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Authors: Minette Walters
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time this happened, mistaking her quiet resumption of his exercises for kindness rather than a desire to avoid Princess. Yetunde’s rage was always worse when the nurse said Ebuka was showing improvement.
Yet why this was so, Muna didn’t know. With her own ears, she had heard Jeremy Broadstone tell Yetunde how important it was to follow the regime she’d been given for Ebuka. The doctors would become suspicious if they didn’t see a slow but steady improvement in his mental and physical condition when the legal suit argued that Mrs Songoli had put her life on hold to provide full-time care. She must prove how dedicated she was, how many hours a day she was sacrificing to looking after her husband, how impossible it was for her to seek employment when his needs came first.
‘It’s Mr Songoli who’ll be awarded the compensation,’ he reminded her, ‘so you must keep him and his doctors happy if you want control of the money.’
Yetunde pulled a sour face. ‘It’s a shame he didn’t break his neck. We’d get more if he was completely paralysed.’
‘And you’d be expected to use it to pay for an army of trained nurses to tend him round the clock. Quadriplegia is a serious condition. This way you have the best of both worlds. The cushion of invested income and a husband who, over time, can learn to cope with his disability and achieve some independence.’
‘If he doesn’t, I’ll put him in a home. I can’t be at his beck and call for ever.’
Muna recalled this conversation weeks later when Yetunde stood for several minutes in the doorway of the dining room, watching her lift and move Ebuka’s legs. Yetunde’s dislike of what she was seeing was so palpable that Muna could feel it across the space between them. She peeped through her lashes at Yetunde’s purple face and watched her lips mouth angrily that she was going out.
She waited until she heard the front door close. Why is Princess cross with us, Master? she asked, gently rotating Ebuka’s left ankle. Doesn’t she want you to get better?
She’s jealous.
What does that mean, Master?
She knows I prefer your help to hers. It makes her feel unwanted.
Is that a bad thing, Master?
It is if you think you’re important.
Is Princess important, Master?
Not as much as she’d like to be.
Muna moved to the other side of the bed to rotate his right ankle. She longs for Mr Broadstone to think her important, Master. She paints her face for hours before he comes.
She wants the compensation he can win for us. We’ll have nothing to live on otherwise.
Princess wants the money for herself, Master. She signed papers for Mr Broadstone while you were in hospital. He said they would make her rich.
He meant all of us.
I don’t think so, Master.
Ebuka watched as she smoothed lotion into the unfeeling skin of his left calf. Are you as jealous as she is? he asked. Are you trying to set me against her?
I ask only that you show wisdom, Master.
What kind of wisdom?
The sort that tells you Princess is greedy, Master. She wants your money more than she wants you … and when she has it, she’ll keep the nurse from the house.
For what reason?
To make your life shorter. If no one sees you, she can be as cruel as she likes.
A frown of uncertainty creased Ebuka’s brow. She wouldn’t dare harm me. My doctors will ask questions.
She dared it with me, Master. Any of her beatings could have killed me, and no one would have known. I didn’t exist until the police came to the house on the day Abiola went missing.
Winter
Nine
As the days shortened and sleet rattled the window panes, Muna would have been frightened to go to her room if she hadn’t discovered that the key to Abiola’s door also locked hers. Several times she squatted in the corner, listening to the whisper of naked feet on the carpet of the corridor, watching the handle turn and hearing Yetunde’s breath exhale against the panels.
To Muna’s eyes, jealousy was a strange and
Yet why this was so, Muna didn’t know. With her own ears, she had heard Jeremy Broadstone tell Yetunde how important it was to follow the regime she’d been given for Ebuka. The doctors would become suspicious if they didn’t see a slow but steady improvement in his mental and physical condition when the legal suit argued that Mrs Songoli had put her life on hold to provide full-time care. She must prove how dedicated she was, how many hours a day she was sacrificing to looking after her husband, how impossible it was for her to seek employment when his needs came first.
‘It’s Mr Songoli who’ll be awarded the compensation,’ he reminded her, ‘so you must keep him and his doctors happy if you want control of the money.’
Yetunde pulled a sour face. ‘It’s a shame he didn’t break his neck. We’d get more if he was completely paralysed.’
‘And you’d be expected to use it to pay for an army of trained nurses to tend him round the clock. Quadriplegia is a serious condition. This way you have the best of both worlds. The cushion of invested income and a husband who, over time, can learn to cope with his disability and achieve some independence.’
‘If he doesn’t, I’ll put him in a home. I can’t be at his beck and call for ever.’
Muna recalled this conversation weeks later when Yetunde stood for several minutes in the doorway of the dining room, watching her lift and move Ebuka’s legs. Yetunde’s dislike of what she was seeing was so palpable that Muna could feel it across the space between them. She peeped through her lashes at Yetunde’s purple face and watched her lips mouth angrily that she was going out.
She waited until she heard the front door close. Why is Princess cross with us, Master? she asked, gently rotating Ebuka’s left ankle. Doesn’t she want you to get better?
She’s jealous.
What does that mean, Master?
She knows I prefer your help to hers. It makes her feel unwanted.
Is that a bad thing, Master?
It is if you think you’re important.
Is Princess important, Master?
Not as much as she’d like to be.
Muna moved to the other side of the bed to rotate his right ankle. She longs for Mr Broadstone to think her important, Master. She paints her face for hours before he comes.
She wants the compensation he can win for us. We’ll have nothing to live on otherwise.
Princess wants the money for herself, Master. She signed papers for Mr Broadstone while you were in hospital. He said they would make her rich.
He meant all of us.
I don’t think so, Master.
Ebuka watched as she smoothed lotion into the unfeeling skin of his left calf. Are you as jealous as she is? he asked. Are you trying to set me against her?
I ask only that you show wisdom, Master.
What kind of wisdom?
The sort that tells you Princess is greedy, Master. She wants your money more than she wants you … and when she has it, she’ll keep the nurse from the house.
For what reason?
To make your life shorter. If no one sees you, she can be as cruel as she likes.
A frown of uncertainty creased Ebuka’s brow. She wouldn’t dare harm me. My doctors will ask questions.
She dared it with me, Master. Any of her beatings could have killed me, and no one would have known. I didn’t exist until the police came to the house on the day Abiola went missing.
Winter
Nine
As the days shortened and sleet rattled the window panes, Muna would have been frightened to go to her room if she hadn’t discovered that the key to Abiola’s door also locked hers. Several times she squatted in the corner, listening to the whisper of naked feet on the carpet of the corridor, watching the handle turn and hearing Yetunde’s breath exhale against the panels.
To Muna’s eyes, jealousy was a strange and
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