Sometimes the heart. . . #21 & 22.

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First loves don’t always fade. Sometimes they wait. A story about second chances, soulful glances, and the roads we take to find our way back.

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Read: Sometimes the heart. . .#19 & 20

21.

Two Fridays in a row, and it had been good news all around.

Barely recovering from the previous week’s events — her meeting with Mr A and the interviews — this Friday piled on its dose of goodness: the official announcement of her new position and promotion as the head of HR.

Adaobi’s old secondary school girls’ WhatsApp group was abuzz with congratulations from friends and former classmates. Eme had posted it a few minutes earlier, before sending out a formal notice to the entire company, a job that usually fell to Adaobi in HR. However, as she was at the centre of the message, Mr. Ayodele had requested that Eme do the honours. Now her intercom and mobile wouldn’t stop buzzing.

Two of her subordinates were smiling into their screens while the only female among them shot her a happy look. ‘Congratulations, AM!’ she said.

Adaobi smiled and nodded, snatching up the receiver of the intercom.

‘Does that mean you’ll be leaving us here?’ One of the men raised his head. ‘To the management…’ His voice trailed off when he saw her on the phone.

‘Thank you.’ Adaobi spoke into the intercom, gesturing towards her subordinate who had spoken earlier. ‘Thank you…amen…amen,’ A chuckle. ‘Thanks again.’

It was a while before she finally hung up as several staff from the operations department, where the call had come from, took turns to offer their congratulations.

Oh yes, as a management staff, she’d have to move to the floor above with all the others. She’d prance the passage with other decision makers, and her subordinates would come to her when she called.

Perhaps she could emulate Mrs. Fawaz and remain here in the middle of the action, as the other woman put it. But no, Adaobi needed the management floor experience. It would put her in the right perspective of her new position and elevation. There was a reason behind the distinction, away from the crowd, noise and daily grind, and she was its newest addition.

She had finally done it. Adaobi Mekwunye, Head of HR, SCW. That’s what her business card would say henceforth.

So why wasn’t she as thrilled as she’d imagined she’d be when this moment arrived? Everything, career-wise, seemed to be falling into place.

Not so her personal life. This promotion would have been the icing on the cake of getting married to Tayo. He’d have been the first to hear of it, and their celebration would have lasted all weekend long.

Alas, it was not to be. She’d be popping the bubbly all by herself tonight.

‘As-Salamu Alaikum sir.’ Naji’s voice came out quiet and low, as she greeted into the phone.

The call was a day late by her calculations. She’d expected it yesterday after her one-on-one with Nasiru; a meeting that hadn’t turned out in his favour from the increasingly sour expression his face adopted as it progressed.

The first 10 minutes allowed for his concerns, perspectives and grievances on his position and the company. In a mumbled sentence, he told her he had none. Nothing could have been more of a blatant, bold-faced lie, but she let it go and continued the stroll around the expansive office car park, the location of their meeting.

Nasiru found it tedious to keep up with her and kept leaning on one parked car or the other for a few seconds, then scampering up to her side afterwards. 8 am. How unfit or lazy could this young man be? When he did it the second time, she quickened her high-heeled strides and told him she wouldn’t repeat herself.

Her meeting with Maro had been two elevator rides that she’d thoroughly enjoyed. The young man was professional and came prepared. His sentences had been short and to the point; he even raised some issues he hoped she’d tackle as head of the department.

With Eric, the staircase hosted their meet. At almost every landing, he stretched out a point he made with hilarious anecdotes, but knew where to draw the line. Her meeting with him was less formal than Maro’s but just as insightful and informative.

Jide brought square cue cards to his meeting at the cafeteria. He didn’t want to leave anything out, he explained. For that, he notched up a couple of points on her impressive scale. He dwelt more on the IT issues of the company than on his personal gripes about it. Nevertheless, she pressed him further to reveal at least two of them.

Despite having told all of them about the meetings ahead of time, Nasiru turned out to be the only one unprepared for his, testing her threshold for patience.

She kept her face inscrutable, stopped walking, looked him dead in the eyes and in a level tone laid down the shape up or ship out rules for his increasingly disapproving stance. What she expected from all her team members, how she preferred to work, the consequences of hard work and dedication or the lack thereof, etc. He blinked, unsure whether to speak or sulk.

