Web of Lies (15 page)

S
UNDAY
19
TH
O
CTOBER

Sade’s Iyawo book lay open on the desk in front of her, her pen idle in the crease. She had written the time ten minutes ago, but the rest of the page lay blank. She sat staring out of the bedroom window. Instead of the russet-red and golden-brown leaves, she imagined flames engulfing the terrace of houses beyond the back gardens. Attacking the bricks, crackling around windows, exploding panes, forcing entry under billowing black clouds. With flames in pursuit from the back, would the people inside be able to escape through their front doors? The flames would consume everything. Like her anger. She understood her anger against Lizard Eyes—and also James. But her anger at Femi frightened her. It was no longer rational, she knew.
He had been taught a terrible lesson, so what was the point in going on at him? Yet she was almost as furious with herself! None of this would have happened if she had been the responsible older sister. She had felt aggrieved when Papa said he was disappointed in her. She had told herself that Papa didn’t appreciate how much she still thought and acted like she did at home in Nigeria. But it wasn’t actually true. If it was, she would have spoken to Papa as soon as she suspected her brother was getting into trouble. In Nigeria it would have been expected of her. Her natural duty. Everything had been so much clearer at home. But here, in England, she no longer knew how to behave.

Sade heard the doorbell. She strained to hear if it was Papa returning from the police station. It wasn’t. Instead, she heard Mrs. Wallace asking Aunt Gracie anxiously about the fire. Papa must have rung her. Had she perhaps lost something in the fire? Some papers, maybe, or books? Then Sade remembered. Losing a few possessions would be nothing compared with losing a child. She shut her eyes. Mrs. Wallace hadn’t been to see them all week. Edward was still missing, according to Papa.

Sade remained in the bedroom with the blank page in front of her. But when Aunt Gracie came upstairs and asked Sade to take Mrs. Wallace to the grocer’s shop, she didn’t protest. Mrs. Wallace had offered to show Aunt Gracie how she made her special pepper soup, and they needed red peppers.

As soon as they had shut the gate, it was clear that Mrs. Wallace wanted to talk to Sade. She was direct.

“It’s a miracle that no one is dead. We have to look
on the positive side, Sade.”

Sade was quiet. The morning fog hadn’t yet lifted, and she concentrated on the pavement ahead. There was hardly much to be positive about.

“I hope you are not blaming yourself.” Mrs. Wallace unexpectedly linked her arm with Sade’s. “Blaming yourself won’t help, you know. I talk from experience.”

Their eyes met briefly. Mrs. Wallace’s were as sharp as radar.

“I know how easy it is to destroy oneself with guilt. Of course we should admit when we have made mistakes. But we can take it too far. We all need friends to stop us doing that.”

She wasn’t talking down to her as a child. She was speaking about herself. Sade had actually heard Papa telling her, “You can’t keep blaming yourself, Cynthie. It stops you thinking straight.” Sade didn’t know what to say. They were walking in step at a steady pace.

“Is Papa very angry with me?” The question came out without planning. “I think he’s trying not to show it. But I need to know the truth.”

“Your papa is like everyone else, Sade. He wouldn’t be human if he hadn’t been angry,” she said gently. “I think he was upset—more than angry—that you didn’t tell him any of your worries about Femi. But he blames himself as much as anyone. He wishes he had spent more evenings at home—that he hadn’t put so much responsibility on your shoulders.”

“He had to get us money to live, didn’t he? He couldn’t help it.”

“That’s just what I said to him, Sade. Perhaps no one could have stopped Femi joining that gang. Boys don’t feel safe on these streets. They think that if they join a gang, they’ll be safer.” Mrs. Wallace paused. “Often the consequences aren’t what they expect. My elderly mother has a saying, ‘It rained on the mountaintop, but it was the valley below that got flooded.’”

“Mama would have said something like that as well.” Once again the words were out before Sade had thought about them.

“You still miss her very much, don’t you?” Mrs. Wallace said softly. “Your papa has told me a lot about her. How she always managed to stay calm while he was writing articles that could land him in prison. She must have been a wonderful person.”

Sade felt Mrs. Wallace lightly squeeze her arm. They continued their journey to the shops without further talk. How astonishing, she thought, to be walking arm in arm with the woman she had so deeply resented for coming between her and Papa.

The mist had risen by the time they were walking back. The sun warmed the street in dappled patches of light beneath the autumn leaves. Sade took courage to ask a personal question.

“Are you going back to Freetown—?” She broke off. It would take a while before the words “Mami Cynthie” came naturally.

Papa still listened to the World Service daily on his little radio, even at the Kings’ house. The latest news was
horrible. Sade had heard Papa tell Aunt Gracie that seventy people had been killed fleeing from Freetown when their truck overturned. They had been escaping from Nigerian bombs.

