A Bit of Difference (26 page)

She goes through the motions and returns Tessa's call, surprised that she manages to sound normal.

“Tesco Supermarket,” she says.

“Don't call me that,” Tessa says.

“Why not?”

“I don't feel very super right now.”

She asks about Tessa's wedding plans. It is almost a relief to get caught up in someone else's ordeals.

“It's a nightmare,” Tessa says. “Ever since Pete's dad found out the wedding is going to be here.”

“Wait. Since when?”

“We made up our minds. Pete's moving here.”

“Good for you, Tess.”

“Yes, but ever since he found out, that man has had something to say. ‘Oh, how come no one in Australia has heard of her if she takes her work so seriously?' ‘Oh, why England?' Honestly, I've had it with him. He's like a caveman. He raised Pete like a wild animal. He has no respect for women. He lives in the sticks and there's nothing for miles. Let's face it, there's nothing in that country, except kangaroos swinging in trees, koalas, kookaburras and Kiri Te Kanawa.”

“She's from New Zealand,” Deola says.

“What?”

“Kiri Te Kanawa is from New Zealand and kangaroos don't swing. They hop.”

“I don't give a toss.”

“Didn't you people watch Skippy the bush kangaroo in this country?” she asks.

Tessa manages a smile. “Skippy.”

“I thought you loved Australia.”

She also thought Tessa wasn't nationalistic, but maybe all it takes is the experience of being discriminated against outside an audition, or an annoying in-law. The trouble is Tessa is not having the wedding for herself. She is having the wedding for her parents, to give them an occasion to celebrate, which is the worst reason to have a wedding.

“I'm fast changing my mind,” Tessa says.

“You've got what you want. You're going to live here. That's all that matters.”

“Pete's father hates me!”

“He's in Australia.”

It is retribution, Deola thinks. She suspects Peter might hate her on account of Tessa. Peter was interested in talking to her about safaris in South Africa, but Tessa told him Deola didn't care about animals or people who cared about them. What Deola actually said was that she couldn't understand why people cared more about African animals than they did about Africans.

“I'm too old for this rubbish,” Tessa says, “and Pete won't put his foot down. They have this uncanny bond. They're very close. It's almost as if I've come between them and it's so obvious he wants Pete to be with a twenty-something-year-old Shirley.”

“Peter should stop telling you what his dad says.”

“I make him tell me.”

“You should stop making him tell you.”

“No, his dad should stop! I'm not putting up with this anymore! I'm not! He's not going to come from Down Under to ruin the day for my parents! Honestly, I've had it with him. I'd have canceled the wedding, if I hadn't already paid the deposit on my dress.”

“How's that coming along?”

“Divine. You should see it. You will see it. Tomorrow. I'm having a fitting. Helen is a costume maker. Unbelievable. She's doing it as a favor. I'm paying her next to nothing. What time should we meet?”

“Where is Helen based?” Deola asks, wondering how she will ever fit into a bridesmaid's dress.

“Pimlico.”

She gives Deola the address and it is near the estate Bandele lives in.

“A friend of mine lives there. Not that I want to see him right now.”

“Why, what happened?”

“Nothing.” She thinks of an excuse. “He is a writer, a bit of a grump.”

“Are you okay, darling?”

“Yes.”

“Sure it's not too much for you?”

“Of course not.”

“So when?”

“Let's say three o'clock at the station.”

“Smashing. See you tomorrow, then.”

z

Pimlico Station is within walking distance from her parents' flat. They bought the flat in the late seventies. At the time, there was a launderette on the street, a corner shop owned by an Indian family, a fruit and vegetable shop and a hair salon, where, for just five pounds, Deola could get her Afro trimmed. She would sit there with old ladies who were getting purple rinses. Her stylist thought her Afro was like a nice little hedge.

Now there is a BMW dealership where the salon and fruit and vegetable shop were. A Starbucks has opened on the next street, where there was once a shoe repair shop. Deola remembers going there with Lanre to duplicate the front door key of her parents' flat. The shopkeeper refused to serve them. “Don't do that 'ere,” he said, though the sign on his door said he did. Lanre later explained that he must have thought they were a couple of thieves.