The meeting was by far the most unproductive and uninformative of the lot. She tagged it a waste of valuable time, but it had to be done, and Nasiru needed to hear some truths. He was the challenge she would conquer by any means necessary — through actions, words, leadership style, experience, whatever. And she would emerge victorious from it, and Nasiru a changed man with a paradigm shift.

Once they returned to the office, she presided over an impromptu meeting with the team, changing the order of assigned factory sections. Between Maro & Eric, they would juggle the sugar, salt and cement sections while Nasiru took charge of the wheat and barley sections. Daily reports from all three would be given to Jide, who would brief her weekly. Their departmental meetings were scheduled for Fridays, an hour before prayers.

It came as no surprise, therefore, this call from Alhaji. Once she’d worked out Nasiru was part of the extended family, she expected him to cry to Alhaji for help in curtailing his daughter-in-law’s perceived high-handedness.

How dare a woman take him down a peg or two? A family member, no less? After all, he had her type at home who did all his bidding demurely.

‘Wa-Alaikum-Salaam, my daughter,’ Alhaji’s softly accented voice responded. ‘What’s this I’m hearing? You are hostile to Nasiru and making work unbearable for him?’

‘Hostile is not the word I’d use, sir. I’m just trying to be realistic with him.’

‘How?’ Alhaji asked.

And Naji spent the next few minutes informing her father-in-law of his nephew’s appalling attitude towards work, her observations, his teammates’ reluctant revelations confirming them and her plans to redirect his focus, strengths and pedigree.

‘I don’t wish to work with anyone who is making you and the rest of us look bad, Alhaji,’ she told him. ‘Nasiru, Taofik and I all ought to set the standard of good work ethics for the simple reason that it is literally our father’s business and we are his reps there. If we treat it as we like, what does it say about us and you?’

Alhaji was silent for a beat. ‘I should have known there was more to Nasiru’s story.’

‘He feels entitled because he’s your nephew. I have no problem with that. Just don’t bring that attitude into the workplace, please. Act right and make Alhaji proud. That’s all I ask.’

‘Hmm…I will have a word with him.’ Alhaji promised. “How are my grandchildren?’ He switched topics.

Naji smiled. ‘Very well and asleep.’

‘Tell them their grandpa loves and misses them.’

‘I will, sir.’

‘Have you seen Taofick?’

Naji frowned. ‘Not since the last time you both were here.’

‘Naji, my daughter, you should see each other more now that you live and work closely.’

‘Taofick and I have never really been friends, sir. You know that.’

‘I do, but family is family.’

‘And if I see him, I’ll acknowledge him as such.’

‘Naji, you know I’m hoping that both of you–’

Four years and counting, she’d have to kill this line of discussion now or she’d probably be confined to hearing it for the rest of her unmarried life. Taking a deep breath, she said: ‘I know what you mean, sir, and I’m sorry but I don’t see that happening.’

‘Because of Dr. Olukwoya? Taofick says you see him a lot.’

‘I’ve known Tayo for a long time and he’s a familiar and friendly face in a new and strange environment.’ And who I see a lot of is none of Taofick’s bloody business!

‘So is Taofick. He’s no stranger.’

He’s no friend either, she didn’t say aloud. She refrained from reminding her father-in-law of Taofick’s vicious opposition to her marriage to Abdul. Or how he tried unsuccessfully to turn Abdul against her. She was the infidel! But with Abdul out of the picture, he was all too eager to step into his cousin’s shoes. The snake!

‘I can’t promise anything, sir,’ she told him eventually.

‘Very well. Love to the children and take care of yourself.’

‘Thank you for calling.’

‘Good night, my daughter.’

‘Good night, sir. ‘

As she hung up, she wondered if she’d get another call from him soon about Nasiru again, for she intended to make it official and elevate Jide to assistant head of IT once Mr Ayodele approved it next week.

22.

The sun’s rays beat down at full blast as Steve and Tayo stepped off the fairway and made their way to the clubhouse, sweat trickling down their faces. In the rainy season, any sun-drenched day was greeted with smiles and activities.

‘Well played, sir.’ Steve’s caddie, a diminutive lad, told him, taking his gloves.

Steve nodded at him and waited for Tayo, who was checking his irons with his caddie before handing over his car keys.

‘I need to work on my handicap,’ Tayo said, striding with his friend towards the bar.

