CHAPTER NINE
Mark got a one-bedroom apartment which had a separate bedroom, the kitchen, and the sitting con dining area. A balcony faced off to the city and made for a beautiful view.
Samantha took time off work to help him move. It took all four days, Mark's former caretaker and friend with his wife, Mark's siblings- Deborah and Goodluck including Samantha and himself to move his things and clean up the new apartment.
He refused to let her buy anything for him despite her insistence to purchase furniture for the sitting room. His friend and siblings convinced him to let her buy the furniture as a gift from a friend, and he relented, tempted to thank her in a way he shouldn't even contemplate.
They spent the first day painting and the second to clean out the old apartment and clean up the new one. Seeing Samantha in an apron and a feather duster brought to mind certain thoughts that shouldn't be. It was not easy for him to focus on much of the work as he couldn't look away from her. She made cleaning seem like fun. It was the one time he wasn't much in control of his feelings around her and embarrassingly, his friend had been forced to nudge him to get a move on because he'd stopped working and was engrossed in watching her.
The second day, they paused working and sat on the freshly scrubbed floor and ate rice and catfish pepper soup which his friend's wife brought for them. Afterwards, they continued moving furniture and other items into the house.
The truck arrived with dark green furniture including a brand-new set of kitchen fixtures, a beautiful gleaming wooden dinette set and dishes.
He felt a fist clamp over his chest. With every single thing she did, she couldn't know how much more drawn to her even her laughter made him.
During the period he set up and moved into his new home, he got to spend more time with her. As if by mutual agreement, others always seemed to disappear, leaving only both of them alone. She'd ask him questions about his childhood, and he'd tell her all the troubles he caused, climbing their neighbor's mango tree and almost falling off in a bid to hide when the owner unexpectedly arrived earlier than he'd anticipated.
He told her about his parents, how they ensured he finished secondary school before his mother's salary became too meager to pay for his West Africa Examination Council (WAEC).
Although she talked about herself, it was mostly herself as an adult. She did mention she had a friend who never failed to get them both into trouble in his attempt to keep her out of the sea of depression.
Their friendship grew as time went by. They would chat after work and tell each other about their day. If he felt anything more than friendship, she didn't know, but he would be glad to find out he wasn't the only one having extra feelings for the other.
There were times they'd go out for lunch between work hours, and he'd catch her watching him with a wishful expression on her face. He always said something funny to avoid the awkward silence sure to follow had he chosen to act on the look on her face.
Sometimes, she called to ask for his opinion on a hypothetical case, and he was thrilled she would take his thoughts into consideration.
A few times, they'd go see a movie with his brother and sister, never alone. Sometimes, he watched her hide a giggle when the character was being naughty. He cherished every single second they spent together, whether alone or in the company of his siblings. If he thought there was a chance it could be different between them- just a man and a woman, no social status in-between, he would have asked her out. And remembering the reason he could not do that only made him want it more.
Could he survive watching her fall in love with another man?
∞ ∞ ∞
Samantha could not believe Gracie. After paying fifty thousand naira for her chief bridesmaid dress, accessories not included she suddenly wanted to change the colors for her wedding?
She stood far away from Gracie to breathe properly, watching as her friend freaked out over the wedding ensemble, she'd chosen just last week. Her friend had guffawed and talked non-stop about the dress just last week when she paid and now, it's suddenly too ugly? What was Gracie's problem?
She told herself Gracie was suffering from bridal nerves but changing a fifty-thousand-naira dress to a hundred and twenty thousand naira one was just too much. Samantha was rich, very rich, but she was not stupid. A dress worth a hundred and twenty is only worth the amount on paper. It won't be written on the dress.
If Gracie was vain enough to want to compete with an actress for wedding of the year, that was her problem. Dragging her bridesmaids' dresses into that fight for fame was not just bridal nerves but plain stupid.
For the next six hours, they entered five bridal shops, looking yet again for the perfect, most expensive wedding dress for her friend. Each time she thought they finally found the one, Gracie suddenly remembered another shop that had the dress and so, Samantha had simply followed.
She texted Mark to explain the situation. He replied that he was very busy but would send a rescue party, with several smiley faces. It relieved her to laugh and for the rest of the shopping spree, she had held onto his promise to cook her dinner himself. With Deborah's help, of course.
Mark wasn't a very good cook. That was the only imperfect thing about him but to her, it made him undeniably male in her eyes.
