She glances away again. “Yeah. He knows London like the back of his hand, which was super helpful. Sorry, you must think I’m being incredibly rude. I’m just checking to see whether he has arrived yet.”
“No, not at all.” I bat my hand. “Do your thing.”
As she swivels her head this way and that, I admire her blushed cheekbones.
“Babe!” she cries. “Over here!”
I follow her voice in the direction she’s hailing, and I nearly faint on the spot. Standing by the entrance is none other than my ex-boyfriend, Femi.
My fragile ego
I wheel around as if I’m a wanted fugitive, my heart beating like a galloping horse. Instinctively, I grab the ledge for support.
Oblivious to my mini panic attack, Latoya calls Femi’s name.
She grabs my wrist. “Let me introduce you to my fiancé,” she says, tugging me along.
Before I can object, we come to a standstill. I keep my head down.
“Yinka?” Femi says almost questioningly.
I slowly look up.
You know, Femi has always been a good-looking guy. Nice teeth, nice eyes, all that jazz. And although he’s never been particularly fashionable, his shirt always matched his jeans. But today, Femi is something else. Femi looks like an upgrade. If he was a BlackBerry back then, he’s definitely an iPhone now.
“Hey,” I croak wearily, admiring his crisp white shirt which shows off every line of muscle he didn’t have when we were dating.
Latoya stares between us. “Wait, you guys know each other?”
“Yinka’s my ex-girlfriend,” Femi says quickly. He coughs and gives her a look as though to say, “You know, the one I gave you the heads-up about.”
Latoya blanches. “Ohhh.” She looks at me. Covers her mouth. “Well, this is awkward. Yinka and I have just been chatting for the last five minutes.”
She’s beautiful, I can’t help but think. And she looks nothing like me.
“You look well.” Femi cuts through my thoughts and instinctively, I say, “Thanks.”
“Well” isn’t a compliment, Yinka. “Well” is something you say to your granny.
“And you cut your hair!” Femi spreads his arms, and I touch my hair, waiting for him to comment further. He doesn’t say anything else, and I hate myself for immediately feeling a twinge of hurt.
“So, you’re engaged,” I splutter.
Femi opens his mouth and closes it again. He nods. Then, like an afterthought, he adds, “For three weeks now.”
So they’re newly engaged. Christmas wasn’t that long ago, so he probably came here to tell his family. And then I remember his Facebook post. Nostalgic. Now it all makes sense.
“Congratulations,” I say suddenly. My voice comes out high-pitched like a dolphin’s.
Femi scratches the back of his head. “Well, it was good seeing you.” We give each other that “Would it be weird to hug?” look. Thankfully, our decision is made for us by Derek, who shows up holding two glasses.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he says, slightly out of breath. My eyes pan down and I notice his combats are drenched on one side.
“Had an accident,” he explains. “Err, not that kind of accident.” He hands me my drink and I make a face at how sticky the glass is.
“Thanks,” I mutter.
Derek says, “No worries,” then to Femi and Latoya, “Please forgive me. Where are my manners?” He wipes his hand down his side before extending it. “I’m Derek. And you are . . . ?”
“Femi.” They shake hands, and I search Derek’s face to see if he remembers which Femi this is. But if he remembers, he sure is hiding it well.
“And this is my fiancée, Latoya.” Femi slides his hand and rests it just above Latoya’s bum. My heart stings.
“Nice to meet you,” says Latoya. She gives Derek a polite wave. Strangely, she doesn’t look as desperate to leave as Femi does.
Derek brushes his hand along his side again, then in a moment of inspiration, he says, “You guys don’t have a drink. What can I get you? Soft drink? Champagne?”
“We’ll sort ourselves out,” Femi replies quickly, at the same time that Latoya says, “Ooh, champagne!”
Femi shoots her a look.
“What?” She shrugs. “He was offering.”
Derek smiles. “Champagne for the lady, coming right up.”
I watch Derek leave again, his combats swishing to the music.
