Web of Lies (14 page)

The rage that had stormed through Femi left him exhausted. He wanted to go back to sleep and forget what had just happened, but his whole body felt uncomfortable. He had behaved terribly. In Nigeria most of his school friends had fathers who beat them whenever they stepped out of line. Femi had been the only one whose father had never hit him. Some of his friends had mothers who complained about them to their fathers. But if Mama ever had a problem with Femi, she used to talk to him herself. Only once, in England, Papa had come near to beating him. But after he had undone his belt, Femi had seen that his father’s hand was shaking. Papa had threaded the belt back, and Femi still hadn’t forgotten what he had said: “Your mama’s spirit won’t let me do it. If I beat you, I have lost the argument.”

If his friends had got into this kind of trouble, their
fathers would have beaten them until the children were begging for mercy. There would have been no “family conference.” But, instead of thinking he was lucky to have a father who wanted to talk with him, he had lost his temper. Flown into a wild frenzy. When he had kicked his chair, it was like he had kicked Papa.

Femi turned away from his wall to face his chest of drawers. His eyes traveled up to the top of the chest and the family photograph in a slim, dark-green frame. He had found it among the clothes in his bag. Sade must have put it there. He had become so used to it being on his shelf in his bedroom in their flat that he hadn’t looked at it for a long time. He stretched out for it now, then curled back again on to his bed, the photo propped against his pillow. There were Mama and Papa in front of the flaming forest tree in their yard at home, with Sade and himself in front. He had been nine at the time, standing tall and grinning. Mama’s left arm held him close while Papa’s hands rested on Sade’s shoulders. His sister looked proud and pleased. Mama had her gentle smile, while Papa seemed to be caught in the middle of saying something. Femi stared miserably at the four of them. Why couldn’t they have stayed liked that? Just a happy family?

Everything had been so different in Lagos. Another world in which he played football every day between the flaming forest and the pawpaw trees in their own compound. The sun was always bright, except when the harmattan wind threw a dusty haze over everything. He missed the heat on his skin and then being drenched when the whole sky became the most powerful waterfall in the
world. He missed all his friends, cousins, aunties, uncles, and, perhaps more than anything, the journeys to see Grandma at Family House.

Grandma had always made a special prayer after their long journey along the highway and the potholed roads through the bush. Everyone in the village knew them. When they arrived, they couldn’t walk anywhere without stopping a hundred times to exchange greetings and news! There would be nights of stories with Baba Akin, whose face was even more wrinkled than Mr. Nathan’s. He could mysteriously change his voice from that of a rabbit to a lion, a young girl to a crocodile, a boy to an old woman. All the while the smoke from his pipe would weave past his leathery face to disappear into the darkness above. If Femi was ever reminded of one of his stories, he also smelled the sharpness of Baba Akin’s tobacco.

In the daytime at Family House, there would be games of chasing goats and chickens until the bleating and squawking brought an adult to tell them off. There was also Baba Baobab to climb—the oldest tree in the world! Every Christmas the children stretched their hands around its trunk and argued about how much it had grown. Grandma would say: “That old tree will outlive me. It will still be here when you are a grown man.”

Ever since he had come to England, it upset Femi to remember back home. What was the point in thinking about it when you couldn’t go there? But today he was so wretched, he didn’t even try to stop the memories that came from before the final, fatal day that he never wanted to remember. He found them strangely calming. They
reminded him of a time when he had just been himself and everything had its right place.

When he woke, the room was in darkness. He switched on the bedside light and looked at his watch. Almost six o’clock. The house felt very quiet, not even the faint sound of television. No one had called him for dinner, not even Aunt Gracie. He was not surprised. Shame came flooding back to him. He would have continued lying there, ignoring the ache in his stomach, but he knew it was up to him to go and apologize. He had to tell Papa that he would go to Uncle Dele. He didn’t want to go away, but living in fear of Errol every day would be worse.

The only light downstairs came from the kitchen. Femi found Aunt Gracie sitting at the table, reading the newspaper. She looked up, deliberately waiting for him to speak first.

