The Other Side of Truth (15 page)

“DON’T WORRY, AUNTIE.
We’ll be all right.” Sade tried to sound confident. Femi trickled his fingers down the misty glass of the cramped phone booth. The concern in Aunt Gracie’s voice sparked through the telephone wires. It was going to be a freezing night. They could get lost. London was dangerous. Their father would be terribly worried if he knew. Why did they have to go on their own? Uncle could take them. He would come for them if they would just say where they were now and where they wanted to go. Three pips called urgently for more coins.

“Please, Auntie. We’ll come—”

The line went dead. Sade’s hand trembled as she replaced the receiver. How could she explain that this was something she and Femi had to do by themselves? So many dreadful, frightening things happened to people that were never reported. Like to Mariam’s family. Or to those people at the Screening Unit—like the mother with the face of sunken dunes. With so many stories, why should Papa’s tale matter enough to become news? But if Mr. Seven O’Clock saw two children on their own, he might just stop to listen. It was up
to her and Femi to show that it mattered.

They jumped on the first bus with Waterloo Bridge on its list of destinations. It was one of the names Sade had written on her own map. She would have liked to ask the driver where the bus would go after that. But he was a scowling man who shoved back their change so roughly that she kept quiet. The bus downstairs was full of passengers. Femi clumped up the stairs and Sade followed him without protest. It would also be easier to see from on top.

“We have to look out for the river,” she told Femi, without adding that it was her only sure landmark.

The bus carried them over the Thames. On either side, along the riverbank, great buildings towered like castles with thousands of lights sparkling between the violet sky and the mud-colored water. The river looked nothing like the fat bright blue snake on the library map crossed by a zigzag of yellow stripes. It seemed even more remote from the squiggle of lines on the map in her hand. On the library map, she had counted five big yellow streets that they would have to cross before the long road where they would find the television studio. But there had been lots of little streets between the yellow ones and Sade was soon confused. Every street outside the bus appeared large enough to be colored yellow! She had to do something quickly before the bus moved too far from the river and she lost her bearings altogether.

“Excuse me, can you tell us where we are on this map, please? We want to go here, please.” Swallowing her shyness, Sade propelled her sketch toward a young man sitting alongside them. He blinked in surprise, then brought the paper so
close to his face that it almost touched his nose. The longer he spent examining it, the faster Sade felt her heart pumping. Her map was much too rough! She should have copied it out more clearly. By the time the man could make sense of it, they would have gone too far. They should at least get off the bus. She was poising herself to speak when the young man handed the map back. They were in luck. The bus would actually go along the end of the road they were looking for, he said. He would point it out to them.

Once off the bus, the children steered their way through figures wrapped securely in coats and scarves. Shops and offices were closing and people were going home. A plump Father Christmas and an airy snowman twinkled down at them above the street lights. Giant stars and Christmas trees flickered above the traffic. However, around the corner, the road was not lit so brightly. Cars and taxis still roared past, but there were fewer shops and people. More shadows.

“Listen, child. London streets are full of strangers—and some are very sick, you know. Your daddy is trusting me and Uncle Roy to take good care of you.”

Aunt Gracie’s words echoed in Sade’s head. She remembered Darth Vader of the alley lunging out at them on their first night in the city.

“How far is it?” Femi mewled. Sade was peering through the gloom at each new entrance, searching for signs and brass number plates. She had no idea what kind of building they were looking for.

“It can’t be far.”

“You lie! How do you know? You haven’t been here
before!” It was the whine that always got on her nerves.

“Then why ask me such a stupid question?!” Sade bit her lip. The moment the words were out she knew that they were a mistake. Femi stamped to a halt.

“If I’m so stupid, why do you need me? I’m going home! Give me my bus money!”

“Don’t be so—” Sade swung around. Femi’s jaw jutted out fiercely. He was serious. He might even try to walk all the way if she refused to give him his bus fare. Her whole plan was going to be ruined.

“Oh don’t let’s argue!” Sade pleaded. “I’m sorry. It’s me that’s stupid. We won’t help Papa if we fight.”

