Six months had felt endless when Yetunde first arrived in England. Now there were only eight days left before she returned to Lagos, and Jide was feeling every one of them. He had spent the morning cleaning his flat, to distract himself while he waited for her to arrive. The visit itself feeling like a priceless gift.

The problem, as James saw it though, was that the flat was already clean. He was sitting in the corner of Jide’s living room with his arms folded and his legs stretched out, watching Jide dust the top of the bookshelf for the second time. He had been watching this for twenty minutes and he had come to the conclusion that something had gone wrong with his friend.

“It’s clean,” James said.

“There’s dust here.”

“There isn’t.”

“There was.”

“Jide.” James uncrossed and recrossed his legs. “Your girlfriend is coming to visit. Not to inspect. She’s not going to run her finger along the bookshelf and make a judgment.”

“You don’t know her.”

“I’ve heard her on speakerphone enough times. She’s not coming here to audit your flat.”

“She is the cleanest person I have ever met in my life.” Jide moved to the windowsill. “I have watched this woman clean a kitchen that was already clean. She does not do messy. I’m not going to let my house be the thing that–”

“The thing that what? Ends the relationship?” James looked at the ceiling. “Mate, that girl is in love with you. Whatever you do, whatever this flat looks like, it is not going to change how she feels about you. I promise you that.”

Jide put down the cloth and looked around the room critically.

James waited.

“I think the cushions need–”

“The cushions are fine.”

Jide straightened the cushions anyway. 

“Why am I here?” James said. “You’re seeing your girlfriend for the first time in your own home. You need privacy. You need space.”

Jide sat down. He put his hands on his knees.

“I need a chaperone,” he said.

James stared at him.

“Just while she’s in the house,” Jide said quickly. “Once we go to the mall you can leave. I just— I need someone else here.”

“You need a chaperone,” James said slowly, as though testing the word. “You, a thirty-year-old man, need a chaperone for your girlfriend’s visit.”

“Yes.”

“How did you become this person?”

“James.”

“I’m asking genuinely. Who are you? What happened to Jide?”

“I can control myself,” Jide said. “It’s just that knowing someone else is here makes it easier. It’s not that I’ll do anything, it’s that I don’t want to be in a situation where I want to.” He paused. “She’s cooking for me. She said she wanted to leave a piece of herself with me before she travels next week. And it took her a lot just to get today off. I didn’t want to tell her she couldn’t come here. I didn’t want to make it strange. But I also know myself.”

James was quiet. Something in his face had shifted, less amused now.

“You could just kiss her,” he said. “I mean, kissing isn’t wrong.”

“One kiss with her is not going to stay a kiss,” Jide said. “I’m telling you. When you’re kissing a woman you feel this way about, the kiss is not really a kiss. Your mind has already gone further. You’re using the kiss to satisfy everything else you feel. The erotic desires of the heart.” He shook his head. “I know myself. One kiss and I’m on a journey I don’t want to start yet.”

James looked at him.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll stay.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m not doing it out of charity though. Honestly? Watching the two of you is going to be like watching a film. So, I’m invested.”

Jide laughed despite himself.

“How long has it been now?” James said. “You’ve been seeing her for four months? Five?”

“Five months.”

“Five months and you are still cleaning the flat twice before she arrives.” He shook his head. “You’ve got it bad.”

“I know.”

“Does she know?”

“She knows.”

James smiled. He opened his mouth to say something else but Jide’s phone rang.

Jide looked at the screen and stood up immediately.

“I’m at Birmingham,” Yetunde said into the phone. “I’ve just arrived at the station.”

“Fantastic, I’m on my way, I’m just–” He was already moving, patting his pockets, heading for the hallway. “I’m coming now.”

“Jide, it’s okay, I can take a bus. Madam Folake taught me.”

“Don’t move. Stay there. I’m coming.”

He grabbed his keys from the hook by the door. James was already laughing.

