She smiled. “Yes, we are.” Spreading the smile to wave goodbye to a now peeved Taiwo, who marched out of the house with a bag bearing bowls of baked sugar.
“Then I’ll see you at 6.30pm,” he said, “have a good one, and don’t forget to send your address.”
“I won’t.” She followed Taiwo’s car as it reversed out of the compound, and made to shut the door when she noticed the gates remained wide open.
Read MoreMisan looked at his image again. “Not enough. That’s why I am googling him.” Her eyes darted below to the written content. “Born 1962. Three children, three boys: Eric, Daniel, Arthur. Spouse: Estelle Monn, 1988-2012. What does that mean? Divorced or deceased?” Her eyes swerved upwards. “This hasn’t been updated in a while.”
Read MoreFew things stopped Misan in her tracks; her offspring were smack at the top of that list. Her eyes narrowed. She thought she recognised all, well almost all, her children’s friends. At the least, the regulars who trooped endlessly in and out of the house before schools re-opened last year. One mulatto stood out among her son’s; it certainly wasn’t this youngster before her. Daniel seemed older and well-built than this lanky teen. “Do I know you, young man?” She leaned forward on the counter, shifting her weight from one leg to another; she’d have to sit down soon.
Read MoreHis eyes bored into her all the way to the exit; she felt the imaginary holes crating in her back. Once at the door, she sneaked a peek.
Read More“Honey!” A sultry voice, smooth like melted butter, intruded from the doorway.
For a moment, Misan stared at the owner of the voice edging into the room.
Read MoreKind eyes, strangely flecked grey, in a heavily bearded face and unsmiling mouth, looked her over with faint concern. “Are you all right?” A monolith of a man. A little over 6 ft. The colour of the setting sun. Long arms peeking out of a grey sleeveless t-shirt soaked around the neck, chest and shoulders.
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