HOOK, LINE AND SINKER (Episode 2)

I had two days and three nights to come up with a plan, a workable plan. I sprawled on the floor as soon as I saw the door close behind father. I was literally doomed but I rejected the word "doom" subconsciously. I let the tears flow without much noise from my lips and after about two minutes of crying, I raised my body up from the floor and collapsed into father's chair. Crying won't solve anything, I told myself.
It was time to get someone involved. There was only one person to get involved but the thought of having to face mum again, someone who had consciously ignored my existence for the past two weeks, was weakening. It was as if my parents planned it. As a matter of fact, I believed they agreed to just let me suffer from their silence on the whole issue. At that moment, I longed for mum's loud warnings, scolding, and her obsessive instructions for daily 'righteous' living. I could almost imagine her in the study with me, raising her voice like she normally did when she was really upset.
I sniffed a little, wiped my face for the umpteenth time and then left the study. I picked my bag from the sofa where I had dropped it and began searching for my phone frantically. I had to try; I just had to try to find someone to show up at father's office as the father of my unborn child.

"O je wo ibi to n lo (you better watch where you're going to)" Mum's voice was so cold, I froze for a while as I bumped into her on the corridor that led to my room. I raised my head and saw her face devoid of expression. I was unsure of what next to do. I found myself kneeling yet again, this time to greet my mum - a rather strange way of greeting our parents, but I had to get her attention somehow. She tried to walk past me but I held on to her legs. I was not letting go this time. My mother had to talk to me or me to her. Either ways, she was the only other person I could get involved in the mess I had found myself.

For some reason, mum walked towards the study. This was also strange in our house. It was only father that used the study. Mum went in occasionally to either check up on father or to inform him that food was ready. I followed mum into the study and once I was in, she went to the door and locked it.

"Start talking... " she began.

I was confused. We had talked about it shortly after I was discharged from the hospital.  Mum had come into my room that night, woke me up and began with these same words "start talking". I had explained to her that it was a 'mistake'.
Myself and Marcus were work colleagues. He was actually my superior, since I was just undergoing my one year National Youth Service Corps (NYSC) programme at a private Radio station. Marcus was instrumental to helping me find my way around the office and settling down fast; particularly because I was the typical 'jolly-just-come (JJC)'  type of corper that only came back to Nigeria after obtaining my B.Sc and M.Sc degrees in Journalism. My father had insisted I returned home to 'serve my nation' before pursuing my career in any country of my choice.

In no time, Marcus and I were best buddies at the office. He was an interesting being; versatile, intelligent, well-traveled, and charming. He spoke quite a number of foreign languages fluently but I was more intrigued by his vastness in the three Nigerian languages. The way he switched accents while speaking in different languages was quite fascinating. I found myself approaching Marcus for anything and everything; whether work-related or not. I guess it was easy to talk with Marcus because he was 'young at heart', jovial and all that I already mentioned.

"I can't reach him still..." My voice broke as I gave mum feedback.

"You can't do what?" Mum raised her voice. I could see the rage in her eyes. She could almost slap me at that moment.

"Bisola, I didn't raise you this way... And you know it..." Mum said painfully.
"Did he resign from work?
...Did he not tell you where he was travelling to?
...Don't you know his house? Or any other person through which we can reach him?"
Mum continued to dish out the many questions begging for answers in quick succession, as she switched gestures severally. She paced the study with her hands on her head as she soliloquized.

"Tani mo fe sa lo ba bayi (who do I run to)?..." By this time, mum was already crying.

I sobbed gently. A lot was at stake for not just me, but my parents. A pregnancy could not be kept; the entire church would soon find out and even though I wasn't sure of the procedure of the church council, I knew of the disciplinary practice of reporting 'fornicators and adulterers' to the entire church after which certain punishments would be meted out; especially if the parties involved were workers in the church. I had no choice by reason of my parent's position in the church; I was an automatic worker, like my siblings.

Mum suddenly stopped crying. She swiped her phone and dialed a number. She looked at me and I immediately got the message. I walked to the door, unlocked it and went straight to my room.
As I continued what was already a routine (crying), I began dialing all three mobile numbers of Marcus, with a little hope that he or anyone for that matter, would pick up the call.
My pregnancy was almost four weeks.

***

"And that was don't break what's left of my heart by Banky W.
If you're just joining us, you're just in time for Eclectic Saturday right here on your favorite radio station, Bloom FM. I remain your anchor, Lolly Dazzle...
Keep those song requests coming, but for now, we're going to open the phone lines for you to share your interesting weekend gists.
The number to dial is 08081234567. You can also drop your gist through whatsapp..."

The radio presenter went on to dish out her personal weekend gist to start off the programme. It was centered on Nigerian weddings and how the food is never enough to go round at big parties, leaving guests with dashed hopes of eating to their full after paying exorbitant amounts for aso-ebi.*

Bisola smiled as she moved slowly with the other drivers on Maryland Road. Her night was not going to be totally ruined. She tuned the volume of her radio up as she waited for the usual funny gists that callers often shared. A part of her wished she could call in just to rant and dish out rules for guys going on blind dates. She laughed out at her thought as she nodded her head to the beat of Simi's Smile for me that was now playing.

Once the song was over, Lolly Dazzle was back to chat with her listeners. The first caller called to share her proposal story. Bisola found herself 'aww-ing' with Lolly as the excited engagee kept on with the public declaration of love for her brand new fiance. The few callers kept Bisola company till she arrived home.

An excited Peju was waiting at the door as soon as she noticed her cousin was back.

"Tell me everything..." Peju collected Bisola's purse, before shutting the door behind them.

"There's nothing to tell. I wonder why I listen to you anyway. This is not your calling..." Bisola walked to the refrigerator to get a bottle of water.
After a few gulps, she shared the blind-date-gone-bad story with Peju, before settling down on the couch.

"But I think I saw someone..." Bisola said softly.

"Okay... Who?" Peju asked from the kitchen as she dished a plate of noodles for her obviously tired cousin.

"I'm not sure exactly. I don't know how to put this... I perceived someone..."

Bisola soon dismissed the issue, as Peju took over the floor to give her updates on how her day went. She excused herself for a few minutes, went into the room and began dialing a number that was not saved on her phone. Her hands shook and her heartbeat increased as she waited for someone to pick her call; or not.
Her heart almost jumped out of her mouth at the sound of 'hello' from a male voice at the other end of the line.

She took the phone down from her ears and looked at the screen. It was not a network glitch; someone actually picked the call. She cleared her throat before responding with a shaky 'hello'.

"Hello... Hello... Who is this please?" The person on the other end of the line asked politely.

"Breathe..." Bisola told herself before responding.

"Good evening. Is this Kaina (my own) please?"

There was silence for a few seconds, after which the person on the other end of the line dropped the call. Bisola let out a little gasp before collapsing into her bed.


***
*aso-ebi: a uniform attire worn by friends and family of the celebrants at a Nigerian party, social event or special occasion.

HOOK, LINE AND SINKER by Faith OLATUNBOSUN