Are you a creative person? Do you write, dance or act? Then this is your chance to show what you've got and make money from your work. The PlayPen app is seeking for the following:

1. Well written novels of between 25 and 30 thousand words in any genre except pornography. Stories must be set in Africa and primarily about African characters except in other world stories such as fantasies and science fiction. Please avoid unnecessary gore and explicit and deviant sexual content. Collections of short stories and iIlustrated stories are acceptable.

2. Motivational, self-help and how-to books that are well researched, practicable and well written. 25-30 thousand words. Content must be applicable to real life.

3. Well produced short movies or dance drama productions of between 30 and 40 minutes length. Fresh, independent productions are encouraged and welcome (not necesarily Nollywod artists). Comedy, drama, epic and cultural settings etc are all welcome.

4. Digital editions of weekly magazines on diverse themes. Editors/publishers and their team will be responsible for producing weekly editions of the magazines. Magazines do not have to be in print circulation. New and previously unpublished concepts for magazines are encouraged and welcome. Illustrated magazines are also acceptable.

Notes
1. A primary requirement for novels, books, magazines and movies is that they be upbeat, entertaining, interesting, and (as appropriate) educative.
2. No political, racial or religious and any other form of profiling and/or bashing is allowed.
3. Only original content is acceptable. No plagiarized materials please. Authors, editors, publishers and producers must ensure materials submitted to the PlayPen app are original content only. Violations will be vehemently prosecuted.
4. All materials accepted and used will be paid for.
5. Authors, producers, publishers and owners retain copy and other rights. We are interested in the right to use for a specified period of time.
6. Authors, producers, publishers and owners remain independent i.e. you are not working for us but for yourself.
7. If you have an idea that you think might fit but are not sure, then talk to us. Creativity is our niche and we'll work with you to see how your idea could fit.

Interested persons should email: playthronex@gmail.com with a brief about their content for more details.

Are you a creative person? Do you write, dance or act? Then this is your chance to show what you've got and make money from your work. The PlayPen app is seeking for the following:

1. Well written novels of between 25 and 30 thousand words in any genre except pornography. Stories must be set in Africa and primarily about African characters except in other world stories such as fantasies and science fiction. Please avoid unnecessary gore and explicit and deviant sexual content. Collections of short stories and iIlustrated stories are acceptable.

2. Motivational, self-help and how-to books that are well researched, practicable and well written. 25-30 thousand words. Content must be applicable to real life.

3. Well produced short movies or dance drama productions of between 30 and 40 minutes length. Fresh, independent productions are encouraged and welcome (not necesarily Nollywod artists). Comedy, drama, epic and cultural settings etc are all welcome.

4. Digital editions of weekly magazines on diverse themes. Editors/publishers and their team will be responsible for producing weekly editions of the magazines. Magazines do not have to be in print circulation. New and previously unpublished concepts for magazines are encouraged and welcome. Illustrated magazines are also acceptable.

Notes
1. A primary requirement for novels, books, magazines and movies is that they be upbeat, entertaining, interesting, and (as appropriate) educative.
2. No political, racial or religious and any other form of profiling and/or bashing is allowed.
3. Only original content is acceptable. No plagiarized materials please. Authors, editors, publishers and producers must ensure materials submitted to the PlayPen app are original content only. Violations will be vehemently prosecuted.
4. All materials accepted and used will be paid for.
5. Authors, producers, publishers and owners retain copy and other rights. We are interested in the right to use for a specified period of time.
6. Authors, producers, publishers and owners remain independent i.e. you are not working for us but for yourself.
7. If you have an idea that you think might fit but are not sure, than talk to us. Creativity is our niche and we'll work with you to see how your idea could fit.

Interested persons should email: playthronex@gmail.com with a brief about their content for more details.

"the spirit of death was known to take away people's lives shortly after midnight. That was when Ekwueme died"

I have never been able to forget the last lines from the concubine. Elechi's clear and precise writing style, Ekwueme's unconsummated love for Ihuoma, Ihuoma's tragic life story and man's inability to subdue the gods.

Elech Amadi's Concubine remains my best African novel till date.

Goodbye great writer. RIP

slap1:
This is beyond ridiculous. #200 recharge code for a thousand words story? Are you a writer?

Lol...its just a contest to keep things going on the section and hone our writing skills. Everyone knows a thousand words is worth way more than 200 or 100 Naira card. So, be a good sport and write something...

Seriously, this is good. Creative and original (well maybe not so original) but still original in the retelling. I'm constantly amazed at the quality of writing talent here in nairaland.

Hmm...interesting dangerous writers here on nairaland. Kudos to you all...

Life just keeps getting in the way of writting this story, but here it is, Chapter 4. Enjoy...

Chapter Four

She came to him out of the haze of his drunkenness. At first, he thought he was dreaming. She looked so much like an angel on a mission of mercy that he could have believed he was in some kind of heaven. And he might have appreciated her appearance more if he was not so miserably drunk. One minute he was alone, puking his guts out on the bathroom floor, the next minute she was standing there peering at him through concerned eyes. She bent over him and he caught the soft fragrance of her perfume. Strange that he should think it, but she smelt different. Not like he had thought she did.

Mark?” she called him softly. “Mark? Are you all right?”
Do I look alright? His head felt like a thousand madmen were hammering away at him. His mouth was as dry and tasteless as the Sahara on a windy day and his stomach was rumbling enough to match a hurricane. And she asks if I am all right.
But he could not rouse himself enough to speak, so he stayed silent and cradled his aching head in his hands. Off in some distant part of his mind, he could hear the ebbing noise of the party. The joyful revelry of his friends only added to his misery. He wished for a moment that he could just shut them all up but he was stuck here on the bathroom floor, sick to his stomach.
“What are you doing on the floor?”
Good question.
“Did you have too much to drink?”
Like seriously? That was a question he was actually expected to answer?

Then she was kneeling beside him. A soft hand reached out to touch his cheeks, first the right and then the left cheek. She felt his forehead. He wanted to catch the hand so he could hold it to his head. Maybe the softness of it would ease the pain in there. But he found he could barely move. So he sat still while she went to the sink and returned with a wet towel to wipe his face. She helped him move, and leaned his back against the wall. Then she went to work on him, cleaning the vomit from off his face and neck. His hands were a mess too, and he washed them in a bowl of water that she brought.

