Copyright © 2016 by Aduragbemi Steve
No part of this story may be reproduced by any means without the prior permission of the author.
Anyone who would like to repost the story can contact the author via email: Aduragbemisteve@yahoo.com or mobile: 08101750706

Chapter 1

The steam rose from the kettle. She quickly left the sandwich to prepare the tea, just the way her husband would love it: filled mostly with milk and honey. At 5ft.5, with the sole of her feet partially parting with her blue slippers and slightly tilted, she could easily pick the jar of honey from the polished wooden cupboard hung on the wall, above her head. The sole of her feet returned fully on the slippers and her ankles gave a sign of relief. She almost cursed the carpenter back then, when she realised that three inches had been added to the prescribed height, and to make the matter worse, she wouldn’t allow the carpenter adjust the cupboard, since any alteration could affect the stability of the tiles that graced the kitchen walls. Anyway, she was getting used to it. She carelessly touched the hot kettle containing the infused liquid and winced. She was used to them as a wife, cutting her fingers, burning her skin, getting pricked by needles and she never complained.


Gloria Edwards hummed along to the music blaring from the portable radio she placed on the kitchen table. It was something nice to start a morning with, something good enough to at least drive one farther away from the shores of marital dares for seconds. The announcement from the radio spoiled her mood.


“Good morning. Its 8:00am news.” a feminine voice came enthusiastically from the speaker. Gloria hissed, turned, moved to the table and shut the radio. She disliked the news floating around the country recently, they were either about a senator, an opposition party, a ballot paper and it’s just all about politics. Must they fill their ears with false and fabricated information day and night? She wondered. The elections were around the corner and all they now do is buy off all available minutes on radio stations for jingles to sow their seeds of conviction. Even in the news, the newscasters were not relenting, they would always sandwich the news with campaign adverts during commercial breaks. They must be making much money from the desperate politicians, who would do anything possible to win people to their camp.


She walked briskly away from the table to arrange her husband’s breakfast. Probably, he won’t eat it till noon. But as an understanding and loving wife she craved to be, she had to try, at least, that might just make her see the bright side of the Brad she married…not the one that has resorted to replying her epistles with monosyllabic words, or the one that developed a thing for replying her infectious smile with a fake one for the past few weeks.


The dining table was set. She climbed the stairs carefully, like a hawker trying not to part with the fragile crate of eggs on her head. The fringe of her fitted Ankara gown threatened to kiss the step’s landing at the slightest provocation. “Your gowns are too long” that’s more of a cliché to her these days. She was used to wearing them, she loved it.


The stair case led to a lobby. To the left was the laundry and to the right were two wooden doors that led to different rooms, which she assumed would be used as the children’s room. Many times she had wondered what it would be like to hear a child cry from the one of the rooms, the feeling would have been pleasurable. The thought of the little creature yearning for the fluid of her bosom, the heat of a mother and the soothing, tender care her hands would provide makes her cower. ‘It will soon be alright’, she knew, it was her husband’s watchword, and it was never too late since they married two years ago, with no pressure whatsoever from his family.


She looked further and saw the door to the study partially open. Brad must have left it that way when he crept back into the bed last night. Her husband has been involved in dangerous researches in the past few hours and she was beginning to fear it would cost them much more than his job. The lean, brown-skinned man would spend most of his nights digging information with the help of several cups of coffee. She had to make him understand. If you can’t join them, then you have to beat them. But will Brad understand her? No, he would see that as cowardice, a trait not easily seen around him.


Gloria walked up to the fourth door, which led to their room, opened the door and stood at the entrance. Her husband, Brad Edwards, cladded in a grey short and white singlet sat on the bed, legs crossed and a laptop carefully placed beside him, and seemed to be unaware of her presence.


“Research again?” she asked with a tone of defeat and helplessness. The research and revitalised commitment to the lost cause seemed to be taking her Brady from her. She was behind him at first, but with the way his thirst to find valuable information about the next governorship aspirant grew; she would need to remind him that the man is almost untouchable.


