Chapter 5

And didn't it only add outrage to Chioma's growing sense of panic to realise that he actually meant it?

Chioma's fingers were trembling as she left the bank and little rivulets of sweat were trickling down over her hot cheeks. Impatiently brushing them aside, she stood stock-still outside the gleaming building while all around her busy City types made little tutting noises of irritation as they were forced to weave their way around her.

There had to be some kind of mistake. There had to be. She couldn't believe that her father would be so cruel. Or so dictatorial. That he would have instructed that tight-lipped bank manager to inform her that all funds in her account had been frozen, and no more would be forthcoming. But her rather hysterical request that the bank manager stop freaking her out had been met with nothing but an ominous silence and now that she was outside, the truth hit her like a sledgehammer coming at her out of nowhere. She was broke.

Her heart slammed against her ribcage. Part of her still didn't want to believe it. Had the bank manager been secretly laughing at her when he'd handed over the formal-looking letter? She'd ripped it open and stared in horror as the words written by her father's lawyer had wobbled before her eyes and a key phrase had jumped out at her, like a specter.

Kalada Rex has been instructed to provide any assistance you may need.

Kalada Rex? She had literally shaken with rage. Kalada Rex, the brute who had stormed into her apartment yesterday and who was responsible for her current state of homelessness? She would rather starve than ask him for assistance. She would talk her father round and he would listen to her. He always did.

But in the middle of her defiance came an overwhelming wave of panic and fear, which washed over her and made her feel as if she were drowning. It was the same feeling she used to get when her mother would suddenly announce that they were leaving a city, and all Chioma's hard-fought-for friends would soon become distant and then forgotten memories.

She mustn't panic. She mustn't.

Her fingers still shaking, Chioma sheltered in a shop doorway and took out her cell phone. She rang her father's number, but it went straight through to his personal assistant, Mary-Ellen, a woman who had never been her biggest fan and who didn't bother hiding her disapproval when she heard Chioma's voice.

'Chioma. This is a surprise,' she said archly.

'Hello, Mary-Ellen.' Chioma drew in a deep breath. 'I need to speak to my father—urgently. Is he there?'

'I'm afraid he's not.'

'Do you know when he'll be back or where I can get hold of him?'

There was a pause and Chioma wondered if she was being paranoid, or whether it sounded like a very deliberate pause.

'I'm afraid it isn't quite as easy as that. He's decided to go back to Nigeria he decided he wanted to go back to his hometown in Anambara and spend more time in the place he grew up in before moving to the UK.'

Chioma gave a snort of disbelief and a passing businessman shot her a funny look. 'My father? Gone to Nigeria? To do what I thought he said he's not planning on going back to Nigeria anytime soon? Is this some kind of joke, Mary-Ellen?'

'No, it is not a joke he changed his mind after visiting a Nigerian restaurant and got a feeling of nostalgia,' said Mary-Ellen crisply. 'He's been trying to get hold of you for weeks. He had left a lawyer's letter with the bank—did you get it?'

Chioma thought about the screwed-up piece of paper currently reposing with several sticks of chewing gum and various lipsticks at the bottom of her handbag. 'Yes, I got it.'

'Then I suggest you follow his advice and speak to Kalada Rex. All his contact details are there. Kalada Rex is the man who'll be able to help you in your father's absence. He's—'

With a howl of rage, Chioma cut the connection and slung her phone back into her bag, before starting to walk—not knowing nor caring which direction she was taking. She didn't want Kalada Rex to help her! What was it with him that suddenly his name was on everyone's lips as if he were some kind of god? And what was it with her that she was behaving like some kind of helpless victim, just because a few obstacles had been put in her way?

