When We Speak of Nothing

by Olumide Popoola

  Godfrey sat for a long time with all the cards. Nineteen of them. The only reason she replied was because Tunde kept bullying her, which is what it said on one of the cards.

  ‘They call me the sentimental one.’ Tunde was smiling now. ‘And wonder how my business is as successful as it is. Sentimental people don’t make money, they say; they make soppy lovers.’ He laughed, throwing his head back. ‘Well I cannot, or better, I should not, speak on that part. But we make good business partners. We are loyal. We don’t forget you. Sooner or later one big fish or another is hooked. They want someone reliable. Who cares. Either to do a good job, or about them. If there is a common interest, it turns out one can even make some good money.’

  He stood in front of Godfrey, who was still staring at Rebecca’s cards. At the photo. Both were quiet.

  Uncle T came back the next day. Karl and Godfrey together this time. Uncle T’s smile was so proud Karl had to look away. When they sat on Godfrey’s couch Godfrey studied Uncle T’s face. Open. Excited. He was fully present, facing Karl from the armchair. Karl was examining his fingernails.

  ‘Well, something to drink would be good; where are my manners. Tunde, can I get you a coffee?’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’ Never taking his eyes off the young man in front of him.

  Godfrey left and they could hear him running water in the kitchen.

  ‘I wrote to Rebecca.’ Uncle T’s voice was low. This was something between them. He had Karl’s attention.

  ‘I mean your mother.’ He took out the postcards and laid them on the table in front of Karl. Karl had heard about these from Godfrey. ‘These are her replies. She wasn’t, how do you say it? Feeling me that much, it seems.’ He wasn’t trying to be funny. Karl could see that. ‘But I was feeling you. I tried, Karl, I tried.’

  ‘Here,’ Tunde said, and brought out more than nineteen, a whole lot more, sheets of paper.

  ‘I kept my letters as well. For you.’

  Karl’s hands reached for the small bundle. ‘I knew she wasn’t giving them to you. I have copies of all of them.’

  Tunde tapped his hand on Karl’s shoulder and followed Godfrey into the kitchen. Karl stared at the paper in his lap. Picked one up.

  14 December 1994

  Dear Rebecca,

  I hope this finds you well.

  I am deeply saddened that you are not returning my calls. Adebanjo … He is not the most reliable man. I have tried to warn you. Please do not think we are the same.

  The baby must have arrived by now. Kindly send a picture. I cannot wait to meet my niece or nephew. Please allow me to visit. I understand that you will most likely not return to Nigeria but if there is only the slightest chance, allow me to be of assistance.

  I enclose $100 but will send more next month.

  How are you?

  Eagerly awaiting your reply,

  Tunde

  It was the shortest letter.

  Rebecca’s reply was on a postcard with the queen waving at crowds during a procession. She was smiling and holding her handbag in the other hand. On her head an abomination in purple. Who chose those hats?

  T.

  We’re all very fine. No assistance needed. Your money is in an account I opened here. Please let me know how to return it.

  R.

  Uncle T had written about his business. About the country. About his imagined relationship, the relationship he wanted to have with Karl. The Karl he had never met. The Karl he didn’t know of. He wrote about the time Rebecca had spent in Nigeria. About England. About what he heard in the news. But mostly he asked, always asked: how is the baby? When can we meet?

  12 September 1995

  Dear Rebecca,

  This is to inform you that I am coming to London! Kindly send your address. I will arrive on 16 October and stay …

  The next letter was posted in London. From London to London. It started with ‘Since you refused to see me …’

  It was difficult to see the writing now that Karl’s eyes were leaking. Uncle T was at the door but turned around again and complimented Godfrey, who was behind him, on an award that hung in the hallway. It was a five-a-side fun-league win from three years ago. Uncle T aahed and oohed his way through, asking details about how many teams, where did they play. Etc. Karl wiped his face and folded the letters carefully. Uncle T and Godfrey entered with cups in hand. Godfrey handed Karl a glass of Coke, surprised. Uncle T said nothing, just sat down, studying Karl in a friendly sort of way. The silence. Uncle T leaned into it. Metaphorically speaking. There was no awkwardness. It just was. You couldn’t always pick up words to flourish the unsayable. It would be a waste. Too much. Sometimes moments had to be allowed to be themselves. To breathe or not, to be bearable or not. You couldn’t always change it.