Resting against the wall, he closed his eyes and gave himself up to her gentle care. She smelt different, he thought again. Not like Edna. How did Edna smell? He wondered. Then as her hands started to move across his body, he let the thought go. He felt his body begin to relax as the tensions of the past week flowed slowly out of him. He closed his eyes, her attentions luring him to restfulness. Warm hands moved across his chest, soothing, massaging. Caressing. He let himself drift, away from the present and into some illusive place where nothing mattered.

The warm feeling started from somewhere in his toes and made its way slowly upwards across his body. It brought with it a sense of calmness that wrapped him on warm clouds of ease. He wallowed in the sensations, only half conscious of a tinge of unease that streaked through it like a thin line. It enveloped him, held him in its confines for long moments that he hoped would never end. Then almost as quickly, the feeling was fading away. He stirred, ill at ease, yearning to hold on to this bliss. But he could not catch it. It drifted out of his reach, circled and then returned.

This time, it was a liquid heat that started as tight knots in his stomach. Hard and twisted knots that gripped his muscles and left him with uneasiness. The knots began to unravel as the feeling travelled over his body. It carried heat with it, soft flickering flames that burned hotter as it went. It stirred desires in him, awakened needs that he had long kept buried. As his body began to awaken to a call as old as time, he shifted on the floor and reached out his hands to hold her. She moved out of his reach.

Restless now, he shifted again, and then opened his eyes to look at her. Her face floated in and out of focus. He thought she did not really look like Edna. It must be the drink, he told himself. The light was in his eyes, so he closed them again. Then she moved into his arms and settled. With a soft sigh, he hugged her to himself and just held. She was soft, and warm and everything in his arms that a woman should be. Still, something was off. He could not quite place it but.... Her hands were all over him. Unwilling to let anything get in the way of his present pleasure, he pushed the thoughts away and put his mind to the woman in his arms.

He let himself flow with the sensations that gripped his body and held him captive. He might have kissed her, but he thought his mouth would taste bad from the vomit. So he let his hands explore instead. The soft sigh of pleasure that his touch brought from her lips was fuel to the fire that now burned in his bones. He held her tighter still and murmured her name. He kissed her neck. She pushed her hips against him in response. His name was a soft sigh on her lips. “Oh Mark,” she murmured breathlessly.
“Edna,” he responded.

Her reaction was quick. She slammed him back against the wall and backed away from him. He groaned at the sudden pain and opened his eyes. The light still blinded his eyes, so he shut them again. But he had caught a glimpse of stormy eyes spitting angry fire at him. His brain was slow to process the sudden halt to his passion. And even as the desire ebbed out of his body, he wondered what had gone wrong. Why was she so angry with him?
“Edna?” His voice was tentative.
“Don’t call me that!”

The sharp words jarred him out of his lethargy. He opened his eyes again. This time, he kept them open and raised a hand to shield them from the light. He saw the woman. It was not Edna. The disappointment was acute and soul wrenching. Surprised at the intensity of it, he pushed it to the back of his mind. He would deal with it later, he decided.

Now, he turned to face the young lady who was still glaring at him in the dim light of Brian’s bathroom. A draft of cold air drifted in from the open window, chilling him and raising goose bumps all over his body. He shivered, suddenly conscious of his state of UnCloth. He saw that she had taken off his shirt and now, he sat naked on the floor. Half naked, he amended, noting that his trousers were still on even though his belt was unbuckled. What had she been planning? Stupid question, he told himself. He knew as well as the next man what she had been planning.

He felt a wave of anger as he raised himself across the floor and away from her. Once he was standing, he hurried from the confined space of the bathroom. She followed him into the bedroom. His emotions were a churning mix as he faced her. Uneasiness mixed with the anger and some other emotion that rose slowly in him. He could not quickly name it.... Shame, he realised. He felt ashamed. He felt abused. Defiled. Much like a woman would feel if a man had been touching her without her consent while she was under the influence of something. He fought back the shame, holding on to the anger and riding on it to snap at the woman in front of him.

“What did you think you were doing?” he asked her angrily.
She eyed him, anger still blazing in her own eyes. “What did you think I was doing?” she threw back at him.
He knew who she was. Kate. She had been after him for ages, even while Jane was alive and even more so after Jane died. He sighed inwardly. When would some women understand that men have little value for something they could get so cheaply? Did they not know that for men, the thrill was mostly in the chase? There was just no easy way to deal with this woman. So he told her what he had told her many times before. “I have told you Kate, I have no interest in whatever you are peddling. There can never be anything between us.”
She smiled at him, a baring of the teeth that did not reach her eyes. “That was not the tune you were singing moments ago.”

The shame came at him again, and again, he fought it back. He had nothing to be ashamed of; he had not done anything wrong. He was the victim here. Latching on to the anger again, he hit back at her, “I thought you were someone else!”
Her emotions glided across her face in a quick display. First, there was hurt, and then anger that was swiftly replaced by a cool, calculative look. “Edna,” she nodded. “Who is she?”
“No one you know," he told her, his earlier misgivings returning. “Look, we are done here, can you please leave? I need to get some rest.”
She nodded again but said nothing more as she moved to the door. Then she turned to him and smiled, an evil smile that had hate in it. “No honey, we are not done. We are only just beginning.”

Mark stood, watching silently as she left. But he was careful to make sure the door was locked before flopping on to the bed. Sleep came instantly.

She stormed out to the living room and found Brian sprawled in a chair at the far end of the room, asleep. His long legs were stretched out in front of him and he snored loudly as he slept. She started across the room towards him. A hand lay stretched out in front of her, she kicked it out of her way and stomped on. The owner groaned in his sleep and mumbled a few words. He stretched, turned and stretched again, but did not wake. Not that Kate paid any attention; she was already half way across the room. She stepped over a couple who lay entwined in each other's arms and finally stood in front of Brian. She shook him roughly to wake him, but he slept on.
She shook him again, this time harder than before. "Brian, wake up," she called loudly. But Brian only turned and stretched. He adjusted himself better on the chair, let out a loud fart and went back to sleep.

