‘Why are you in a hurry?’
‘It’s getting late.’
‘Call and tell her you’re working late, please, we just got here.’
‘She’ll be worried.’
‘And me?’ She pulled his head back on her laps and he relaxed again. She picked up her phone, bent down, her head touching his and took a selfie. She angled the phone and took more shots. ‘See,’ she showed him the picture, ‘we look good together.’ A mischievous smile danced on her lips.
‘I’m sure we do.’ He lifted himself and sat up. ‘You know there’s work tomorrow, right? He pulled away from her arms and buttoned his shirt.
‘But the evening is just getting started.’ She cried.
‘Come on, I need to go home.’
She fiddled with her phone and uploaded the pictures she took on her Instagram page.
‘Tomorrow is Friday, what are you doing tomorrow?’
‘What am I doing?’ She seemed distracted by the Likes and Comments from her friends on their pictures she just posted on Instagram. ‘If my boss would allow me close early, I have Hauwa’s party by 6pm.’
‘The four files I gave you to treat have still not been returned for review.’
‘Would you blame me when there is always a ‘bigger file’ that would not let me treat those four on time?’
‘Just make sure I have them on my table before noon tomorrow. No excuses.’ He took the final gulp of his drink and stood up.
‘Yes boss! I like it when you talk like that. There’s just this strange sexiness it has even though I know you are serious.’
‘You are just pathetic! Please get me my car keys.’
‘You promised to take me to Hauwa’s party, do you remember?’ She wore him his jacket and shut the door behind them.
‘Good night, Mabel.’
‘Not even a good night kiss, sweet?
He walked back. ‘You act like a child sometimes.’
‘Because you are my daddy and you love it so.’ She wrapped her arms around him seeing his frown turned to a beautiful grin. They kissed as the light from her porch cast a shadow over them.
‘See you tomorrow.’
‘’Sure thing. You know you make coming to work very exciting…the thought of seeing you gets me out of bed earlier than usual.’ She grinned. ‘You have my scent all over you, trust you will fix it before you get home.’
Traffic was light. He pressed the play button in the car’s CD player and Sinach’s song ‘You Do Mighty Things’ filled the car.
His wife met him by the door, ‘Welcome, sweetheart,’ she collected his laptop bag. ‘How was your day?’
‘What happened to your phone?’ She looked worried. ‘I’ve been trying to reach you all evening.’
‘The battery died and I haven’t been able to recharge.’ He picked a file from the back seat, shut the car door and locked it.
‘But you have a car charger.’
‘Please! Don’t start!’ He stopped and gave her a long demeaning look. ‘I’m tired. I’ve not even entered the house and you are already instructing me on using car charger!’
‘I’m sorry. Mrs Bolade Bello has been waiting for you for two hours, I wanted to tell you.’ She led and he followed behind her.
‘Really? Bolade is here?’ For a second he was motionless as if to gather what could possibly bring her. Just before they entered the house, he stopped again, ‘and she didn’t come with her husband?
‘No she didn’t.’
‘So what happened? Hope there’s no problem?’ He searched his wife for answers.
‘Hmmn…she refused to say anything to me. She said she must see you first. But she is not looking good at all.’
‘Good evening Michael. You’re welcome.’ Mrs Bolade Bello greeted as she saw the two entered the room.
‘Sorry to have kept you waiting, Bolade. The traffic was huge and my phone was off.’ He pulled off his jacket and sat on the couch opposite her. ‘I hope there’s no problem.’ His eyes darted from Mrs Bolade to his wife and back to Mrs Bolade. She looked broken and forlorn.
Hadassah dropped his bag beside her and perched on the edge of the couch. She was just as interested in what ailed their guest as her husband.
Bolade coughed and leaned forward on her seat, her two palms pressed against each other and the first tear broke free, closely followed by the second. Michael and his wife remained quiet and hoped she found her voice.
Teary and sobbing, she finally said, ‘My husband is having an affair.’