  Karl’s head was still low. Letters in hand, postcards on top.

  ‘I need to make some calls,’ Uncle T said. ‘Maybe I can meet you, both of you, for dinner later?’

  Godfrey searched for Karl’s eyes. Karl nodded, head unmoved.

  Uncle T left the next day and went back to his business dealings in Italy. Manufacturing new shea butter products. Expanding his business portfolio.

  6

  * * *

  What are false starts

  if not a warm up?

  Question is for what.

  Karl’s eyes stretched so far he could feel his lids hit the back of his head. They had talked about Karl’s father so often; why was Abu not jumping up and down now? Abu got up to close the curtains in the small room.

  ‘You staying tonight?’

  Since when did he ask? Karl was already on his folded-out mattress, trainers neatly positioned next to the wardrobe.

  ‘If it’s not too much of a problem?’ Karl was getting annoyed. What the eff?

  Abu shrugged a shoulder and opened his laptop. The tinny music got louder and louder. Tinie Tempah’s latest. Abu was singing along. Wonder wonder wonderman. Azizah popped her head in.

  ‘Mum says you should turn it down.’

  Abu didn’t respond but tapped on the keys until the music disappeared. The door closed. Karl could hear the twins running in the living room. He opened his bag, got out a pad and started scribbling. He could have fooled someone he was writing if the doodles hadn’t been that large. Too obvious.

  Abu put the laptop next to him on the bed. ‘So he wrote like, the whole time?’

  His voice sounded like it was being squeezed through a strainer. Karl turned and crossed his legs, facing Abu, who towered over him on the bed.

  ‘First more often, and in the end, once a year. Proper letters. And once he even came. Just to find me.’

  ‘That is deep man.’

  In his voice you could hear that Abu meant it. His shoulders were hanging low, his upper body hanging forward. His face was not participating in his approval. His lips started moving again. ‘What kinda person should you be …’

  Karl rolled his eyes. How many times was he going to listen to the same song? As if Abu had heard him, he changed mid-verse and opened the laptop again.

  ‘There is this new exercise thing. You can get like, major fit, six-pack and everything. Arms proper strong.’ He showed Karl a YouTube video. ‘You see that guy? Even has muscles popping on his shoulders.’

  Karl didn’t get it. Was this all they were going to say about his father? But if Abu wanted to change the subject, whatever. Abu was holding the laptop in front of him so that Karl could see. He was narrating the whole thing as if there wasn’t someone doing that in the clip anyway. Karl pulled the laptop off him, looked at the video for a minute and put the music back on but on low volume.

  ‘Afsana wants us to all go to the movies at the weekend.’

  ‘Why?’ Abu slid forward and undid his shoelaces. He kept the trainers on, holding his nose with his thumb and index finger, smiled, pointed at Karl’s socked feet and scrunched up his face.

  ‘Haha,’ Karl said. ‘Mine don’t stink. Unlike someone’s. What’s your pro
blem with Afsana?’

  ‘Have you noticed how much that girl can talk?’

  ‘Woman,’ Karl replied. ‘Look who is talking.’

  ‘It’s not the same.’ Abu wanted to smile but it didn’t come out. There wasn’t really anything wrong with Afsana. Maybe she didn’t talk too much but when she was with them there was hardly space for anyone else.

  On the weekend Afsana had to babysit so instead they met in the little green bit between the estates, her baby brother in tow. Nalini was holding on to his hand when Abu and Karl arrived.

  ‘I have him like every weekend now, and even in the week I have to pick him up. I said to my mother it’s not fair. My older sister never has to do it. She can stay at home. Maybe I want to do that, you know. Think. Chill. Do my nails. Whatever. Not always with Rahul on my arm …’

  Abu nodded and gave Karl a look. Told you.