Kate was more annoyed than ever. She moved away from the smell, waving her hand in the air in front of her. Thinking quickly, she went into the kitchen then returned with a bowl of cold water. She took great pleasure in emptying the cold water over Brian's head. Brian woke with a loud yell and jumped away from her. He shook his head, scattering drops of water around. Some landed on Kate but she paid no heed.
He glared at her. "What was that for?" He asked angrily.
She smiled sweetly at him. "Who is Edna?"
"Edna? What Edna? Who is Edna?"
"I am asking you."
Brian raised his arms in the air, then let them fall in frustration. "You poured cold water on my head on a December morning to ask me about some Edna that I don't know?"
Kate smiled again. "You wouldn't wake up," she told him and took a step towards him.
He backed away. "Get away from me, you witch. I don't know any Ednas and even if I did..."
"You better not be playing with me Brian. You don't know Mark's Edna?"

Brian hissed loudly at her and turned away. Was this about her obsession with Mark? He looked around the room trying to find an empty spot where he could return to sleep, now that she had ruined his former spot with cold water.
"Mark has no Edna," he told her from behind his shoulders. "I told you Kate, the man has been a zombie since his wife died."
"Oh please Brian! I'm not stupid. You expect me to believe that a full blooded young man like Mark has not had sex for almost a year?"
"I don't know what he has had in the past year or not, Kate. I don't follow him around and I obviously don't live with him. I'm just telling you what I know. Now please if that is all, I need to get back to sleep..."
"So you don't know the Edna that he mistook me for and called for her in the heat of passion?"
"In the heat of..." Brian turned back to face her, interest stirring in his eyes. "What Edna?" He asked and looked her over with suspicion. "You and Mark in the heat of passion?" He shook his head. " I don't believe you."
"Believe what you like," she told him, waving a hand in front of her in dismissal. "I intend to find out all about this Edna. If she thinks she can take Mark from me, she has another think coming."
Brian stared at her incredulously."Take Mark from you? You don't have Mark! Mark doesn't even want you Kate. How many times does he have to tell you?"
But he was talking to her back. Kate was already at the door. "You better not do anything stupid," he called after her.

He watched the closed door for a few minutes after she banged it shut behind her. Then with a thoughtful look on his face, he went in search of Mark.

Elechi Amadi's The Concubine

Ok, here it is finally. Chapter 3. Hopefully the next chapter will come faster. Do enjoy...

Chapter Three

Mark endured it for a week and then he bolted. He packed a small case of mostly casual clothing and his toiletries. He would go over to Brian's place for the weekend, he decided as he pulled open the drawer that held his underwear. He looked through the pile of boxers and briefs, searching for some fresh, not-too-old pairs. Dismayed at the state of his underwear, he made a mental note to buy some new ones for himself. One more thing to miss Jane for: she had done almost all his shopping for him. While she was alive, it was not unusual for new underwear to appear regularly in his drawer. Sighing, he picked a few good ones, pushed the drawer shut and turned to search for his wallet.

Brian’s place would be fun, he told himself. There he was sure to have a good if not quiet time with the guys. There might be a few girls around, seeing it was a weekend, but the men were sure to be more. Here, he was overrun by women. Every where he turned, a woman was telling him what to do, making demands of him or invading his private space. And all he wanted was to be left alone. All he wanted was to mourn his Jane, to hug his grief to himself and lose himself in the memories that just won’t go away. But the women kept trying to drag him to the present. And to life.

He snapped his case shut and cast a quick look around to be sure he was not forgetting anything. Satisfied he was not, he picked up his case and marched towards the door, daring anyone to try and stop him. But his steps faltered as he stood in front of his bedroom door. He could not help the furtive look that he cast first to the left and then to the right, watching for anyone who might be watching him leave. When he saw no one, he tiptoed towards the front door. He breathed easy as he reached a hand out to open the door, grateful to have escaped unnoticed.

Just then the kitchen door opened and Christine announced her entrance with a loud yell. The sound so startled Mark that he jumped back and his case fell off his hands. He watched with dismay as his carefully packed case spilled its contents all over the living room floor. Annoyed, he turned to glare an at Esther, his daughter’s nanny. The perplexed, Esther took a step back and hugged the child she carried in her arms to herself.
“Sorry sir,” she mumbled, not sure exactly what she had done wrong.
“What are you doing here?” Mark demanded. Stupid question.
Esther looked around, her confusing increasing. All the while, Christine continued to yell and scream, squirming as if to get out of Esther’s arms. “I wan carry pikin go give aunty Edna,” the nanny told him.
“I have told you; my child is not pikin. She is a child, my child,” he added with emphasis while Esther just stared at him.
Annoyed with himself, Mark waved the confused nanny off and turned to pack his things from off the floor. This is stupid, he told himself. This is my house. I am a grown man, and I can come and go as I want. Deliberately, forcing himself not to hurry, he repacked his case and stalked out to his car with his head held high and his shoulders stiff.

Edna watched him leave from the window of the guest room which was now her bedroom. She saw his stiff shoulders and the way he held himself and knew what it meant. She also knew he was running. Coward, she thought but did not really mean it. She had heard the little commotion in the living room a while earlier but had no idea what it had been about. Standing behind the curtains now, she watched as he shoved his small case into the back seat of his car and stood one moment as if undecided. Then he turned to look towards the house. When she saw him looking towards her bedroom window, she moved back, alarmed that he might have seen her standing there watching him. But then he entered his car and drove off. Still, she stood watching till he turned left at the end of the street.

Sighing, she turned from the window to attend to the little girl that Esther had brought into her room moments earlier. She had the child fed and asleep in a little while. And as she watched the gentle rise and fall of the small chest, she could not resist the urge to caress the smooth, chubby cheeks. She ran a hand gently across Christine’s face. So innocent, she thought, and so unaware that she faced life without a mother. And a father if something did not change.
“Leave her,” she told Esther when the nanny made to carry the sleeping child to the child’s own bed.

Once alone with the child, she settled into the bed with the little girl. She drew closer and closer still to Christine until she was breathing in the sweet fragrance of the baby powder that Esther had rubbed on her earlier. She closed her eyes even as her thoughts closed in on her. She had known this would not be easy, but she had not imagined that things were this bad. When she had called the house from her last shoot in South Africa, Esther had reported that Uncle Mark rarely went near his little daughter. Even then, she had thought it was just the usual male clumsiness around little babies. He would grow out of it, she had thought. But this was worse, much worse. Mark would barely look at his child much less touch her.