Brady turned and smiled. It was genuine. He was beginning to see the gap his selfishness was causing the relationship and he couldn’t thank Gloria enough for being this spectacular. She was a jewel. When he met three years ago, she was just a shy lady who sat at the far corner, at a party organised by a mutual friend. And now, she was his priceless jewel, whom he wished would sit by him all day. He finally turned the laptop in her direction and mustered a smile. Her round beautiful face lit with surprise. He was busy designing an apology card on the computer.


“Glow,” he rose from the bed and held her gaze. “I’m-ꟷ”


“Breakfast is ready” she said indifferently and interrupted what she knew would be a verbal apology. She saw the look of disappointment on his face. Perhaps, he was expecting an emotional moment, a kiss, or a hug and a coded ‘you are forgiven’, none of which she was ready to give.


“I’ll join you soon” he said and made for the bathroom, wondering how he would apologise to her when she wouldn’t even allow him speak out his mind. He knew better than to continue a conversation Gloria wasn’t interested in, and he wouldn’t risk pressing her red button. The cards have always worked, but obviously not anymore, maybe he was beginning to push his wife too hard. He pushed a bit of toothpaste on his brush and set to work.


Gloria couldn’t contain her excitement as she climbed down the stairs. She felt like jumping over him the moment she saw the card. It had a gold-coloured background with romantic words beautifully crafted on it in red, with winding fonts that made the words look like they were reaching out to her. But she had to hold herself back, he should try harder than designing a card, she would make him promise that that would be the last apologetic charming design he would make. He should come back to her, to them.


She had missed him recently. His jokes, his smile; His touch, his voice, she had missed them all. Finally, her husband was going to have a normal breakfast in days. Her eyes hovered over the dining; she wanted to make sure everything was okay. She checked the mugs, the jug, flask, cutleries, sweeteners, and the glass table and rearranged where necessary. Even though she already cleaned the house that morning, she took time to remove all traces of dirt her big eyes could pick again. She wanted to make everything appealing to him.

She heard his footsteps, turned and beheld her husband. He was now wearing a white police vest on a jean trouser. His beard, though unkempt, still produced the echoes of his handsome facial features. She returned his smile, a short one, or she assumed he smiled in the first place. He drew a chair and sat himself as Gloria arranged his meal. He was almost ready, ready to pounce on the breakfast. He couldn’t remember the last time he ate his breakfast like this and his collar-bones were really trying to become a collar. He picked a sandwich and bit it; he waited for seconds before he allowed the bolus glide down his throat, what a taste.
“Are you not eating?” he asked, and stopped his hand mid-air. He watched keenly as the woman’s expression changed. Cresses formed on her fore head and her cheeks rose a little higher. What could have made her change all of a sudden? A moment ago she shot him a smile when coming to the dinning and then her expression changed to a serious one when she had served him. He knew she still won’t forgive him easily, but couldn’t thank her enough –within himself- for making such a wonderful meal.
“Brady, can-“Gloria tried to speak, but he interjected.
“I know, okay, I know, I’ve been a total jerk. Paid less attention here, I know. It’s really annoying. I immersed myself in a case that shouldn’t be a concern. I know. Can I stop the investigations?... yes I can. In fact, I have. I only wanted to get justice for that poor girl’s parent, but the tide moving against me is beyond my capacity…I-” he stopped when he saw the look on her face, he was busy rambling, pouring words upon words while she wasn’t even paying him attention.
“Brady, can you please pass me the cup of water?” she asked again. He passed her the cup of water embarrassingly and she emptied its content in a gulp and sighed.
“You are really working yourself up, you know?” she asked without waiting for a reply and fiddled with the cup in her hands. “I understand your stance, and you know that I’m in support of it, especially about the little girl murdered during barrister Lawrence’s governorship campaign. But you don’t have to fight like a suicide bomber. And why are you still on the case anyway? The girl’s body was buried almost immediately and the girl’s mother even testified against you in the court.”
Brad wanted to speak but stopped, he remembered how he took the case head on and even got the top politician charged to court for murder. He was however perplexed when he noticed that almost everyone in the courtroom stood against him. The girl’s mother, who had always given him her co-operation, also testified against him that her daughter died of asthma attack. And that earned him a well-polished suspension. He was sure; he was there on that fateful day when barrister Lawrence shot the fifteen year old girl in rage. Brad knew there must be something behind the wrong testimony the old woman gave. She was either threatened or has stooped so low to accept money from the murderer. Either way, brad wanted to find out and reclaim his peace of mind. But he had blocked his chance of finding out moments ago, just to please his wife. Family first, he thought.