She counted to a hundred and back several times, praying that Gracie would get tired with all the fittings, but she was not. At the end of the day, she had been too exhausted to argue over the bridesmaid dresses promising to pay for all six ladies instead. At least, Gracie has been considerate enough to let the dresses for the bridesmaids remain at fifty thousand naira each.
Samantha had paid for the new bridesmaid dress, including the newly selected ones for the other five, still reeling at the fact that Gracie has made her spend that much.
When she finally met Mark and his sister later that evening, she had eaten every last bite of the food given to her, then curled up on the sofa to sleep. Mark offered to drive her home, and she asked him to take her car back to his house instead of calling a cab.
She understood him not wanting her to spend the night at his house. Even though they were just friends and did not want to take the relationship further, they were still a man and woman and Deborah have gone back to school after helping him cook, which meant they were alone in his house. That, Samantha thought would have been a night they both would have regretted.
Watching him out of the corner of her eyes, Samantha pretended to be engrossed in the meal she was preparing. She was glad that his sister was chattering beside her, and she knew she had to stop thinking of the brother. But now and then, her eyes strayed to him, so deep in concentration he was hammering nails into the cabinet with his brother, Goodluck that he would never guess she was watching.
But that wasn't true because a few times, shed caught him watching her too, and shed forced a smile to ease the quivers in her stomach. Her heart, she couldn't seem to do the same. The flips she felt each time her gaze met his was just a testimony that her heart was being disobedient.
She let her attention focus on the meal she was cooking. This was her first time to cook for a male that wasn't related to her. She wasn't a terrific cook, but she wasn't bad either. She could handle a meal just as well as any responsible woman, although her major talents didn't include cooking. It was just that not only were there a lot of people waiting for the food to be ready but that she didn't want to make any mistakes because of Mark in particular.
∞ ∞ ∞
“... older brother doesn't like much pepper in his food.” Deborah was frowning at her.
Samantha shook her head to clear it. She had been too caught up in her thoughts she hadn't realized shed poured in all the pepper in the dish.
“Oh.” She said as she quickly scooped a spoonful of the contents back into the plate. “Sorry, my mind wandered a little.”
Takes the dish and covers it in one corner, “You've been doing that a lot around my brother.”
Caught off-guard, she stopped stirring the pot and looked at Deborah. “You've noticed?”
Deborah smiled, “He has too, if he's not dumb. And I know my brother is not.” She said convincingly.
Self-consciously, Samantha's gaze shifted to the pot. Of all things to do! He'd been watching her a lot, and she wasn't a fool not to have noticed. It also meant he'd been noticing her reactions around him.
So much for hiding her feelings!
She stirred the pot a last time and covered it, muttering under her breath that she needed to use the bathroom and excused herself. She had no idea how long shed be in the bathroom, but she didn't plan to come out until shed cleared her head.
Mark watched her go. He wanted to follow her but he restrained. It wasn't in his place to chase her each time she excused herself and hurried out of a room. As a grown man, he ought to have some equilibrium and order as to what he felt. With her, he didn't seem able to do that.
He put down the hammer and dusted his hands, told his younger brother he'd be back and called to his sister who was watching the boiling pot like a mother hen. She hesitated and glanced at the pot.
“I mean, now.”
He wasn't authoritative but at times when his feelings clouded his judgement, he tended to scare his siblings. His brother glanced up at him, looking puzzled. Deborah shuffled out of the kitchen while he followed behind with heavy strides.
One thing he didn't want was his siblings scaring off Samantha. If his heart didn't seem to co-operate, he still had much common sense to respect her. He respected his friendship with her too much to tolerate his siblings’ interference.
Out to the balcony. He said a little harshly. She glanced at him nervously and opened the door, stepping out onto the balcony. He followed and closed the door behind him. She held unto the railing as if for dear life, and he almost swore, then biting his lips, stared at the city laid out prettily before him. For one thing, he was most grateful for the house he'd got for free for six months. It afforded him enough time to put his life in order with the new position he'd been given at work. Of course, he owed it all to her.
Deborah looked uncertainly at him, “Brother, I'm sorry.”
He glanced at her as if seeing her for the first time. He had not meant to scare her. His face softened, “What did you say to her?”
Looks guiltily out to the city, “Nothing really, brother. I just told her she always looks nervous especially when you're around.”
He eyed her. He knew his sister never lied, but he didn't believe her. And that's it?' He asked pointedly.
She looked at him and shook her head guiltily. “No, brother. I told her you've noticed it too, and she said she needed to use the bathroom.”