“I think about it—all the time.” Mrs. Wallace hesitated. Sade was aware that it took an effort to answer the question. “My family says I mustn’t come. My editor has just been arrested. My brother says he is doing everything he can to find Edward. My heart wants me to go—but my head tells me to stay.”

Her voice trembled slightly, but she continued, telling Sade that President Kabbah was coming to London for a conference on Sierra Leone.

“I’m going to attend it, Sade! I want them to hear about Edward. They must consider the children. They mustn’t just talk about putting Kabbah back in power. They must think deeper. All our children see is fighting and war. When we, the adults, finally make peace, what will we do with our children who have learned our violence?”

Sade heard the pain, passion, and anger as Mrs. Wallace’s voice rose. Suddenly it fell.

“How will they learn to play again…become ordinary children again? They are our future.”

The words touched Sade. She didn’t know how to reply, except that it felt right to slip her arm through Mami Cynthie’s.

They didn’t go to Gary’s house after all. Gary had sensed that Femi just wanted to go back to his family. Even so, Femi dreaded speaking to Papa. He was relieved when Gary agreed to spend the rest of the morning at the Kings’, playing Ayo in his room. It was the first time that Femi had shown Gary the little wooden board with the smooth blue-brown pebbles. Sade had saved it for him twice now. She had packed it into his backpack that awful day when they had fled from their home in Lagos. This second time she had packed it, along with the family photo, in the bag that she had brought for him to Aunt Gracie’s.

After Femi had explained the rules to Gary, they played mostly in silence. Gary didn’t press Femi with questions about the future that he couldn’t have answered anyway. If Papa was going to send him to Uncle Dele, this might be
the last time he would see Gary. He didn’t want to think about it. As he watched Gary click the gate shut when it was time for him to leave, each called out, “See you!”

Femi could hear Papa in the living room with Aunt Gracie, Uncle Roy, and Mrs. Wallace. He wavered. Should he run right in and beg Papa’s forgiveness? But he couldn’t bring himself to do it in front of everyone. He needed Papa on his own. So he slunk back upstairs. At lunchtime Aunt Gracie called him down to have some of Mrs. Wallace’s red pepper soup. Papa hardly seemed to notice him. The mood around the table was somber, and Uncle Roy made none of his usual jokes. Afterward Femi escaped back to his comics. If Papa would only come up to his room, at least he could face him in private. Later Mrs. Wallace put her head around his door to say good-bye. Papa was taking her back to her lodgings. Femi heard them going out. Usually Papa came to say where he was going. Today he was probably too furious.

Femi buried himself in playing with his Game Boy. It had been a present from Papa for his twelfth birthday. When he heard soft knocking at his door, he expected to hear Aunt Gracie’s voice. Instead it was Sade. His first instinct was to ignore her, like she had done to him this morning. Those charred, dead pieces of wood seemed to mean more to her than he did. He heard the handle turning. Unless he jumped up and slammed the door in her face, she was coming in. Bending over his Game Boy, he pretended not to hear her.

“Femi, we’ve got to talk.” She sounded more worried
than furious. He ducked his head further as she perched herself at the end of his bed.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so mad at you, Femi. You’re not the only one who has made mistakes. I tried to warn you about that Errol Richards, but I didn’t tell you properly.” She paused. “I didn’t tell you why I called him Lizard Eyes.”

Femi’s fingers paused over the Game Boy.

“If I’d told you everything, maybe you’d have believed me when I said to keep away.”

“Told me what?” he mumbled.

“It was too—too disgusting.” His sister’s voice sank to just above a whisper. “I never told anyone. He made me feel so ashamed.”

Femi raised his head enough to see Sade’s hands clenched so tightly that her knuckles were pale.

“He caught me at school—last year—on a Friday afternoon when there was no one there—except him and his friend. I couldn’t do anything—” Her voice snagged, then broke in a deluge. “He and his friend pushed me against the wall, and he was saying all these stupid things, like I was an ‘African Queen,’ and his tongue was flicking all over my face and his hand crawling all over me and I was struggling to get away and all the time he was watching me like a lizard—”

“I’d have killed him!” Femi broke in. “Papa could have killed him! Why didn’t you tell, Sade?”

“I was too shocked. Maybe if Mama was alive, I could have told her. All weekend I kept thinking what I should do. I wanted to tell Papa, but I didn’t know how—and he
was busy. I was really scared that Lizard Eyes would get me again. But on Monday he wasn’t in school! They’d caught him dealing. That’s when he got expelled and sent away. So I pushed him out of my mind. I tried to bury everything.”

They were both silent. Femi understood about burying things that hurt. He also knew how they could wash up. A picture flashed into his head of a commotion on Leki Beach. Mama had stopped them running with the crowd to the edge of the water. She had insisted they leave, but they had already glimpsed the bloated body. What was it that she had said?

