Read Online The Spider King's Daughter by Chibundu Onuzo - Free Book Online

and manipulated. I wanted my script.

    Chapter  12
     
     
    When I saw my hawker this afternoon, he asked me to come to the road on Saturday.
    ‘I can bring food and we can have a picnic in my jeep. The seats fold down.’
    ‘No. I meant come to the road as a starting point. Your driver can drop you here then we’ll go out. As in, go out into Lagos.’
    ‘Without my driver?’
    ‘You know, people without drivers still manage to get around.’
    ‘And it will be just the two of us.’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘What time?’
    ‘Twelve p.m. Don’t be late.’
       
     
    What does someone like me wear on her first date with a hawker? One of the maids scuttled past. She looked mouldy but in her day, she would probably have been out with some hawkers. Then again, none could possibly have been like mine. There was only one person who could advise me. In her quest to find the ultimate part, she had played love interest to a wide spectrum.
    My mother was a famous actress before she met my father. According to her, when they got married, she gave up her brilliant career to be a better wife. Recognition, stringless promiscuity, they all flew out of the window to make room for her new part of loving confidante. My father did not take to the script.
    Most days, you can find her wallowing in the Den, a portion of the basement that is her equivalent of the ‘study’. In there, she has built a shrine to her dead career. Love Me or Die was on when I walked in.
    ‘I want to ask you something.’
    ‘Shh.’
    She did not speak until her jealous co-star had strangled her to death and the credits were rolling.
       
     
    ‘So how can I help you, Abikẹ?’
    ‘What does one wear if one’s going out with someone of a lesser social standing?’
    ‘I presume we are speaking of a boy.’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Where is this young man taking you?’
    ‘Not me.’
    ‘What time of the day is this boy taking whoever we are speaking of, out?’
    ‘In the afternoon.’
    ‘He’ll like a bit of flesh on display. That kind usually does. Is he handsome?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Then I suggest a miniskirt: a denim one with frayed edges. Do you own anything of the sort?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘You do? I thought we weren’t speaking of you. How cheap. It will suit the occasion. Is that all?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Would you like to join me? I’m watching Best Friends Forever next. I haven’t seen a movie with Jennifer and me in ages.’
    ‘I’m busy.’
       
     
    Saturday came and I was dressed in a frayed miniskirt, standing on the roadside.
       
     
    On Friday evening, while Jọkẹ and I were fetching water from the communal tap, it occurred to me that Abikẹ might hate everything I’d planned.
    ‘Jọkẹ, in five years’ time when you go on your first date, where do you want to go?’
    ‘Let me just inform you, my first date is going to be next year and the boy has to take me to a very expensive restaurant.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Because that’s how a guy shows that he really likes a girl. The more expensive the restaurant the more serious the love. Don’t you know?’
    ‘I wonder who is teaching you this nonsense,’ I said, heaving a twenty-litre jerry can on to my shoulder.
    My sister could not be right, I thought, as I poured the water into the large drum that stood by the kitchen sink. If Abikẹ was expecting a fancy restaurant tomorrow, she might as well not leave her house. I couldn’t afford the rice in the places she was used to, let alone a full meal. I had never tried to hide this.
    I picked up half a tuber of yam and began to peel its skin. The mould that had eaten into it, I extracted, careful not to take off any white flesh. When we first moved here, Jọkẹ used to peel yam like we still had money. I warned her many times. Yet when I looked in the bin, I would still find peelings with shavings of white. One day, I took the knife from her and scraped the peels until they no longer had flesh on them. ‘Yam is expensive in the market,’ I