He sighed. He shouldn't expect his sister to advertise him, but he wished she hadn't said anything to Samantha. Theirs was a friendship under patches. They were just trying to get comfortable with each other.
Grabbing at the rails, he gazed out to the city. “We’re just friends, Deborah. Just friends. Don't ever talk to her about anything like that, about both of us.”
She placed her hand on his. He glanced down at the hand. “She likes you, brother.”
“I know.”
“Then marry her, brother.”
He pulled his hand out of her grasp and pushed back, chuckling shakily. “It doesn't work that way, Deborah. A man has to be established before thinking of marriage. Besides, she is wealthy. Very wealthy.”
Of which, that was the major reason he couldn't imagine himself winning her hand. He'd wondered what would have happened had they finally gone through with that contract shed suggested.
Sympathetically, she sighed, “If you know her at all, then you should know she wouldn’t use that against you.”
He smiled, a crooked one. “I know. It's not as easy as you think; marriage. It’s a commitment for life. You don't get into because you like someone. It takes patience,”
“Which you have, brother.”
He chuckled nervously, “And sacrifice,”
“If anyone can define that, it’s you.”
He smiled down at his sister “It's different, okay? A man like me doesn't just go around proposing to a woman like her. It’s just that way.”
She pouted, “It's unfair.”
He took her in a tender hug, “It's unfair, yes. But its reality.”
She wrapped both hands around him, “Maybe when you have enough money you can marry her, yes?” Gazing up at him hopefully.
He laughed, hugging her more tightly, “Maybe.”
Maybe indeed. He knew she wouldn't mind, but he also knew she was too good and kindhearted for her own good. If he were to ask her to marry him now, shed do it and it would be out of pity. He couldn't subject her to that simply because he could not stop thinking about her.
Deborah suddenly pulled out of his hug, her eyes bright, a mirror of her smile, he muttered an “Uh-uh” right before she went nuts.
“I can share my bed with someone in the hostel and I will cut down on all my expenses at school. I'll also look for a babysitting job so it doesn't clash with my timetable. I'll tell Goodluck to stop asking for money too, he can take care of himself anyway.” She grabbed both his hands, her eyes alight with excitement “You can be able to save enough money and become rich quickly so you can marry her.”
He wished it was that simple. He had never seen his sister this thrilled about an idea.
Taking her both hands in his, he smiled but his tone was serious. “No, Deborah. You will not get a bed mate. Why, that bed is too small for you.”
She opened her mouth to protest.
“No, you are not getting a job either and do not say anything to Goodluck.”
Her face fell, and he took her into a hug. “It's not as simple as you think, Debbie.” His eyes closed. “It's just not that simple.”
∞ ∞ ∞
Something was not right. She sensed it the moment she entered the kitchen. The stove was switched off and her assistant was nowhere in sight. Neither was Mark. Only Goodluck was gathering the debris of the work they'd done.
She opened the pot and heaved a sigh of relief, switching back on the stove. How could she have been so careless, leaving her stove on as she left her food still cooking? She hadn't expected Deborah to check the pot of course but at least an eye out would have been nice.
Watching Goodluck as he cleaned the work place spotless of dirt, she smiled. They were so alike. Goodluck could as well be Mark at a younger age; from the strong chin to the neat haircut. It was obvious he worked out although she would not say the same about his brother whom she doubted wasted precious time doing exercise. He also looked fit enough even underneath his clothing.
What was she doing after telling herself she wouldn't think of him that way anymore? It was something she planned to do consciously for her one sanity.
“Where did Deborah go?” She asked more to stop the troubling thoughts. She'd already suspected both brother and sister might have gone out.
“Out, I think.” Goodluck replied as he arranged the tools in a cabinet and shut it noiselessly. “Both of them stepped out a couple of minutes ago.”
She nodded. That he'd noticed she didn't mention his brother was obvious enough. They were supposed to be just friends. Why couldn't she always remember that?
“Did she turn off the stove?”
“I did.” He said in a self-conscious tone. “I wasn't sure when either of you would be back, so, …” He shrugged and looked down at his feet.
She liked him already. It was just like Mark would respond. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she said softly, “Thank you.”
Nodding, he started to leave. She didn't realize when she called him to stay. He hesitated, glanced at his feet, then the door just a foot away.
“Please.”
After what passed for a heartbeat, he walked back to stand at the extreme end of the kitchen leaning against the counter. She smiled at him and he looked away nervously. It was easier for Deborah to be around her than for the men, it seemed, she never understood why Mark still seemed self-conscious around her.
