Chapter 10
10
I’m knocked out of my thoughts by a loud whooshing sound. I spring to my feet.
‘Driver! Hold the door! Hold the door!’
Off the bus, I retrace my steps from memory, passing by a few local shops before finally reaching Anansi Books. Taking a deep breath, I prop my sunglasses on my head and step inside.
It’s as if I’ve walked into a time machine. Everything is the same – the smell, the floor-to-ceiling pine bookshelves, the giant poster of Anansi the Spider in the children’s section. Behind the till, a light-skinned, older woman with voluminous hair flashes me a warm smile. I follow the scent of freshly brewed coffee until I get to the café.
He’s there. In the left-hand corner. Sitting with his back towards me – Thank God . I take a deep, yogic inhale – you can do this – and then, pretending that I’m wearing heels and not flats, I sashay towards him.
‘Temi,’ Wale says, standing.
I pull out the chair opposite and sit down.
We will never again be on hugging terms.
Wale slowly lowers himself back to his seat.
As though we’re in court, we stare at each other; my heart breaks with every passing second as I relive our break-up again. Wale thins his lips. He looks … sorry. Annoyingly, my brain registers how much hotter he looks. His skin is still tanned and dewy despite being back in the UK for over a month now, and his beard would make even the likes of Drake proud. And how the heck can I still see his muscles through his black shirt?
I hate you , my inner voice says.
And yet, I’m here.
Wale clears his throat. ‘You look well.’
I blink at him pointedly. He’s going to have to do better than that.
He shifts. ‘I got you …’ He pushes a plastic cup towards me. I catch a whiff of the familiar scent rising from the lid.
Pistachios .
‘I wasn’t sure if you wanted something to eat—’
‘Wale, cut the crap. What the hell are you playing at?’
Wale stares at me, stunned, as if I’ve physically struck him.
‘Why am I here?’ I demand. ‘Is this some sort of sick joke to you?’
His eyes widen. ‘No, Temi. Course not. Honestly, I’m surprised you took the job.’
I suck in a sharp, irritated breath. I, too, can’t quite believe it.
‘Tems, I’m sorry.’ He puts out a flat hand in the middle of the table. On his forearm is a tattoo of a jewelled crown and the word ‘King’ scribed underneath it. The sight of it nearly pushes tears to my eyes. I used to love trailing my fingers along each letter. I steel my shoulders and drag my eyes back towards his face. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says again, ‘for how things ended. For not being honest with you. Temi, I feel so bad. We should talk. Whatever you want to say, I’m all ears.’
He goes to hold my hand and then stops himself, his eyes and expression an apology letter. For a heart-aching second, I feel myself soften, and then I harden again.
I was ready to have this conversation before we broke up. Before he made a decision about our relationship for me. Now that he has made a fool of himself on national TV, he wants to come back with his tail between his legs. Does he not know how painful it was, him leaving like that? How painful it will be for me to relive it? Back then everything was on his terms; now it will be on mine.
‘No,’ I tell him calmly.
Wale looks confused. ‘No?’
‘No,’ I repeat. ‘I do not want to talk about it. I don’t want to talk about us, not now, not in a few weeks’ time, not ever.’
Wale blinks. He looks even more confused. ‘But we’re working together—’
‘Yeah.’
‘So, what? We’re just going to pretend that we’re strangers?’
‘No, Wale. We’re going to be professional because you hired me.’
Wale chews his bottom lip as though he’s thinking very carefully about what to say next. It takes more effort than I expect to keep my eyes trained on his.
‘Okay,’ he says simply, taking a sip of his drink. ‘Whatever you say, boss.’
I reach into my bag and pull out my laptop and bottle of water. A coffee machine whirs in the background. After I log in, I open up the document Mayee sent me when she emailed me my contract.
‘I’ve read over your book proposal,’ I say, cutting straight to it. ‘The brief is a bit broad, but we can work on that. It says here that the memoir will be told through the voice of a young, attractive Black British man –’ I stop myself from rolling my eyes – ‘and how, throughout his childhood, adult life and now his appearance on TV, he has been misunderstood. Does this sound right to you?’ I glance up at him.