“Bury truth in the thickest coffin under the sea and it will break open.”

The words emerged in his head as clear and candid as if Mama were standing beside him now. He wondered if Sade remembered too. But as his mind flicked back to the nasty picture of his sister trapped by two boys, there was something more pressing.

“Who was the boy with Errol? Was it James?” he asked nervously.

Sade shook her head. “He was a white boy. He’s not in school anymore.”

Femi felt a small leap of relief but said nothing. His sister stood up to leave, no longer looking so tense but still miserable. Femi leaned over his bed and pulled out his Ayo board from underneath.

“Do you want a game?” he asked tentatively.

“I’ve forgotten how to play.”

“You can’t have, Sade!”

His protest forced a fleeting smile and she sat down again.

When Papa entered the room, they were cross-legged on the carpet, hunched over the board. His father’s eyes weren’t as blazing as Femi feared, just deeply weary.

“I’ve got one piece of good news. The police have got Errol Richards and charged him.”

“They’ve got Errol?” Femi jumped to his feet, accidentally kicking the Ayo board and sending the pebbles flying.

“How, Papa? How do they know it was him?” Sade was incredulous.

“Come downstairs and I’ll tell you. Your uncle and auntie will also want to hear this.”

Aunt Gracie insisted that Papa sit down in an armchair with a cup of tea before he could begin.

“You look worn out,” she said. “We can wait while you gather your breath.”

Femi wanted to say that he couldn’t wait, but he held his tongue. Papa took a couple of sips and began.

After taking Mami Cynthie home, he had called in at the police station, expecting to be told there were no new developments. Instead, the sergeant told him that they had received a call from a tenant in their block of flats. The man had noticed a petrol can in one of the large rubbish bins. It seemed too obvious a place for anyone to leave evidence, but he had called the police anyway to check the fingerprints. They were Errol’s! The police had
lost no time in arresting and charging him with arson and being “reckless to endanger life.”

“Reckless to endanger life?” Femi’s voice rose. “Is that like murder?”

“Not quite as bad as murder, but it’s very serious.”

“Will they let him out on bail?” Sade asked.

“I hope not,” Papa said adamantly. “But we can’t be sure until it goes to court. The sergeant says they will oppose bail so he can’t interfere with the witnesses.”

“Who are the witnesses, Papa?” Femi screwed up his face.

“We are, I assume,” said Papa quietly. “We are.” He lifted his cup and gazed at Femi.

“I’m sorry, Papa,” Femi whispered, lowering his eyes. “Very sorry.”

Femi remained downstairs. When Papa rang Uncle Dele from the telephone in the hallway, he pulled himself away from the television and sat at the bottom of the stairs. Papa switched from English to Yoruba, speaking so fast and low that Femi couldn’t follow at times. It seemed that Uncle Dele was urging them to come immediately. Papa kept talking about the difficulties. His job, Sade’s schoolwork, the police and the court case, the Immigration Office, his lawyer…The one person whom Papa didn’t mention was Femi. Did that mean that he was not going to be sent away by himself? In the end Papa agreed that all three of them would go to Devon in a week’s time when there was a week’s school holiday. He would arrange a few days off work, and Sade wouldn’t have to miss any school. They could then discuss the future together.

Femi’s mind was racing. He didn’t want to spend
another week like the last one, feeling so miserable and with nothing to do. With Errol out of the way, he should be all right.

“Can I go back to school tomorrow, Papa?” The question sprang out of his mouth as soon as his father replaced the receiver.

Papa’s eyebrows shot up. “Have you thought whether your teachers will want you?”

Femi flushed. How stupid of him. He had been thinking so much about Errol, he had forgotten the rest.

“I went to your school last week. I spoke to Mr. Gordon and Ms. Hassan.” Femi squirmed under thousands of pins and needles. In addition to everything else, Papa would have found out about the missed Parents Evening.

“You should count yourself lucky. Ms. Hassan seems to like you.” Papa’s eyes bored into him. “They’ve been investigating who Errol Richards had dealing for him. Last Saturday gave them a good clue—”

“Is James going to be expelled?” Femi burst out.

“James used to be one of Ms. Hassan’s best students. She also said she doesn’t want to see you go down the same road.” Papa hadn’t answered his question. He tried to pay attention to what Papa was saying about what he expected from Femi, but his mind was swamped with new worries. If James were expelled, that would be because of what he, Femi, had told the police. Everyone in school would know. James was popular. James would hate him and everyone else would too.

“Are you listening to me, Femi?”

“Yes, Papa.” He tried to sound attentive.

“I want to know that you’ll have nothing to do with those boys again.”

“Yes, Papa,” he repeated automatically. But how could he be sure that they would have nothing to do with him?

