the boy with a quick mind and tongue who used to make her laugh in book club…the boy who used to have more sense about him than most of the others his age…the boy who had won the math prize in year eight…whose proud mother had asked Sade to take a photo of
them with James beaming as he held his certificate and prize book…the boy who had changed. The police would interview him as soon as he was well enough. But would he tell them the truth? Or would he continue to be loyal to the person who had nearly killed him?

T
UESDAY
14
TH
O
CTOBER

In the days following his release, Femi was easily tearful. When Papa began a “serious talk,” Femi sat still and motionless except for his tears. They seemed to come from a source over which he had no control. Papa abandoned the talk. Most unusually, Papa also let him stay away from school. Femi felt drained of energy and didn’t get up until long after Papa and Sade had left the house. Aunt Gracie coaxed him with food, including his favorite fried plantains, but when she tried to get him to talk, he clammed up. For much of the time, she left him watching television or reading old comics. When Papa came back for supper, before going out again to do his night shift at the cab office, he didn’t pressure Femi to speak. Sade left him alone as well. Although she said nothing, he sensed that his sister was angry with him.

One evening Uncle Roy set up a game of chess and
called Femi to play. Uncle Roy had taught him over a year ago, but now he found it an effort to concentrate and lost three pawns in a row.

“It’s like in life, you know,” Uncle Roy said. “The small pawns are the first to be thrown away.”

Femi suspected that Uncle Roy was trying to make a point about him. Had he let himself be a pawn? He soon lost interest in the game.

However, it was impossible to keep his mind blank. A lot of the time he stayed in his room, lying on the bed, trying to make sense of the muddle in his head. He had been encouraged to tell the truth to the police. Then they had let Errol go! It was as if the jigsaw in his head had been thrown into the air. According to James, it was all a misunderstanding. Errol had drawn out the knife only to scare them but hadn’t meant to use it. Things had just gone wrong.

Was it possible that he had misunderstood? Hadn’t he seen Errol flare up before and then act as if nothing had ever happened? Despite everything, James and Errol were still brethren. If, like James, Femi had simply said that the stabbing was an accident, what could the police have done? Instead, he had told the police everything. All about the delivery of the packet, how he had gone to Durrant Court and what happened there. Everything. Errol would never forgive him for his betrayal. Nor would James. Even Papa had taken the threat seriously enough to move them out of their flat.

On Saturday morning Femi woke to the sound of water running in the bathroom. He pulled his bedcovers over
his head. Soon everyone in the house would be up except him. Aunt Gracie would probably come to ask if she could make him something for breakfast. But if he went downstairs, he would find Papa waiting for him. The night before Papa had told him that they couldn’t delay anymore. Decisions had to be made. They couldn’t stay with Aunt Gracie and Uncle Roy forever, and he wouldn’t be allowed to stay away from school any longer. There had to be—as Papa called it—a “family conference.”

It was Papa who called him to breakfast. Afterward, when Femi tried to slip away from the table, Papa steered him back with his outstretched hand.

“Stay here, son! You can’t keep running away. It’s time to talk.”

Femi flopped back down on the chair next to Sade. He avoided looking at anyone by keeping his eyes fixed on the marmalade.

“If our situation was different, I would send you straight back to Nigeria. Put you in boarding school there. I’ve discussed it with your uncle Tunde many times, but it’s still too risky.”

This was going to be a lecture, not a talk. Papa lowered his voice.

“What happened to Mami Cynthie’s boy reminds us how lawless people stop at nothing.”

Lawless people stop at nothing.
But lawless people weren’t just in Africa, were they?

“I’ve been to the Housing Office,” Papa continued. “They’ve put us on the list to move to another area, but we have to wait.”

“What about my school, Papa?” Sade protested. “I don’t want to move in the middle of my exam course!”

“I’m just exploring our choices, Sade. Hard choices. I’ve been wondering if we should join your uncle Dele in Devon.”

Both children were silent. They had visited Uncle Dele in the summer holidays. They had enjoyed the beach and the sea, and most people in his village had been friendly. But when they had gone into the town, Femi recalled some stares and awkward glances.

“The problem is that until we can get proper refugee status, it’s much better for us to be in London. At least I have work here that brings us some money.”

Refugee status.
There it was again. The immigration officers held a giant cloud over them, threatening a storm at any time. Papa was talking about choices, but it seemed they didn’t have any.

“But I could send
you
to your uncle, Femi—”

“I don’t want to go without you, Papa!” he cried.

“Marco’s parents sent him away, after Bonzo was shot,” Sade reminded him curtly. “At least Lizard Eyes and his gang won’t find you there.”

Femi felt his eyes beginning to prick.

“Our only other choice…”—Papa hesitated—“is for the three of us to go back to our flat. Sade can stay at Avon, but I shall have to move you to another school—away from those bad boys.”

Go back to our flat…move you to another school.
Elephants with giant butterfly ears were stampeding through him again. Even if he went to another school,
Errol would find him! Waylay him on the way home. Tears blurred the marmalade jar and everything else on the table.

“Errol will still get me, Papa! If I had the money, I could give it to him, then he would leave me alone!” Femi whimpered.

“Even if we had the money, my boy, we couldn’t do that. What Errol and his friends were doing was illegal. Besides, when you give in to bullies, they bully you more.”

He wanted to shut out Papa’s words, stop them whirling around inside his head. They just made him feel worse.

“When you start a fire, Femi, it has flames,” Papa went on quietly. “If I send you to a new school, I shall have to take and collect you.”

So he was going to be under constant supervision! This was his choice. Being sent away or living like a prisoner. The police might as well have kept him locked up! Suddenly his arms were flailing as he pushed his chair away from the table. It clattered to the floor behind him. He didn’t stop to pick it up. Through his tears he caught a glimpse of Papa’s startled face and dived for the dining room door. He flung himself past Aunt Gracie, who had come to see what was happening, and dashed toward the stairs. This time Papa didn’t even try to stop him.