Web of Lies (7 page)

The solid gray brick houses in Errol’s road looked bigger than those in Aunt Gracie and Uncle Roy’s road, but some had peeling woodwork and a few had front gardens with pieces of broken furniture and other junk scattered among the shrubs. Even from the corner, the air vibrated with a heavy bass line pulsing out from a house halfway down the road. Femi felt a spring in his step, striding along with James and the gang. The morning had been successful. With Dave, Jarrett, and Gul, he had collected a batch of new CD cases from two different record shops. His stomach had still been knotted, but his head had been much clearer than last time. Today he had been able to predict each move. He also told himself that he didn’t need to be so worried. After all, they were only taking empty plastic cases.

It was a warm day and the door to Errol’s house was
open, letting the music surge out. Two small boys were chasing each other between the entrance and the pavement. When they spotted James, they came tumbling up to him. He ruffled their hair and pretended to spar with both of them at the same time. They looked like twins. They danced around James, laughing as if he was their captive, not allowing him to enter the house. However, as soon as Errol appeared at the door, they pulled back and dashed away to the pavement.

Errol showed none of the tension Femi had seen earlier that week. From his shades to his shoes, once again he was dressed in black. This time there was a matching silver stripe down the side of his jacket and trousers and diagonal silver stripes on his shoes. Each time Femi had seen him, Errol was wearing different clothes. His den at the garage was shabby, but he always took pride in how he looked. He wasn’t wearing a cap today, and the zigzag of tiny plaits reminded Femi of what Sade had called him.
Lizard Eyes.
But why did she pick on his eyes? You could hardly see them behind the slender dark glasses. Surely it was his hair that was like the amazing pattern of a lizard skin!

They followed Errol into the hallway, with the music pounding down the stairs, and into the sitting room. Errol pointed to a cream leather sofa and armchairs. As Femi perched next to Dave and Jarrett on the settee, his eyes sneaked around the room. It was smart. The television looked almost twice as big as the one Papa rented. A neat silver stereo system sat on fancy steel-and-wooden shelves, next to a stack of CDs. A large gold clock ticked
on the mantelpiece with a row of china ornaments on either side. Everything looked as if it had been bought new—unlike the second-hand furniture that Papa had bought or been given for their flat.

Errol explained the plan. They needed to clear out all the furniture into a small porch at the back. The ornaments were to be put upstairs, in his mother’s bedroom.

“My mum likes to keep the place nice. I don’t want her freaking out when she comes back, right.”

“Did you tell her? Hundreds of people raving in her house, man!” James rippled his shoulders and arms.

“Yuh tink I stupid?” Errol laughed, making a mock punch at James. “She won’t know a ting, bwoy!”

Errol obviously didn’t have neighbors like Mrs. Beattie, thought Femi. If he ever played music loud enough for Mrs. Beattie to hear, she would be sure to tell Papa when he came home. Or did Errol have so much power over his neighbors that they didn’t like to make a fuss?

When Errol instructed him to move the ornaments, Femi wasn’t sure whether to feel flattered or nervous.

“My mum’s bedroom is straight above, right. Put them on her dressing table and don’t touch anything!”

As if he would! At each end of the mantelpiece, a china cat sat upright, ears alert. One white and one ginger. Femi carefully took one in each hand. He checked each step going up the stairs. Just as he reached the top, a girl’s voice startled him.

“D’you know how much those are worth? Antiques, you know. My mum will kill you if you break them!”

A girl with honey-brown skin and a face framed with silky black hair stood in the doorway of a room along the landing. She wore a very short red skirt and black patterned tights. A pale white girl with startling black eyeliner looked over her shoulder. Of course! Errol’s sister and her friend in Sade’s tutor group. The girls who gave his sister such a hard time when she had been new at Avon.

“I’m helping Errol,” Femi said, clutching the cats closer to his chest.

“He’s Sade’s little brother, ain’t he, Marcia?” The friend fingered strands of vanilla-colored hair that hung down to her shoulder. The other half of her hair was plaited. It looked as if she was in the middle of having her hair done.

“Yeah, Sade used to really fuss over him! Like she was his mother! Remember, Donna?”

“How come he’s friends with your brother, then?” Donna asked.

“Errol fancies Sade.” Marcia shrugged. “I told him he’s wasting his time.”

They were talking like he wasn’t there. He wanted to tell them to get lost, but he didn’t want a confrontation. He scanned the open doors as he reached the landing. Bathroom. A room with bunk beds and a clutter of toys across the floor. Then Marcia in her doorway. Beyond her, a room with a white satin bedspread and a dressing table with gold trimmings. Finally, a small room with music equipment stacked up the walls. He had to get past Marcia. His palms suddenly felt sweaty and the cats a little slippery. Would she block his way?

“Excuse me,” he said, walking on but not looking at her now. She let him pass but called out as he entered the next room.

“You don’t know my mum’s temper, boy! If she knew you had been into her bedroom—” Marcia finished her sentence with a long, ominous whistle.