Slowly Femi’s jaw and shoulders relaxed. Like a bristling cat letting its hair down. They set off again in silence. Ahead of them most of the buildings were shrouded in darkness. Was this really the right street? Sade would have liked to check her map under one of the pools of light but she dare not let Femi see any doubt. Her face prickled with the cold and her fingers stiffened despite her gloves.

A glow of light and two taxis pulling up alongside a row of great white pillars were the first signs. When they drew nearer, they could see the building was quite different from the rest. Behind the pillars, the pavement sloped up toward two large revolving glass doors. The entire wall was made of glass. Inside a brilliantly lit hall, glossy green trees grew in huge tubs and televisions hung from the walls like decorations. For a little while they stared without speaking at this world inside a world. They could see everything but hear nothing. People walked briskly from the revolving doors to a
man behind a desk. The buttons on his uniform glinted as he nodded and pointed.

“Will that man let us in?” Femi asked.

Sade had only imagined being with Mr. Seven O’Clock himself. She hadn’t thought about getting past any guards! And if she had to ask for him, what would she say? Suddenly she couldn’t even remember his real name! Whatever would she call him? Hardly ‘Mr. Seven O’Clock News’!

“We’ll have to wait outside. No one can chase us away from here.” Sade tried to keep her voice low and calm. Mr. Seven O’Clock was probably inside the studio already. At Papa’s office, the journalists worked for hours before the paper was published each day. She and Femi might have to wait until the program was over. She raised her watch toward the light inside the glass wall. Just past five-thirty. The news finished at eight. She hadn’t thought about the waiting time.

“You’re mad! It’s free-eezing!” Femi dug his hands deeper into his pockets.

“When he sees that we waited in the cold, he’ll listen to us!” insisted Sade.

“We might be dead!”

“Be serious, Femi. You know what I mean.”

“I am serious! You are the one with crazy ideas!” Femi’s voice rose indignantly. He blew out a mouthful of air and a thin mist of steam rose under the lamplight.

“Like Papa,” he added under his breath.

Sade was not sure she had heard correctly. She did not want another argument. Certainly not one about Papa—nor outside the television studio. It was unlikely that Mr. Seven
O’Clock would appear before eight. Femi was probably right. They would freeze just standing there.

“OK, we’ll come back later. I’ve got money. We’ll get fish and chips. I know you like them.” Before he could push her away, Sade put her arm around Femi and steered him once again into the shadows.

As soon as she had said fish and chips, Sade wished she hadn’t. They had not passed any fish and chips shops along the way. They would have to walk farther on up the road, which seemed even darker than the direction from which they had come.

“We can go there!” Femi pointed to a restaurant on the other side of the road.

For a brief moment, it seemed ideal. If they sat near the front window, they could keep an eye on the entrance to the television studio. But even before they had stepped on to the pavement, Sade knew it was not possible. Silver cutlery glinted off linen tablecloths. A waiter was folding napkins and placing them upright like fox ears. Another was beginning to light candles.

“We don’t have enough money for this place, Femi.”

“Let me see,” he said boldly. There was a menu by the door. “What does this mean, Sade?” Suddenly there was an edge of caution in his voice. Some words were in French but before Sade could reply, Femi whistled.

“Fourteen pounds!”

Femi pointed to an item about fish baked in wine with ingredients Sade had never heard of. She pulled at Femi’s arm. This time he did not resist.

The farther they walked from the television studio, the more murky and desolate the street became. There was something menacing and grim about the buildings as if phantoms might be lurking behind the doors. She tried not to let Femi feel her fear. However when three figures emerged in the dimness ahead and came reeling toward them, she clutched her brother’s arm. He, in turn, snatched her away toward the road. They hovered on the edge of the gutter, for a moment trapped between the staggering bodies and the headlights of a vehicle. Then a strong stench of alcohol hit them and a sound like a bull in pain. As the car’s rearlights receded like discs of fire, they dashed across the road. Sade was about to urge that they should turn back, when Femi pointed to a light shining from a doorway in the next block. They would go as far as that.