“Well, he’s a gentleman,” Latoya says, winking, and I’m not prepared for this so I say, “Um, I suppose so.”
“You’re even wearing matching T-shirts,” Latoya gushes after I take a sip of my drink, and it nearly snorts out of my nose. “Spill the beans, what’s your story? How long have you guys been together?”
“We’re not together!” I cough.
“No?” She looks embarrassed. “Sorry, I saw your matching T-shirts and assumed—”
“It’s fine.” I wave my hands and shake my head. I’m aware that Femi is looking at me weirdly.
“Sooo,” he says, as though he’s walking on eggshells. “Are you seeing someone?”
I blink. Sorry, why the heck is he asking me this? Actually, I’ve known Femi for enough time to know the answer to this question. Femi is the nice guy. He’s simply asking because he wants to know whether I’m doing all right after he broke my heart three years ago. But if I tell him the truth, then what? To be honest, I’m not too bothered about how news of my terminal singleness will affect him. It’s my fragile ego that I’m concerned about.
“Yes, I am seeing someone,” I say, forcing a bright smile.
Femi looks relieved.
“Yinka, that’s fantastic. So where’s the lucky fella, eh?” He grins as he swivels around.
I purse my lips. Shit.
“Err, he’s at home,” I say finally. Best not to pick a random guy in the crowd. “He’s sick,” I say as an afterthought. “Very, very sick. Oh, not that sick,” I backtrack, reading their concerned brows. “Just, you know, man flu.”
“Aww, poor thing.” Latoya actually looks concerned. “Well, you’ll give him our love, won’t you?”
I smile and manage a shaky nod. I need to leave. Like right now.
“Anyway, it was nice seeing you,” I say at the exact moment Femi says, “So what’s his name?”
I blink. “His name . . . err, Alex. We’ve been together for, what, seven, eight, nine months. Yes, nine months sounds about right.” I swallow.
“Oh, nice.” Femi looks delighted. He must have forgotten that thing I do with my face when I lie.
“Actually, I should probably call him.” I pull out my phone and point at it. “You know, check he hasn’t died or anything.”
Femi says, “Yes, of course,” and as Latoya waves me a good-bye, he adds, “Good seeing you.”
I wish I could say the same, but I can’t, so I let out a strangled, “Hmm,” then walk away as fast as my wobbling ankles can carry me. I spot Rachel and pull her to one side.
“Femi’s here,” I hiss.
“Who?” Rachel clearly doesn’t register what I’m talking about. She’s rocking slightly and I can tell she’s a bit tipsy, as her glass is empty but she tips it back anyway.
“Femi. My ex-boyfriend, Femi.” I slap my hands to the sides of her head and rotate it.
Rachel gasps. “Shit! What the hell is he doing here?”
I fold my arms. “You tell me.” I’m aware that I sound very accusatory, but Rachel’s the host, so surely she knows who she invited. “Did you know that he was coming?” I hiss. “Did you, Rach? Did you?”
“No!” Rachel looks shocked. “Gavesh didn’t know either. He would have told me if he did.”
“Bruv! What you doing here?”
We turn our attention to see Gavesh with his hands on his head and looking just as shocked to see Femi, while Gavesh’s brother, Sanjeev, who is trailing behind, says, “You came!”
“See.” Rachel turns to me and cocks her head.
“Fine.” I glance away. “Rach, Femi’s engaged,” I croak miserably. “Like, actually engaged.”
“Shit, already?” Rachel screws her face, then mutters, “He didn’t waste no time.”
I frown. “What do you mean by that?”
Rachel blanches and covers her mouth.
“Wait. Hold up, hold up, hold up. Are you telling me that you knew that Femi had a girlfriend? You knew and you didn’t tell me? How long have you known?”
She tilts to the side, clearly drunk as she tries to count back the months. I stop her.
“How did you find out?”
At this, her answer comes quickly.
“Oh, through Instagram.”