Chapter 3

She had been out of sorts since she left the house. This deep unsettling feeling kept niggling at her, distracting her from work. Even now, while preparing test questions Genevieve tried ignoring the weight lodged in her chest. The last time something of this nature occurred, her husband had collapsed. Unable to withstand the torment any longer, she dialed the house phone for Jachy. I must be overreacting, she told herself. It went unanswered.

"Auntie," someone said.

Genevieve looked up at the timid voice, phone on an ear. Before her was a scrawny, fidgety little boy she knew as Tojah who always sat quietly at the back of the class. He'd never approached any teacher or related with his classmates—he was that reserved. Sometimes, he reminded her of Jachy.

"Hey, Tojah," She said, mildly surprised. For the moment, she suspended the call, smiling as she gave him her full attention. "How can I help you?" She saw that he had his note with him and he brought it forward, opening it on her desk and pointing to a particular problem.

"The answer is wrong. It should be thirty-five." He then went on to explain the solution. Right or wrong Genevieve couldn't tell as her brain scrambled but Tojah was a brilliant student, so she didn't doubt his stand. She glanced around. Luckily for her, the staffroom was empty. It would have been utter embarrassment. She'd been changing mathematics help because of one issue or the other: apart from being brain dead in math, it was either the individual was also brain dead, wanted more money, or wanted to have sex with her.

"Well done," Genevieve gave a smile too bright, high fiving the clueless boy, "You're the only one who figured it out. I'll make the correction later, all right?" She said, wondering how long it would take to fine a new help before the management found out and fired her. "Just don't tell---"

"Genevieve,"

She looked away from the boy, startled by the sudden mention of her name. One of the teachers had appeared at the door. "You're needed in the office."

******

Kingsley had his elbows on his knees, eyes staring into space. He'd taken off his tie and loosened some buttons of his shirt. Beside him, Chinonye worried her fingers, gaze lowered. They'd been waiting for hours, and when the doctor ambled towards them, Kingsley shot to his feet while Chinonye remained seated, wishing she were somewhere else, her face guilt-ridden.

"She dislocated an arm," answered the doctor in response to Kingsley inquisitive questions about the situation, "but she'll be fine." That was all the man could divulge since he wasn't a relative.

Relieved regardless, Kingsley blew out air."What about the mother? Were they able to reach her?" One of the nurses had found a phone on the girl and gotten the parent's number.

"Yes. She's on her way. Now, if you'll excuse me, Mr King........."

"Of course, thank you," Kingsley cordially shook the doctor's hand, thinking of chastising his sister after, except that when he turned, she was gone. He glanced around, nonplussed. "That brat," he muttered. She'd slipped past him without him knowing.

Once inside Jachy's ward, Chinonye placed one palm on her racing heart, rested her back against the door, and closed her eyes briefly, expelling a sigh. She had successfully escaped her brother's wrath. For now. It had been wise to take advantage of the doctor's presence, knowing that some form of rebuke awaited her. He just might kill her this time.

There she was. The little girl she'd almost run over on the bed with an arm in a cast across her body. They'd changed her out of the wet clothes, and into a hospital gown. Chinonye became somber as she stared at the result of another impulsive action. "Why did you have to come out of nowhere, huh?" She took off her wig, revealing plaited hair. Then she placed fisted hands on slender hips, fumed. "Do you know how much trouble I'm in because of you?"

Jachy's chest only rose and fell. "Of course you wouldn't know," Chinonye replied herself. "Maybe this is just like every other unfortunate incident that happens to make my life hell. Thank you. You've succeeded. I hope you're happy?" Watching Jachy's bruised face, the fight left her. What was she saying? The child was here because of her. It's not like she wanted to be hit by a car. Moreover, Kingsley had found her book in the girl's possession. She'd probably accompanied someone who was a fan? Suddenly, Chinonye didn't want to linger around any longer. But she could not bring herself to leave right away.

Her ankle began hurting again, so she sat on the bed, set her wig aside. Huffing, she brought out something from Kingsley's Jacket, placed it beside Jachy, hoping it would reach the right hands. Then, absentminded, she reached for Jachy's cheek, caressing rather fondly.

Such a beautiful child, she thought, taking in the coffee toned skin, the lustrous hair, equally as dark. Unbidden, thoughts of having children crossed her mind and was expunged. Such were forbidden."You really need to be careful. A girl shouldn't have scars on her face." As Chinonye trailed one finger down a bruise, cries filled her ears, her eyes began to shimmer. This was why she hated being around children, they made her remember. She breathed slowly, calming herself and regaining composure, her vivacious self once more.