Worse things than this had happened to her, she reminded herself. She'd survived a nightmare childhood, hadn't she? And even when she'd got through that, the problems hadn't stopped coming. She wiped a trickle of sweat away from her forehead. But those kinds of thoughts wouldn't help her now. She needed to think clearly. She needed to go back to the apartment to work out some kind of coping strategy until she could get hold of her father. And she would get hold of him. Somehow she would track him down—even if she had to hitchhike to Nigeria in order to do so. She would appeal to his better judgement and the sense of guilt which had never quite left him for kicking her and her mother out onto the street. Surely he wasn't planning to do that for a second time? And surely he hadn't really frozen her funds? But in the meantime...

She caught the Tube and got out near her apartment, stopping off at the nearest shop to buy some provisions since her rumbling stomach was reminding her that she'd had nothing to eat that morning. But after putting a whole stack of shopping and a pack of cigarettes through the till, she had the humiliation of seeing the machine decline her card. There was an audible sigh of irritation from the man in the queue behind her and she saw one woman nudging her friend as they moved closer as if anticipating some sort of scene.

'There must be some kind of mistake,' Chioma mumbled, her face growing scarlet. 'I shop in here all the time—you must remember me? I can bring the money along later.'

But as the embarrassed shop assistant shook her head, she told Chioma that it was company policy never to accept credit. And as she rang the bell underneath her till deep down Chioma knew there had been no mistake. Her father really had done it. He'd frozen her funds just as the bank manager had told her.

She thought about her refrigerator at home and its meagre contents. There was plenty of champagne but little else—a tub of Greek yoghurt, which was probably growing a forest of mould by now, a bag of oranges and those soggy chocolate biscuits which were past their sell-by date. Her cheeks growing even hotter, Chioma scrabbled around in her purse for some spare change and found nothing but a solitary, crumpled note.

'I'll just take the cigarettes,' she croaked, handing over the note but not quite daring to meet the eyes of the assistant as she scuttled from the shop.

The trouble was that these days everyone glared at you if you dared smoke a cigarette and Chioma was forced to wait until she reached home before she could light up. Whatever happened to personal freedom? She wondered as she slammed the front door behind her and fumbled around for her lighter with shaking hands. She thought about the way Kalada Rex had snatched the cigarette from her lips yesterday and a feeling of fury washed over her.

On a whim, she tapped out a text to her half-brother, Henry, as she tried to remember what time it was in America.

What do you know about a man called Kalada Rex?

Considering they hadn't been in contact for well over a year, Chioma was surprised and pleased when Henry's reply came running back immediately.

He was my classmate in school and best friend. Why ask?

So that was why the name had rung a distant bell and why Kalada's midnight-blue eyes had bored into her when she'd said it. Henry was four years older than her and had left home by the time she'd moved back into their father's house as a mixed-up fourteen-year-old. But—come to think of it—hadn't her father mentioned some Nigerian whizz-kid on the payroll who'd dragged himself up from the gutter? Was Kalada Rex the one he'd been talking about?

She wanted to ask him more, but Henry was probably lying on some nude beach somewhere, sipping champagne and surrounded by gorgeous women. Did she inform him she was soon to be homeless and that his classmate Kalada Rex had threatened to have the locks changed? Would he even believe her version of the story if he and Kalada Rex had been best mates?

There was a ping as another text arrived.

And why are you texting me at midnight?

Chioma bit her lip. Was there really any point in grumbling to a man who was thousands of miles away? What was she expecting him to do—transfer money to her account? Because something told her he wouldn't do it, despite the fortune Henry had built up for himself in America. Her half-brother had been one of the people who were always nagging her to get a proper job. Wasn't that one of the reasons why she'd allowed herself to lose touch with him—because he told her things she preferred not hear?

Her fingers wavered over the touchpad.

Just wanted to say hi.

Hi to you, too! Nice to hear from you. Let's talk soon. X

Chioma's eyes inexplicably began to fill with tears as she tapped out her reply: Okay. X.

It was the only good thing which had happened to her all day but the momentary glow of contentment it gave her didn't last long. Chioma sat on the floor disconsolately finishing her cigarette and then began to shiver. How could her father have gone away to Nigeria and left her in this predicament?

