‘Don’t you bloody touch my sister,’ someone swore. Tayo spun around and caught the next punch just as Samir arrived to intervene.
‘You bastard,’ Tayo swore, tasting blood.
‘Who said bastard? I’m gonna teach you a lesson. Just you wait!’
‘Yeah,’ Tayo shouted, ‘why don’t you ask your sister who started it?’ But by then the girl was nowhere to be seen.
‘Hey-hey-hey, what’s all this nonsense?’ shouted Tunde. Someone had switched off the music and people had begun to leave, squeezing past and muttering hurried goodbyes.
‘Time you niggers hopped back to your jungles!’ the man sneered.
‘Shut your bloody mouth. You wanna fight? Come!’ Tayo beckoned, stepping forward, but Yusuf blocked his path. The man kept shouting as others pulled him back and pushed him outside. ‘Yeah, go ahead and call the police if you like!’ Tayo jeered, pushing Tunde out of his way. ‘Look at that.’ Tayo pointed angrily to his jaw. ‘This bloody idiot just walks in and starts the fight. Let him call the police.’
‘Nobody’s calling the police,’ Tunde said, angrily picking things up. ‘Let’s tidy this mess. Party over.’
‘And what are you looking so pleased about?’ Tayo glared at Yusuf, standing in the hallway grinning.
‘You still want to marry an English girl?’ Yusuf laughed.
Tayo swore at Yusuf as he fingered the swelling on his lip and was about to swear again when he realised Yusuf had stopped grinning and was waving for him to run. The front door was open and the man was back, with friends.
‘Which one is it?’ someone shouted.
‘That’s him. Scared, are we?’ he sneered.
‘Tayo!’ Yusuf shouted, desperate this time.
‘Who’s scared of you?’ Tayo looked the man in the eye, ignoring his friends and the bottles that emerged from coat pockets. He braced himself as one of the men rushed him. A fist rammed into his stomach, taking the air from his body and he fell against someone’s foot. Yusuf and Tunde were shouting as he clasped his head and then silence.
‘What’s going on?’ Tayo gasped, opening his eyes to see men in uniform.
‘Get up,’ the policeman shouted. ‘All of you, down to the station for questioning.’
Tayo closed his eyes and winced in pain. Tunde and Yusuf were trying in vain to convince the police that this was their house, but the thugs had fled and now they were being arrested. On the way to the station, Yusuf sat silently, his body rigid with anger, while Tunde tried explaining to the police that it was not their fault. At the same time, Tayo was telling Tunde to shut up, but he wouldn’t listen, so by the time they arrived, Yusuf and Tayo were ready to fight both the police and Tunde.
‘Look, this is ridiculous!’ Tayo shouted. ‘I’m a policeman’s son and I know we have rights.’
‘What rights?’ one of the officers asked, looking bemused. ‘And no use asking for a superintendent; it’s just the four of us.’
‘We do have rights,’ Tayo insisted, trying to gesture with his hands, forgetting that they were handcuffed. ‘You can’t do this! I’m a student at Oxford and I know people who could make your life miserable.’
‘Do you now?’ the officer laughed, grabbing him by the arm and pushing him into an empty cell.
‘You racist pigs, the whole lot of you!’ Yusuf shouted. At first, Tayo was too angry to be worried about what would happen next but, as the hours passed, fear crept into his mind with the realisation that he had no control over events. Here they were, three black men locked up in separate cells. It didn’t matter what sort of families they came from, it didn’t matter that they were educated, it didn’t even matter that he studied at Oxford. Tayo stared at his empty cell, imagining various morbid scenarios and then trying to think of a solution. It would have calmed him to know that Mr. and Mrs. Winter had seen what had happened and would come to the station the following morning, but Tayo had no way of knowing this at the time.