“Auntie, where is Papa?”

Aunt Gracie folded the newspaper.

“Your papa has gone with Sade and Uncle Roy to check the flat.”

There was an awkward silence as Femi’s mind fumbled over what to say.

“I—I’m sorry I lost my temper, Auntie.”

“It’s your father who needs to hear it, Femi.”

“I know, Auntie,” he whispered. “I’ll tell him when he comes.”

“They may be quite late, you know. They were going to call on Mrs. Wallace as well.”

Femi felt an ache in his stomach. He was hungry but too embarrassed to say so. He turned to go back upstairs, but Aunt Gracie called him back.

“Do you want something to eat, Femi?”

He nodded quickly.

“Yes please, Auntie.”

“Well, come and sit down here while I heat something. My mother used to say that feeling hungry is a good sign.”

He could tell that Aunt Gracie was not going to let him slip away to watch television. She wanted him to talk. After everything that had happened, he could no longer remain stubbornly silent. But Aunt Gracie didn’t ask questions like a detective. Instead, she began by recounting a tale of a playground bully when she was a child and how her older brother had ambushed him one day to teach him a lesson. Little by little, she provoked him into talking. Femi could feel her winkling him out as she asked questions about his friends at school…first Gary, the children in his class, then, after a while, James. Femi wondered how much Papa had told her and Uncle Roy. She was a sympathetic listener, but he was glad when, after he had eaten, she let him go to the television.

He kept wondering when Papa would return. The later it got, the more uncertain he began to feel again about how to face his father. He was losing energy again, and by ten o’clock he could hardly keep his eyes open.

“You can talk to your papa in the morning,” Aunt Gracie said. “I’ll tell him you wanted to wait up for him, but I sent you up.”

Femi hurried upstairs. His apology—and everything else—could wait until the morning. He fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

A cry from his sister and urgent voices outside his bedroom brought him tumbling out of bed early in the morning. By the time he reached the landing, still half asleep, Aunt Gracie, Uncle Roy, and Sade were clustered around Papa at the bottom of the stairs. To his horror, Femi made out two police officers standing in the hallway. They hadn’t come for him again, had they? Or had they come for Papa? Had the immigration people sent for him? Then he heard the word.
Fire!
Suddenly he understood. Their flat had been set alight in the middle of the night! He heard Papa tell the police that he had been there only a few hours ago. Everything in the flat had been fine last night. No, he had left nothing on that could have started a fire.

From the top step, Femi watched numbly as Papa pulled on his coat and Sade insisted that she was going with him. As she scurried up the stairs to change out of her nightclothes, she passed Femi as if he was invisible. Aunt Gracie bustled back and forth in the hallway, searching for Uncle Roy’s shoes. He was going to drive Papa and Sade. Papa opened the front door, letting in an icy blast. He tramped out behind the two police officers, without looking back. Femi wanted to cry out, “I’m sorry!” but the words froze in his head. He knew who was responsible.

“If we had been inside—sleeping—we couldn’t have got out!” Sade heard the catch in Papa’s voice. She hovered beside him by the gaping hole that had been their front door, staring into the blackened shell that had been their living room. It was littered with strange, skeletal shapes and looked like a bomb site doused by a thunderstorm. The mixture of burned smells was almost overpowering.

A few hours ago it must have been a raging inferno. At six o’clock in the morning, it was eerily quiet. The neighbors who had been evacuated had been allowed back home, including Mrs. Beattie. The police said she had been woken by an explosion shortly after midnight and called 999 immediately. If she hadn’t been so prompt, the damage would have been much worse…perhaps lives would even have been lost.

The police told them not to disturb things inside the
flat. They still had to investigate. It was likely that petrol had been poured through the letter box and set alight. It appeared that the fire had raged through the living room and kitchen first, before spreading down the passage to the bedrooms. Whatever wasn’t burned was smeared with thick layers of ash. The pools of water on the floor looked like oil slicks. They stared in shocked silence. But when Papa saw the remains of his computer, he groaned. All the papers and files that had been stacked up alongside it were a pile of cinders.