  ‘But she’s helping with your dad, Afsana. Don’t tell me you want to stay inside taking care of the house. So not you. Just saying.’

  Nalini let go of the little hand and Rahul ran off.

  Afsana followed him with her eyes as he ran to the large tree in the middle. They stopped by the bench nearby. Afsana’s father had had a stroke last year. Her mother was working now and both Afsana and her older sister needed to help out more.

  ‘I guess. You’re right. It’s just … I mean when am I going to do my thing? Without Rahul. He’s cute and all but you can’t do the same stuff all the time.’

  Karl gave her the look. Abu called it the wrap. Better than a hug. More intention than an embrace. It was the sure announcement of a whole fucking eternity of useless going over the same thing, as far as Abu was concerned. They were going to sit down and talk the whole thing through. Eyes on Afsana. Understanding all the way. It just took a little too long. Karl had to take it to some stupid level. Always. Afsana had already said how she felt. A little aw and a tap on the shoulder would have been enough. Not for Karl.

  ‘It’s a bit cold but you want to sit here? Just for a minute?’

  So predictable. Afsana and Nalini sat down, eyes still on Rahul, who was running around the tree for the third time.

  ‘Anyone fancy Chicken Cottage? I might get something.’ Abu couldn’t hear it again. Afsana had complained about her mother and how she had to babysit all the time last month. He got it. Life was shit. But she was always exaggerating, as far as he was concerned. Most of the time Rahul was at home. But he knew better than to get involved. This was about the talking. Not the destination. It wasn’t about some solution to the problem.

  The others nodded and Karl and Nalini handed him some coins. Abu turned and walked off but Nalini’s hand held on to his sleeve. What now?

  ‘Hey, you don’t want the fiver?’ She pointed to Afsana’s hand.

  ‘Of course. Sorry.’ Now he looked like he had a problem with her.

  ‘Family bucket? Rahul needs lunch anyway. We can all eat.’

  Abu nodded and took the money from Afsana. ‘Thanks.’ He strolled out of the gated green bit to the little street. Two guys from sixth form were standing by the corner shop. Kyle and Mark. Harmless. Mark nodded and bent back over the little screen Kyle was playing with. When Abu got closer he briefly looked up.

  ‘Yu’aright?’

  ‘Not bad. New?’

  Mark looked proud although it was obvious he had not held the thing one second. ‘Nintendo 3DS.’

  ‘Cool.’

  Abu wasn’t interested in games but with Karl going all lady talk what was he supposed to do?

  ‘What game?’

  ‘Super Street Fighter.’

  Abu shook Mark’s hand and looked at the tiny screen. Kyle was all in, absorbed, didn’t even feel the chill. There was a lot going on and from behind Kyle he couldn’t really see all that much.

  ‘Wicked.’ Abu was bored but he shuffled closer.

  ‘What’re you doing anyway?’ Kyle returned to the game and Mark looked at Abu.

  ‘Going to Chicken Cottage in a minute.’

  The pair of them stood either side of Kyle now. Abu could feel something behind him, someone coughing. Mark pointed at the screen. Something amazing seemed to be happening. His legs gave a little, pushed from behind. He turned around. An older man with a Zimmer frame was stuck between the entrance to the corner shop and Abu. He had that shaking thing that made it hard for him to walk. There was a lot of sideways for every centimetre forward.

  ‘Taking over. Everywhere.’

  ‘Excuse me. Didn’t realise …’ Abu stepped out of the way.

  ‘Typical. Bloody Paki.’

  You could have missed it. The last bit. It was that low. Just a bit of breath. Pressed into form by tight lips. Not tight enough to draw attention beyond Abu. Not meant to at least.

  ‘Whatever.’ Abu was tired of it.

  Mark turned. ‘Wow, what?’

  The man didn’t take his eyes off Abu, walked off, frame tottering over the uneven pavement.

  ‘I think that’s my cue.’ Abu shrugged. ‘See you later.’