It was sad really the way he could not bring himself to move past the death of his wife and mostly, she felt pity for him. But to reject his child as well? That was something she could not even begin to understand. And it would have made her really angry with him, if she was not convinced that something was wrong. Sighing, she turned and stretched her legs. Christine stirred with a whimper and she took a minute to soothe the child back to sleep. Just then, a crashing sound came from the kitchen and she knew Esther was again involved in one of her numerous domestic accidents. She heard mama’s angry voice scolding the nanny and was thankful Christine slept through it.

This was not going to be easy, she told herself again. Not that she had really expected it to be. She had thought that by just being here, by letting him see that even with Jane dead, life was still waiting to be lived, that he might begin to thaw. She had kept her distance, tried not to invade his private space. She had even kept the baby away from him as much as she could. She had hated to do that, knowing that the child needed her father even as much as he needed the child, but she had done it. Let him be, be there for and give him time. That had been her strategy, but none of it had helped things.

Mark was determined to stay lost in his grief. And she would not let him. She had given him all the time, space and everything else there was to give. It was time to shake things up. It was time to invade his private space and draw him out. It was time to bring forth some of that mischief that she was so famous for. Careful there, came the silent warning. You know what’s at stake. I know, I know, she told herself, but Mark does not know. And if things went well enough, he would never know. What was a few weeks compared to all the years she had kept it hidden? Even Jane who had been the closet person to her had never so much as suspected anything. She would do what she had to do and leave here in one piece. Decided, she sat up, and pushing all the way backwards, she rested her back on the wall. Then she drew up her knees and began to plot.

Mark could not sleep. Brian’s house was full and fun and lively as he had expected, but he could barely remember anything that he had done or who he had done it with. He knew he was drunk, that much he could tell by the way the ceiling kept rotating round and round above him. And the still rational part of him dreaded the hangover that would come in the morning, but as he lay on his bed in Brian’s guest room listening to the noise and laughter that told him his friends were still partying in the living room, he could not summon even the slightest desire to be part of their fun.

He closed his eyes and tried to sleep. He knew he should sleep, but found that he could not. He tried counting sheep but found that images of the women he had left behind kept interjecting themselves into his sheep. It irritated him that despite his best efforts, Edna's face was prominent among his sheep even more so than the face of his daughter or mother. And why in heaven's name was she smiling so happily? Christine's face danced in front of Edna's now, scrumped up and yelling as she had been just before he left the house. And all the while, his mother's face was a dim outline in the background of his sheep, frowning at him as always. It seemed she was always frowning at him these days, ever since Jane had died.

He sighed and turned over, seeking some comfort, but finding none. His stomach rumbled angrily and he remembered he had not eaten since breakfast that morning. And here he was, drunk on an empty stomach. Tomorrow would be hell he told himself, and wished he had not had so much to drink. He had not drank this much since Jane died. She had never liked him to drink so much but since her death, who was there to stop him? Since her death.... He caught himself and sighed again. It seemed that he defined everything in his life now from the time of Jane's death. Why not, he told himself. Everything had changed since Jane had died. She had been his world and with her death, his entire world had crashed around his feet. And he could not seem to be able to pick up the pieces.

Given, he did the things that he had to do. He went to work, earned money and paid his bills. He ate, and smiled when he had to but it was as if he was on autopilot. His heart was not in anything he did. He would not admit it to anyone, but it was more than the grief. He missed Jane, mourned her, but there was the fear also. There was the all consuming fear that would not let him open his heart to anyone again, not even his daughter. He knew his daughter needed him. He knew it was selfish, he thought it was cowardly, but he could not seem to break away from it. He was so afraid of loving completely like he had done with Jane and then losing the one he loved. He knew he would never survive the pain if it ever happened. He hoped to never relive the days and weeks following Jane's death. His pain had been real and physical, a tight fist that gripped his heart and almost tore it out of his chest. He had never understood how he survived those days. And now, he had no desire to dare whatever gods had helped him through those days a second time. The solution was simple as far as he could see. He would never love again. He would never let himself be vulnerable again.

His stomach rumbled again, and he struggled to his feet as he felt the bile rise up in his throat. He would never open his heart to anyone again, he vowed yet again even as the room swam in front of him. He saw the reading table that usually sat to the left of the bed walking towards him and he stepped out of the way to let it pass. He stumbled, almost fell, and steadied himself by holding on to the bed. The bile was in his mouth now and it was all he could do to keep it from spilling out as he stumbled across the room and into the bathroom to throw up.

Birthday Blues

Nene could not resist the urge to take another look around the room. It looked perfect, and she knew everything else was in order because she had checked and rechecked a thousand times. Dinner was keeping warm in the microwave and the table was already set for two. The bottle of wine she had bought was cooling in the fridge and she had up to an hour before her guest was due to arrive.

She knew she needed to take a bath and get dressed for dinner, but an hour was more than enough time even for her. Sighing, she took one last look around and sent a silent prayer to the gods before turning to walk up the stairs that led to her bedroom.

She spent half an hour in the bath, letting the cool water soak away the tension that stiffened her shoulders. Her feelings for Tammy had always been more than she could handle rationally. He made her feel things that no other man had made her feel in all her twenty-six years on earth.

For the first time, she was really working hard to keep her relationship going. And it was hard work, for although Tammy was very loving and understanding, he was almost non-committal about where their relationship was going.

They had been dating now for six months, and when he had said he wanted them to talk about something important, she had offered to prepare dinner if he would not mind talking in her place. He agreed and even though he had not said anything else, she hoped and prayed that he was now ready to take their relationship to the next level.

She was dressed and on her way back downstairs when the doorbell rang. Her heart gave a crazy lurch and a thousand butterflies began to dance in her stomach, but she fixed a smile of welcome on her face and went to answer the door.