Femi lowered the cats gently onto the glass-topped table, hardly daring to look around. Then he hurried back downstairs to the front room. Errol lifted the gold clock off the mantelpiece. It looked heavy.

“Have you just got one sister?” Femi asked, stretching out both hands to take the clock.

“Yeah, she’s enough. Did she give you grief up there?”

“Nuh!” Femi turned for the stairs and took a deep breath. To his relief, Marcia had disappeared and her door was closed.

When the front room was empty and the carpet rolled away, Errol handed around cans of beer. He held one out to Femi. How could he say he didn’t drink beer? Or, rather, that he hadn’t drunk beer before…and that his father would be horrified? Femi took the can. He watched the others opening theirs, including Gul, who was only a year older than Femi. If he hesitated any more, someone would say something. Femi hooked his forefinger under the metal ring and pulled. He saw the froth rising and took a swig. Ugh! Bitter! Foul! It took an effort not to spit it out! Fortunately, the others were chatting. No one was even looking at him, and the next thing he
knew they were all tramping upstairs to see Errol’s music equipment.

Two enormous black speakers loomed over the room from each end. On the shelf between the speakers were an amplifier, a tape deck, and other equipment with dials that Femi couldn’t identify. On a table below were two record decks, a synthesizer, and headphones. Errol put on a pair of headphones and sat down. At first Femi crowded around with the others, watching as Errol’s fingers hovered, swooped, and whirled over a couple of discs. He took sips from his can, getting himself used to the flavor. After a while it no longer seemed so bad.

He was glad, however, when Gul pulled out of the group and sat on Errol’s bed. Femi joined him, lying back against some cushions. He was feeling a little light-headed and the bed was reassuring. The room was small and the bass rhythm so powerful, it was like being inside a beating drum. He wanted to close his eyes to let the music seep in more deeply. But he was worried that he might fall asleep and fought against letting his eyelids drop.

Loud thumping up the stairs and a flurry of wailing and yelling made Femi sit up. The two small boys who had been playing outside ran tumbling into Errol’s room. Each accused the other of having started a fight. James stepped in between them, holding one away from the other.

“Hey, cool it, little brothers!” James laughed.

“Stop that bawling!” Errol commanded. He took off his headphones.

The little boys fell quiet for a moment, still pulling faces at each other, until one cried, “I’m starving. Can I have something to eat please, Errol?”

“Please!” pleaded the other.

Both boys put their hands on their stomachs and made pained faces.

“Ask Marcia to make you a sandwich, then.” Errol lifted his headphones, ready to put them back on again.

“Oh yeah. Ask Marcia, she’ll do it! When do
you
do anything?”

Femi’s head swung toward the door. Marcia stood there with a hand on her hip, just like when she had challenged him earlier on. But this time she was tackling her big brother. In front of his friends, too. No one moved, including the little boys. Only the music kept pounding through the room until Errol swiveled his chair, turned off the music, and swiveled back to face Marcia.

“What’s your problem, Marcia?” He leaned back, his arms hanging over the armrests. Femi felt Errol’s eyes alert and sharp behind the shades.

“I said, ‘When do
you
do anything?’” Marcia stared back at her brother.

“Listen, girl, it’s simple. I do my own thing, right. I live here and I contribute. Money, right. You don’t tell me what to do! It’s nothing to do with me if Mum chooses to go away and leaves you to be mummy.” He was sneering at her.

“They’re your brothers too!” Marcia’s voice rose. “I thought you’d want to get some practice, Mr. Babyfather.”

No one moved.

“You want me to hang out
your
dirty washing on the line? There’s plenty, plenty.” Errol repeated the word, slowly, deliberately. It was a warning. “You better mind your own business, girl, and get lost.”

“Right, I will,” Marcia said brashly. “I’m going out tonight with Donna. You’re not the only one who’s got a rave. Isn’t that so, Donna?” Marcia looked behind her. Femi couldn’t see anyone. If Donna was there, she must be hanging back.

“So what about the kids, then?” For the first time, Femi could hear from Errol’s voice that he was rattled. “What will Mum say when she hears you left them on their own?”

“What will she say when she hears you had a rave in her house?” Marcia turned and flounced off. “Come on, Donna! Bring my jacket.” For a couple of moments, the only sound was the clatter of footsteps down the stairs.

James broke the tension.

“Whoosh! Volcanic!” He put his hands together in front of his face and pretended to blow them apart.

He took the little boys by the hand again and winked at Errol.

“I be chef! Take me to your kitchen!”

“Yeah, thanks, my bruv!” Errol grinned. If he was embarrassed, he wasn’t going to show it. “Women! Their tempers can burn you, man!” He shook his head. “Men have got to handle everything! You get me?”

Femi laughed with everyone else. Errol swiveled back to his decks. When the music blasted out again, the bass line beat fiercer than ever.

It was half-past five when Femi remembered to look at his watch. He was already half an hour late, and it would take another half hour to get home. He still felt a little unsteady on his feet, although the cheese and ham sandwiches that James and Errol’s little brothers had made for everyone had helped. When he mumbled that he had to go, he was relieved to hear Gul say he had to go too. At least he wasn’t alone. However, Gul announced that he might be back later. Gul didn’t seem embarrassed, and it was only Femi that James teased.