Sade picked her way along the blackened corridor until she reached her bedroom. She steadied herself against the doorframe. She could have been peering at the dark negative of a photograph. Her stomach swirled, something bitter rising up through her throat. She swallowed. Was this her room? Then she saw her Iyawo and Oko. Sitting on the charred remains of her desk, they looked like ancient figures petrified and preserved by volcanic lava. Relics from another age. The flames must have been licking around them, scorching away the silk-smooth ebony, when the firefighters arrived to do battle here in her bedroom.

Forgetting what she had been told, Sade stepped across the floor. There was something that couldn’t wait. She tugged the handle of the lowest desk drawer. It crumbled under her touch. She used her fingernails to prize open the drawer and cried out. The fire had attacked the desk from underneath. Her precious Iyawo book—her first one—had been tucked safely away in the bottom drawer. Now it lay in the melted, charred debris below the desk. It could have been the remains of a slice of burned toast. She bent down
and touched it gingerly, her fingers sinking into ash. Her mouth was dry, her head pounding. All those words she had written were lost forever. All those thoughts, memories, and feelings that she had once confided to her first Iyawo book were wiped out. This was the one book in her room that could never be replaced. It had been the only copy in the world. Oh, why hadn’t she taken it to Aunt Gracie’s? How stupid not to have realized that something like this could happen! It was the reason why Aunt Gracie had insisted they leave the flat in the first place.

Ignoring the instruction not to move anything, Sade gently lifted the Iyawo head, then Oko. They still felt warm. Not caring about the soot covering her hands and clothes, she retreated, cradling them in her arms. However damaged and disfigured, she was not going to leave them here.

Sade found Mrs. Beattie with Papa. She was in her dressing gown and was gripping Papa by the wrist.

“Honest to God, I thought I was back in Belfast with the Troubles. The explosion rocked me clean out of bed!” Mrs. Beattie’s hand was shaking like her voice.

“Thank you very much for calling the police, Mrs. Beattie.” Papa placed his free hand over hers, trying to steady her. “If you hadn’t been so prompt, it could have been much worse.”

“By the time I got to the door, they’d fled, the cowards! But I looked over the balcony. I saw one running! A black jacket, he had, with something like silver flashing down the arm. They could have set us all on fire. I hope the police get ’em and throw away the key!”

“Lizard Eyes—I mean Errol—has a jacket like that,
Papa!” Sade exclaimed.

Before Papa could reply, the two policemen reemerged from the outside corridor. One of them gently but firmly prized Mrs. Beattie away from Papa.

“Come, Mrs. Beattie. Best for you to rest now. We’ll be along later to take a statement. You don’t want to tire yourself out.”

The second officer turned to Papa.

“Will you come to the station with us, sir? We need a statement from you right away.”

Papa’s face was almost as ashen as his hair, and his arms hung limply by his sides. He suddenly looked older.

“You go back with Uncle Roy, Sade.” Papa’s gaze lingered for a moment on Iyawo and Oko in her arms. Sade dropped her head to battle silently with her tears.

Back at the Kings’ house, she wiped Oko and Iyawo tenderly with sheets of wet kitchen paper. Their noses, ears, and lips as well as Iyawo’s braids were all badly bitten by fire. Their smooth, shiny, ebony cheeks were dried out, rough, pock-marked. But the distinctive shape of each head was still there.

“What are you doing?” Femi asked plaintively.

Sade didn’t answer as she carried Oko and Iyawo up the stairs, into her bedroom.

“Please, Sade. Talk to me! Please.” Femi followed her but stopped at the open doorway.

Sade placed Iyawo and Oko carefully on her desk. Then, after pulling some clean clothes from the cupboard, she pushed past Femi and escaped to the bathroom.

At first Femi did not recognize the two charred lumps of wood in Sade’s arms. But when she placed them by the kitchen sink, as carefully as if they were delicate china, he realized that they were the ebony heads she always kept on her desk. He watched her wipe them as if she were a nurse cleaning her patients’ wounds. Her face was smudged and tearstained. When he tried to talk to her, she dismissed him roughly. She probably believed that this was also his fault.