God, he really is handsome, she thought, staring at Tammy as he stood before her. She opened her mouth to ask him in but he was already leaning towards her. He kissed her softly on the lips and it was all she could do to stop herself from falling into his arms. His arm came around her waist. She leaned against him as they walked into the house.
“How was your day?” he asked, turning to smile at her.
“Uh? Okay,” she replied, smiling back.

She did not bother to tell him that she had taken the day off. It would have been impossible to keep her mind on her work while thinking of this date with him.

The evening passed pleasantly enough. They talked and laughed and teased each other. Nene managed to push her anxiety aside and enjoy the company of the man she loved. She was even more gratified when Tammy ate every morsel of food that she placed before him. She felt the belch of satisfaction he gave at the end of the meal was worth all the hours of preparation.

Tammy insisted that they shared the wine from the same glass. Nene's tension began to return as time flew by. She expected that any minute Tammy would start on whatever it was he wanted to talk about, but he seemed to have forgotten all about it. It was becoming more and more difficult to keep the smile on her face as she realized that she might not hear what she had hoped to hear.

Soon enough, he began to show signs of tiredness. When he caught himself in a yawn, he stood and announced that it was time for him to go. She saw him to the door with mixed feelings. Her disappointment fought against the trace of sadness that his leaving provoked. That night, she cried herself to sleep.

But she felt better two days later when he called her up to ask for another date. He wanted to go to the beach on Saturday; would she be free to come? This is not fair, she thought to herself. He knows I love the beach and I really cannot resist a chance to spend time with him. But she did not tell him that. She told him as coolly as she could that she would let him know before Saturday.

Saturday afternoon saw her sitting beside him in his car as they sped towards the beach.
She frowned at the mischievous glint in his eyes.
“What's the matter?” she asked him.
He smiled at her. “Nothing.”
She eyed him. “Tammy? I know you better than that.”
“I don't know what you're talking about.” But he would not look at her.
“Tammy!”
“I told you,” he replied, trying to keep his face straight but not quite succeeding. “Nothing.”
Seeing he was unwilling to talk, she let it go.

The time at the beach was fun, and Nene enjoyed every minute. She ignored Tammy and his goings on, pretending not to notice anything unusual about his behavior. He was trying so hard to act normal that she was almost tempted to tell him to relax. They had lunch on the beach, sitting on a mat and sharing the meal that Tammy had brought with him.

“I love chicken,” Nene declared, waving the drumstick that she held in her hand.
Tammy dodged the waving piece of meat, and ducked under the hand that held the drumstick to nuzzle her neck. He kissed her hungrily on the lips, her warmth and softness igniting his passion.
“And I love you,” he told her, drawing her closer.
She dropped the piece of meat and curled into his arms. “I love you too.”

They lay entwined in each other's arms, silently, letting their bodies communicate the emotions that they did not need to share with words.

Later, they watched a young couple stroll along the beach. A little girl walked with them, her fingers clutched tightly in her father's hand. The man looked so much like Tammy that Nene felt a sudden rush of emotion flow over her.
“Nice couple,” Tammy commented.
She nodded, afraid she would cry if she tried to speak.

He must have felt something too. He was silent for a while, watching the couple as they moved farther off.
“I wanted…” he began but caught himself before he had said any more. “Let's go home,” he said instead.
She nodded, still without speaking.

He held her hand as she walked beside him to the car. The drive back was mostly silent but instead of taking her home, Tammy drove straight to his house.

The house was in darkness and she stood just inside the door waiting for him to find the light switch. Somehow, it seemed to be taking too long. When the lights finally came on, it was just a twinkling of blue and red rays from the far end of the room. Music came on too. A male voice sang the birthday song along with the tape that was playing. She was quick to recognize Tammy's voice.
“Tammy?” Her voice was small and thick with emotion.

He appeared in front of her, singing the last refrains of the song, while she listened silently. It was her birthday and she had thought Tammy had forgotten all about it. But he had remembered. He had remembered and tried to make the day special for her. She smiled at him in the semi darkness.

He took her into his arms, and she went willingly. He kissed her gently, softly and with lingering desire.
“I got you a present,” he told her when he broke off.

She clung to him as he maneuvered her to the settee. She closed her eyes and inhaled, drawing in the male huskiness of him. Her hand drifted to caress his face. He caught the hand and kissed it.
“Your present.”
She opened her eyes and saw the little box that he held in his hand. Somehow, he was now kneeling in front of her. He opened the box, and her eyes flew to his face.
“Tammy?”

He heard the question in her voice, saw the hope in her eyes and knew he was right. She would say yes.
“Yes. Nene, I'll be honored if you'd agree to be my wife. I love you and I only want a lifetime to show you just how much.”

There were tears in her eyes, but she smiled through the tears. “I thought you'd never ask,” she told him.
“I wanted to so many times. I almost did the last night we had dinner at your place but I decided to wait for your birthday and make it special.”
Nene laughed then, remembering the torment she had gone through on that night. “You silly romantic! What if I said no?”
He smiled then. “I hoped you'd say yes.” He lifted the ring from its' soft bed of velvet. “What do you say?” he asked her. “Will you marry me?”
She made a face at him. “Let's see…”
“Nene!”
She laughed again. “Yes,” she whispered as she went into his arms.

By Oma Ogbodo

Sorry guys, I've been ill and unable to write. I'm just starting on chapter 3. As an apology cum 'bribe' lol, I'm posting a short story I wrote many years back. Hope that makes up for the delay. Its titled Birthday Blues. Don't know how to post links yet so just look for it in the literature section. Thanks.

Hardethaewoh:

I'm not sure I know what you mean by the 'new' tag... is it that small logo displayed next to a topic when a new post/ update is added 2d thread?... if its that... you shd know it is automatic
bt if its another, maybe you shd expantiate!
[/color]

Yes, that's the one I meant. Good to know its automatic. Thanks, again.

Hardethaewoh:

weldone dear, this is set to be an interesting story !
keep going dear!

Thanks, that's truly appreciated. If you helped with the 'new' tag, thanks for that too. But I still need to learn to do it myself.

Please how do I add the 'new' tag to my posts? Someone please help. Thanks.