Westminster was her first neighborhood in London. During her holidays, she would walk to the abbey, where tourists converged, cross St. James's Park and end up at Buckingham Palace. Sometimes she went by bus with her mother to Victoria Street, to shop at Army and Navy, or to the Apollo to see a musical like
Fiddler on the Roof
or
Starlight Express
. There was that other theater where
The Black and White Minstrel Show
ran for a while, but she didn't see that show. Her father was not in favor. He didn't care for musicals anyway. He only ever encouraged her to go to the Tate Gallery. “Go to the Tate,” he would say, if ever she complained the neighborhood was boring.

She couldn't be bothered with the Tate, and she rarely crossed over Vauxhall Bridge Road into Pimlico, except when she ran errands for her mother at the market on Warwick Way. Her mother would tell her, “Ask them to cut the fish into steaks not filets, and they mustn't throw the head or tail away.” It was embarrassing to ask for fish heads and tails and other cuts that English people generally didn't eat. Her mother once sent her to a butcher to ask for ox tails and the butcher said, “I'm afraid you'll have to go to Brixton Market for that.”

That was almost a quarter of a century ago, when she knew her milkman and postman. She has since been to more corners of London than she has of Lagos, yet she still thinks of herself as a Lagosian, not a Londoner.

As a student, she had an approximate sense of belonging while walking through Brixton Market or dancing to calypso music at the Notting Hill Carnival, or hanging around Speakers' Corner on a Sunday. She went to Hyde Park for Nelson Mandela's seventieth birthday and for the Pavarotti concert when she worked in the city. Afterward she walked to the tube station with other Londoners singing “Free Nelson Mandela” the first time around and “
O Sole Mio
” the next. Now, she is not even part of the Nigerian community in London. It is too huge and fractured.

She parks her Peugeot on the other side of Vauxhall Bridge Road and walks across to the station. This morning she woke up with the same symptoms of the day before, which subsided before lunch, so she is sure she has been going through morning sickness. She is nervous about the side effects of the progestin pills. On Monday, she will make an appointment to see a doctor.

At Pimlico Station, she stops at the newsagent to check the tabloids for headlines on Dára. She can't find any. She walks downstairs and stands by the ticket machine, while looking out for Tessa. She hopes she will not bump into Bandele. She still can't get over the fact that he lives in Pimlico and the city pays for his rent and upkeep. Britain is great in a way, she thinks, but Bandele is not grateful. “Pimlico,” he often says with derision, as though he has fallen in status.

She went to his parents' house in Belgravia only once. She had heard of Nigerians who lived lavishly in London, but to see their two stories and a basement full of antique furniture was another matter. She later described the place to her parents, whose flat was crammed with faded velvety chairs and brocade curtains they hadn't changed since the seventies.

“They have an English butler and a Filipina maid,” she said. “Your brother is our butler and you and your sister are our maids,” her father said. “They have a Rolls Royce,” she said. “We have the number eleven bus,” her father said.

He was so predictable. The Davises could have a jet plane parked in their basement if they wanted, he said. He would spend any exorbitant amount of money on school fees. Not so on other expenditures; they were not investments.

Her mother, who was an authority on the genealogy of Lagos society, said, “That Davis fellow is a tricky fellow. He would not have this much money but for his position in government. He's from a good family, though. A very good family. He has impeccable breeding.”

By “breeding,” her mother meant a history of education, unlike the Bellos, who one generation back were hoeing on a farm.

z

Tessa arrives, her ponytail swinging. She wears jeans and a hooded jacket. The weather is cold and dull. They walk out arm in arm and cross the road.

“How've you been?” Tessa asks.

“Not so good.”

“I knew it. What's the matter?”

“I have the baby-in-the-baby-carriage sequence wrong.”

“Huh?”

“I'm knocked up.”

Tessa pulls away. “What! How did that happen?”