Wale is stroking his beard. ‘Did it really say I’m attractive?’
Now I can’t help myself; I give him the biggest eye-roll.
‘Oh, come on, Tems.’ I bristle at the use of my pet name. ‘I’m just tryna break the ice. We’re gonna be working together for six whole weeks. We don’t have to be all serious, y’know.’
‘Well, I ’ m taking this seriously. And it’s Temi,’ I fire back, grabbing the hot drink before hastily putting it down again. ‘Going back to your memoir …’ I take a sip from my bottle of water instead. ‘Do you have a structure in mind? Have you looked at any other celebrity memoirs?’
Wale pulls a grimacing face.
‘What?’
‘I hate that word,’ he says. ‘I definitely don’t want it to read like a celebrity memoir.’ He chuckles to himself. ‘It’s not like I got a long credit sheet, anyway. And I don’t want it to be in chronological order either. I want it to be relatable. Introspective.’
‘So, a reflection on your key experiences?’
Wale’s lips curve up slightly. ‘Yeah, something like that.’
‘Okay, for ease, how about we start with a simple structure? We divide your memoir into three parts – childhood, adult years and your appearance on TV – and you tell me in what ways you’ve been misunderstood, followed by your truth. We can always play around with the order later.’
‘Sounds good to me.’
‘Now –’ I open a new document and lean back in my seat – ‘what misconceptions do people have about you?’
Wale looks to one side. ‘That I like sausages,’ he says finally, and because I’m not expecting this, I snort loudly.
‘It’s true!’ he cries, laughing. ‘Okay, when have you seen me eat one before?’
Despite myself, I ponder. He normally had an omelette for breakfast anytime he stayed at mine.
‘See,’ he says after a short while. ‘Man looks like he eats sausage, innit? Wait – that came out wrong.’
I swallow my rising laugh. I forgot how funny he can be without even trying. ‘Okay, that’s good to know but it’s not exactly what I’m looking for. C’mon, expand your thinking. What labels have people put on you? This is your opportunity to set the record straight. I know. Let’s start with the easiest section first – your appearance on TV.’
Wale’s face goes serious. ‘That I’m a bad boy. An F-boy.’
A flash of déjà vu. He said this when we first met. Back then, I felt for him. But now, I feel appropriately avenged.
‘Anything else?’ I say, typing his answer.
‘That I’m cold. That I can easily detach my feelings.’
I maintain a neutral expression as scenes of the week leading up to our break-up replay like a showreel in my head. Wale, however, is telepathic.
‘You think I’m cold, don’t you?’ he says.
I focus on typing. ‘We’re not speaking about our past, remember?’ And then I tut.
‘Wassup?’
‘Nothing. It’s just that I spilled water on my laptop the other day. Keys are being temperamental. Anything else?’
Wale comes up with a list of misconceptions people have had about him during his childhood and adult years. I’m surprised at how open he’s being. I thought working with him would be like pulling teeth. Well, I guess things are different now. His reputation is on the line and since he cannot wipe all the things said about him on the internet, he wants to replace them with something else. After a few minutes, I read what we have.
‘Number three: people assume that I’m the popular kid. Number four: that I don’t have a sensitive side. Five: we’ve agreed to include something about your career. Anything else people assume about you?’
‘That I’m scared to love.’
His words suck the air out of my lungs. I stare back at him with parted lips, my heart unusually fast.
I will never forget that evening at my flat when I told him I was falling for him. He never did say it back. And even though he told me he’s a man of action and that he prefers to show someone how much he cares about them, there’s nothing quite like hearing the guy you’re head over heels for say he’s falling too. Is Wale now trying to insinuate that he loved me? If he is, it’s too late; and it didn’t look as though he was thinking of me while he was on the show.
‘Okay, I think I have enough to start with,’ I say, breaking eye contact, my mouth suddenly dry. We’ve barely scratched the surface but my brain can’t think straight.
