Chapter 9
9
It’s the following day, and I’m en route to meet with Wale. Ironically, we’re meeting at Anansi Books, the place where we first bumped into one another. As the bus crawls towards Camberwell Green, everyone else’s life continues as normal.
Acidic gloop bubbles in my stomach as I realize I only have three stops to go, so I take out my phone and put it on selfie mode. Thankfully, the sweltering heat hasn’t ruined my make-up (my red lippy still looks fresh) and, unlike last time, my hair is a proper twist-out. Today, I’ve gone for Giselle: boss-bitch, oversized sunglasses (I’m wearing contacts underneath) and a black ruffle playsuit to match.
Fiddling with my gold, chunky necklace, I try to regulate my breathing. The magnitude of my decision is beginning to dawn on me. For more than a month, I will be working with Wale. If I’m hyperventilating now, heaven knows how I’ll survive the next few weeks. And how will I juggle ghostwriting alongside working on my second book? I really didn’t think this through. My mind begins to churn …
Four months ago … April
‘Do you really think this is a good idea?’ I ask Shona as we clamber out of the Uber.
It’s a Friday evening and we’re on the way to a house party; the sky is still bright. I can hear the bass of a Kaytranada beat in the near distance, muffled slightly by the sounds of people having a good time. Now that we’re here, I feel even more nauseous. I’m tempted to get back in the car.
‘Well, technically, we were invited,’ Shona reminds me, linking her arm into mine. Coincidentally, we are both wearing green, except I have on a shirt dress while she’s wearing a crop top and jeans.
‘Yeah, but that was before everything blew up.’ The events from yesterday rush back. ‘He was so pissed off, Shona. He still is.’
It all started when we went out bowling last Friday. At the till, Wale had pulled out his card to pay, as per usual.
‘I’m sorry, sir, but the payment hasn’t gone through,’ said the till assistant.
Thinking he had merely entered his pin wrong, I said, ‘Your account has insufficient funds,’ in a robotic Siri voice.
Wale tried again.
The till assistant shook his head.
‘What? You serious? That’s strange. I just got paid. Hold on, lemme try swiping my card.’
Conscious of the line forming behind us, I rummaged for my purse. ‘Babe, don’t worry. I got it.’ But Wale had already swiped his card down the machine.
Card declined.
After I covered the bill, we were assigned to a bowling alley. En route, Wale apologized profusely and swore he’d pay me back.
‘Stop saying sorry. It’s cool,’ I told him with a light chuckle. ‘Besides, you pay for so much and I’m happy to cover it. I know you want to be a gentleman and all, but I do have a job.’
When we reached our alley, I tapped on the screen to set up the game. Wale remained glued to his phone.
‘What the—’ he said suddenly. He glanced up like a deer caught in headlights. ‘They haven’t paid me, y’know.’
I joined him on the bench and put my hand on his shoulder. ‘You okay?’ I kissed his cheek. He leaned into me, putting a hand on my lower back. ‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘I’m sure it will come through before midnight. C’mon. Let’s play.’
I don’t recall Wale being too hung up about what happened at the till. In fact, he beat my arse at bowling … roundly and without grace. Anytime he got a strike, he would do an Afrobeat dance or crouch into a Usain Bolt pose. He also took great pleasure in showing me how to bowl – pressing up behind me and holding the curve of my waist as he guided my swinging arm. He would nibble my ear and blow on my neck to distract me, which descended into some giggly kissing on the hard seats. Thank goodness the lanes were emptying out. But then, once the session ended, he fell quiet.
‘You sure you’re all right?’ I asked again as we headed towards the exit. I hoped he wasn’t still upset about what had happened at the till.
‘Yeah, yeah. Just feeling mad tired, that’s all. Mind if we give dinner a miss?’
The following day, Wale was still acting off. And the day after that. And the day after that. When I called him, his tone didn’t sound right but he said he was fine. Five days later, he made a transfer to my account. At last , he got paid , I thought. We can go back to normal . But when I called him later that evening, it still felt strange between us – uncomfortable when we were normally so easy with each other.