Chapter Two

He awoke to the smell of good cooking. His first thought was that Jane was up early, making something for breakfast. But the uneasy feeling that nagged at the back of his mind would not let that thought take hold. Then as if a dam was let loose, it all came rushing back at him. Jane was dead. Dead for almost a year, he reminded himself. He had best let that settle in him for all time. Sighing, he turned on his side to return to sleep but then, he remembered the rest of it. His mother was here. And Edna. The relative peace he had managed to build for himself over the past months had been invaded by two intruding females.

Groaning to himself, he left his bed and walked into his bathroom to wash his face. He was still dressed in his pajamas, as he followed the scent of the food into the kitchen. His mother’s back was turned when he walked in. He saw that she was stirring something in a shallow pan. Edna was setting places at the small table that Jane had insisted on putting in the large kitchen. She looked up when he came in and offered him a tentative smile. He mistrusted it at once and frowned at her.

“Good morning,” she greeted ignoring the sour look on his face.
His mother turned then. “Mark, you’re up,” she observed.
“Obviously, mother,” he smart-mouthed at her and wished he hadn’t when she frowned at him. Her eyes raked him up and down, taking in his casual clothing.
“Mark, you know better than to come to breakfast dressed like that,” she told him.
He looked at her, saw that she was dressed smartly in a long gown that flowed to her ankles. Her hair was carefully made and she had even applied light makeup. It was obvious she had taken the time to bathe and dress up before coming downstairs to make breakfast. Who does that? Jane used to, came the unbidden voice in his mind. He pushed it aside and turned to look at Edna.

She too had taken a bath and dressed up. But unlike his mother, she was dressed in a soft clingy blouse that hugged her body and a pair of shorts that stopped halfway to her knees. He stared at her, feeling all kinds of emotions stirring in him. His eyes locked on her lips that were pink with her lipstick. They were parted slightly as she looked at him expectantly. He shook his head, breaking whatever it was that held him staring at her lips. Annoyed with himself, he frowned at her. What was she expecting him to do? Why had she come here?

His annoyance turned to quick embarrassment when he realized that his mother was looking at him, watching him as he stared at Edna’s lips while waiting for his reaction to her words. He let his annoyance becloud his judgment when he answered her.
“Mother it’s my house. I can come to breakfast dressed any way I want.”
But his annoyance quickly disappeared when the two women gasped in unison. He rolled his eyes, knowing his mother could not see him. But he did see the twinge of laughter that pulled at the corners of Edna’s mouth. He looked at her, saw the amusement in her eyes and wondered if she was laughing at him or with him. He opened his mouth to ask her, but his mother spoke sharply.
“Mark!”
“Sorry mother,” he muttered, and turned to return to his bedroom.

He was tempted to stay there and enjoy the tranquility it offered, but he knew his mother would come barging in if he did not show up soon enough to have breakfast with them. So he took a quick shower and put on casual slacks and a tee-shirt. When he returned to the kitchen, the women were seated, waiting for him. He settled into the only available seat between them. For some reason he could not quickly fathom, he had a sudden urge to ask about his daughter.
"Where's em...my...my dau...Christine," he blurted, and then more calmly. "Where's Christine?"
Although, he kept his eyes away from both women, he could not miss the quick look that passed between them. He knew then that they had been talking to each other about him. And talking to the nanny too, he realised. He made a mental note to talk to the nanny himself. It was best she understood that whatever happened in his house was not fodder for gossip.
"Christine is upstairs, still sleeping," his mother told him.
He nodded and turned to his meal.

Mark returned home the next afternoon to find Edna sitting in his veranda cuddling his daughter. She was cooing and making faces at the little girl who laughed with delight. The sound of their laughter floated to him as he sat in his car watching. The pain that the sight of them brought was a mild drumming in his head. He lifted a hand to rub across his forehead. It should have been Jane, he told himself with sadness. It should have been Jane sitting there, playing with their daughter and waiting for him to come home. It should have been Jane, not some stranger...Stranger? Came the quick unbidden voice in his mind. Edna was not a stranger. She was the little girl's aunt. Well...maybe....if Jane had lived... If Jane had lived Edna would still be the little girl's aunt. But Jane had not lived. So now Edna was the little girl's aunt and something more. Oh please, they were not really sisters, Edna and Jane. They were just friends. Life long friends who did consider themselves sisters. Still... Still Edna was the one woman Jane would have gladly left her daughter to. Oh hell, whatever. Pushing the conflicting thoughts away, he got out of the car and retrieved his briefcase from the back seat.

The pain in his head began to ebb as he started up the driveway towards his house. A car drove noisily by, honking loudly. Across the street, a dog barked in angry response. Someone called out for the dog to be quiet. And the world goes on, Mark thought as he walked to the first steps of the veranda. Edna looked up at him then and his steps faltered. For a moment, he could have sworn that was delight he saw in her eyes as she looked at him. Was she delighted to see him? But then she turned to say something to the little girl and when she turned back, her eyes were blank and her face, an expressionless mask. He started up the veranda steps, careful to keep his gaze and his thoughts where his feet tread. But Edna kept her eyes on him, the calm warmth of them luring him to relaxation as he came towards her. Then he was standing in front of her.

"Welcome home," she told him as if it was the most natural thing in the world for him to come home to her sitting in his veranda playing with his daughter.
Emotions clogged his throat as he mumbled something inaudible. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Thank you."
But she was not looking at him then. She had turned her gaze on Christine again. He wondered what was so fascinating about the little girl. Edna looked up and caught his gaze on the little girl. Maybe he wanted to hold her, she thought and stood. She held out the little girl to her father. "Do you want to hold her?"
Mark took a step back before he could stop himself. "Eh? What? Em...em...no. No," he said with more firmness. "I'm tired...and...and dirty.” Flimsy excuse he knew, and saw that Edna did not buy it but it was the best he could do for now. “I need to go inside and clean up first."
But he just stood there staring helplessly at the little girl who smiled up at him while Edna looked at him with a mixture of concern, sadness and some pity on her face. Were her feelings always this visible? He had never noticed that about her before.
"Very well," she told him with a nod. "I made lunch. We can eat when you're ready."
He raised his brows. "We?"