“…And honestly, I don’t want the apology cards anymore. We should create a balance between our work and home. I want us to go back to what we were, or could it be because of our ch -” he quickly blocked her lips with his right palm as the remaining words came out muffled, he knew what she was going to say and he wasn’t ready to babysit a lady and sing ‘it will soon be aright’ for the rest of the day.
“Please Gloria, this has nothing to do with that. Just let this slide and I’m not even going to involve myself in any case until I’m through with my suspension. We can even go on a vacation, or what do you think?” he said, smiling.
She ran her finger through her long dark hair for seconds, doing mental calculations.
“Okay, I’ll write to the store for two weeks leave”
“Seriously? The CEO writes to the manager, accountant or even the sales girl in your store? You can as well give it to your gateman to sign.” He jested. “You better call your manager and tell him to handle things in your absence.”
“Well, that’s the procedure there. The biggest store in Ikeja needs such discipline, sir.” She said and snatched the sandwich from his hand.
“Give it back, ma’am” he said standing up with a mischievous smile. The chair made a screeching sound as he pushed it back a little, he was about to launch at her when the doorbell rang.
“I’ll get the door” she said and glided down the dining, behind one of the four grey leather settee in the living room and towards the huge oak door. She opened the door slightly, peered, and then opened it wide.

She opened the door slightly, peered, and then opened it wide. She recognised the figure standing outside, the model-like smile, the perfume, the short- very short- gown, and the red-glossed full lips that were the most attractive point of her light makeup face. It was Christa, Christabel Okafor. She would have sent her back for attempted seduction if she didn’t know of her personality, and besides her husband was too modest to look at a lady like this twice.
“Madam, will you let me in? The heels are causing pains on my ankles already!” christabel lamented, pointing to what must not be less than a seven-inch red shoe.
“Oh, come in Christa, how have you been?”
“Fine, I suppose,” she replied sarcastically and saw the confused look on Gloria’s face. “I’m well, really.” she added as they made to the dinning, with the door closed behind them.
“Morning, Mr Brad!” Christabel stretched her hand for a shake which Brad took reluctantly, she knew of the hatred between them, but couldn’t place a finger on what she did wrong to warrant getting on such a handsome man’s wrong side. He wouldn’t even look at her for long, like he was really shielded from her screaming beauty.
“Hi, good morning” he replied and busied his lips with the tea. He knew her very well; she was the wolf behind a sheep’s clothing, a traitor and what else? The bad sort of friend a woman should have, but his wife seemed to be much into her and he cared less about that. Gloria set limits to all her relationships. But he was worried about his soon-to-be-wedded brother and the supposed bride. They seemed perfect and he won’t be happy if a lady comes between them few months to their wedding. He had been proud when his brother, Ben, brought Louisa home. She was classy, modest and respectful, what more could he wish for his younger brother?
Brad was then dumbfounded later, when he caught Christabel proclaiming her love towards Ben, not once, not twice. He had even wondered how unfortunate he was to have witnessed those moments. Though they didn’t see him, but the air of awkwardness really got to him. How should he tell Gloria about the incidence? It will definitely cause unnecessary tension, between Christa and Gloria, ben and Louisa, Christa and Louisa, and the tension would make things uneasy two months away from the wedding, with Christa even rumoured to be the chief bridesmaid. Not the best decision, all he had to do was warn his brother, and all would be well, he assured himself.
“I’m really sorry about what you are going through these days. I hope you take heart.” Christa said softly, like one who had really visited to offer condolences. Brad looked at Gloria and back to her; he just wished his wife didn’t tell her anything about his job.
“Oh, thanks dear. I’m getting over it,” he looked back at the phone ringing on the glass table laid at the center of the living room. “Just a minute” he added and left them to pick his call.