Chapter 14
When Tayo returned to Oxford, he decided not to tell anyone about the fight in Bradford. He definitely hadn’t wanted to tell Vanessa, but she’d noticed his chipped tooth which left him little choice but to tell her something. So he’d told her that a fight had started between two drunkards and he, acting as Sir Galahad, had intervened. But Vanessa seemed to have a sixth sense, which was the only explanation Tayo could find for why she’d started nagging him so much. Sometimes it was about the way he spoke to other women; sometimes it was about his football; at other times it was his social life. She complained that they weren’t spending enough time together, yet, he wondered, if she’d really wanted to spend time with him, why hadn’t she wanted to come to this wedding? Yes, she would be coming to join him later, but that wasn’t the point. She’d also told him that his Nigerian friends made her feel excluded, but he wondered how she could possibly feel excluded in her own country.
‘Morning,’ someone said, drawing Tayo from his thoughts as he sat awaiting the arrival of the bride.
‘Good morning,’ Tayo smiled at the young woman who sat next to him in the pew.
He was about to introduce himself properly when she turned to face the altar and made a sign of the cross. She then knelt on a prayer cushion in such a way that her skirt rose above the back of her knees, revealing a shapely pair of legs. Tayo closed his eyes and listened for some moments to the organ music, thinking that maybe he ought to pray too. He looked to the altar and the sanctuary where the choirboys sat behind the lectern, looking angelic in their white robes and ruffed collars.
The church was otherwise dark and musty, until an unexpected ray of sunlight pierced the stained glass windows. Tayo smiled, thinking of the sunshine coming all the way from the groom’s home in Kano and bursting through the English clouds to make a guest appearance in Finchley, North London, for today’s service. Unfortunately, this sun was a frustrating winter one, bringing plenty of light but no heat. Tayo looked again at the woman next to him and contemplated conversation, but the organ music stopped and everyone’s eyes turned towards the back of the church. They all watched in anticipation, but the organist had not stopped to signal anything in particular and soon resumed another piece. As Tayo listened, he felt a sense of relief and awe—relief because it was not him having to take the vows, and awe at the solemnity of such occasions. He reflected that this wedding was the most surprising of any he’d attended and surmised that the bride must have fallen pregnant. This at least would explain the speed of arranging it, but there was no one to confirm his hypothesis. Tunde was not around and the only other person to ask was Yusuf himself who now stood at the front of the church smiling broadly.
Tayo stared at the groom, looking for signs of nervousness. There were no obvious indicators, but Tayo knew that beneath the smiles Yusuf was anxious. Sitting in the congregation on the bridegroom’s side were many of Yusuf’s Bradford friends and on the bride’s side were women dressed in the traditional Nigerian wedding lace. It surprised Tayo to see that Joyce had so many Nigerian guests at the wedding when he would have expected English people. A hush then fell across the congregation and everyone turned again to face the back of the church. This time the veiled bride appeared like an angel beneath the arch of the church doors.
Tayo looked again, squinting to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. The bride was black! He glanced at the service sheet and reread the names—Yusuf Abubakar and Joy Williams. Joy, not Joyce. Tayo looked around to see if anyone else was shocked, but nothing showed on people’s faces. Who was this Joy? Williams was not a typical Nigerian name, but this was less puzzling to Tayo than the fact that he couldn’t recall meeting anyone named Joy when he was in Bradford, just a few months earlier, and yet Yusuf was smiling broadly as though he’d been planning this day for years.
Vows were taken, rings exchanged, and nobody stood up to give reason or just impediment why the two should not be joined together in Holy Matrimony. And so it was that Yusuf, the ladies’ man, became a married man. The organ
started its wedding march and the happy couple walked down the aisle followed by the congregation.
Outside, people threw confetti as the church bells rang out. Tayo stood watching, amused by the cameramen who dashed about trying to capture each joyful expression, and for a moment he could have been back in Nigeria. He had missed this, the fancy ways women tied their geles, and the starchy rustle of wrappers and agbadas. He’d also missed the smiles, the loud imperious voices and perspiration. Of course, now that the sun was out, the reception would start late, but it was bound to have started late anyway. He wondered what the reception would be like, remembering the chaos of those back home where he and his brothers would compete to maneuver their way into the VIP queue. He was laughing to himself about his childhood antics when someone tapped him on the shoulder.
‘Vanessa!’