It was a tiny shop and the shopkeeper was bringing out a grille to close for the night. The children slipped inside behind him. The man’s cap and tunic reminded Sade of Mariam’s uncle, although Daud’s Store was twice the size. But here too, newspapers, magazines, sweets, biscuits, drinks and all sorts were crammed on to narrow shelves. Certainly no fish and chips. Sade grabbed a packet of chocolate biscuits and Femi yanked open the cabinet with canned drinks. The man studied them with a weary patience as Sade handed him her coins.

Femi did not argue as they set off back toward the television studio. Nor did he mention fish and chips again. Ahead of them the great white pillars now stood out like distant beacons. Once again, the revolving doors and the lights both
beckoned them and held them at bay. Sade was painfully aware of the time. Two more hours outside in the cold. The only place that seemed to offer any shelter was a small recess next to the restaurant with the silver cutlery and candles. It was actually a doorway set back from the road and at first Sade expected someone to come out at any minute. If they were asked what they were doing, she would say that they were waiting for their father and then move away. Where to, she did not know.

Femi tore open the packet of chocolate biscuits. Two biscuits were enough for Sade but Femi continued munching until only a couple were left. Sade decided not to drink her Coke. It would make her even colder, but Femi ignored her advice and gulped the contents of his can. After he had finished, he stood with his teeth chattering. Sade suggested they play word games to pass the time, but Femi was not interested. For a while she tried running on the spot to keep warm, but felt her legs becoming so heavy with the cold that it was too much effort to move. Femi was now frozen into silence and did not resist when Sade pressed close to him, twining her arm through his. At least they could share whatever little body heat they had together.

All the while, Sade kept her eyes trained on the other side of the road. The revolving doors were never still for long. It was like watching a strange dance inside and outside the glass. Some people stepped away purposefully, but very often a figure strode onto the pavement with an arm held aloft as if raising a flag. A black taxi would roll up, absorb the figure and whisk it away. Sometimes the arm had to swoop up and down
a number of times before a vehicle came. Only occasionally did someone cross the street as if coming toward them. But no one appeared to notice the children.

It was difficult to see her watch in their dark corner. Sade made herself wait a little longer each time before trying to check it, as if that might hurry the minutes along. Instead the long needle seemed to become slower and stiffer. When at last it was ten minutes to eight, she and Femi had become just as stiff themselves. They hobbled across the road together and placed themselves alongside the glass wall a little way aside from the revolving doors. It was still better not to attract the attention of Mr. Buttons behind the desk.

Eight o’clock. Five past. Where was Mr. Seven O’Clock? Quarter past. Was it possible to become paralyzed through cold? Twenty past. A tall thin man with silver-gray hair who had his back turned to them was walking away with one arm raised. Surely that was him! How had they missed him coming through the door? He was calling a taxi! He would be gone before he had seen them. Sade wrenched Femi from the glass wall and tried to run. Her bones felt brittle enough to snap.

“Please! Wait! Please!” her words fluttered out jerkily. Mr. Seven O’Clock turned as Femi slipped, slid and tumbled toward his feet. Swinging an arm forward, Mr. Seven O’Clock grasped him just before he hit the ground. A black taxi purred to a halt next to them.

“Please…please!” Sade’s words were as cracked as her lips. “We need…to see you…please!”

Mr. Seven O’Clock’s eyes were larger than she had
imagined. His forehead furrowed as he helped Femi up. Then glancing across at the taxi driver, he shook his head. Sade’s heart leaped. He was going to listen after all.

“You had better come inside. It looks as if you could do with a hot drink first.”

Guided through the glass doors, past the desk and Mr. Buttons, into the lift and through corridors, Sade ignored the curious eyes, aware only of the tall man behind them. He was like a great sail, pushing them forward. Protecting them.

Outside, Sade had tried to rehearse where to begin. From the shot that killed Mama? Or before that, with Papa’s articles? Or later, with Papa and the false passport? There were so many possible starting points. In the end she did not need to worry. Mr. Seven O’Clock waited patiently as he sat opposite the two children. With a sense of touch beginning to flow back into her fingers around the mug of hot chocolate on the table in front of her, Sade found the thread she needed.