Saturday always saw a packed clubhouse, but at 9.45 am sparse patrons, mostly golfers, dotted the space.

Steve gave his friend an under-the-lashes look. ‘You need to play more.’

Tayo grinned, placed his mobile on the counter and slid onto a high black stool, one leg dangling. ‘Rub it in.’

The other man remained standing beside him. ‘I can’t help it. I’m losing my friend and family gradually,’ he continued.

Tayo turned to the hovering barman. ‘A large Chapman and…,’ He raised eyebrows at his friend.

‘The same. Too early for anything stronger.’

The barman nodded and disappeared to fix their orders.

‘I’m right to complain, man. This is our first game in three weeks.’ Steve started, finally hoisting himself on a stool.

‘But I’m here now, aren’t I?’ A glance at his screen, then focusing on Steve.

‘Only because you’re going to see her later and probably tomorrow too. I’m not asking for much, just some of the time we used to have together. It wouldn’t be this bad if Maro hadn’t been roped in too.’

‘Leave Maro out of this!’

‘Tayo, if he isn’t in Benin every other weekend, I bet you, he’s there every day through his phone.’

‘At least you know what he’s up to.’

‘He’s not the one I’m worried about.’

Two vast, sweating Chapmans slid in front of them on round coasters. Before Tayo took his first sip, he asked: ‘What do you mean?’

His friend halved his drink, set the thick tumbler on the counter, and then responded. ‘You’re spending a lot of time with this woman. I’m sure you’re on the phone with her too as often as you both can. I know about the flowers — Maro told me. Just how–’

‘Don’t forget she lives close to the gates,’ Tayo cut in slyly. ‘I can drop by on my way out or in. Easy.’

‘What I’m trying to say is–.’

‘Why are we even talking about this? Where on earth is Ivie, and how are the wedding plans coming?’

Steve eyed his friend and drained his drink. ‘Ivie’s still buying up Dubai, and all I need to do is show up on the days dressed up.’ He paused. ‘Man, I don’t want you to get hurt again. I know what Ada’s case did to you. Just how serious is this thing with Mrs Fawaz?’

‘Aren’t you jumping the gun?’

Steve shook his head. ‘No, I know you, my friend. And I think you probably never really got over her.’

‘I never said I did.’

‘My point exactly. She’s a widow.’

‘Uh huh?’

‘I’m looking at this from two angles: you’re either just having fun, or this is the real deal. If you’re having fun, fine. If it’s the latter, which I think it is, I’m concerned.’

‘Why?’

‘You were ecstatic when Ada was purportedly pregnant, devastated when it turned out to be a hoax. Mrs. Fawaz is a widow. She already has kids. Is there any reason for her to have more? Chances are she’ll be looking for someone in a similar position — a widower, a divorcee. So that she can focus on her career and raise the two she has. Not babies to upstage her life.’

Tayo sipped from his drink, saying nothing.

‘I know you, my friend, and I know you want kids. Four of them like the typical physician. Even with Deji in the picture, your mum’s still waiting for grandchildren from her first son. But if this is just for fun, no problem. Then look for a single girl when you’re ready. I don’t want you to get hurt again. It would be hell for that to happen three times.’

Tayo clapped his friend’s shoulders. ‘Thanks, man, but I’ve got this.’

‘Have you? I need my best man and friend in a good place before, during and after my wedding.’ He reached for his drink.

‘So that’s where all of this is leading to, eh? Right back to you?’ He said with a laugh, only to notice his friend looking beyond his shoulders.

‘Hello Ada,’ Steve uttered, and she came into view and stood between the two stools, a fluorescent slim kaftan fluttering about her body.

‘Hello gentlemen,’ she greeted both men, her eyes trained on Tayo who raised his glass to her in a silent toast before setting it down again.

He swallowed. ‘Congrats on the new position. I heard last night.’

‘Oh yeah,’ Steve chimed in. ‘Maro mentioned it too. Congratulations are in order.’

She smiled. ‘Thank you. I was -,’

Tayo’s phone, issuing the opening strains of Anita Baker’s Sweet Love, interrupted Ada’s reply.

Steve grimaced comically at the ringtone. Adaobi impulsively leaned closer to see the caller ID. Tayo satisfied her curiosity when he picked up the device, bringing it into sharper focus. The name Enajiomo covered the screen. She drew in a breath, her smile disappearing.