  It was busier now. The rush before the Saturday evening. King’s Cross would be full of people trying to have fun, people who did have fun, and those who had to take them home. Afterwards. But here, a few streets behind, it would die down in a couple of hours except for the occasional stray. The youngsters of the area would hang in little groups. Either in the shadow by a corner somewhere, almost invisible, in the estate entrances or at home. Abu wondered where he would be. Where should he be? Afsana and Nalini had to be home early. They would walk them home. And then what? Talk about the life Karl had waiting on the other side of the world? Just to let Abu know that he was defo not going to be part of any fun on that front? That was not just depressing, it was pointless.

  Uncle T called to let them know he was leaving Italy for Nigeria. He returned to London six weeks later. Accepted that he wasn’t meeting Rebecca. Still not meeting her, after all those years. That for some reason that was out of the question. Either way, it was about Karl now; it hadn’t been about Rebecca for a very long time.

  It was finally getting a little milder outside. Uncle T wore leather loafers that looked smooth, as if they would caress the ground. His linen trousers were black, ironed perfectly. Abu was curious and Karl jealous. How did he keep it that way? In the plane. Uncreased? Linen! The fabric seemed to fondle his legs the way the shoes touched the ground. Everything well-mannered, gentle, well placed. The man had it down. His skin looked healthy, treated with just the right product, no greasy spots.

  ‘Godfrey, I understand your concerns. Very much. I am not a father myself but I understand. I am an uncle. A family person. I understand.’

  They were sitting in Godfrey’s living room.

  ‘Metrosex-something type innit,’ Abu mumbled, out of

  Karl looked at him, nodding. ‘He’s well trim.’

  Uncle T didn’t hear them. He continued. ‘You have to come as well, Godfrey. That is the only way. We have a guest room, en suite. It would not be a—’

  ‘No!’ Karl shouted. He sat at the edge of the couch. Hadn’t moved since Godfrey had invited them to settle in, done the pleasantries thing, the ‘how was the flight’. The smiling a little more trusting towards each other, now that relationships were forming.

  Abu jerked his head around. Wtf? Bruv, what’s your problem? Godfrey was warming up to a shutting the shutters any moment now.

  And Uncle T? Smiled. Rose from the armchair that faced away from the TV. His trousers fell back into straight lines, skimming the cream loafers. He walked over to Karl, all calm, like nothing had just blown up a bit. Even if it was a mini-outburst it was so not Karl. Of course, Uncle T had no clue about that. All new to him either way, but he sensed the shock in Godfrey and Abu. Uncle T just smiled, touching Karl’s arm, looking into his eyes. Karl avoided him.

  ‘I just need to do it my way. Something for me. Just me.’ Calm again and not looking at anyone, face in high-alert mode. So devastating. The longing. Belon
ging.

  He didn’t have a choice. Godfrey. He knew that. Knew it since Karl said I’ll give you a week. He could be the hero, the one that got him, teamwork and all.

  Or he could go all authority on Karl and say no. See him disappear courtesy of the eighteenth birthday that was storming towards them in two months. Karl would just vanish, not only pounding pavements but straddling continents without any contact, without any sort of bond left.

  It was possible. He could see it in Karl’s eyes. The way they were further away than ever. The way his ears were no longer listening, as if tuned to a different station.

  Two sleepless nights later, Godfrey took the number the receptionist gave him to queue with Karl and Tunde for a visa.

  7

  * * *

  Missing is still

  a presence.

  Karl’s father, Adebanjo Balogun, lived in Port Harcourt in the week, while Uncle T was in Lagos full-time. Tunde suggested that after they became acquainted, they could both come to Lagos, so he could also get to know Karl better. Because that is what he wished, had always wished: to get to know his young relative, Rebecca’s child. Godfrey nodded absentmindedly and did his arranging, the type he did best without a giddy Karl, all shy and out of breath at the same time. Out of outbursts, out of eruptions, out of saying anything but how excited he was. Nigeria. For real.

  Abu’s mum had not been saying much. She was happy for him, but looked sad. The type of look that held back its thoughts but broke your heart trying to figure out how to rectify it.