With his head tucked under his hood, Femi walked with Sade up the school drive on Monday morning. He only dived away from her when he saw Gary. At tutor time he tried not to look at the terminator eyebrows as he handed Ms. Hassan a letter from Papa and slipped back to his desk while she read it. He pretended not to hear the “Hey, Femi!” whispers. He waited nervously for Ms. Hassan to say something in front of everyone. However, she carried on with form business and only called Femi aside when everyone was leaving the classroom.

“I’m not going over the past.” Her voice was crisp. “As your father told you, we are giving you another chance. Don’t mess it up. If you’ve got any problems, come and see me.”

Femi nodded, staring at the neat silver buckle on her belt.

“I expect you to look at me, Femi.”

His head felt as stiff as if it was chained to the ground. It was an effort to push it upward until her flecked brown eyes fixed him steadily.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?”

He mouthed, “Yes, Miss,” and heard a small sigh before she told him to hurry to his English class.

Gary acted as a shield at break and warded off questioners. They were mainly children from their class and other
year sevens who lived nearby and who had seen the burned-out flat. There was no sign of members of the gang in the playground. Perhaps they were still meeting around the back. He desperately hoped that they were no longer interested in him now that James wasn’t there. The bell was ringing when he passed Gul in the corridor. Neither of them stopped, but Gul winked. It didn’t seem an unfriendly wink.

Femi had even begun to relax a little when, at lunchtime, Dave and Jarrett pushed in next to him in the lunch queue.

“Is it true you got Errol nicked?” Dave demanded. His voice was offhand, but his flickering green eyes seemed as if they might strike. Femi shook his head.

“Go on, tell the truth, yeah! We’re your mates, man!” Dave persisted.

“Did James get cut up ’cause of you?” Jarrett rested his fingers lightly on Femi’s upper arm, ready to close in like handcuffs. Femi shrugged and pulled his arm away as Gary swiftly squeezed in between him and the two year nines.

“Leave him,” said Gary. “He doesn’t want to talk about it.”

“You keep out of this, yeah! Femi’s got a tongue,” Dave retorted, shoving his palm toward Gary. The last thing Femi needed was a fight. He had to say something, do something.

“Don’t talk to my friend like that!” Femi was surprised at the force of his defiance. People around them were stopping to look. “You know what, yeah? I don’t want to talk about that other stuff!”

Jarrett raised his hands. The gesture reminded Femi of James.

“Hey, hold it, hold it! We don’t have beef with you, Femi! No problem, man!”

Femi glanced sideways. A male teacher whom he didn’t recognize was striding toward them.

“See you around, little brother!” Jarrett pulled Dave’s arm and ambled off, grinning. The familiar gesture and words mimicking James’s manner were a lightning punch that sent his head spinning. The teacher halted, his face caught between a frown and a question.

“You having chips then?” Gary asked extra loudly. “My mum won’t do ’em any more—gone on a diet!”

The teacher turned around and retreated.

“Yeah,” Femi said weakly. He gripped the counter beside him and ordered his chips. He half expected to turn and see a pair of black pupils in a delicate brown web sizing him up. Femi took his plate and followed Gary, past a blur of faces, to an empty table on the far side of the dining hall. Papa and Ms. Hassan expected him to make a new start. They were giving him a second chance. He even had Gary acting as a self-appointed bodyguard! But none of them could stop the voice in his head.

You trying to forget me little brother—after I protected you—got stabbed ’cause of you—expelled ’cause of you….

It would have been easier to push away if the voice was simply harsh and accusing. There were accusations that he could throw back. Instead, the voice was really rather sad.

In the changing room, Mr. Hendy growled at the boys to
hurry up. He said nothing to Femi about his absence, but from the tone of his voice when he placed him in a forward position Femi suspected it was a test. The encounter at lunchtime and James’s lingering voice had drained him. It wasn’t long before Hendy was shouting at him. Feet not fast enough. Eyes not quick enough. Mind not sharp enough. Halfway through the lesson, he switched Femi into defense. Hendy’s voice still kept roaring until his ears felt as though they were splitting as much as every bone in his body.

“What are you holding back for? Tackle him! Tackle him!” The sports teacher was unremitting. At the end of the practice, he called Femi aside.

“What’s wrong with you, boy? You can be fierce as a terrier, but you’re fumbling around like a stuffed poodle! Why do you let everyone else walk over you?”

Femi felt a lump in his throat. Hendy seemed to be talking about more than football.

“Yes, Sir,” he managed to mumble.

“What’s that?” Hendy exploded. Surely everyone must be listening by now. “In football you have to take control of the ball—strike for your own goal. Same in life, boy. If you don’t, someone else will! They’ll have you running in another direction. You get me?”

“Yes, Sir!” He tried to sound a little more energetic.

“Well, let me see the change by Thursday.” At least Hendy still wanted him to come to the after-school team practice. He had thrown the ball back to him.