Deola laughs nervously. People will ask for details? What will she say?

“How do you think?”

“How many months?” Tessa asks, looking at her stomach.

“About a week.”

“Why didn't you tell me yesterday?”

“I'd only just found out.”

“You should have told me, Deola.”

“I'm telling you now.”

They are walking in the direction of Bandele's block and she gets worried about seeing him.

“I knew something was wrong,” Tessa says, then she covers her mouth. “Oh, what am I saying? It's not wrong. It's just that I can't believe this.”

“I can't either.”

“Who is…?”

“I don't know. Well, I do know who he is, but I don't know if he wants to be a father.”

“What does he mean he doesn't want to be a father?”

“It's not that, Millie Tant. I just haven't told him yet.”

“Are you thinking…?”

“No. I can't go through with that.”

“Gosh, darling. Well, at least your eggs are working.”

“I also can't be your bridesmaid.”

“Why not?”

“When are you getting married?”

“December.”

“By the time you walk down the aisle, I'll be rolling.”

“Gosh. Gosh. I didn't think about that.”

“I'll ruin the pictures.”

“Oh, please. My father-in-law has beaten you to that.”

“It won't work. I'll be adjusting my dress forever. It might end up looking like a tent.”

Tessa pulls a face. “Well, that would be a first, moving a wedding forward because a bridesmaid is pregnant. But are you happy, darling?”

“I don't know.”

“Do you love him, I mean?”

“I could.”

“What d'you mean?”

“Remember when I said I wanted to be with a Nigerian? I've thought about that. I just have to be with someone who understands where I'm coming from. You understand?”

Tessa pats her arm. “We can't control these things.”

“I can.”

“You're so careful. Too careful. How could this ever have happened to you? Or dare I ask why?”

“It was your brilliant idea. Live dangerously and all that.”

“You've never listened to me before.”

“He's all right, Tess. Not bad to look at.”

“That's it?”

“Isn't that enough for a night?”

“Not for me. I make them beg.” Tessa stops again. “You're all right, though. I mean, you got checked out and all that.”

Deola nods. “I'll get another one in six months, just to be sure.”

“I get one every year.”

“Isn't it terrible?”

“It's dreadful.”

“I feel so stupid and it's not like I'm in college or anything, but for the first time in years, I don't know what is going to happen to me next.”

“You'll be all right. I know you will. Come here.”

Deola shuts her eyes, knowing Tessa is
thinking, What have you gone and done?

“It's a comedy of errors,” Tessa says. “That's all it is, finding love. Wouldn't it be so much easier if we could see what the audience sees?”

Helen lives on the Vauxhall Bridge Road side. The houses on the estate are named after writers like George Eliot and Noël Coward. They walk to her flat as Tessa describes her dress. Deola would rather talk about that than listen to any belated advice.

Tessa once thought she was pregnant and she called Deola to say she was going to tell her parents. Deola advised her not to until she was sure. The French merchant wanker was the first man Tessa lived with. He was addicted to porn and she warned Deola not to make the same mistake. “No moving in until you're engaged,” she said.

Tessa can be conservative, and it's not that Subu is completely intolerant, but telling her might mean that another Nigerian might get to know she is pregnant, and then another.

z

Helen is a bloody Nigerian. Deola knows as soon as she opens her door. Her hair is in two long braids and she is fair-skinned with dark gums. She has a British-born smile. Deola wouldn't know how to explain this if she had to, but she can tell that Helen was either born in England or raised here from a young age. Helen also has British-born skin. This Deola can describe. She observed as a student that Nigerians like Helen had drier skin. Her mother's reasoning was this: “They don't use enough lotion.”

Helen's flat is similar to Bandele's, except that he has paper on the floor, whereas Helen has fabrics, thread, measuring tapes, scissors, needles and pins. Her flat smells like a haberdashery shop. Deola is nervous she might step on something as she walks carefully to the room where Tessa's dress is. It is white satin with a plunging back. She makes the mistake of calling the cut asymmetric.