Retracting her hand, she rose and was about walking out when the door opened and for a heart thudding moment, she froze, thinking the mother had arrived; Kingsley strode in instead.

"Oh, god, you scared me." Chinonye could not swallow her fear, though. His presence didn't bode good news for her either. He moved past her to stand at the end of the bed, hands pocketed as he brooded, and the discomforting silence rattled her. "King," she tried. "I'm really--"

"Quiet," Without looking at her, Kingsley continued. "The bills have been covered. Expect it to come out of your allowance. After getting your foot looked at, we'll leave," he had noticed her hobbling earlier. "Her mother will be here soon, and I'm sure you wouldn't want to answer to her." He headed for the door.

True. Wordlessly, she straggled behind him, head bowed. He was saving his anger for later. Her stomach knotted.

"And put that thing back on. Don't step out until you do." It took Chinonye some time before realizing that he meant her wig. Eyes narrowed, she fixed her appearance, following after. It was funny how he still bothered about such things while being pissed.

*****************

At the OPD, they passed Genevieve who was inquiring about Jachy's ward number. The attending nurse quickly gave the information, and she all but raced up the stairs, heart in her throat. It wasn't until she ascertained that her daughter was breathing that she calmed down. According to the doctor, a kind stranger had brought her in, paid the bills too. Besides the arm, there was the possibility of a concussion that required monitoring.

But how did it happen? She thought, easing into a chair few minutes later, weary from the after effect of adrenaline rush. She'd been beyond shocked when someone over the claimed her daughter was hospitalized. She had secured the lock, as usual. Yawning, she checked her keys. They were intact. Jachy never left the house, either.

With so many unanswered questions, Genevieve could only wait to hear from the horse's mouth. If said horse would talk.

************

Her plan had definitely fallen through. What else could the sight of her mother mean? Jachy who had long been awake feigned sleep. Caught red-handed, she schooled her face, having done so for years. From time to time, she discreetly peeked at Genevieve until the poor woman dozed off, the late night taking its toll. Only then did she relax, opening her eyes. Pain strummed her affected arm. Her head felt twice the size. An accident had happened, which explained her state and why she was in the hospital: she'd figured out that much, having no memory of how.

But she had nothing to show for it. Her mother's displeasure or making up plausible lies for later were the least worries on her mind. She had failed. Simple. Tears pricked, lips trembled. Sniffling as silently as possible, she tried getting comfortable, readjusting gingerly, and felt her good arm rub against something smooth yet hard. Maneuvering had her biting back cries.

Jachy stared at the book in disbelief, turning it this way and that. This wasn't her book. Apart from the smell of new, the crease free look, her jottings on the last page were gone. Her name too, and in its place was a signature artistically written with a name.

The author's pen name. Jachy blinked. Could it be? Did she really do it? To ensure she was not dreaming, she closed her eyes, opened them. I did it! How or why did not matter. A rare smile started taking form. However, her elation was short-lived. Although content with the fact that she had achieved her goal, nothing had gone right: she'd wanted her own book signed. This spelt 'lost' for hers--- since it wasn't lying around-- and the realization left her chagrinned.

More than the signature, she had wanted the chanced meeting: a lot of things on her mind needed to be said. But Jachy had no choice other than to accept her short comings. Moreover, there was always next time. She had to find another way, try even harder, remained focused: she had her father's doggedness and indomitable willpower after all.

Glumly, she replaced the book, stared at the ceiling. She hated this place, this smell, the whiteness. The memories the surrounding invoked. Cruel images began affronting her mind; her will not to remember was stronger, and she shunned them. Genevieve stirred. Startled, Jachy averted her face, feigning sleep once more. Pertubed by pain and unfulfilled dreams, she was awake for a long time.

Weeks upon weeks saw Jachy free of the cast, enabling her putter about the house. Her mother never mentioned the incident and she never talked, so the matter grew less significant until it disappeared, like it never happened. Jachy could not be any happier, except something unpleasant occurred: her mother was home more often, an irritating inconvenience.

It had started with two days ( Jachy had woken up early and stepped outside her room late to see Genevieve in the kitchen looking pleased with herself as she made lunch) then two became a whole week.

Did they finally sack her? She thought one day, while sitting cross-legged on the floor in the living room, parts and pieces of the radio scattered about her. The tuner had stopped working; she was trying to fix it. They did not have a television—because they could not afford one. Her father's old radio, which she snatched before they'd moved years ago, remained the only connection to the outside world.