Femi listened to Uncle Roy describe the burned-out flat. Aunt Gracie kept shaking her head in disbelief. It was impossible for Femi to imagine everything completely destroyed. What had happened to his room and all his possessions? He had to see for himself. It would take only twenty minutes to walk there. But what if he bumped into Errol or someone from the gang? It was probably too
early for any of them to be out in the streets on a Sunday morning, but he couldn’t be sure. Papa was in the police station, right at this moment, telling the police that Errol was the prime suspect. If the police pulled him in for questioning but couldn’t find any evidence, they would have to let him go again. He would want more revenge. He and his friends would trace the family to Aunt Gracie’s house. What was to stop them coming to this quiet street?

Where would it all end? Femi was caught in a maze from which there was no exit.

He paced the bedroom, hitting his fist into his palm. If he couldn’t go out, he might as well be a prisoner. He had spent the greater part of the last week in this room, most of the time in bed. Aunt Gracie said he was recovering, but he actually felt worse. He had done nothing except get more muddled with the thoughts in his head. Instead of enjoying a week off school, he had missed the activity, chat, commotion, people. Most of all, he had missed Gary. Remembering how offhand he had been recently with his classmate, Femi felt ashamed. Hadn’t he been cutting Gary out and leaving him on his own whenever it suited him? There must have been all kinds of rumors in school about his arrest. Yet he hadn’t even bothered to ring Gary after he was released. What kind of friend was he? If Gary had decided that he was better off without him, he wouldn’t be surprised.

The more Femi thought about Gary, the more desperately he wanted to talk to him. It might help clear up some of the muddle in his head. Gary was the most even-tempered person he knew. He had never known him to
get mad at anyone or anything. Perhaps he had pushed Gary too far—but how would he know until he tried to talk with him? Femi suddenly knew what he had to do.

When Gary came to the telephone, he sounded half asleep until he realized it was Femi. He jerked awake.

“Where’ve you been? Is it true you nearly got done for murder? I’ve rung every night, but no one ever answers.”

Femi swallowed. Gary wasn’t mad at him.

“I’m at my auntie’s.”

It wasn’t far from where Gary lived.

“You should see my new computer game! Come over. I’ll call for you.” Gary put the phone down before Femi could say that he would need to get permission.

As soon as Femi replaced the receiver, an idea seeded itself. If he was allowed to go out with Gary, they could see the burned-out flat by making a short diversion on the way to his house. They could use the main road and avoid the garage. The gang wouldn’t be around so early on a Sunday morning. But if they did meet anyone, this time he was not going to be parted from his friend. Gary knew about steering clear of trouble. As long as he stuck with Gary, he’d be okay.

Femi willed Gary to come before Papa returned so he would only have to ask Aunt Gracie. She probably wouldn’t grill Gary as closely as Papa. Only last night he had been telling her about Gary and she had said, “He sounds like a nice friend.” However, when Gary arrived, Aunt Gracie was reluctant to let Femi go.

“Why don’t you two boys play here until your father comes, Femi?” It was a statement rather than a real question.

“But I need fresh air and exercise, Auntie! I’ve stayed inside too long!” Femi tried to control the whine in his voice.

“Well, the two of you can play football out at the back.”

Femi was tempted to say something about Gary not being able to stay for long, but he held back. He didn’t want to start lying to Aunt Gracie. It was Uncle Roy who came to the rescue. He asked Gary where he lived.

“Femi’s friend doesn’t live far away, Gracie. Let them go together. We can’t keep the child wrapped up forever, you know.”

Aunt Gracie’s forehead puckered in doubt. Femi’s eyes begged her to agree.

“All right,” she said finally. “But I want you back here by one o’clock sharp for your dinner. Is that clear?”

Femi felt a surge of energy.

“Yes, Auntie.” He nodded vigorously. “Thank you, Uncle Roy.” Femi grabbed his jacket from the coat stand.

“What’s going on?” Gary had been very quiet inside the house. His question burst like a small charge as soon as they had closed the door.