I’m jotting down some notes to myself when Wale asks, ‘So, what’s new with you? How’s the book going?’
I avoid looking at him by typing nonsense words.
Pants . Garbage.
‘Same ol’,’ I say. I press the backspace button. ‘And how’s life as an influencer? You’re getting dragged on The Tea Lounge, you know?’
Suddenly, Wale goes from looking pretty normal to looking sullen and vulnerable. He rubs his lips and holds his drink between his palms. I feel a tinge of guilt. I could have been more sensitive.
‘My therapist advised me to stay away from the blogs.’
My brows arch up. ‘Wait, you’re doing therapy?’
Wale nods. ‘Part of the show’s aftercare. Mandatory.’ Then he gives me a boyish smile and says, ‘Serves me right for going on a reality show.’ He lets out a laugh, but I can see the hurt underneath.
I’m about to ask him whether therapy is helping, when Wale says, ‘So, what’s next?’
I regain focus. ‘Well, I’m going to need some supporting material from you. So, videos, journals, voice notes – anything that you think will be helpful for me to get in your head. I know you’re a busy man now, but we’ll also need to have regular catch-ups. And by regular, I mean like every day. It can either be in-person or over the phone.’
‘Cool, cool. No problem.’
‘Oh, and of course, I’ll need to interview a few people. The ones who know the real you. Do you have any names in mind?’
The first person who rolls off his tongue is his former manager, Kathy McGiffin, CEO of ACE.
‘She’s Mother Teresa,’ he says.
Next, he mentions his childhood friend, Fonzo. And then, Aunty Shirley and Uncle Les (Fonzo’s mum and dad). They are practically his second parents.
‘How about your family?’ I ask tentatively. ‘Your mum? Your dad? Ayo?’
I sense a discomfort from Wale as he glances away. ‘My dad wasn’t too happy with me going on the show. My mum’s got too much on her plate,’ he replies in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘Ayo’s in Australia, so finding a time would be difficult but you can try. However, I warn you. My younger brother is notoriously hard to get hold of. Too busy living his best life.’ He chuckles. ‘Obviously, you’d want to interview Kojo,’ he says, taking a sip.
My entire body stiffens.
‘If there’s time,’ I say flatly.
Wale looks at me as if to say, C ’ mon , he ’ s not that bad .
No , he ’ s worse , I want to say. One day, he’ll find out on his own.
I glance at the time – gosh, has it been an hour already? ‘Okay, I think we have enough for now. Please send me their details.’ And because I’m mindful that I need to work on Love Drive , I add, ‘I have to get going.’
I’m packing my things away when Wale says, ‘I didn’t answer your question earlier.’
‘What question?’ I ask, frowning.
‘Why you’re here,’ he says. ‘Don’t you want to know why I chose you?’
Shona’s theory comes to mind. Maybe he wants to reconnect with you? I shove it away.
‘Go on, then,’ I say with a sniff.
Wale continues to stare at me, his eyes steady and assertive. Something close to what feels like a shiver runs down my spine.
‘It was a no-brainer,’ he eventually says. ‘One, you’re talented. Two, you already know me, so that’s half the job done. Three, as much as you may think I’m a dickhead, I know you’ll give this project one hundred per cent. And I need that, that passion. Because despite what Greg said, this book is not just about me. It’s bigger than that. Temi, my dad thinks I’ve brought shame to the family.’ My heart cracks. ‘Not to mention, there’s all the shitty stuff they’ve written about me on the internet,’ he carries on bitterly. ‘You think I want my future kids to read that?’ He sighs deeply. ‘Temi, it’s hard enough being a Black man but the last thing I need is to be a stereotype. So, to put it simply, I chose you because I need you.’
The passion in his voice melts me. I can barely get my mouth to move.
He chose you because he needs you , my inner voice reprimands me. Not because he wants you . Focus on the job , Temi .
I clear my throat. ‘I’ll do my best.’ And despite myself, I add, ‘Promise.’