Chapter 37
37
I don’t know how long we’ve been lying like this. At some point our legs became intertwined, my thighs peeping out a little from under my skirt. After a few tears, Wale dabbed his wet eyes and kept telling his story.
He tells me about his experience as a carer. How Aunty Shirley would send him and his brother home with a ziplock bag of Jamaican fried dumplings, which they would have with baked beans when there was no food in the fridge. How he would work a brush through his mother’s brittle hair when it got too matted, cutting the split ends and moisturizing her scalp. He recalled how his scrawny arms gained a little muscle from going to the launderette when the washing machine broke down.
‘Kathy was a godsend.’ He discovered the charity when his dad came home with a bunch of leaflets after dropping Mum at rehab. It was the first time he came across the term ‘carer’. One day after school, he decided to pay ACE a visit. He’s never looked back.
‘We met other young carers, got vouchers for school supplies,’ Wale says. ‘Dad didn’t like the idea of us being a charity case, but at least me and my brother didn’t starve.’
‘Will he be attending the charity gala?’
‘Ayo lives abroad, remember?’
‘I meant your dad.’
There is a silence before Wale says, ‘No. We’re still not on the best of terms since I went on the show.’
I brush a light hand against his chest – a small gesture to let him know that I’m here. ‘And how’s your mum doing now?’ I ask because it would be strange not to. The question has been at the back of my mind for this whole conversation.
‘She’s doing okay, y’know. Coming up to almost five years now, completely sober. But –’ a heavy breath racks out of him – ‘the drinking has taken a toll on her health, so she’s very … fragile. Sometimes depressed.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ I whisper. ‘Wale, I don’t know what to say. You’ve been so brave. You …’ It frustrates me that I can’t put into words how highly I think of him.
‘You’ve actually seen her.’
I lift my head from his chest.
‘That day when you showed up at my football match. My mum and Ayo were there,’ he goes on. ‘That’s partly why I was acting so strangely; I wasn’t ready to introduce her to you yet.’
I lower my head back down again. I can hear his heartbeat. I wish I could recall her face. ‘Sorry for making such a massive deal about meeting each other’s parents,’ I say guiltily.
‘You didn’t know.’ He takes my hand and skims his thumb over my skin with such tender affection, warmth fills the fissures in my heart. ‘I was nervous you’d look at her and have questions about her health. I just need to get over the … shame.’
I tighten my grip.
‘She’d like you, though,’ he says more brightly.
‘Oh, yeah?’ I lift my chin.
Wale props himself up on his elbow so he can see me. ‘Course, man. How can she not. You’re kind, ambitious, beautiful.’ He lingers on the word as if I’m breathtaking. And just like that, a spell is cast – neither one of us breaks eye contact. ‘I’ve really, really missed your face,’ he says, his voice a low rasp, his eyes drunk with longing.
‘Just my face?’ I was aiming for playful but it comes out suggestive.
Suddenly, there’s a shift. Wale’s eyes flick down to my cleavage, then up to my lips. Desire roars through my veins.
Like me, he wants to reignite what we sparked in the car. We’re teetering on a tightrope, the temptation growing too much to resist.
And then he kisses me. It’s dizzying. Wale cups the back of my head, switching from gentle to urgent. I am losing my reason. Lust and relief – that’s what it feels like, as our tongues intertwine, our breath becoming one. This time we kiss with no hesitation. We’re both fully committed, we’re both in it. Wildfire.
The pressure of his tongue is setting me alight. We subside to the floor again. Wale rolls on top of me. My hands skim over his shoulder blades – his back is so strong – before slipping into the neck of his top. Every cell inside of me sings with euphoria at the touch of his smooth, warm skin. Everything about him is so familiar, and yet new.
We’re grinding now, slow, rhythmic movements, the fabric around his crotch rubbing against my pretty lace knickers (I wore them just in case). He pushes my skirt up my leg, gripping my thigh. I nearly explode.
‘God, I’ve missed you,’ I breathe out, giving in.
‘Oh, yeah? Show me.’
I shove him the other way so that I can climb on top of him.
But then, Wale says, ‘Shit!’ with alarm and zero lust.
I stop. ‘Are you okay?’
He sits up and twists his neck to look over the back of his top. And that’s when I notice the crumpled takeaway box lying on the floor right behind him. I try to hold it in, but the giggles rise up.
I’ve pushed the man into his food.
‘How bad is it?’ I ask, trying to hold it together.
Wale pulls the back of his top around to show me the mess – a pickle-green splodge with grains of couscous attached. Truthfully, it looks like baby puke.
I snort.
‘Oh, you think it’s funny, huh?’ Wale yanks off his top, and I yelp as he rubs it on my head. He’s laughing now.
I scream and push him away. ‘Do you not know how long deep-conditioning—’
He’s not bare chested but he might as well be. I stare at his inked biceps poking out of the arms of his vest.
Wale is too busy inspecting the stain on his top to see me gawking. I crawl closer but when I try to kiss him, he retreats a little.
A flash of hurt washes through me. I didn’t see that coming.
‘I wanna respect your wishes,’ he says, tucking one of my loose curls behind my ear. ‘Let’s figure out whatever this is once the memoir is done.’
‘But we don’t have to have sex,’ I say a little too quickly. ‘We can just make out. If you want?’
Wale looks me up and down, a smile coiling the corner of his lips. ‘Trust me. I won’t be the only one with my top off,’ he says. He glances around the room and stops. ‘Fancy doing shisha?’