I Do Not Come to You by Chance - By Adaobi Tricia Nwaubani Page 0,28

I said to the driver.

‘Bye,’ my mother said as I banged the door shut.

He waved. I waved back. My mother kept waving until the car was out of sight.

She continued in the opposite direction while I walked three streets to the closest business centre. I was the ninth person in the queue for the telephone. Things might have moved a bit quicker if not for the young man three places ahead of me who was trying to convince his brother in Germany of the rigours they were going through to clear the Mercedes-Benz V-Boot he had sent to them three months ago via the Apapa Port. The agents were demanding more and more clearing fees. Apparently, his brother thought he was lying.

When it eventually got to my turn, I wrote my number on a slip of paper and handed it to the telephone operator. The attendant got through to Aunty Dimma’s line after five dials.

‘That’s wonderful!’ Aunty Dimma sang. ‘Having you around will be good for Ogechi. She hasn’t been doing well in her maths.’

From there, I went to the newspaper stand round the corner. I had been buying newspapers from this same girl almost every week for about a year. Whenever my budget was tight, she turned away her vigilant eyes and allowed me to carry on as I pleased. Ola had once joked that the old girl had eyes for me. I selected a copy of This Day and saw that, in addition to Mobil and Chevron, a few insignificant companies were also hiring. I copied the relevant details before returning the newspaper to the stand.

Yes, Ola had asked me not to visit her in Owerri again, but now that I was aware of the source of her trouble - that her mother was bothered about my insecure economic status - I knew that an update would go a long way in allaying her fears. Ola might worry about my move to Port Harcourt, but in the long run, it would benefit our relationship.

Besides, women are from Venus. Like tying up shoelaces, they are full of twists, turns and roundabouts. They say something when what they really mean is another thing. For all I knew, right now, Ola was hoping that I would pay her a visit and wishing that she had not been so harsh on me the last time.

I confirmed that I had just enough money left over in my wallet and set off on another impromptu trip to Owerri.

Ola was not inside her room. My photographs were still missing. And instead of the wooden locker, there was a brand new refrigerator standing by the wall. Two girls were looking through some clothes piled on Ola’s bed. I recognised one of them as an occupant of the room.

‘Please, where’s Ola?’ I asked.

‘She’s not around,’ the roommate replied.

She would either be in the library or in the faculty lecture theatre.

‘If she comes in while I’m gone, could you please ask her to wait for me? I’m going to the faculty to look for her.’

The roommate was about to say something. The other girl hijacked her turn.

‘Ola isn’t in school,’ she said. ‘She travelled to Umuahia about two days ago.’

‘She went home?’

‘Yes,’ the girl replied.

How could Ola be in Umuahia and not let me know?

‘When is she due back?’ I asked.

There was an awkward silence. The girl looked at the roommate. The roommate did not return the look.

‘She didn’t say,’ the roommate replied.

‘Thank you,’ I said, and shut the door behind me.

It was late when I returned home. Godfrey and Eugene were huddled in front of the television while Charity was lying on the three-sitter sofa.

‘Where are Daddy and Mummy?’ I asked.

‘They’ve gone in,’ Godfrey replied.

‘It’s not been long since they went,’ Eugene added.

‘Daddy said he was having a headache and wanted to go in and rest, so Mummy went in with him,’ Charity expatiated.

Their answers came one after the other, as if they were reciting a stanza of poetry and had rehearsed their lines to perform for me when I returned.

I went into the children’s bedroom and changed into more casual clothes, returned to the living room and relaxed in a chair.

My mind was moving like an egg whisk. My brain cells were running helter-skelter. How could Ola have come into town without letting me know? What else had her mother been saying behind my back? Poor girl. I would visit her first thing tomorrow morning to allay her fears. Fixing my gaze on the screen, I