“Home to Papa, little brother—and to that Little Mama sister of yours?”

Femi felt himself flush, tongue-tied. When had he let slip the word “Papa”?

“Here, chew these!” James beamed and held out two small green oval capsules. He pretended to sniff Femi. “Don’t go breathing all over them, right!”

Two little liquid green eyes rolled in James’s palm, staring up at Femi. Imagine breathing over Papa! It was so ridiculous that giggles bubbled up through his throat. Almost gagged him. Everyone laughed, even Errol, as Femi popped the capsules into his mouth. He removed his other hand that propped him against the wall. He wobbled slightly, then grinned sheepishly.

“See you, brethren!” he said, slapping palms with James.

Sade was surprised at how happy she felt as she and Papa boarded the red double-decker bus. In Lagos she had occasionally gone to his newspaper’s office and, more rarely, had been allowed to accompany him when he was investigating a story. She had loved visiting parts of the city and people she didn’t know. It had been such a long time since she and Papa had gone on an expedition together.

Sade led Papa to the front seat at the top of the bus. From here they had a bird’s-eye view of the road ahead and throngs of people bustling below doing Saturday morning shopping. As the bus crossed the river at Tower Bridge, rumbling toward the Tower with its turrets and ancient stone walls, it felt as if they were entering another world. They climbed off at the next stop, mingling with the tourists with cameras slung over shoulders and an air of
being on holiday. A couple of ravens squawked overhead, flying toward the entrance of the Tower. Last summer, when Uncle Roy had brought them all on a trip here, Sade had said that the cawing made her think of the cries of people whose heads had been chopped off inside the Tower. But when the guide invited them to admire the brilliance of the diamonds in the Crown Jewels and the Royal Sceptre, Papa murmured that the ravens could be cawing for people in Africa, too.

How many people have lost their lives because of diamonds? If only we could eat the wretched stones, they would offer us life, not death!

Today they left the Tower behind them, mounting the stairs to Tower Hill station. As the train raced along a track high above the ground, propped up on giant concrete stilts, outside the windows was yet another world, one still being created. Glass-and-steel shimmering new constructions swept Sade’s eyes skyward above crumbling brick buildings and yards of rusting iron below what had once been part of London’s docks. Cranes peered in all directions across the landscape like gigantic stiff-necked giraffes. The docks were no longer in use, said Papa, but billions of pounds were being spent on new offices and homes.

“Femi should have come with us,” said Sade. “He’d have liked this.”

The river Thames stretched away, glinting like beaten silver, on their right. Somewhere on the other side of the river, in the hazy distance, was their flat, Avon High
School, and the Leisure Center where Femi would be swimming.

“It’s much better that he’s training and working hard for his sports teacher. At last, he seems to be making an effort. Tell me, Sade,”—Papa waited for her to shift her gaze away from the view outside—“is Femi beginning to settle down in his new school?”

Papa’s directness caught her unprepared.

“I don’t…I…,” she hesitated. To talk about her fears now would spoil the atmosphere. “Femi doesn’t say much, Papa.” At least that was the truth. “But I know he wants to get onto the football team. Remember how he and Kole used to pretend they were going to play for Nigeria?”

“Well, let’s hope he is turning the corner.” Papa smiled.

“How many stops after Canary Wharf, Papa?” Sade smothered a twinge of guilt and changed the subject.

They descended to ground level beneath the massive concrete pillars. The streets here seemed strangely deserted. In one direction a line of lonely cottages clustered together as if ready for a last stand. They faced a corrugated-iron fence, behind which the bulldozers had already reduced the buildings to rubble. In the opposite direction tall, sand-colored apartment blocks stood freshly cut out against the blue sky.

“This way,” said Papa, pointing to the new buildings.

Papa held out his arm, and Sade slipped hers through his.

“Tell me again how you and Mama met Aunt Hannah. You were still at university, weren’t you? I want to ask her lots of questions about when you were young!”

“Are you practicing to be a journalist?” Papa chuckled. His face was looking more relaxed. He was also enjoying their outing together.

The woman who opened the door could have stepped out of the photo that Sade remembered. Her autumn-red hair was cropped around a neat oval face and her green eyes, flecked with brown, danced with pleasure. She was wearing a black jumper and jeans, not a Nigerian wrap. But she didn’t look much older than in the picture. Sade felt a sudden pang as she watched Papa hug her. If Mama were still alive, she would look young too.

“Sade! Almost as tall as me! How wonderful!”

Warm, strong arms enclosed Sade. When Hannah Greenwood released her, Sade saw tears misting her eyes.

“You look so like her, you know.”

Sade didn’t know what to say, but she was smiling and blinking back her own tears. Then suddenly her gaze traveled past her parents’ friend to the upright figure of a woman in front of large glass doors. The light was behind her so her face was in shadow. But she was unmistakable. Mrs. Wallace.