I became paranoid. I was unable to get the truth out of him so I had no choice but to take matters into my own hands. I couldn’t show up at his house. Wale felt as though it was too soon for the whole meet-the-parents thing, even though we had been together for nearly six months. I was disappointed; I couldn’t wait to introduce him to mine. But Wale reassured me that it had nothing to do with me. He didn’t have a close relationship with his parents. And as someone who has a great relationship with my mum and dad, I could understand why he was hesitant, why the thought of meeting each other’s parents made him feel uneasy. It was a massive step he didn’t want to be rushed into taking.
And since going to his house was out of the question, I decided to rock up at his football game. He played every Thursday at Burgess Park.
The match was already in full swing: blues against reds, a soggy pitch, a mud-stained ball. Wale, in his usual T-shirt and shorts, was running into position.
‘Go, Wale! Woo!’ I cheered as I made my way towards the pitch.
He glanced in my direction, doing a double-take. Then, with a less-than-enthused expression, he ran over.
‘What you doing here?’ he hissed, guiding me a few feet away. His tone threw me – it was cold. Harsh, even. It wasn’t the first time I’d watched him play. Why did he react like that?
‘I’ve actually come to check in on you,’ I replied.
He threw a glance over his shoulder. Opposite us, a young Black man linking arms with a frail, older woman was staring. For a fleeting second I wondered whether he was embarrassed – none of the other players’ girlfriends were here. But he had introduced me to all of his teammates before; they knew me.
One hollered at him from the pitch.
Wale yelled back, ‘One sec!’ He looked painfully un comfortable and my patience was starting to thin. Enough was enough.
‘Why have you been so off with me lately?’
‘Temi, I’m in the middle of a game—’
‘And I’m your girlfriend,’ I countered. ‘Why are you being so – so weird? Are you angry with me?’
He pursed his lips, mute.
‘I knew it – you are pissed off. Look, Wale, I’m sorry. It was only a joke. A bad one—’
‘A joke? What you chatting about?’
I glanced down and nibbled my lip. ‘When your card got declined,’ I began tentatively, ‘I said, “Your account has insufficient funds,” in one of those stupid AI voices. That was really lame of me – and people were behind us.’
‘Oh, yeah,’ he scoffed. ‘That was kinda lame. But that’s not why I’m pissed off—’
‘What, then?!’ I was so frustrated my voice hitched up an octave.
Wale swivelled his head to the young man and older woman again. But I didn’t care who was watching; I wanted answers.
When he turned back, his face was drawn, his jaw square. It was as though he could no longer recognize the person standing right in front of him, and that hurt. After all, it was only last Monday when he told me he was working late, and I ordered him a large barbecue chicken pizza – his favourite. He told me that I was thoughtful, that he appreciated me, that I would win the award for the best girlfriend ever. And now he was looking at me as if I was a complete stranger.
My throat stung as he peered at me intensely, his eyes unwavering, as if by just staring long enough he could coax a confession.
‘Don’t you have something you wanna tell me?’ he finally said.
I lost it.
‘Wale, I’m not going to stand here and play mind games with you, so you might as well just open your damn mouth and tell me.’
His expression didn’t flicker one bit, but there was something about the way his head drew back a little that made me regret my choice of words instantly.
‘C’mon, Wale! We need you!’ a teammate called out.
He looked over before dragging his gaze back to me.
‘I need to go,’ he said brusquely, and with that, he ran back to the pitch, leaving me standing there alone.
Over the next few hours, I obsessively replayed our bowling date in my head. Besides the stupid joke, I couldn’t come up with anything I had done to hurt him, and when I tried calling him, I kept getting his voicemail. I felt helpless, desperate, but at the same time, I was majorly pissed off. How could I apologize for something I didn’t even know I’d done?