Gloria watched as her husband’s reaction changed as he spoke on the phone. The man’s grip was getting harder on the phone and he was tapping his feet on the floor restlessly. “hey”… “Maxwell are you there?”…”what?”…”now?”… She could not piece his side of the conversation together. She just hoped the call won’t pose much problem. But obviously, it had. Brad was close to hyperventilating as he dropped the call. The smile that lined his lips moments ago has been replaced by one tightened by confusion. Christa, who seemed to be oblivious of the happenings, kept on rambling about anything that ever crossed her path on her last visit to Abuja. From the economic situation of the country to the self-proclaimed 5-star hotel that ended up being on her hotel blacklist, and many more Gloria’s worry self couldn’t pick. Brad dashed upstairs, and her eyes trailed him. She finally turned to her guest.
“What were you saying?” she asked. Christa paused and frowned mockingly.
“Really? Don’t tell me I’ve been talking to myself since.”
“No o,” Gloria defended. “You said something about bumping into the kardesians at an event”
“Are you kidding me? That was my first topic! I talked about the rude receptionist I met at K & K hotels, the quack ‘deejay’ that handled my last birthday party, the current price of naira to dollar and I bet you missed the part where I complained about the awful design the cake designer showed us last week.” She finally stopped to draw in a little bit of oxygen.
Gloria hummed and raised a brow. She knew Christa as a very reliable source of gossips. She had stopped brad many times from calling the loquacious lady a parrot, and truly, she would have passed as one. Gloria wasn’t much of a talker, even her boss at her former place of work complained bitterly about it. She could easily count the number of social gathering she attended on her fingertips. Hence, the need for Christa, who seemed to be more than willing to divulge all happenings around the country with her lips, and also show some practically where need be. If one meets Christabel, such individual might be tempted to leave magazines and newspapers.
“Honey!” Brad called out as he rushed down the stairs, with his car keys in his hands “I’ll be back soon.”
“What’s with the urgency?” Christa’s question diverted Gloria’s gaze away from the door that just closed behind her husband.
“Nothing” she replied curtly
“Of course, nothing,” she mimicked Gloria. “I just hope he is not running out of the house because of me. We are not cat and mouse, are we?”
“Shut up jor. Come and let’s clean this table together.” Gloria replied.
“Which table? Abeg free me. I don’t remember eating my breakfast here” she said as she walked closely behind Gloria, who was carrying the tray.
. .
She sniffed in the tears. They won’t stop coming, like an over-flooded dam. Christabel hit the car’s steering wheel like it would stop her tears; she had tried masking her sadness with talks and feigned happiness. But now, she couldn’t hide it any longer, the reality, she was definitely losing her first love –even if he never returned her feelings. She wished she stayed longer at Gloria’s place, she was a good listener. Even when her words were going off the lane, Gloria would still listen and smile at intervals, to spice up the conversation, no, more like radio reporting. Christabel turned the front mirror to look at the mess she caused on her face with the tears. The stream of tears left paths that looked like a thin river flowing through the Sahara. Her make-up was like one that suffered a smear effect, just like a kid’s paint-practice board. She picked her purse and drew a tissue paper. She was about mobbing her face when another stream of tears rolled down her face.
“Damn it christabel! Damn it!” she cursed repeatedly and it later turned into sobs. She needed something, something to calm her nerves. She nervously opened the glove compartment and picked a pack of cigarette. She picked a stick and looked at it keenly, she had stopped taking it months ago, just to appease Ben, but the young man couldn’t notice all her effort. The pain she went through to conquer the urge to take a stick, he didn’t notice it. And now she was at her breaking point, the message was clear: she was never going to get Ben. Louisa, her friend just confirmed her to be her chief bridesmaid and she had even followed Louisa to take the measurements for their gowns the previous day. She lit it and took a drag, then waited for seconds to savour its flavour, and then let out the puffs. She was on the fourth stick when she noticed people starring at her red Nissan Altima sedan. She quickly finished it and rolled down the windows. She let out a smile as the cool air blowing through her window blew out the cigarette’s scent, she felt relieved, like it was the sorrow in her head being blown out by the wind. Now, she knew what she needed, it was her friend, Ben, who she would probably take from another friend, Louisa. She grinned; she was going to draw the battle line herself. Christa picked her android mobile phone and fiddled with it, as it poised to be the perfect gadget to accommodate her bitterness at the moment.

Hmmmm**talking to myself** should I follow this story*TOL*