There she was, dressed in the fine lace wrapper and buba that they’d borrowed from a friend in Cowley. The pale blue material with its silver thread sparkled against her skin and drew attention to her smiling eyes. Then it dawned on him that he was in trouble. How was he going to tell her that the bride was not who he’d thought it was? And especially after all that he’d been saying about how common it was for Nigerians to marry Europeans. He wouldn’t be able to blame his mistake on the fact that he didn’t know Yusuf that well either, because Vanessa was under the impression that Yusuf was a close friend. That had been his line for being so upset over her decision to skip the service. There was no other way then but to tell Vanessa that he’d made a mistake.
‘What?’ Vanessa exclaimed.
‘I know, I can’t believe it myself. I must have misread the invitation. I thought it was Joyce, but it’s Joy. So maybe the relationship with Joyce wasn’t so serious after all.’
‘Not serious? But you said Joyce was his girlfriend!’
‘She was. But shh, please,’ he begged, aware of how close they stood to the bride’s family. ‘Come,’ he said, urging her in the direction of the church hall and the reception where they could talk with greater privacy. The band had started and men dressed in brilliant white agbadas waved them into a noisy room smelling of fried rice. Wall heaters turned to maximum and glowing orange made the hall feel too hot, even for Tayo.
‘You look beautiful,’ he whispered as they found their way to a table. He said it again, but still she didn’t answer. ‘Come,’ he said, taking Vanessa’s arm. ‘You should have seen people in church. Lots of people looked shocked when the bride arrived. We’re bound to find out what happened sooner or later.’
Vanessa still said nothing, but by now the bride and groom had arrived and people had started showering the couple with pound notes.
‘It’s a tradition,’ Tayo explained, ‘to bless the couple by placing money on them. Come, let’s make our contribution.’ He stretched his hands through the huddle of well-wishers and tucked two pound notes into Joy’s head tie that had become so laden with notes that a few fluttered to the floor.
‘Congratulations, old chap.’ Tayo patted Yusuf on the shoulder.
‘Now you’ve finally met the woman I’ve been telling you about,’ Yusuf beamed, ‘my Yoruba queen.’
What woman? But, of course, Tayo couldn’t say this in front of the bride. Instead he nodded enthusiastically and greeted the married couple.
‘It’s very odd,’ Tayo whispered to Vanessa.
‘What were you saying to the bride?’
‘I was wishing her the best from us — a happy and blessed marriage. Ire a kari o, literally translated, means, may the blessings of this joyful occasion be spread among your still unmarried friends.’ Pleased, he slipped his hand beneath the tablecloth and tried running his fingers down Vanessa’s skirt, but she stopped him with an angry movement. ‘Okay,’ he relented, surprised by her reaction, but others were joining their table so nothing more was said.
Food was served — jollof, amala, goat stew, egusi, and many more dishes that Vanessa would normally have asked Tayo about, but now she had her back turned, chatting to others. He did the same and then later pretended to be listening to the speeches. He’d expected her to be surprised by the new bride and maybe a little cross with him for making the mistake, but not angry; not this angry.
‘What’s wrong, Vanessa?’ he whispered, trying to cajole her out of her silence, but she wouldn’t be drawn so that when the orations eventually ended, and the dancing began, Tayo didn’t bother to ask her to join him. He didn’t feel like dancing on his own, but he would be dammed if he was just going to sit there and not at least appear to be enjoying the music. A part of him considered asking the pretty woman who had sat next to him in church, but he couldn’t. No matter how annoyed he was with Vanessa, he would never do something like that.
He moved closer to Vanessa and let his arms swing loosely as he sang along to the words of Sunny Ade, but even this did not bring a smile to her face. She wasn’t even looking at him. Suddenly, there was a loud crash from the far end of the room. A woman was flinging plates off a table and Tayo’s heart sank when he looked over and saw Joyce lurching towards the newlyweds. The band stopped playing.
‘You bastard! Bastard!’ Joyce screamed, flailing her arms as others attempted to restrain her. For a few minutes everyone stood still, in shock, until someone led her out of the hall.
‘Na drink, drink,’ people muttered, but they knew it was not simply drink.
Vanessa and Tayo shared a stuffy railway carriage back to Oxford, just the two of them — he sitting on one side, and she on the other — silent. He tried to start a conversation by joking about Nigerian weddings and the drama that came with them, but Vanessa wouldn’t be moved.
