Mama Abu wasn’t on the decision-making team, not this time around, because she was against it. Not just the dangers, or yes, the dangers, all of them. And she didn’t mean the foreign-travel advice. She was talking emotions, the sensitive shit Karl processed behind his beautiful face. And there was more.
‘Rebecca …’ then she stopped. Picked up something the twins had left in the kitchen and put it on the counter. Busied herself with something or the other, although she had finished the cooking and the tidying up before Godfrey had come. Karl couldn’t see her. They were waiting for her to continue. She turned around and looked at Godfrey, her hands touching each other. No words. None at all. Godfrey moved around on his chair, uncomfortable. Unsure, all of a sudden.
‘I know. We should tell her.’ His fingers tangled in and out of each other. ‘I know.’ There was a defeated tone there. ‘But stress is so bad for her. The doctor says it all the time. It triggers relapses.’ It was meant to be convincing.
Mama Abu kept her eyes on him, eyebrows raised so slightly you wouldn’t have noticed it if not for the clear message in her stare. Everything was in that look. The it doesn’t make any sense. Like this, you don’t build any trust. At all.
Instead Godfrey and Tunde resolved some details. Karl was to fly back with Uncle T and the father would be there, at the other end.
That evening Karl heard his father’s voice for the first time.
‘Excuse me? Could you repeat that, please?’
And his father’s puzzled laugh pushed nervously through the phone. Puzzled because this youngster was a surprise to him. Had fallen into his life like the hail did in June. Completely random.
‘How are you? Karl.’
‘I’m fine.’ Karl’s words tripped over each other as if he was wearing someone else’s too-small, two-of-the-same-side, trainers. All awkward and not at all smooth.
‘We look forward to welcoming you here in Nigeria.’
‘Thank you. I look forward too.’ And was quiet.
What should you say? That it was, like, so exciting and amazing? But that you were shitting your pants just that little bit? Or just go with the polite angle and wait for the father to make a move?
The father’s voice was deeper than Uncle T’s. A bit strained, a bit faint, as if he was speaking through cotton wool. But with an echo. Courtesy of the connection.
There was time, two weeks, as Uncle T continued on his journey to the south of Europe. Business again – ‘I’m doing this trip a lot lately’ – before returning for Karl, to take him to Nigeria.
Karl was staying at Abu’s again. Rebecca was ‘struggling’, as they all called it. Karl preferred to keep away. Give her space. To deal. Like himself, she had her own support groups. Sometimes she went once a week when the depression was starting. Often she wouldn’t continue them. Just kept to herself. Took the space that everyone gave her. Except Mama Abu, who would drop by and check on her. The staying in touch. Connected. Then she caught another infection and was back in hospital. Second time this year.
Her cheeks were flushed when Karl walked in. Her eyes opened, like a curtain drawn back. Her room was cramped. A woman with busy wounds – oozing stuff, like real heavy-smelling, thick stuff that coloured the bandages in a burnt toast manner – next to her had moaned all night, Rebecca told him. There was a catheter attached to his mother’s right arm.
‘They say only a couple of days, not serious this time.’
Karl didn’t look. Like he didn’t look anywhere.
‘How is the pain?’
‘Not that bad really. It’s mainly just the infection.’
He nodded, head bobbing up and down.
‘How is college? And Abu?’
He straightened her small side table, the awkward aluminium nightstand on rollers, and walked to the sink with the flowers his aunt had brought in the morning. Aunt Sarah had come down from Sheffield, which was rare these days. Karl would have come earlier to catch her, but her husband had come along this time. And things never ended well when Piers was there.
Karl topped up the water in the vase although it needed none of that. There was that smile, hitting him like the cold water. Hurting inside as much as it filled every bloody bit of him with mushiness. Tenderness, you know that one. Rebecca’s smile. The all will be well. The longing for it.
‘Mum, I’ll be away for a couple of weeks. Godfrey and me thought it would be good for me to go on this programme-like thing. Get some perspective on where I want to be with my life, you know. I have been saying my head is all over the place.’
‘He didn’t tell me about it.’
‘We didn’t want to worr y you. Horizon-expanding. A workshop for kids like me.’
‘With college?’
‘Not exactly.’
‘With the support group?’
‘No.’
‘Then what is it? I’m not sure I can give my consent like that. I need more details.’
‘No need to worry, really, trust me. Just some time away, sort of learning by doing experience. I’ll be back in no time. Give you a chance to recover. It’s been a very bad year.’
‘Yes, I guess it has.’
She wasn’t finished. Hadn’t finished protesting the way Karl took independence to a new level. But things have a way of unfolding at the worst moment. Creases folded over her face, contracting the skin as she pulled close all the muscles in a sudden jolt. When it came, that sharpness, the razor-like precision that carved her muscles, her mind blanked. White light switched on in her brain, a high-pitched humming sound. Karl rushed over. His gangly self swayed slightly as he stood helpless next to her bed. She smiled like a rare alien. Same way he felt. Rare. Everything pulled tight.
8
* * *
And the seeing …
It is always more.
More than the obvious.