“I should have been there,” Jide said, mostly to himself. “Why wasn’t I there already? I should have been waiting—”

“You were dusting the bookshelf,” James called after him.

The door was already closing.

James sat back in the quiet of the clean flat, still smiling.

—————————————————————————————————————-

Yetunde was sitting near the lobby entrance with her bag between her feet, watching the station move around her, when she felt a hand come over her eyes from behind.

She was first startled and made a small involuntary panic sound, then she smiled, figuring out who it was as soon as his palm touched her eyes.

“Jide. It’s you.”

He came around to face her, grinning. “How did you know?”

“I know your hand.” She stood and he pulled her into a hug immediately.

 “You’re always holding mine. I would know your hand in my sleep.”

He pulled back and looked at her. Then his hand went to her hair.

He touched it slowly.

“You have beautiful hair,” he said. “So full.”

“Don’t scatter it.”

“I’m not scattering it, I’m just–”

“You’re scattering it.”

“Did you not make this hair for me? If I scatter it, it’s fine.”

She moved his hand gently. “I made it for myself. Do you know how many people have stopped me since I arrived here? Even on the train today, one man said–”

“What man?”

She looked at him. “Don’t be jealous.”

“I’m not jealous. What man?”

“A man on the train. He said I had beautiful hair.”

“Right.” He picked up her bag. “Let’s go before I tell you to show me the man.”

She laughed and followed him.

They walked out of the station into the pale Birmingham afternoon, close enough that their arms touched.

“How are your people?” she said.

“Fine. James is at the house.” He glanced at her. “How are yours?”

She thought about it. “Fine. Madam Folake is already talking about how they will cope when I leave.”

“They should be grateful you stayed this long.”

“That’s what I think.” She was quiet. “But you know, since we started dating, I don’t feel bad about being there anymore. I used to feel it sometimes, like I was being used and I had nothing to show for it. But now I think, if they didn’t bring me here, I would never have met you. So I can’t be angry about it.”

He looked at her sideways.

“What?” she said.

“Nothing.” He squeezed her hand. “I’m just grateful.”

“You’re a nice guy,” she said. “I like you.”

He stopped walking.

She kept walking two steps before she realized and turned. He was standing on the pavement looking at her with an expression she knew very well by now.

“Like,” he said.

“Yes. I like you.”

“Like?”

“That is what I said.”

He started walking again, past her, towards the car. She followed. He reached the car, took out his keys, and stood there. The key fob in his hand, not pressing it.

“Jide.”

“You like me?”

“Open the car.”

“Just like?”

“Jide, open the car now.”

“Say it properly.”

She pulled the handle. The door didn’t open. She pulled it again, looked at him. He looked back at her with complete serenity.

“I hate this,” she said. “But I love you.”

The door clicked open.

She got in, shaking her head, and he got in beside her smiling.

They drove. The city moved past the windows. She was looking out when she said, “I’ve been thinking about that English exam you mentioned.”

“The IELTS?”

“Yes. I think I want to do it, but I’m scared I will fail. I’m not that good at written English.”

“You’re good at English.”

“Not exam English.”

“That’s why we’ll enroll you in lessons first. You will prepare properly, have practice papers, so that by the time the test  comes, you will be ready.”

She was quiet. “Okay. I will do it.”

“And when you pass,” he said excitedly, “you’re coming here to school.”

She smiled at the window. “Let me pass first.”

They pulled up outside his house. She looked at it properly, the front, the door, the small garden, and said, “I like this house.”

“I bought it last year. Well, I’m buying it. Mortgage.”

She turned to him. “You bought a house? A whole house? In the UK?”

“It’s not–”

“You have money like that? A whole house?”

“It’s a mortgage, Yetunde. It’s not–”

“You’re rich.” She was looking at him with new eyes. “You’re a rich man. A house.”

He laughed. “I made a down payment and then I pay monthly. It’s like rent, except every payment is going toward owning it. Eventually, the house becomes mine.”