‘Excuse me,’ he said to both of them, turning away to answer. Seconds into the call, he was sliding off the stool. ‘I’ll meet you there.’ He spoke once, and the call ended. ‘I have to go.’ More to Steve than Adaobi, and he took out his wallet from his back pocket.

‘Is everything all right, man?’ Steve asked.

‘Yes, I have to go to the hospital. Sorry for ending this now.’ He slapped notes on the counter and signalled to the barman. ‘I’ll make it up to you.’ He pumped fists with his friend. ‘Bye, Ada.’

They both watched him hurry off as quickly as his spiked shoes allowed.

‘He’s seeing someone, isn’t he?’ Adaobi inquired of the man beside her, eyes fixed on her ex, taking his keys and shoes from his caddie in the car park.

‘Uh huh.’ Steve fingered his glass.

‘He moved on from us quite fast.’ A soupçon of sadness in her tone.

‘I’m sorry it didn’t work out between you two.’

‘Is it serious?’

‘I don’t know.’ Steve drained his glass.

Five minutes ago, from her back-row seat in the waiting lounge of the hospital, munching on a piece of buttered toast, Eme watched Naji and her children walk in; Aisha cradled over one shoulder, Rasheed walking beside her. It was apparent which child brought the family in.

Depositing Rasheed into an empty front-row chair, Eme continued her survey. Naji approached the reception counter nurse. If this was her first visit to the hospital for treatment, Eme thought, she was in for quite a long wait. Open a file. Verify and confirm her status in the company. Give her a number. Wait in line for her turn. Not necessarily in that order and not as fast either. The lounge was half filled with people, and the nurses on duty seemed to be at their most bitchy this morning.

Eme remembered her first time years ago. Patience and calm were real virtues here, especially on a Saturday like this. Take a seat, Eme read the lips of the desk nurse to Naji. Ah, the beginning of the waiting period, Eme thought, following Naji’s movement to join Rasheed, adjusting her daughter on her lap.

Eme was swinging her eyes off the trio when one of the inner doors, leading to the interior where the doctors’ consulting and treatment rooms were located, flew open.

Eme had been in the hospital often enough and privy to estate gossip, not to mention her friend dating a doctor for two years, to know its staff by face and names. The female doctor striding briskly with a searching gaze, in blue scrubs and a pair of designer spectacles on her pert nose, was a paediatrician; one of Tayo’s subordinates and his right-hand woman.

She marched up to the desk nurse and spoke a sentence or two to her, then turned around to face the rows of chairs occupied by waiting patients. ‘Mrs. Fawaz?’ She addressed Naji, moving towards her. ‘Good morning. I’m Dr. Bunmi Familoni. Is this the sick child?’ She pointed to Aisha, and with Naji’s nod, relieved the little girl from her mother. ‘Please come with me.’ As the doctor passed by the desk nurse, she said. ‘Hurry up with that paperwork.’ And led the way out of the lounge.

Confusion marred Eme’s puffy features as she tried to decipher the scene she’d just witnessed, with all the other patients who had arrived before Mrs Fawaz when who should burst through the hospital’s sliding doors and into the lounge but the boss himself, the head of paediatrics, the chief medical director — Dr. Adetayo Olukoya. Still clad in his golfing gear save for his shoes, he had yet to take off his visor or had forgotten to do so. Eme would know; she was due to meet Adaobi at the clubhouse once she was done here. She knew her friend chose that location to run into her ex. Eme hoped she had.

He acknowledged a flurry of greetings from the nurses while scanning the lounge, then hurried towards one of the inner doors.

From Adaobi, Eme knew Tayo hardly ever worked during the weekends. He had enough subordinates to cover the two days. Unless there was an emergency they couldn’t handle. So why was he here today? Unless he was behind the last scene with Dr. Familoni. Was he? Did he know Mrs Fawaz?

She extracted a bottle of water from her bag and gulped from it. Starting on another piece of buttered toast, she adjusted her bulk for comfort. She had time to kill and find out what Tayo’s presence meant. Her ob/gyn had only just begun seeing patients, and she was the fourth in line.

She didn’t need to wait long. Tayo emerged a few minutes later with Mrs. Fawaz’s little boy, Rasheed, and both males held hands, the boy talking freely. The doctor was certainly no stranger to him, Eme concluded, her eyes trailing their exit from the building.