Nalini pulled on Karl’s T-shirt. He turned around just as Miss Martin started writing on the whiteboard at the front, his shoulders raised. Nalini moved her head back, pointing to the table behind her and slipped him the folded piece of paper.
So we ain’t good enuf for u now
Miss Martin was going on about social media, its rise in the past few years, and how it had changed communication. Talk about trying to get a captive audience, capture the mood of the time. Karl swivelled around, looking straight at Abu, a text already on the way.
Thot u hated this class
What u on about
Piece of paper … really? U from the stone age or sumthin
‘Karl, anything you’d like to add?’
He had forgotten to turn around again, his head red now, sending messages of being caught into the stuffy classroom instead of firing rapid texts at Abu.
‘No, sorry, miss.’
Abu’s hand shot up.
‘Miss.’
You could see the pleasant surprise. Miss Martin came a step closer, encouraging. ‘Yes, Abubakar?’
‘The way I understand it miss, is that we used to spend more time together, innit. And now we ain’t even in the same place any more. So although it’s called social media it’s, like, social but not really, cause we are leaving each other …’
He pulled his legs, which were sprawled out underneath the table, up and straightened his posture.
‘… alone.’
Karl’s mouth opened and something tumbled out. A laugh, a cough, difficult to tell. His head turned from red to purple, his eyes staring out of the window, arms folded.
Miss Martin took up the point – and what a good one it was indeed – and a heated debate started. Afsana said she loved, like totally loved bbm and texting but to be her real friend you also had to show up in person.
A dark-haired one countered, ‘But I feel like you can be freer, really say what you mean. I’m not embarrassed when I send a message. And also, that way there is always someone.’
Some nodding, some mumbling, probably to make some other point but not up for joining the discussion in a too
obvious way.
Nalini said she also liked to hang out in real life.
‘That way I can really tell my friends what’s going on. Can’t really do that messaging. I don’t know if they’re really paying attention.’
Abu nodded. Just his point. That girl had a thing or two going for her. Not just cute she was. If only Afsana wasn’t always taking up all the space.
Leicester, who was sitting close to the window that overlooked the inner yard of the college, started. That should be interesting.
‘Don’t really matter.’
‘How do you mean, Leicester?’
‘You can hide on social media or you can pretend to be someone else in real life. It doesn’t matter.’
‘Care to elaborate?’ Miss Mar tin was back near the whiteboard. Looked like she wanted to hold on to something.
‘If you’re a faker then you’re a faker.’
‘And what is a faker, in your opinion?’
Miss Martin’s eyes focused on the traffic light she could see from the window. Five more minutes. Dangerously long if someone was up for stirring up some shit. Not long enough to have a sensible discussion.
‘Nowadays everything is allowed, right. You don’t have to say who you really are. Not in school, not on Facebook, not anywhere. Same as social media, if you ask me. Not real. Fake.’
Another one from his gang stood up, leaned forward and slapped him on his shoulder. A couple of others egged him on.
‘Go on Leicester, break it down.’
Four minutes left. Miss Martin went to her desk and put her bag on the table. Picked up the papers that were on top and carefully placed them inside the bag. ‘I hope you don’t forget to be respectful. With your commentary.’
Leicester looked around the room, smirking. ‘Respect is when you don’t tamper with nature.’
Karl’s slender limbs looked like they were imploding, making themselves scarce. And invisible. Someone in need of disappearance, as in now this sec. Abu was ignoring the whole thing and had started zooming in on his hands, finger by finger, like there was some secret he had missed so far.
‘Shut up, Leicester.’ Nalini looked like she would burn him. Her eyes were smoking.
Afsana rallied behind her. ‘No one wants to know about your issues.’
‘That’s right.’ Two of their friends at the table next to Nalini spoke at the same time. Leicester’s friends jumped up. A row of them, in the middle of the room. One of them, one side of the head shaved with a little cut (the barber must’ve slipped), almost shouted.
‘Freedom of speech, innit, Miss Martin. He can say what he wants. He’s not swearing, he’s not calling names. It’s just his opinion. For the debate.’
Miss Martin looked around the room. Nalini and Afsana’s supporters sat back down but eyes were on her. Expectant. Nalini raised her hand.
‘Miss, can we do this another day? There is no time now. I have a feeling, correct me if I’m wrong’ – she looked at Leicester – ‘this is not really about social media.’
‘Thanks Nalini. You’re right. We’ll leave it for today. All of you consider what you want to contribute to the discussion. Remember, we’re talking about the effects of social media on our society, and your generation in particular.’
The bell rang. She stepped out, bag under her arm as soon as the sound finished. Behind her the air was thick; you could have made bricks out of it.
Mark, who hadn’t said anything during the class, rushed past Karl.
‘Sorry Karl.’
There was some laughter. Some embarrassed silence. Some complaining. Pairs and little groups ready to debrief. Another one of those. The discussions. It seemed it had got better lately.
Karl stomped out, almost running, all the way out of the building. Abu followed but made no eye contact and went left once they were outside college.
‘Karl, wait.’ Nalini and Afsana caught up with him. ‘What’s up with Abu?’