She stared at him. “That is the smartest thing I have ever heard. Why don’t we do this in Nigeria?”

“Some people do.”

“You’re a wise, rich man.” She nodded. “I like you.”

“You love me.”

“That is not what I said.”

He laughed, got out and came around to her side. Before she could open the door he leaned against it, looking at her through the window, then opened the door to let her step out but he didn’t move back, so she was standing close to him on the pavement outside his house.

“Do you know why I got this house?” he said.

“Tell me.”

“I was ready to marry. I thought I was bringing my wife home.” He looked at her. “You’re the first woman I’ve brought here.”

She was very still.

“Am I bringing my wife home?” he said. “Could we be living here together, this time next year? Do you think that’s possible?”

She looked at him for a long moment. The afternoon was still around them. She could hear her own heart.

“Let me write the English exam first, then we can finish this conversation,” she said.

He smiled, deciding that the answer had to be okay for now, then took her hand and they walked inside.

——————————————————————————————————————–

The house was close to what she imagined and yet nothing like it.

She stood in the hallway and looked at it, taking in the details. The space was very clean and orderly. There was a coat hook by the door with things on it that were his. A print on the wall she recognized from video calls with him. Floors that were real wood, not laminate. The smell of the place, which was just his smell in a larger space.

“Come in,” he said, unnecessarily, since she was already in.

She moved further into the sitting room and turned slowly. The sofa was good. The bookshelf had real books on it, not decoration. The television was larger than she expected. There was a blanket already on the sofa, something he bought, not the hand-knitted kind, as if it were 1920.

James unfolded himself from the armchair.

She had heard his voice on calls, caught in the background, his dry English observations floating through while she and Jide talked. She had formed an idea of him. He was taller than the idea.

“So,” James said. “You’re real.”

“I’m real,” she said.

“I’m James. I’ve heard an unreasonable amount of things about you. It’s genuinely good to finally put a face to the name.”

“I’ve heard about you too.”

“Good things, I hope.”

“Mostly.”

James smiled, surprised by her candour. He looked at Jide. “I like her.”

“I know,” Jide said.

“You didn’t tell me she was funny.”

“I told you everything about her.”

“You told me she was kind and beautiful. You didn’t mention ‘funny’.” He gestured at the sofa. “Please sit. Make yourself at home. This is essentially your house anyway.”

Yetunde looked at Jide.

Jide looked at the ceiling.

She sat down, still looking around. This was where he lived. This was where he had sat during all those calls, his voice coming through her phone into the Coventry spare room while she held the baby or stirred a pot or lay on her bed in the dark. The calls happened here. 

She looked at the bookshelf.

“You can check them out,” Jide said. “You don’t have to just look from there.”

“I know.” But she stayed where she was.

Jide picked up his phone from the counter and was scrolling through his notifications when he clicked something and a voice came out of the speaker before he could stop it.

Jide, I know this is probably strange. I’ve been wanting to say this for a long time. I keep talking myself out of it, and I think if I don’t say it now, I never will. I like you. I’ve liked you for a long time. I know you’ve just come out of a relationship and I know the timing is probably wrong but I just – I wanted you to know. In case it changes anything. In case you ever—

He stopped it.

The room was very quiet.

James looked at the floor. Jide looked at his phone. Yetunde looked at nothing in particular.

“That’s Chloe, the receptionist in your office.” James said, to the floor.

“I know,” Jide said.

James said nothing else. He had the look of a man who had chosen, wisely, to stop talking.

Jide put his phone face down on the counter and looked at Yetunde. “Chloe is a colleague. I’ve never encouraged any advances—-”

“No, he doesn’t even like her.” James interjected.

“James,” Jide cautioned.

“I’m just—-” He stopped. Then, to Yetunde, “He’s never done anything about it. Ever. In three years. I want you to have that information.”

Yetunde looked at James, then she stood, laughing.

