‘What if your husband says no?’

She frowned.

‘Kings, leaving my brain to lie fallow is too high a penalty to pay for maternity. God knows I won’t allow that to happen.’

Good luck to her. The best the man would probably ever allow her was a boutique where his friends’ wives could go and purchase expensive shoes and bags.

‘How old are your children?’

She smiled.

‘Ah, I have some pictures here.’

She dipped into her Louis Vuitton handbag and whipped out a batch of photographs.

‘These are from the birthday party of my first child.’

I inspected each photograph. There was a shot with the two children sitting in front of a huge Spiderman birthday cake with their mother and a man who, by the proud smile on his face and the way his hand was clasped around Ola’s ribs too close to her breasts, appeared to be their father. Hopefully, my face did not betray my shock. Poor Ola – her husband was unpardonably ugly, as if he had done it on purpose. As if he had gone to a native doctor and asked for some juju that would make his face hideous. Where was I to start? Was it the square eyes or the spacious nostrils, or the puckered face or the quadruple chin? The man was a veritable troglodyte.

Fortunately for the children, their mother’s genes had won the battle. The outcome could win a Nobel Prize for Nature. Ola’s children were all quite handsome – saved, delivered, from their father’s DNA. At that moment, I decided that if losing Ola to this man meant that the human gene pool had discontinued some frightful traits and produced a better-looking hybrid, then I was glad to have made my noble contribution to the advancement of humankind. I handed back the photographs.

‘You have very lovely kids,’ I said.

Like all proud mothers, she smiled as if she had been waiting all the while to hear me say just that.

‘And they are American citizens,’ she added. ‘They were born in the US.’

I smiled louder, to prove that I was happy for her.

I asked about Ezinne, about her other sisters, and about her mother. She asked about my mother and my siblings:

‘How’s your uncle… Cash Daddy? I still find it difficult to believe that he’s actually contesting for governor.’

I smiled. She laughed. Then, we were silent for a while. Sitting in front of her like that reminded me of old times, of how much I used to love being with her.

‘So are you seeing anyone?’ she asked suddenly.

I could not look her in the face.

‘Not really.’

‘Not really, how?’

‘I’m not in any serious relationship.’

‘How come?’

‘How come not?’ I forced a smile.

How was I supposed to tell her that while she was busy popping babies and growing fat, I was paying dollars for sex?

‘I don’t really have the time,’ I lied.

‘Time? Why? Are you burying your head in your books again? What? Are you doing a postgraduate course?’

Haha.

I sighed.

‘Ola, right now, I’m not thinking about any of that. I look at my siblings and I’m satisfied that they’re doing well and it makes me content with being the sacrificial lamb. I don’t mind setting aside-’

‘Kings, it’s not worth it.’

The force of her words, though quietly rendered, could have smashed a hole right through the Great Wall of China.

‘Kings, you can’t set aside your goals and convictions just for the sake of your family or any other people. Take it from me, I know what I’m talking about.’

We went back to silence again, both of us deep in thought. I had spent my childhood daydreaming about my future as a scientist. Ola knew this. My name was going to appear in my children’s science textbooks. I was going to be known all over the world because of my inventions. Top on my list, I once told her, was an electric fan that also ran on batteries so that the mosquitoes would not bite even if NEPA took the light in the middle of the night.

A wave of depression came over me. Ola was right. This was never the life I had planned.

Suddenly, it struck me. Inside all those layers of fat, the Ola I loved was still there. She had a way of getting to me, of making me think differently. She had seen me at my lowest and at my highest, at my best and at my worst. And I had not been able to talk to any other person with such easy freedom in a long time – with honesty, with confidence, without apprehension. Ola was my soul mate. Unlike my mother, she understood without being judgemental.

‘Ola…’ I paused. ‘Maybe if I had you by my side, things would be different. Maybe you’re what I need.’

She remained quiet. Abruptly, she stood and said that it was time for her to leave. She had not touched her Diet Coke. I had not touched my Classic Coke.

‘Ola,’ I said.

I reached out and held her hand. The warmth of her soft palm was as delicious as a forbidden fruit. I felt a slight tingling run down my spine. Still holding her hand, I asked if we could arrange to meet some other time. She did not respond.

‘Even if it’s just to talk,’ I added. ‘Even if it’s just for a meal. You know I always dreamed of taking you out to somewhere nice and expensive but I never had the chance.’

Ola continued being quiet. After a while, she pulled her hand away and shook her head. In desperation, I cast off all restraint and said it.

‘Ola, I still love you.’

She did not appear startled or repelled.

‘I’ve never stopped-’

‘Kings, let’s not start something that neither of us can finish,’ she said quietly.

‘Ola, there’s nothing to be afraid of. Things are a lot different now. I can make you happy. I have a lot of money and I can buy anything you want for you. Whatever your mother wants, I’ll give it to her.’

Udenna was the least of my worries. His only merit was his money. I was educated, certainly did not look like a troglodyte, and my bank account could now do fair battle with his. I reached out for Ola’s hand again. She drew it away and averted her eyes.

‘Ola, please. We can both start our lives afresh. Please, just give me another chance. Please.’

She looked into my eyes.

‘Kingsley,’ she said softly, ‘I’ve made enough mistakes in my life already. I think it would be extremely foolish of me to start making any fresh ones at this stage.’

She patted me twice on the cheek with her fingers. I continued staring long after she walked away into the car park. When my mugu’s phone call rammed into my misery, inquiring about his payment for the completed Akanu Ibiam International Airport project, I almost asked him to take his millions and shove them up his Winterbottom.

Thirty-five

There were many possible explanations for the atrocious traffic in Lagos – population explosion, insufficient mass transit, tokunbo vehicles going kaput, potholes in the roads, undisciplined drivers, random police checkpoints, and fuel queues. But in Cash Daddy’s opinion, the go-slow started whenever the devil and his wives were on their way to the market. I think he was right. Certainly, today’s traffic looked as if the devil was behind it. Car bumpers were locked in French kisses. The masses, crammed into molues like slaves for sale, hopped out of the geriatric yellow buses and continued the rest of their journeys on foot. At this rate, I would be lucky not to miss my flight back home.

I had been granted leave to travel in and out of the United States of America for as many times as I pleased over the next two years. Hallelujah. Yet my mind was still troubled. Dear Ola. She seemed to hold some magical power over me. She could take over the steering wheel of my life anytime she pleased, drive me in whatever direction she chose, and then abandon me to navigate from there. Since yesterday, I had not stopped replaying my conversation with her.

Was the sacrifice I was making in 419 worth it?

Did it make sense to set my dreams aside in keen pursuit of cash?