And that was how both Shona and I ended up here – inside a bass-filled semi-detached house on Clapham Common. Going by Fonzo’s Insta Stories, they’re definitely around somewhere.
Shona grabs my hand and leads me down the hallway packed with clammy bodies. The place reeks of alcohol and sweat. We poke our heads into each room: in one, people are dancing and chilling; in another, there’s a mountain of jackets and bags on a bed. We head upstairs, my mind running through so many possible scenarios that I’m no longer thinking in complete sentences. Shona’s walking so fast we nearly pass the door.
‘He’s there!’ I whisper loudly, tugging her back. I can hear Kojo speaking on the other side of the wall. He’s telling Wale to stop sulking, that they should go downstairs and chat to some girls – of course he is.
My fingers twitch in Shona’s hand. I’m so angry I don’t know what to do.
‘He’s still with Temi,’ Fonzo says sternly.
I hear a tut.
‘Did you not hear him?’ It’s Kojo again. ‘The man said, “He’s done”.’
Done? My mouth falls open, my chest tight. What does he mean by done? My twitch turns into a violent tremble. Shona squeezes my hand.
‘Wale. Talk to her,’ Fonzo is now saying. ‘Who knows? Maybe you jumped to conclusions.’
Conclusions about what? Suddenly, my heart is jumping out of my chest.
Kojo kisses his teeth. ‘What’s there to talk about? He gave her a chance to say the truth and she blew it. Well, good thing you didn’t drop out of The Villa , innit.’
Shona and I turn to each other, eyes wide. She pulls free from my grasp and enters the room. I have no choice but to follow her.
‘What the fuck?!’ Shona walks right up to Wale but I hang back by the doorway.
Our appearance takes Wale by surprise and he sits bolt upright at the foot of the bed.
Kojo smirks. ‘Y’right, Temi?’ He gives me a slow nod.
‘Wale, is it true?’ I ask, my voice breaking. ‘You’re still signed up for the show?’
Two men playing FIFA look over their shoulders before returning to the game.
I wait – the bass of the music reverberates under my feet. Wale can barely meet my gaze. My stomach drops with ice-cold certainty and suddenly I can’t bear to be here any more, in this loud, anonymous party.
Tears building, I run down the corridor towards the stairs. Wale and Shona are calling my name. Somehow, Wale manages to overtake me and he stretches his arms out and blocks the end of the stairwell, his face the picture of fear. This is too much – I can’t believe he wants to do this here, of all places.
‘Move!’ Shona takes my hand.
‘Please, Temi. Let me explain.’ His words tumble out, fast. ‘I swear on my life, I was gonna drop out—’
‘What? When? When you were on the damn show?!’ I cry.
Our loud exchange has caused the music to stop. People are openly staring. A few begin to raise their phones, unashamedly recording us. But I’m too heated to care.
‘How can you pick a stupid dating show over me?!’
This gets a reaction from the crowd: chuckles, mutterings, more raised phones. Wale pleads with me again. ‘Please, Temi. Let’s talk outside.’ Oh, now he wants a private conversation?
The gravel on the driveway crunches under my sandals as Shona and I power walk away from the house. Wale is jogging to keep up, Fonzo in tow.
‘Please, Temi,’ he says.
My head is scorching hot; I feel as though it’s about to explode.
‘There’s nothing to explain,’ Shona says in a scathing tone over her shoulder.
I desperately want to get away from him but I also need answers. I tell Shona to give us a minute and Fonzo guides her to the other side of the road. Wale and I are standing just a short distance from the house so the loud music will make it difficult for anyone to overhear us. This is about as private as it will get.
‘You lied to me!’ I nearly spit at him, I’m so mad.
My heart feels like it’s been ripped out of my chest, and yet it is Wale who stands in front of me looking crestfallen and broken. Anguish and guilt ripple across his face.
‘Well, go on, then. What do you have to say for yourself?’