She looked away, showing the first sign of embarrassment he had seen since her arrival. Good, he thought. At least he was not the only one with emotions getting all messed up here.
"I waited for you," she told him, then added in a rush. "I just thought it might be nice to eat together....you know..."
When her voice tempered off, he felt a quick spurt of pleasure at her discomfort. Good, he thought again. It wasn't a nice thought, he knew, but it was gratifying. He just could not help himself though; he had to rub it in. So he asked her with a feigned frown.
"Why would you think that?" And caught her unawares.
"What? Well....I...." She shrugged. "I just thought it would be nice."

He turned towards the house to hide his smile. "Whatever," he threw at her from across his shoulders.
Shithead, Edna thought as she watched him leave. You just had to rub it in, didn't you? Not to worry, she told his retreating back. You might have won this one, but I'll be ready for you next time. But there was a thoughtful look on her face as she stared after him. With a worried sigh, she flopped back into her seat and hugged the little girl she held to herself. It seemed things were worse than she had thought.

Back in his room, Mark did a little jig of victory. Given, it was a small one but coming on the heels of the upset that his life had recently turned into, it was truly gratifying. He determined that a refreshing bath was in order, so he went into his bathroom and stripped himself down. He thought briefly of Edna waiting to have lunch with him, but quickly decided that he could afford to make her wait a little bit longer. His time in the shower would be short compared to how long she had already waited of her own accord.

He went into the shower whistling. But as the cool water washed the dirt of the day off him, his thoughts converged on Edna and the way she had looked standing in the veranda. She had been wearing another pair of shorts and a tank top. Was that all her wardrobe consisted of? Or was she dressing that way on purpose? If so, what was her intent? Scrambling his mind everytime he came near? If that was true, then she was succeeding. But why would she want to attract his attention? She had barely paid much thought to him while Jane was alive. Despite the closeness of her friendship with Jane, she had always kept her distance from him. And he had been left with the distinct impression that she thought he was somewhat beneath them and not good enough for her friend. Not that she had ever shown him disrespect or anything. In truth, she had been particularly respectful but that had only left him feeling like an indulged child. He frowned at the memory and reached for his towel.

He felt his earlier elation slowly begin to dissipate as he stepped back into his room. Why was she acting all different and considerate now? Considerate. She had always been considerate. But now, it seemed a somewhat different kind of considerate. She had cooked him lunch. Well, maybe she had not exactly cooked for him. She had to eat too, and his nanny wasn't the best of cooks by any standards. But, she had waited for him. She didn't have to do that. Why had she done it? Shaking his head, Mark dragged his thoughts back to the present. Here he was, cracking his head, trying to understand a woman's actions and the reasons behind them. One could never understand women, he reminded himself as he pulled on his trousers. There was always some mystery to everything they did. Everytime you thought you had a handle on a woman, she would turn around and put one over on you. Somehow. Except maybe for his Jane. She had been open and unassuming. Was it any wonder that he had loved her so much? No one was ever going to take her place in his life, he told himself firmly. No one ever could. Even if they could, where was he ever going to find another woman just like her? He shook his head again as he worked the last of the buttons on his shirt.

Catching a quick glimpse of himself in his dressing mirror, he found a comb and ran it through his hair. He debated it for a moment, then dabbed some perfume on both wrists and behind his ears. He looked at himself again and decided he was ready. But he couldn't help the sudden quickening of his heartbeat as he opened the door and went out to meet his lunch date.

Hey guys, I've been on nairaland for a while but this is my first time ever sharing a story. I intend to post 2 or 3 times a week as time permit because I need the story done by Christmas. Hope you guys enjoy it.

Chapter One

He missed her now more than ever. And as he sat by the window listening to the cries of his young daughter, he felt an ache in his heart that he thought would never go away. Still, he could not bring himself to go to the little girl. He knew the nanny would see to the girl’s needs but a tinge of guilt still tugged at his heart as he stared sightlessly out the window.

It’s been almost a year. In a few weeks it will be Christmas and the anniversary of what should have been a happy festive season for everyone but had instead turned into the start of the greatest loss of his life. Sighing, he blinked back the ever present tears. He was not ashamed to cry for her but he knew others would not understand. He did not expect them to. If mother could see him now, she would frown at him and ask if he was still crying. He smiled softly at the thought, a half smile that merely pulled up the corners of his mouth. As if he could just turn off the pain after a certain period of time.

No, they would not understand, he told himself again. They had not loved her. They had not known the way his world circled and came together every time he walked into her presence. Or the peace and contentment he found just by lying in her arms and talking. Oh, how they had talked. He did most of it though. She just sat and listened and put in a word now and then. He could talk to her about anything. His dreams, his fears and aspirations. Things he could not imagine telling anyone else all flowed out of him once he was with her. And she would listen and encourage and believe. Always, she believed in him. No matter how far fetched and out of reach his dream seemed, she always believed.

The sudden ringing of his cell phone made him jump. He blinked at the instrument for a confused minute as he slowly returned to the present. He watched it for a while as it danced to its own music on the side table, and then he reached out a hand and picked it up. The music stopped just then and the call ended. He stared at the cell phone in his hands, and then laid it back on the table without checking who had called. Whoever it is should call back, he decided.

Almost as soon as the phone touched the table, it was ringing again. He answered it on the third ring.
“Hello?”
“Mark!” came a sharp voice from the other end. “I’ve been calling for ages! Are you still moping around?”
He took the phone from his ear and rubbed a hand over his lobe. “Who is this?” he asked when he returned the phone to his ear. It was all he could do to keep the irritation out of his own voice.
“This is Edna,” came the quick, confident reply.
Mark sighed inwardly and rolled his eyes even though the caller could not see him. Edna? What did she want? “Well…hello…Edna…”
“Well, hello to you too Mark, but I’m catching my death of cold out here in the airport waiting for you to come and get me!”
Mark blinked in confusion. “What? Airport…what airport?”

On the other end of the cell phone, Edna rolled her eyes in much the same way Mark had done moments earlier. “Mark,” she spoke patiently and with a forced calmness that one might use while addressing a child who is slow to understand the simplest things. “You still live in Enugu, don’t you?”
“Well, yes… I do…” Mark replied, wondering what that had to do with anything.
“Good. I am at the Enugu International Airport. I am tired, dirty and hungry from hours of sitting in an airplane flying across nations to get here. Do you think you could possibly take a moment from your moping to come and get me?”
Mark felt his irritation rising at her imperious tone. “Why would I do that?”