She thought about what everyone was saying and the different alternatives which lay open to her, realizing there weren't actually that many. She could throw herself on people's mercy and ask to sleep on their sofas, but for how long? And she couldn't even do that without enough money to offer towards household expenses. Everyone would start to look at her in a funny way if she didn't contribute to food and stuff. And if she couldn't buy her very expensive round in the nightclubs they tended to frequent, then everyone would start to gossip—because in the kind of circles she mixed in, being broke was social death.

She stared down at the diamond bracelet glittering at her wrist, an eighteenth-birthday present intended to console her during a particularly low point in her life. It hadn't, of course. It had been one of many lessons she'd learnt along the way. It didn't matter how many jewels you wore, their cold beauty was powerless to fill the empty holes which punctured your soul...

She thought about going to a pawnbroker and wondered if such places still existed, but something told her she would get a desultory price for the bracelet. Because people who tried to raise money against jewelry were vulnerable and she knew better than anyone that the vulnerability of people were there to be taken advantage of.

The sweat of earlier had dried on her skin and her teeth began to chatter loudly. Chioma remembered her father's letter and the words of Mary-Ellen, his assistant. Speak to Kalada Rex. And even though every instinct she possessed was warning her to steer clear of the trumped-up Nigerian, she suspected she had no choice but to turn to him.

She stared down at her creased clothes.

She licked her lips with a feeling of instinctive fear. She didn't like falling at the mercy of people. She didn't trust them, and with good reason. But she knew their weaknesses. Her mother hadn't taught her much, but she'd drummed in the fact that men were always susceptible to a woman who looked at them helplessly.

Fired up by a sudden sense of purpose, Chioma went into her suite bathroom and took a long shower. And then she dressed with more care than she'd used in a long time.

She remembered the disdainful look on Kalada Rex Face when he had told her that he didn't get turned on by women who smoked and flaunted their bodies. And she remembered the contemptuous expression in his midnight-blue eyes as he had said that. So she fished out a navy-blue dress which she'd only ever worn to failed job interviews, put on minimal make-up and twisted her black hair back into a smooth and demure chignon. Stepping back from the mirror, Chioma hardly recognized the image which stared back at her. Why, she could almost pose as a body double for the Israeli sensation Gal Gadot in the Wonder Woman movies!

Kalada Rex Offices were tucked away in a surprisingly picturesque and quiet street in Kensington, which was lined with cherry trees. She didn't know what she'd expected to find, but it certainly hadn't been a restored period building whose outward serenity belied the unmistakable buzz of success she encountered the moment she stepped inside.

The entrance hall had a sparingly high ceiling, with quirky chandeliers and a curving staircase which swept up from the chequered marble floor. A transparent desk sat in front of a modern painting of a woman caressing the neck of a goat. Beside it was a huge canvas with a glittery image of Marilyn Monroe, which Chioma recognized instantly. She felt a little stab at her heart. Everything in the place seemed achingly cool and trendy, and suddenly she felt like a fish out of water in her frumpy navy dress and stark hairstyle. A fact which wasn't helped by the lofty blonde receptionist in a monochrome mini dress who looked up from behind the Perspex desk and smiled at Chioma in a friendly way.

'Hi! Can I help you?'

'I want to see Kalada Rex.' The words came out more clumsily than Chioma had intended and the blonde looked a little taken aback.

'I'm afraid Kalada is tied up for most of the day,' she said, her smile a little less bright than before. 'You don't have an appointment?'

Chioma could feel a rush of emotions flooding through her, but the most prominent of them all was a sensation of being less than. As if she had no right to be here. As if she had no right to be anywhere. She found herself wondering what on earth she was doing in her frumpy dress when this sunny-looking creature looked as if she'd just strayed in from a land of milk and honey, but it was too late to do anything about it now. She put her bag down on one of the modern chairs which looked more like works of art than objects designed for sitting on, and shot the receptionist a defiant look.

'Not a formal appointment, no. But I need to see him—urgently—so I'll just sit here and wait, if you don't mind.'