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Chapter 2

Flowers - lots of them. Roses in particular, lined up along the long aisles of the auditorium. What colour would paint the picture perfectly? Red? Pink? Or perhaps green? Green? Who ever thought of green roses? Suppose green roses actually grew on tress… How silly of me! What was I thinking? Then the bridesmaids, it definitely had to be plum – my favourite colour – bridesmaids in plum dresses tailored in the trendiest of fashion, hair packed neatly in a curly heap, with pink hair accessories giving the final touch. The loud applause, the pause as the organist plays the opening lines of the Wedding March, then I appear – robed in white – finally, my long awaited day of joy. It is perfect. This is the day I have waited for all my life, my wedding day.

“Miss Nwondo…”

Jane Nwobodo’s eyelids fluttered and she was mentally transported from her illusionary wedding to her office, staring at the pale face of Suzanne Keyor, her secretary.

“Are you alright?” Suzanne asked her.

Taking in a deep breath, “I’m fine,” her round dark eyes dropped back to the wedding invitation her slender fingers grappled around. Suzanne Keyor was getting married. When Suzanne had given her the invitation, Jane started to imagine that it was her name written in gold on the white card – Jane and some elegant name like Peter or Dele. She could feel another headache coming up. Her fingers trembled as she spoke, “Congratulations once again…”her smile lingered far too long as her thoughts once again had taken flight. Jane Nwobodo was a light skinned young woman, tall and had a beautiful gait to watch and as she walked back to her seat, her well-tailored suit sitting perfectly well on her frame, Suzanne stared in wonder.

“Madame, are you sure you’re alright?” Concern spread over Suzanne’s face like a generous spread of butter on bread. She was short, a little below average height, petite and had a face that though most of the time was burdened, was always coloured with a smile. Suzanne Hendricks who had worked at the firm for seven years, had seen many Managers come and go, but of all the Managers, she liked Jane Nwondo best. Miss Nwobodo was hard, all right, wanting her letters promptly attended to and her messages delivered on time, but Jane Nwobodo was nice, never turned her nose downward and minded her business.

“I’m fine,” Jane’s smile remained in place as she walked to the large desk where a large flower vase with dried flower stalks stood uprightly, its brightness filling the room with homeliness. Next to it was a tree-shaped table lamp that had been a birthday gift and just looking at it reminded her of the ferocity with which her biological clock was ticking. Her laptop rested on the table, a couple of pens, loose sheets and stick-ons were strewn across the table. A picture of her sister stared at her and Jane was lost as she gazed emptily at it.

They bore the same resemblance to her light skinned oval face and their noses curved with the same prominence.

Jane had been working before Suzanne’s interruption and though her secretary had only meant well, her intrusion had done more damage than good. Jane doubted very much if she would get any work done at all.

Jane placed the invitation on her desk and watched Suzanne as she bowed away. Jane had been with the firm for two years and within that time, Suzanne, her secretary, was quiet and hardly spoke a word except when she was spoken to. The joy on her face was evident.

Suzanne was getting married. Unbelievable!

This was the lat straw!

It sounded like the biggest joke! Jane was no evil witch with bad intentions towards her staff, but the news of Suzanne’s wedding was strange. Who would marry Suzanne? Suzanne matched her clothes in a way Jane found unappealing and her smile was too wide to be called beautiful. If Suzanne was getting married, it meant there was still some hope for Jane to hold on to, for it proved the world, contrary to her thought, had not run out of single available, marriageable men. But then again, maybe Suzanne’s getting married was not in her favour.

Jane was yet to meet Suzanne’s fiancé and find out what sort of man he was. It seemed she had arrived at the party late and all the eligible men had taken their pick and were either married, engaged or in a serious relationship. Only the leftover guys usually hung around, the type no one wanted. If Suzanne’s man was a left-over kind of guy, then she was in big, big trouble.

Life had slapped Jane in the face and at thirty-two, she was still very single. Jane was not ugly and she had a line-up of trophies to attest to that in a shelf in her bedroom – Miss Gloryville – her first trophy, she had been six years old. Her primary school, Gloryville had fashioned activities of all sorts to keep its young students positively busy and excited, at the same time and the beauty pageant was one of such activities. Others had followed – a beauty contest organised by her secondary school at the age of fourteen, another in the university. She had never thought she would have any problems. She knew getting into the university, in a country like Nigeria where students had to conquer the giant of JAMB, would be difficult and a lot of work, she had envisaged picking up a job would not be a child’s game, but finding a man? She had thought with a click of her finger and the lads, flexing muscles to show their prowess and prove their worthiness of her love, would come running and with a toss of her head, she would make her choice, dismissing whoever she desired, with the delight of a little girl picking out a dress to wear. Life had kicked her where it hurt most and she had reached the bus stop she had never imagined herself. Thirty-two, rich, beautiful and without a man.

“I am doomed.”

Jane tried to get back to work, tossing the loose sheets, her eyes moving unconsciously back to the invitation till she decided to put it into the drawer. What did Suzanne or any of the hordes of brides that marched down the aisles every Saturday have that she didn’t? Her head was a citadel of mental activity where thoughts roamed endlessly like a destitute in search of answers to life’s questions.

The phone rang. Bad timing. Her eyes looked past it, wanting nothing more than to ignore it, but having a sense of duty to the organisation for which she worked, she pressed the speakerphone button. “Yes, Suzanne…” her voice reverberated impatience and anger, and Suzanne received the message quite well, for her tone lowered and she spoke with the same whimper she used when she had gotten it to her tether’s end.

“Miss Nwobodo, Mr. Ike is on line one…”

Jane sighed. What had she done this time? “Put him through…”

“Hello, Janet…”

Darlington Ike was the only one who insisted on called her Janet. It was the most annoying thing she had heard in her life. His voice was heavily intonated with an Ibo accent and it sounded like the muffled cry of a dying man

“Good morning sir,” she did not hide the anger in her voice.

“Good job with the contract you just signed.”

“Thank you sir,” Jane was silent.

“Did you get my roses?” He asked.

“Yes, Mr. Ike, I got your roses,” Jane cleared her throat, not adding that they were squashed at the bottom of the bin of her house. Darlington Ike was the greediest man Jane knew. Apart from his three wives, he had two young girlfriends that frequented his office and he still insisted on chasing her.

“So, how about that date you promised me?”

“I did not promise you anything,” Jane’s voice cut through the air. She picked up her favourite pencil from the pile- a flowered one with a sharpened end – and tapped it on the desk. She had better things to do than spend her time on the phone with this man.

“Look here, Jane, play nice with me and we’ll get along fine,” he began. “Besides, you know I am your boss.”

“You are the general manager of this company, but that does not make you my boss,” she began. “Apart from being an accountant, I also happen to be a lawyer and I know my rights, Mr. Ike, and if you do as much as query me, I will slam you with a law suit…”

“Girl, take it easy, easy,” Mr. Ike laughed at the other end of the telephone. “I want to marry you Janet…”

Jane hissed. Why did every married man feel an older single woman was desperate enough to jump into the arms of anything even if it looked like a frog? “I have better things to do with my time, excuse me…” she dropped the phone. At this rate, she was going to end up single for life.

by Yvonne Oshiobugie (email: yoshiobugie@yahoo.com)




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