“Never had any,” Tani told her.
“Not any?”
“Not any. You got a sister, by the way. She’s called Simisola. She’s never played Lego either.” And then to his father, “Same thing in store for this one, Pa? When she’s a bit older? Or is it just Simi that you got plans for?”
Lark, he saw, looked at him and then at his father. She seemed confused.
“Lark is English,” Abeo said. “Our children are English.”
“Yeah? What does ‘Lark is English’ mean when it comes to selling little girls—little breeders—to the highest bidder?”
Lark sat up. Her expression altered. It was mostly in the eyes, Tani noted. Caution came into them as she gazed at Abeo.
“She’s half Nigerian through you, right?” Tani went on. “Davrina is. An’ Nigerian girls’re meant to get husbands who’ll pay big bride prices, right? Least that’s what you’ve been banging on about when it comes to Simisola.” Then to Lark, “Hasn’t he tol’ this to you?”
“Abeo, what is he—”
“Since she’s only half English, I s’pose you c’n only sell part of her, eh? So which half of Davrina’s going to be sold? Top or bottom? Left side? Right side? Or should I just guess?”
“Leave us,” Abeo said to him.
“Abeo, what’s he talking about?” Lark asked.
“He talks of nothing. He overhears nonsense and believes he knows what is meant by what he hears. Then he accuses. This is how he is.”
“Accuses who? Of what?”
“He’s going to sell Simisola,” Tani told her. “D’you know what I mean? She’s meant to produce babies for a bloke in Nigeria and soon ’s she’s able, he’s handing her off to be made pregnant by whoever’s willing to pay what he wants for her. Won’t happen till she can actually get pregnant, but she’ll still be a kid when it does and she probably won’t know what’s in store for her.” He shot a look over to Davrina who, along with her brother, was watching Tani with round and apprehensive eyes.
“Go to your room, Davrina,” Lark said to her daughter. “Elton as well.”
“But the T. rex—”
“Go!”
“Daddy!”
“Do what your mum tells you. We need to speak to this person.”
The children scampered off with a fearful look from each of them cast in Tani’s direction. A moment passed and then a door shut somewhere inside the flat. After this, Abeo launched himself with, “You are no son of mine. I blame your mother for who you have become with your English ways and your English attitudes towards our people.”
“Tha’s right, Pa. We’re English, innit? So if you didn’t want us to be English you should have stayed in Nigeria. But you came to London and you expected it would all be the same. All of us’d be doing just like you want so you can feel important, dictating everyone’s futures to benefit yourself.” He swung to Lark, who’d raised a hand to her chest where she fingered a silver crucifix that shone brightly against her skin. He said to her, “He does what he wants, does my dad. An’ what he wants jus’ now is money. See, he d’n’t tell you about buying a virgin for me to marry, did he? Right? Well, tha’s what he did, and the only way he c’n get back some of what he paid is to get a good bride price for Simisola.”
Abeo shook his head slowly in a display of his sadness and disappointment. He said, “Monifa said this person is my son, Lark, and eighteen years ago I decided to believe her. But he and I . . .” Abeo rose. He gestured to himself and then to Tani. “Look at us. See how we differ. He has long known he is not my son, and for this he blames me. He has spent his life seeking to destroy my marriage with his mother, and he now wishes to destroy what we have, you and I: our family. This story he’s told you . . . Let me ask: Why would I do this to my daughter Simisola? Or to our daughter Davrina? Of course I would not do it. So why does he say it? Here is the answer: If he can make you believe I would ruin Simisola’s life or that of Davrina, you will leave me, he thinks. You will take our children and this new child inside of you, and you will disappear. This, he thinks, is what I deserve for allowing him to believe that he is my son.”
Tani’s mouth felt as if he’d swallowed a cup of sawdust. He couldn’t put his mind round the sheer audacity of his father’s words. Abeo was the incarnation of hypocrisy, and surely, surely, his lover saw that. He looked at Lark. She was watching Abeo. She’d risen from the sofa and she was cradling the new life she bore. She went to Abeo. She put her hand on his cheek, and he tilted his head towards her.