“You guys are dramatic. Jide, where is your kitchen?” she asked, and Jide led her quickly to the kitchen, grateful for the change of subject.

Yetunde moved through his kitchen, finding where things were, making the space hers for the hours she needed it.

James appeared in the doorway within twenty minutes, drawn by the smell.

“What is that?”

“Egusi soup.”

He looked at the pot with great seriousness. “Can I–”

“No.”

He disappeared. He came back ten minutes later.

“Now?”

“No,” Yetunde said, laughing at his dramatics.

He came back a third time and she looked at him and handed him a small spoon without ,word. He tasted it and stood very still.

“Jide,” he called. “Jide.”

“I heard you the first time,” Jide said from beside the sink, standing behind Yetunde, one hand resting lightly on her lower back.

“You didn’t tell me.”

“I told you she could cook.”

“You didn’t tell me it was like this.” He looked at Yetunde with reverence. “What else can you make?”

“Go and sit down,” Yetunde said, laughing. “Let’s eat this first. It will be ready soon.”

He went and sat down.

——————————————————————————————————————-aThey sat at the table, James asking questions about every part of the meal, Yetunde answering patiently, and Jide watching her the way he did when she wasn’t looking. James had three helpings. Jide washed up afterwards because she had cooked, and she did not argue. She was tired, and besides, it felt right.

James excused himself when the plates were done, saying something about a call, said with the transparency of a man who wasn’t making a call at all but wanted to give them privacy.

Jide sat beside Yetunde and looked at her.

“You’re cold,” he said.

She was looking at her hands. “I’m fine.”

“Yetunde.”

“How do I compete with that?” she said softly.

“With what?”

“That voice note. She’s brilliant. She works with you every day. She’s here, she lives in Birmingham, she knows your world.” A pause. “I’m going back to Nigeria in a week. I have a tailoring business and no degree and—”

“Stop,” He said firmly. “You hurt me when you do that. Every time you put yourself down it hurts me.”

She looked at him, then held out her hand to cradle his face. Jide held the hand and kissed it.

“You don’t need a degree, not for me. If not for the piece of paper that seems to matter to the world, I will say you don’t need it. Your soul, the things you make. The way you think. The way you love people.” He held her eyes. “I have never met anyone like you, not Elizabeth, Chloe, or anyone. Chloe is not even my type.”

“Who is your type?” Yetunde asked, and Jide moved closer.

He looked at her without looking away. “You. You are my type.”

She held his eyes for a moment. Then she reached into her bag.

She brought out the blanket she had made for him, and held it in her lap without speaking.

“I didn’t know what to buy for you,” she said. “You have everything. I wish I were in Lagos, I would have made you a shirt. But I couldn’t sew here without my machines, so I thought of something else.” She looked at it. “I almost didn’t bring it. It didn’t feel like a worthy gift.”

He took it from her gently. 

Unfolded it, and held it up. She watched him.

“Yetunde,” he said softly. 

“It’s the best gift I’ve ever been given. You made it with your hands, thinking about me. This is priceless.”

He wrapped it around his shoulders, then he opened his arms. She leaned in, and he pulled the blanket around both of them. His forehead came to rest against hers. She felt his nose brush against hers. She closed her eyes.

The space between them was very small.

She felt him move slightly closer and then stop. She heard him breathe.

“I’m crazy about you,” he said,  almost to himself. “Please don’t worry about anybody else. There is only—”

His phone rang.

They both looked at it on the cushion beside them.

Elizabeth. Two red hearts after the name. Jide had forgotten to remove the emojis, and hoped Yetunde wouldn’t read any meaning to it. His phone was a villain in today’s story.

He cut the call.

“You could have picked it up,” she said.

“We broke up. We haven’t spoken in months. I don’t know what she–”

It rang again.

Yetunde looked at the screen. Then at him. “Pick it up.”

He picked it up, and put it on speaker.