Edna sighed. “Mark, it’s 3am on a cold harmattan morning in December. I am standing outside waiting for you. Is that not reason enough?”
Mark told himself to stay calm. Knowing Edna, she was probably baiting him intentionally. “I still don’t see how any of that concerns me,” he snapped at the phone, showing more of his irritation that he had intended.
Edna noted the sharpness in his voice and smiled to herself. Better, much better, she thought and changed her tone to reasonable and pleasing. “Mark, I just flew for hours…”
“I heard you the first time….”
“…at your invitation…”
“What? I never invited you. What are you talking about?”
“Have you forgotten? We had this planned for months, Jane and I. She wanted me to come…”

“Jane is dead,” Mark snapped abruptly, feeling his heart twist as an quick wave of grief gripped him.
“I know that Mark,” Edna said softly. She heard the sadness in his voice, knew it mirrored the pain that seared through her as she stood outside in the cold, holding her cell phone to her ear. But she knew she had to see this through. She had thought about it carefully all through the long sad months following Jane’s death and had decided Jane would have wanted her to come still. She said as much to the man on the other end of the cell phone. And when he finally expressed his reluctant acceptance to come and get her, she swiped a hand across the phone to end the call and walked back inside to the arrivals lounge where it was much warmer.

As she settled into her seat, the doubts and fears from the previous months assailed her. Was she doing the right thing? Would it not have been best to let things lie the way they were? How could she be sure Jane would have wanted her to still come? Of course, she would. Even Mark had acknowledged as much with his acceptance to come and get her. But Mark had no idea what was truly at stake, did he? He probably thought this was just another one of the many pranks naughty Edna always got his precious Jane into.

Edna sighed as she shifted in her seat looking to be more comfortable. For one brief moment, she wondered why airport seats were always so uncomfortable. Then her thoughts returned to Mark and Jane. Yes, she had talked Jane into much mischief through all the years of their friendship. And Mark was right to think her mischievous, adventurous as she and Jane liked to call it, but this was not just another prank. This could well be the greatest adventure of her life. Closing her eyes, she sent a silent prayer upwards for guidance and strength.

Mark grumbled to himself as he searched the living room for his car keys. His irritation increased when he caught sight of the wall clock and realized she had been right. It was almost 4am and he had been sitting, moping out the window for almost the entire night. And now instead of taking his moping to his empty bed, he had to go get a woman from the airport who had no business coming to his house. At least, he thought she had no business coming to his house. But he admitted that Jane would have wanted her to come even with her dead. So he pushed his irritation aside and stumbled out to his car.

The drive to the airport was made mostly perfunctorily. His thoughts were chaotic and he was thankful there was very little traffic at that time of the morning. All he needed was an accident to add to the mess his holiday was fixing up to be. By the time he pulled into the airport parking lot, he had convinced himself of how this little drama was going to play out.

He would pick her up and take her to her hotel if she had one booked. Courtesy at the very least demanded that. Hell, he could even keep her in his house overnight if he had to, but that was as far as it would go. As soon as was decently possible, he would have out of his house and his life if he had any say about it. He got out of the car and looked around. She was not standing anywhere outside that he could see, so he waked into the arrivals lounge to look for her.

Edna watched him as he stalked towards her in the arrivals lounge. He looked to have lost some weight, and there were tired lines around his eyes but for the most part he looked as good as she remembered. She felt the all too familiar tinge in her stomach that his presence always brought and pushed it aside. She would deal with that later. As he got closer, she stood, and with a mischievous glint in her eyes that she hoped he would not notice, launched herself across the room and straight into him.

Mark saw her coming and braced himself. Instinctively, his arms opened to catch her and he had to steel himself from falling when the full weight of her pressed into him. He breathed in the scent of her without thinking. An alluring mix, he told himself; some flowery perfume and that womanly essence that was all her. It was heady, going straight into him and stirring up things he had vowed to keep buried since his wife died. He did not like the thought of that. So he pushed her off of him with more force than he might have used ordinarily.

She gave him a hurt look that he knew was feigned. Still, he mumbled an apology and asked, “Where are your bags?”
When she pointed to a pile of luggage that could have served an army going into war, he turned an incredulous look on her. “All of that?”
She said nothing more, but turned and followed him as he dragged the first of the luggage out to the car. He noted with irritation that she conveniently took only her handbag with her. She sat waiting patiently in the front seat, leaving him to make three more trips to get the rest of her bags.

By the time he pulled into his driveway, Mark was seriously reconsidering having her in his home for any length of time. They had spent the ride back not speaking to each other. Not that there was much chance of having any kind of conversation with the loud music she had blaring from his car radio by the time he finally managed to get all her bags loaded. He had tried to turn down the volume, but each time he did, she just turned it back up again. The only time she said a word to him was when he had asked her which hotel she was booked into and she said none.

He stopped the car and turned to her, thinking to tell her she could not stay in his place after all, but she was staring straight ahead at his house. As he watched, her face lit up with a huge smile. Mark could not imagine what could be so fascinating about his front yard and turned to see for himself. Two things registered at once. The first was that the outside lights were on and he was sure he had left them off when he left the house earlier. Next, he saw what had Edna smiling so. Who, he corrected himself. His mother. What was she doing here? Was this planned? He got out of the car to find out.

The two women were still fussing over each other when he got to them. “Mother? What are you doing here mother?” he blurted before he could stop himself.
The women turned to him with such looks on their faces one would have thought he had just murdered the pope. It seemed his mother was the first to recover. ‘What kind of son asks his mother such a question?” she demanded without much heat. “I should think I raised you better than that.”
“Sorry ma,” he mumbled without really feeling sorry.
“Anyway,” his mother went on as if he had not spoken. ‘It’s Christmas and I’ve come to spend the holidays with my only son.”

He wanted to remind his mother that Christmas was still weeks away, but thought it best to keep his mouth shut. So, he walked into the house, thinking he could at least try to get some rest. He would need his strength for the days ahead. The holidays were shaping to be much worse than he had imagined.

Great writing Ishilove, thumbs up!

Great stuff, Repogirl. You really can write. Can't wait to start posting some of my stuff on nairaland, the feedback is awesome.