I scoff and shake my head, looking up at the ceiling. “There you go justifying her behavior.”
“No, I’m not!” Rachel says. “There’s just . . . more to the story than you know. Anyway, shall we try and find Nana—”
“Wait a minute.” I frown. “What do you mean there’s more to the story?” I search Rachel’s face, but she glances away. “Rachel, if there’s something you’re not telling me—”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Yinka. Just let it go.”
“No! Ola’s my cousin too. Surely, I have the right to know if she’s going through stuff. Oh, no. Is it to do with the kids?”
“No.”
“Then what is it then?”
“Argh, for flip’s sake!” Rachel stomps and heaves a loud breath. “If I tell you, yeah, you have to promise me you won’t say anything to anyone. Not Nana. Not Kemi.”
My heart rate goes up. “I swear. I promise, I won’t.”
Rachel looks over her shoulder, then lowers her voice, “It’s to do with Jon. Ola found something out.”
* * *
—
I blink at Rachel, stunned. Wow, I wasn’t expecting that at all.
“And she’s still angry at Jon? But it was ages ago! It happened in the past. And he clearly loves her. He’s the father of her kids, for God’s sake.”
Rachel sighs. “She can’t get over it, Yinka. She feels really insecure.”
Everything begins to make sense—Ola’s outburst at the baby shower, even her negative attitude toward Alex. And with Aunty Debbie patronizing her, I can’t imagine she’s feeling really good about herself right now.
“So now you know why she’s being so touchy. But you cannot tell her. She would kill me.”
I place my hand on Rachel’s elbow. “I promise”—I look her square in the eye—“I won’t say anything.”
“Sorry to keep you waiting.”
Rachel and I turn around.
Nana is strolling toward us, Frank by her side.
“Frank wanted to show me the audio room,” she says. “I hope you weren’t waiting long.”
“No, not at all,” Rachel and I say at the same time. We seem to be nodding a lot.
Nana greets Rachel with a hug and thanks her for coming.
“I love this space,” Rachel says. “Yinka and I were just saying that you should go for it.”
“Yeah,” I say, nodding . . . still nodding. “By the way, you’re kicking our arses with your bridesmaid’s goal.”
“Did I tell you that I have a model casting next week?” Nana grins.
“Okay, now you’re just showing off.” Rachel cocks her head and I laugh. “How about you?” Rachel nudges my forearm. “How’s things going with Alex, huh?” And playfully, she says, “Are you boyfriend and girlfriend yet?”
I chuckle. “Not yet, but wait until he sees me with my new weave hairstyle on Sunday.”
Nana and Rachel’s reactions are like night and day.
“You’re getting a weave!” Rachel’s voice is so loud. “Well, look at you!” She nudges me again.
“So that’s why you bought a weave the other day?” Nana narrows her eyes.
“Oh, I was just joking.” Nearly landed myself in hot water there. “Anyhoo, going back to your question, Rach. Alex gave me his Instagram today.”
“Ooh, let’s see his pics.” Rachel rubs her hands.
“Sadly, we can’t right now. His profile is private. I’m still waiting for him to accept my follow request, but let me check again.” I fish out my phone and unlock it. “Wait, hang on.”
I blink. Right at the top of my screen, I have an Instagram alert: Alex has accepted my request to follow him.
“Oh! He’s online! Oh! He’s just followed me back.”
Nana and Rachel rush to my side and peer over my shoulder. Suddenly, I get a new notification. Then another. And another.
“Damn, girl,” Rachel cries. “He’s liking all your pictures.”
I can’t believe it. OMG. He’s liked a photo of me and the girls at Zizzi’s. Then one of me and Nana at Hyde Park. Hey, he’s even liked the photo that Nana took of me recently at the Caribbean takeaway shop.
“Um, sorry to interrupt.”
Rachel, Nana and I look up.
Frank is scratching his head. “Is there anything else I can help with or will that be all?”
Weave in
SATURDAY
Samsung Memo cancel
38 squats—ouch!
Lunch: The most perfect pounded yam with Nana’s cassava leaf soup
“So, how does it feel to get your first weave?” says Aunty Blessing, her hands behind me, resting on my shoulders.
We’re in her living room, and she’s on the sofa while I’m on the floor in between her legs. The sixteen-inch weave I bought is sprawled across my lap. I can’t stop stroking it. It’s so silky.
“I’m excited,” I admit. “Although my bum’s getting pins and needles.”
“Want to take a break?”
“No, no, I’m fine.”
So far, Aunty Blessing has cornrowed the Kanekalon braiding hair with my natural hair. The cornrow starts from the nape of my neck and goes round and round until it eventually stops in the middle where she has sewn down its braided ponytail. Now she’s moving on to do the exciting part. With a needle and thread, she’s going to sew the wefts of the weave onto the cornrow. I’ve only watched people have this done before, so I’m hoping she doesn’t prick my scalp or sew the hair into my head.
“What made you want to get a weave?” she asks, handing me the needle and thread along with a pair of scissors. “I haven’t had one since I grew out my perm and went natural twenty years ago.”
“I dunno. I just . . . fancied a change, I suppose.” I embark on the challenge of threading the needle. It takes me three, no four, actually, five attempts. I pull down the thread until it reaches several inches before snipping the end and handing it to her.
“Ooh, before I forget.” She takes the threaded needle over my shoulder. “Your friend Nana called me this afternoon. We had a good chat.”
“Nana called you?” Instinctively, I turn my head, and Aunty Blessing promptly turns me back.
“She had a few questions about setting up a business.”
“Oh, yeah, I forgot I gave her your number. Were you able to help her?”
“We talked about bookkeeping and tax returns, you know, the sort of things she would need to do as a business owner. She admitted it went over her head, though—bless her—so she’s going to pop by tomorrow.”
“Amazing. Thank you, Aunty. I know she’ll really appreciate it.”
I try my best to keep my head still as Aunty Blessing sews the weave onto the back of my head. Huh, whaddaya know? It’s not at all painful.
“Did she mention she needs sponsorship?”
“Indeed,” Aunty Blessing says in a sing-song voice. “I’m going to reach out to a few of my contacts. Some of them like to invest in start-up businesses. I’m sure in exchange for a bit of brand promotion, they’ll be quite generous; at least, I hope. I’m also going to make a contribution.”
“Oh, really, Aunty?” I try to swerve my head and feel a tug as though I’m attached to a resistance band. “That’s so nice of you.”
“Of course I’ll chip in. Bend your head down a little. Not too much. That’s fine—oh, and how did the interview on Thursday go?”
“Okay, we’re going to have to stop for a moment so I can show you.”
Aunty Blessing stops sewing. “Uh-oh.”
I fetch my phone, which has fallen in between my thighs. I open the e-mail and hand it to her.
“?‘Dear Yinka,’?” she says. I turn around fully to see her reaction. “?‘Thank you for taking the time to meet with me yesterday to discuss your interest in working at Oscar Larsson. I was very impressed with your skill set,’ blah-blah-blah. ‘With this said’?”—she’s grinning now—“?‘we’re interested in discussing your experience further’—Come on, now!— ‘and we would like to invite you for a second interview on Monday fifteenth February at ten thirty a.m.’ Yess!”
Holding up her hand, she says, “That’s my niece.”
And I feel like such a kid as I give her a high-five.
“Have you told your mum yet?” She hands me my phone back. “She’ll be so relieved. And what did she say about your redundancy in the end?”
I scooch back to my original position, looking away from her. “Understandably, she was upset,” I say, closing my eyes.