Her hair sprang out in several places, matted in some, together with the old shorts she wore, the faded out green shirt and the constant gnawing of wires and strings, Jachy looked like a lunatic. If her mother had indeed been sacked, that meant they'd be dead pretty soon.

"You've spoilt it, haven't you?" Genevieve suddenly appeared beside her, rubbing her wet hands dry with a cloth. She had just finished hand-washing laundry. Her natural hair was parted down the middle and slicked back. She sighed. "That radio was useful. Can't your hands ever stay without damaging anything?"

Jachy said nothing, picking up an old screw driver and unscrewing more nail. Hands were suddenly in her hair, pulling, tugging, parting.

"Look at this mess. It's all knotted," Genevieve fussed. "It's going to take a while to detangle. It's also dry. If only you'd let me style it for the nights and use the hair bonnet I gave you."

Unable to tolerate the intrusion, Jachy pulled away. She hated it when people touched her hair. Her father had been the exception.

"That aside, have you had your bath?" Kneeling, Genevieve examined Jachy's clothes. "I thought I threw this shirt away. How come you're wearing it?" She murmured to herself. Someone rapped knocks on the door, and she stood, placing the cloth on her shoulder, saying as she went over, "Get rid of all that."

Replacing the screw driver, Jachy proceeded to take out all the screws that were left.--she had no intention of obeying. While tinkering, she eavesdropped on the conversation.

"Oh, Dele, good afternoon."

Dele? Jachy paused, frowned. She knew the young man. He was the neighborhood's wielder. More importantly, he fancied her mother. A lot of them around her did, married men inclusive: A fine, young widow, ripe for the picking. Some were more overt with their desires than others, but it did not matter, because her mother was too dense to notice.

"Good afternoon, Mrs Monye."

"I told you to call me Genevieve, eh. Anyway, don't tell me I owe you. That's why you're here."

Laughter. "No, you're not. You can relax. It's the money to repair the faulty transformer. I'm here to collect."

"Yeeeaah....that. I heard. How much is it again?"

"Five thousand."

"Five thousand? Wow, that's a lot." Nervous laughter. " I don't think I have that much presently. Can I, like, pay some now then pay the rest later?"

"I don't think they'll agree to that."

"All or nothing, abi?"

"Exactly." A Pause. "You know what? Give me what you have. Let's see."

Inside, Jachy rolled her eyes.

"You sure it'll be all right?"

"Don't worry. Just let me handle it."

"Thank you so much. I really appreciate. Please, come in. Jachy!" Genevieve snapped when she re entered the living room with Dele to see the place still untidy. "I thought I told you to clean up," she gritted out. To Dele, she smiled nervously, said. "I'm really sorry about the mess. The house is usually clean, so you know. On most days."

Dele chuckled. "I understand. She's a child. It can't be helped. Your daughter, right? "

"Yes, she is."

"She's beautiful." Stooping, Dele grinned. " So, you're Jachinma. It's strange how I'm seeing you for the first time today, and we've been neighbors for quite some time. It seems your mother was right about you always being indoors. I'm Dele by the way. Nice to meet you." He offered a hand. Jachy kept her head bowed, hands busy. He retracted the hand, smiling. Behind Dele, Genevieve seethed. "I heard you were in an accident. We were all worried. I'm happy you're better now." On getting no response, he relented.

"Uhm, she's still recovering, you see." Genevieve hurriedly said as he straightened, excusing Jachy's rude behavior, hoping the lie would hold. "The medication has this effect on her, makes her moody. She hardly talks. But she's a sweet girl. Most of the time."

The young man nodded, and Genevieve told him to sit and wait while she got the money. Before turning away, she shot Jachy a sharp glance, which was ignored. Alone with him, Jachy was doing a job of ignoring his presence too until he spoke.

"So, Jachinma, I've heard a lot about you from your mother. She says you're a really smart kid. Is that true? Well, seeing you I can tell that you are. What's the thing with the radio, though?" He chuckled. "Getting spare parts or something?"

Fed up, Jachy pinned him with a look, and the grin on Dele's face died. He was a dark, plump man of average height--she'd seen him working through the window---and an ugly face that looked stupid (No wonder he was dumb enough to like her mother). Today, he'd come in his dirt stained overall, contaminating their seats.

Suddenly, Dele was scooting back. Jachy knew how she looked, compounded by the lie her mother had told, she was sure what was running through his mind. Holding his gaze, she bit one tiny piece in half, the loud  crack startling him.

She saw Dele swallow hard and smirked.

A/N

Been a while guys, but I'm back! Thanks for reading, as usual. Vote and comment and move my ministry forward.