“Nonsense,” Papa said, gathering her up in his arms and kissing her on the mouth with an obscene amount of enthusiasm for a fifty-one-year-old.
Johnny grimaced, but as they smiled and rubbed their noses together he found that he couldn’t look away. They just made it look so effortless, like loving each other was the easiest thing in the world. They’d met in Cameroon, planned to make a life there, raised Johnny in Yaoundé, and when Maman had said she wanted to leave, Papa had followed without question. Even though it meant leaving the rest of the Ateba pack behind.
Johnny’s eyes slipped to Taylor, who was also watching them but with an expression of quiet despondency. He blinked afew times, hand falling still on the plate he’d been drying. His eyes trailed up and met Johnny’s, and they just looked at one another, the sound of kissing, and laughter and terrible French pop songs fading into the background.
Johnny wanted to go to him. Wanted to toss the plate into the sink and pull Taylor into his arms. He wanted it so much it hurt.
“Mama!” came Gabriella’s voice as she barrelled into the kitchen. Taylor coughed, dropped his eyes and turned back to the sink. “Clem’s broken the TV and Marty’s crying again!”
“I am not!” Marty yelled from the living room, voice heavy with tears.
It was already gone ten when the kids finally went to bed and Papa resumed his usual position on the sofa. He nodded and hummed as he read the newspaper, his foot tapping against the coffee table even though the music had long been turned off.
“Will you stay tonight?” Maman asked, shaking a pile of sweet potatoes in a colander over the sink.
She handed them to Johnny and he began peeling them ready for her to use the following day. Cooking, he’d long known, was a kind of therapy in itself—the feel of the food beneath his fingers and the small satisfaction of knowing that he had fed someone. He understood why Maman worked so hard, but she and Papa were growing older and the restaurant busier by the day.
“It’s your day off tomorrow, isn’t it?”
Johnny looked down at the sweet potatoes. “Yes,” he replied, scooping the peel into a tub. “What did you have in mind?”
Maman sighed. “Kofi’s taking the kids fishing, but I’m worried he’s not well enough after his operation.”
Pressing his lips together, Johnny began on another potato. “Sure. I’ll see if Tay wants to come.”
Maman nodded and pressed herself under his arm. “Thank you.”
They stood in comfortable silence for a little while, until Johnny said, “You can take a day off, you know? The restaurant will still be there when you get back.”
Maman huffed out a breath. “I know, but you know how it is. There is always more work to be done.”
“And that work will still be waiting for you after a few hours with the kids.”
Maman shook her head. “I know; that’s the problem.”
Johnny ran his tongue over his top lip. “Their childhoods are passing you by, Maman, like it did with mi—” He clamped his mouth shut before any more words came out.
Oh shit, that came out wrong.Reallywrong.
Maman jolted as though physically struck. She went to move away, but Johnny pulled her into him. “I didn’t mean that,” he said. “God, I didnotmean it like that. I know things were hard when we left Yaoundé.”
She went quiet, a small, regretful sound coming from her throat. “No, you’re right. I… I did miss out on a lot when you were growing up. I was…” She went quiet again and gently tugged at the front of her shirt. “I was so worried about Chichi starting a life over here, I…” Her words trailed off into a breathy sigh.
“Shall we feed the pigs?” Johnny said, throwing the last of the peel into the tub. “Make the most of the warm air whilst the kids are quiet?”
Maman looked up at him, her eyes shining slightly. “Yes, I would love to. Do you want to get Taylor?”
Johnny shook his head. “I think… I think I need some space for a bit. Not from him, just…”
From the ache in his chest? The constant pulling sensation behind his lungs?
Taylor was up in their old room, sorting out their clothes for Marty and the girls. Gabby was rapidly growing out of hergirly girl phase and was well on her way into her oversized clothes, paintbrush in hair, starving artist era, and she had asked whether she could have some of their old T-shirts.
“Okay,” Maman replied, picking up the bowl of peel.
Johnny was grateful for that.
He couldn’t deny that English summer evenings were his favourite time of year. The sun was a deep,deeporange and it made the land shimmer as it slowly sank beneath the horizon. It was no longer humid like in the day, and he felt strangely light as they padded up the garden path together.