“Jide.” Elizabeth’s voice was not what he expected. “Please don’t cut the call. Please.”

“Elizabeth–”

“We spent four years together. That has to mean something. I know what I did was wrong. I know. But I need you. I need you to come back. Please.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why? Because you’ve already moved on? It’s been a few months, Jide.”

“It was over. You know that.”

A silence. Then her breathing changed. 

“My father died.”

The room went quiet. 

He had known Chief, a big man with a loud laugh who had called him son from the very first time Elizabeth brought him home. 

“Elizabeth. I’m so sorry.”

“He died thinking I had you…” Her voice broke on it. “He kept asking about you. Even at the end. He kept asking when you were coming back and I kept saying soon because I thought you would.” She was crying now. “He’s gone and I have nobody. My mother left when I was twelve. You know that. You know I have nobody. And now he’s gone and I have nothing and I’m asking you, please. Please come back.”

Jide said nothing.

Yetunde stood up quietly. She touched his shoulder lightly, and whispered, “I’ll be in the kitchen.”

She walked out before he could say anything.

He sat with the blanket still around his shoulders, the phone to his ear, and Elizabeth crying on the other end, and he said, as gently and as finally as he knew how:

“I’m so sorry about your father. He was a good man and I grieve with you. But I can’t come back. That is not something I’m able to give you. I’m so sorry, Elizabeth.”

“Please,” Elizabeth said. “Come for the burial. You know how my family is. It’s going to be strange without you there. After four years you owe me that at least. Help me plan it. I don’t want to do this alone.”

“I’m sorry,” Jide said. “I can’t.”

“It’s in two weeks. Two weeks, Jide. That’s all I’m asking.”

“I’m sorry, Elizabeth.”

She murmured something he couldn’t hear. 

Then the call ended. 

He sat with the phone in his hand, then he set it down.

Yetunde came back from the kitchen and sat beside him. She looked at his face and didn’t say anything immediately. It was one of the things about her, she knew when to let silence be enough.

“That must have been hard to listen to,” he said. “I’m sorry you had to hear that.”

“Don’t be sorry.” She looked at him. “Her father’s death affected you.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” he said. “Her father was a good man. A very good man. He was good to me from the beginning, always calling, always checking in. He shook his head. “In some ways I held on to that relationship longer than I should have because of him. I thought… I thought he would be a good father figure. Someone in my corner.” He was quiet. “He was young. Early sixties. I’m wondering how he died.”

“You’re invested,” she said softly.

“I suppose I am.”

“Don’t be sorry about that.” She shifted slightly to face him. “If you can be there for her, I think you should go.”

He looked at her. “What we have is still new. I’m not going to risk confusing you by going to be with my ex.”

“Did I say I was confused?”

He stopped.

“You cared about him,” she said. “He was good to you. Going to bury him is the right thing. It’s the Christian thing.” She paused. “Unless finances are difficult at this time.”

“Finances are not difficult.”

“Then go.”

He looked at her.

“You are too kind,” he said.

“It’s not kindness. It’s just what’s right.”

He reached over and kissed her forehead, pulled her into his arms briefly, then pulled away. She took his hand, they sat like that, the blanket between them.

Then he said, “I’m going to try and get a seat on your flight back to Lagos. We came to England on the same plane. It would be nice if we went home on the same one.

“I’m going to like that very much,” she said.

He laughed softly. “One minute we were landing. Then for six months I was longing for you.” He paused. “Now, I’m just looking forward to loving you.”

“Go and bury your ex-girlfriend’s father. End that chapter properly. Then come back for me. ”

He looked at her. “Don’t make it sound like goodbye. We’re in this together.”

She laughed.

“I know.”

But she looked down at their hands again, and her thoughts were not as confident as her words.

He had spent four years in a serious relationship with Elizabeth. He was going to marry her. He would have proposed to her if not that she cheated.

Could their six months compete against four years and win? 

Lord, please let me not lose him now.