‘I was going to drop out—’
‘Yeah, you’ve said that already. But you told me that weeks ago. Why didn’t you actually do it?’
Wale’s silence is loud; his eyes flick to the ground and then past my ear. ‘I was waiting,’ he says finally, so low I can barely catch it.
‘Waiting for what?’
Wale peers up at the sky, blows air out of his cheeks, then glances back at me again. ‘I just …’ he grunts, ‘I just wanted to see if this thing we have is real. If I could trust you.’
A mirthless laugh escapes me. I feel unhinged. ‘You were waiting to see whether you could trust me? Wow, what is this now? A test?’
Wale doesn’t say anything. ‘Are you sure there’s nothing you wanna tell—’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Wale! I’m not doing this again!’
He pushes out his lips and nods slowly as though to say, Cool. And then, looking me dead in the eyes, he says, ‘Why didn’t you tell me Seth got in touch?’
Suddenly, everything falls into place and breaks into pieces at the same time. His words knock the air out of my chest. As though I’m reading it from a teleprompter, I recall Seth’s message:
Seth:
So sorry, can we do six instead? Looking forward to seeing you next Monday! X
So, this is what he was angry about.
A few months into our relationship, I opened up to Wale about my ex, hoping he would then open up about his. But in the end, it turned into a therapy session; me spilling my guts into Wale’s chest as I curled into him on my sofa. I told him how stupid I felt for secretly dating Seth for as long as I did, and how guilt-ridden I still feel sometimes for not standing up to him and his parents on that day. Wale was perfect. He told me not to beat myself up, that I was so young when it happened, and at least I would never have to see Seth again.
But I did.
A few weeks ago, I bumped into Seth at Waitrose.
I stare back at Wale, speechless. Wale is spiking his brows up as if to say, So?
‘I can explain.’ I wince at my lame choice of words, a bubble of panic rising up. Then something hits me. ‘Wait, how did you—’
‘ Know? ’ he finishes. ‘No, I didn’t go through your phone if that’s what you’re thinking. Last Friday, when we went bowling, remember when you told me to take your picture? Well, his message flashed up then. I believe the two of you had made plans to meet, no?’
‘It’s not what you think.’ Oh, for flip sake. Not again. ‘It was a professional meeting. To discuss a job opportunity.’
Wale says, ‘Job opportunity,’ as if to say, Sure .
‘And I didn’t even go!’ I cry in a desperate attempt to redeem myself. ‘I cancelled the meeting. That’s why I didn’t bother telling you.’
Yes, initially, I was torn on whether or not to meet up with Seth, but after talking it through with Shona, I had decided that the ‘opportunity’ wasn’t something I could comfortably sacrifice my integrity for. So, in the end, I cancelled and told him to delete my number.
The text message! Of course!
I rummage for my phone. ‘Look –’ I tap the screen – ‘I even have the text to prove it.’ But I’m in such a hurry, I type the wrong pin twice.
‘You were dishonest, Temi.’
I stare up at him. The gall.
‘And you weren’t?’
Wale cuts his eyes as he glances away. ‘Well,’ he says with a sniff, ‘maybe we’re just bad for each other.’
My heart thuds. ‘What do you mean?’
Wale can barely look at me. The pause before he speaks feels life-threatening. ‘I’m not sure how we can come back from this, Temi. I don’t trust you.’
For a good week after our break-up, I cried and cried; could barely eat the takeaway that Shona would bring over. In bed, I tossed and turned, and in the morning, I’d wake up feeling like death.
Then the anger came. I felt like a defendant thrown into prison without receiving a fair trial. I didn’t know how to cope, to live , with this all-consuming, raw emotion.
Until, one night, I woke up, jolted by a crystal-clear thought. Heart hammering, I grabbed my laptop and opened a new document, my fingers fizzing. Without second guessing myself at all, I typed the title:
The Ultimate Paybac k
By Temiloluwa Ojo
From that day on, I channelled my anger into writing.