“We haven't officially met yet, you and I.”
He chuckled nervously. At least he was responding.
“Deborah tells me you're in your final year.”
He smiled, looking down at his feet nervously. He nodded his response.
What was it about these two brothers around her? She could understand Goodluck was not used to her or maybe being around a female but Marks was different. She really wanted to get to know them and did not wish to make them, especially Mark, feel intimidated by her success.
Instead, decided to try another tact. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
Nervously, he laughed, “Not exactly,” She prompted with her brows “No, I don't.” Shaking his head.
She smiled. “It is rare these days to see a young man who doesn't have a girlfriend.”
“Mark doesn't.” Immediately, he bit his lip, his jaw set. “I'm sorry. I wasn't supposed to say that.”
She smiled some more. She had been trying not to think about that but now that she had her answer, she was more than glad to have her doubts put away.
“It's okay.” She said, “I already know that.” She didn't know when she said it out loud.
Turning to her pot, she chewed her lower lip, reprimanding herself, picked the spoon, opened the pot and stirred. She needed to keep her emotions in check before she said something she didn't plan to.
Wanting to encourage him to stay some more, she turned enough to say, “since my assistant is not here, perhaps you could step in for her?”
He glanced at the door and seemed to debate for a second, then nodded. “Okay.” Coming towards her.
She smiled. At least it was progress. “Hand me the largest bowl, please.” She said, pointing to the covered bowl within his reach.
He did. And so, they worked keeping the conversation at a neutral level which seemed to encourage him.
∞ ∞ ∞
There was no small stir at the office when he arrived. A typical racket was going on; two politicians were at each other’s neck; one was shouting at the top of his voice, heaping curses and was being restrained by several people, while the other was surprisingly calm except for the wrinkles and stains on his shirt.
Mark glanced at his former boss, the Chief Judge, who simply took his bag from him and slipped past the ruckus unnoticed. He knew. When it came to politics, keep your hands away, as a lawyer. If you value your job.
He entered his office, being made an admin officer, it afforded him his own office and a chance to practice law as well. A double blessing.
Somehow, he found himself standing at the door to his office, unable to go in and ignore what appeared to be a major disagreement between party members. It had to be that it was because the scene was taking place in front of his office, he told himself. It was perfectly rational that he'd want to know what was going on.
Esther, from finance was standing at the other side close to the staircase, watching with some other ladies, and filming the scene, no doubt to upload on social media later or sell to the press. He found out she was a greedy money-loving person the first day he met her.
He told himself he was not avoiding her. He knew that was a fat lie. If she'd pressed her advantage over him when he was but a secretary, what would stop her now, when he was a boss himself?
They'd send him a secretary, he'd been told. He wished they would let him choose one himself. He certainly didn’t need Esther’s kind working with him.
The office was empty, he noted. The other two persons who shared the large room demarcated to make for three cubicle office had yet to report in. Shaking his head, he put down his bag and plugged in his laptop to charge.
Drawn back to the scene outside, he paused at the entrance, noting that the crowd was thinning. Some people led the first man away, his voice still throwing curses and insults over his shoulders. Everyone went back to minding their businesses.
A young man picked up what appeared to be parts of a mobile phone and handed it to the other man, whose frown mirrored the wrinkles on his clothing. Politics, he thought, was simply too dirty a business.
The young man glanced over at Mark, smiled a greeting and walked away, leaving an embarrassed, ruffled older man to fend for himself. Instinct told him to close the door and go start work. After all, it was none of his business. Whatever had been the cause of the fight certainly did not concern him.
But that wasn't true, watching the man try miserably to smooth out the rumples. He was human after all.
Taking pity on the man he recognized as Senator ThankGod, the representative of Akwa Ibom state constituency, he offered whatever assistant he could.
Clearing his throat, the senator looked up at him as if seeing him for the first time, Perhaps, um, stuttering, he tried again. “I think there may be something inside to help, um, put you in a presentable form.”
Senator ThankGod looked past him into the office, not that he could see much as Mark was blocking the view in, not able to bring himself to open the door too wide to attract attention.
He seemed to debate for a moment, glanced about, then seem to have decided. Nodding, he looked about again at the now empty balcony. Mark stepped aside to let him in, closing the door more out of habit than to distract attention.
“The bathroom is the door to your right.” Almost facing his office, he thought. But he liked it that way. It almost felt like a private room for him alone. And he got to use it as often as he liked without brows being raised by his colleagues.