They turned around, and caught the last of his red sweater turning into a small side street at the far end.
‘Ask him.’
The air had followed Karl but the heaviness went mush now. He wiped over his eyes. Afsana looked the other way, polite like that. No words. Nalini just stood still and felt him, like in giving him some space. It was a moment. Then the noise from the gate bubbled closer and when they looked back, the wannabes, with Leicester at the front, were coming up behind them, shouting and laughing, spreading out over the width of the pavement.
‘Ignore them.’ Nalini pulled Karl by his hand. Afsana skipped in front of them.
‘Are you both also like, so tired of them? OMG I could like die, for real, that’s how tired I am.’
She walked backwards while watching them. The gap was closing.
‘Where is your spokesman? Didn’t have anything to say for yourself in class, did you?’
‘Oh, you got something to say again Nalini?’ Leicester was cocking his head.
Nalini was warming up. They had been here before, facing each other, about other things. She was ready to let him know a few of her thoughts.
‘Leave it.’ Karl let go of Nalini’s hand. ‘It’s not worth it, Nalini. If they want to get me, let them.’
‘They ain’t even going to do anything. Not while we’re here,’ Nalini replied.
He was turning into the street where the estate Abu lived in lined up nicely with the other buildings. It was quiet here, just resident traffic, and not many cars at that. You could hear the big junction, King’s Cross, heaving away a couple of streets down. But here you were in the shadow. Not all that clear.
The group caught up with them. One grabbed Karl’s bag.
‘You can try but it ain’t the real thing.’
Karl didn’t seem scared. His eyes glazed over and he disappeared. Lashes all cute and curved. Didn’t look like a dream, but he was far away, that was for sure.
‘Where’s your Abu? Finally left you? I might ask him to join us, now that he has seen sense.’
‘Yeah right.’ Karl pulled his bag back and focused his dreamy eyes on the other side of the street. ‘I see you later. Thanks you two.’
When he arrived at Abu’s, Abu wasn’t there. Mama Abu was playing with the twins so Karl went into in the kitchen. Abu’s father was standing by the window, looking over to the other estate.
‘Good day at college, Karl?’
‘Not really.’
Baba Abu was a serious-looking man. Kind eyes but tired face that made it look sad, always looking at you slightly too long. You’d get all shifty. There was too much seeing there, too much space. Space you couldn’t hide in.
‘You know, I never thought I’d end up here.’
‘I thought you were born here.’
‘I was. I mean here. In a little council flat where you can see your neighbours doing all sorts of things.’
Karl followed his hand. One floor down, in the corner apartment opposite a young man was doing a headstand. It was impressive; completely straight line. Except, he wasn’t wearing any clothes. There were two others behind him. Naked as well.
‘Last week they still had on swimming trunks. It’s obviously getting too warm. Or this is the advanced class.’
‘It is obvious, to me at least, that this is far from advanced.’ Baba Abu’s eyes didn’t move. The two behind the man kept falling back down.
This time the tears were from laughter. Karl blew his nose.
Baba Abu turned around. ‘At your age people are not always very understanding.’
Karl shrugged and sat down.
‘I’m not even sure if patience will help so I’m not going to advise you to be patient.’ He sat down at the table. Karl got up and stood by the door.
‘Sit with me.’
Karl sat back down. It was hard. This staying. In the moment. Here, now. His legs were typing Morse code on the kitchen floor, if you could still talk of Morse code.
‘I have no idea what it means, how to do it.’
‘What?’ Karl’s bopping stopped for a split sec.
‘Being alive, being a man.’
That was the thing with Abu’s dad. Too deep for a mid-week afternoon but Karl fell for it each time. So many questions. Good ones. Sometimes just asking was enough.
‘In a way there is no sense to it. Everyone does it the way they think is right. For some it involves inversions without clothes on. Now are we going to get into a state just because their private parts are hanging the wrong way? Or are we going to let them get on with it and focus on our own lives?’
They were sitting next to each other, staring at the window. From the table they couldn’t see the naked headstand class. That was the thing with views. It depended on the angle.
‘All I can advise you is to get on with your own life. Everything else is not doing yourself a favour.’
Karl nodded. Yes, it was sound. The advice. And he had heard it before. Minus the naked blokes opposite of course.
‘One thing I think you do need to do is talk to your mother. Going off like that … I don’t think that is the right decision.’
And the nervousness returned.
‘You are not good at that. Addressing the things that need addressing.’
Everyone knew it but it was rare that Karl sat through a whole laying it on the table.
‘Sometimes in life it doesn’t matter if you’re good at it or not. You just have to do it.’
The older man raised his arms, the palms facing away from his body and folded over, his head following. It was meant to be the start to a headstand. They both laughed. Then it got all sober again. Proper.
‘I don’t agree with Godfrey, Karl. She deserves to be talked to. Confide in her. Your mother …’ He was waiting for Karl to look at him. Karl’s eyes only passed his, couldn’t settle to exchange anything. Baba Abu lifted himself slightly. ‘There is no need to make this a secret. You are disappointed with her, I understand that. But this is your chance to talk.’
When We Speak of Nothing Page 5