Femi scrunched up his face. “Trouble, man. Trouble. Tons of it! We could all have been dead!”

“How?” Gary looked bemused.

“Errol tried to kill us! I swear it must have been him.
Petrol. Matches. Kerwhoosh! If we’d been sleeping in our flat, we’d have been trapped, man!”

Femi tugged Gary’s arm and pulled him past Uncle Roy’s red roses to the gate.

“We’ve got to inspect the damage. Race you, right!”

Femi broke into a sprint before Gary could ask anything else.

“I’ll tell you everything when we get there!” Femi called, leaving Gary no choice but to follow.

The morning mist was fresh and thick. Femi was glad. It made them less visible. Gary jogged alongside him at a steady pace. But even by the end of the road, Femi could feel himself lagging. One week of no exercise and already he was unfit. By the time they crossed over the High Street, he was short of breath and struggling to keep up. Gary slowed down until they were both walking. Femi knew his friend was waiting for him to talk. There was no point putting it off any longer.

“You know James…how he acted…like he was my older brother….” Femi struggled for the words.

“Yeah. He blanked me!” Gary said with a hint of disapproval.

Femi sighed. This was not going to be easy. He couldn’t just start with the events of last Saturday. He had to explain how things had built up: from James taking him to meet Errol to delivering Errol’s messages; from meeting the gang to “doing stuff” with them; how one thing had led to another. He began slowly and stiffly, but then his voice revved up to roll over some details as swiftly as possible. When he came to the mugging and Errol’s
attack, however, he described them almost blow by blow. Gary was aghast. Why had the police let Errol go?

“James won’t be negative to Errol ’cause he’s like his brother, right! He said it was an accident. Errol didn’t mean it.” Femi dug his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “But my dad said to tell the truth. That’s why Errol wants to kill me and my family. You get it?”

Gary sucked the air between his teeth.

“Errol is scary, man!”

They had entered the estate and fell silent as they approached Femi’s block. It was still too misty to see the flat clearly from the pavement below. Femi led the way, bounding up the stairs two at a time. Their footsteps clattered against the concrete. There were puddles of water in the stairwells. Only a few hours ago, fire officers had been pounding up here. Femi’s chest tightened as he scrambled on to the second-floor corridor. His hand shot up to his nose and mouth, but there was no escaping the smell. The ceiling and walls were blackened. The fire had licked its way almost to Mrs. Beattie’s door. He skidded to a stop, with Gary behind him. Someone had nailed wooden boards over the doorway and window of their flat and completely shut it up! There wasn’t even a single chink through which he could peep into his own home. Sade had rescued her Iyawo and Oko, but he had nothing except this burned stench in his nostrils and throat. Imagine if they had been inside! What would James have to say about this? Collecting petrol, carrying, pouring, and lighting it could never be described as “an accident.” This time there could be no misunderstanding. No doubt what Errol had meant.

Femi slid to the floor, his back against the balcony. He dropped his head between his knees, covering it with his hands. Gary’s voice seemed to come from far away, asking if he was okay. Then another voice joined him.

“A terrible shock, to be sure. Will we bring him inside?” Mrs. Beattie was hovering over him.

“I’ve got to get him home.”

Gary was closer now, on the floor beside him. Home? What home was he talking about?

“Let’s get out of here, Femi.” His friend was pleading. He felt a hand under his armpit, stretching around his waist.

“Lean on me.” Gary wanted to lever him up.

“He could do with a strong cup of tea. I’ll put the kettle on.” Mrs. Beattie’s birdlike tutting noises faded as her footsteps shuffled away.

“We can’t stay here, Femi. Errol might send somebody!” Gary’s voice was now desperate. It was the mention of Errol, however, that finally jolted him. He felt Gary’s arm help lift him. It steered him along the corridor and he didn’t resist. It stopped him from toppling over as they catapulted down the stairs. The mist that had shrouded them on their way to the flat was rising rapidly. They could be seen clearly from a distance now. Gary’s arm, slung across his shoulder, slowed their pace but was reassuring. It reminded Femi that he wasn’t utterly alone.