‘And that crazy woman,’ Tayo added, in a final attempt to coax Vanessa into talking. Really, he felt sorry for Joyce and ashamed of the way he had avoided her, but he couldn’t have risked anything more going wrong in front of Vanessa. Things were bad enough already. ‘Vanessa, you’ve been silent all afternoon; surely it’s not just because of the wedding?’
‘I’m fine,’ she answered coldly.
‘No, you’re not. I know you’re not.’
‘Yes, I am.’
Tayo watched as she continued to stare out of the window, occasionally combing her hair with her fingers.
‘Of course something’s wrong.’
‘Well, why don’t you tell me then, Tayo?’ she said, turning to glare at him.
‘Tell you what?’
‘Tell me why you lied.’
‘Lied?’
‘Well, let’s start with Christine, shall we?’
‘Christine?’
‘Yes, Christine. Your old lover, the one you were supposed to be related to. Remember? I’m not stupid, Tayo. Charlie told me a long time ago that you two were lovers, but I never believed him and now it’s so bloody obvious. You and all your bloody Nigerian friends just use white women, don’t you?’
‘And you choose to listen to Charlie? Are you in love with him or something?’
‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, stop trying to turn this into something else. Do you really think I couldn’t work out who that poor woman was? You use us and then dump us for black women when you want to get married.’
‘Well, you obviously don’t understand me or my culture.’
‘Oh, so it’s culture again, is it? Bloody culture!’ she shouted. ‘What a nice little excuse. And what do you call me dressing up like this in your Nigerian costume? Don’t you think I’m trying to adjust, to show you that I can fit in?’
‘Is that supposed to impress me?’ he said, ignoring the fact it had. ‘And it’s not a costume, it’s our national dress.’
‘Fine. National dress. Attire. Call it whatever the hell you want. Happy now? Ready to tell me the truth? Or is this also cultural? Perhaps you don’t call it lying in your culture.’
‘You think that’s funny?’
‘No, as a matter-of-fact, I don’t think lying is funny.’
‘Vanessa, how many times do I have to tell you that I do
n’t know what happened between Yusuf and Joyce. I really didn’t know her well and perhaps this marriage was arranged and…’
‘And you?’ she cut him short. ‘What happened between you and Christine?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Nothing! How the hell can you say that?’
‘For goodness’ sake, Vanessa, the woman’s dead. Can’t you show some respect, for once? And all this swearing!’
‘Show some respect! What’s that supposed to mean? You lied to me, Tayo! You told me you were related to her. Why don’t you try a little respect?’
‘Vanessa, someone’s going to stop the train because you’re shouting.’
‘Let them! I don’t care.’ Tears were now streaming down her face.
‘Vanessa, please don’t cry. I’m sorry. Please don’t cry.’ He moved to sit next to her and tried to hug her but she wouldn’t let him. ‘I love you, Vanessa.’ He waited for her to grow calmer and then tried again to draw close to her. ‘Moremi,’ he whispered, blowing at the little bits of confetti that refused to be dislodged from her hair.
‘No!’ She burst into tears again. ‘Don’t “Moremi” me. Stop bloody trying to turn me into a Nigerian.’
‘Fine!’ He said, this time letting go before she had time to push him away. ‘Forget this,’ he shouted. He stood up, walked out and slammed the carriage door behind him.
Chapter 15
The following week, Tayo tried patching things up, but the arguments persisted. He assumed that the pressure of study was partly to blame for the friction between them, which was why he looked forward to the holidays. Maybe then they could sort things out. But just as term was ending, Vanessa changed her mind. ‘I think we should spend Christmas apart,’ she said and, even though she said it without conviction, Tayo wasn’t in the mood for discussion. If time apart was needed, so be it. He was tired of arguing and, on top of that, did not wish to reveal their problems to the Barkers. But because the Barkers had been expecting both he and Vanessa to house-sit while they holidayed in Tuscany, he was obliged to say something to Mr. Barker, who then took it upon himself to suggest that Tayo be more patient and a little more sensitive when it came to women. Tayo listened out of respect, but on this occasion did not find the advice helpful.
In Dependence Page 9