Leaving door open, as the Senator entered into the bathroom, he took the phone that was only in parts and sat down at his desk. By the time the senator came out looking more put together, Mark already had assembled the phone and powered it back on. The screen was cracked and the phone could use a new case, he mused, as scratches ran along the back, obviously from when it fell and legs kicked at it. People need to keep their temper in check, he thought. Especially in public environments.
The senator stood uncertainly at the door to his cubicle. That makes two of us, Mark wondered to himself. For the most part, his shirt was better and the stains gone.
Almost clumsily, he handed the phone back, and seeing it back on, the senator seemed to sigh in relief.
“Thank you.” He said softly.
Mark nodded, now feeling sorry for the man. He turned to stare at his office and made a small prayer of thanks that it was neat.
'Please, have a seat,” He heard himself say before the thought even formed, “... just to get your bearings before you leave.”
“I’m going to be the talk on social media this week, isn’t it?” Senator ThankGod sighed, looking dejected.
He doesn’t look the kind to be out fighting in public, Mark thought. But it’s not usually written on the face, either. Yet, he felt a deep-sated need to help.
Mark sighed. It seems Esther would finally get her wish. He would have to take her out and pay her to delete that video. He prayed he wouldn’t regret that decision when she decides to jump him for more money subsequently.
“Excuse me a second.” Mark left the Senator looking forlorn. I shouldn’t regret this, he muttered to himself even as he made his way to the HR office. She saw him and closed the door in his face. He opened and saw that it was empty, her colleagues hadn’t yet resumed.
“What do you want?” She asked in her meanest voice.
Esther was a fifty-something year old woman, whether single or married, one could never tell because she made herself very much available for everything and taking bribes had become her alias. Her looks had dwindled but she refused to acknowledge that the days of her youth were behind her, hence she competes with the younger women in the office in everything.
“I want that video deleted.”
She scoffed at him. “For how much?”
I better not regret this, he muttered to himself yet again. “5k,”
She raised her head and eyed him to the ground. But he had not finished his sentence.
“And the file you’ve been hounding me for.”
Her eyes perked up just as he knew they would. Oh boy! This better be the right thing to do, Lord, he thought.
She pulled out a sheet of A4 and scribbled on it, passing it to him with a huge smile. He accepted the paper, then looked at her. “You delete it the second I send this money.”
Her smile was calculated but genuine. She tapped at the screen and dropped it on the table face up. He could see the delete button below the video feed. At least she knew he wasn’t going to play her.
Mark quickly opened his bank mobile app and sent the five thousand naira, her phone registering the credit alert instantly.
Her eyes widened and she deleted the video, passing him the phone for confirmation.
“Tomorrow.” He told her. “A delivery person will bring it to your house. I don’t want it traced to me.”
“I’ll send you my address.”
When he returned to his office, the Senator was hovering by the door and moved aside to let him through.
“I spoke with the person that filmed it. She has deleted it.”
Relief flooded the man’s face as he sat on the chair in front of him. A gratified sigh escaped from the man's lips as he sat on the chair in front of him. Relieved and apprehensive at the same time, Mark went round his desk and sat down, seeing the man relax a bit.
“What's your name?” The senator asked.
Mark found himself smiling. And relaxed. “Mark Grinder.”
The man’s brows shot up. “Two foreign names, just you.”
Smiling, Mark was relieved not to have to relate the origin of his surname. “My parents fault, sorry.”
He saw the mouth curve in a smile. “On the contrary, it suits you.”
Possibly, if he were a white person, he would have blushed; a crimson one at that. He managed to smile shyly.
“Thank you, sir. It’s the first compliment I've received for my name.”
Humbled, the senator smiled warmly, encouraging. “Are you a lawyer, or you just work here like others?” He asked, waving at the office.
He opened his mouth to say the latter but ended up saying instead, “I'm a lawyer by profession.”
There was something akin to respect in the older man’s eyes. Maybe he imagined it, Mark told himself as the senator got up abruptly.
“Thank you very much, Mark Grinder.” Taking Marks hand in an amazingly agile grasp. He removed a wallet from his pocket and gave Mark a card. His card. With his home phone number on it. 'Call me. Anytime. For anything.'
Mark merely nodded, too stunned to speak.
“Well, goodbye, Mark Grinder.”
It was just that he was tired, he deceived himself. He simply couldn't believe what had just happened. But by God, he needed ...