Scars (Romola 2)

47: Pictures Delivered

Olumide watched members of staff huddle and stare out the transparent door that led to the car park. More men braved the rain and dashed out of the comfort of the building. Women were more concerned about their hair, clothes and shoes.

His eyes strayed to the fair skinned woman at the back of the crowd by the door. As soon as his eyes met hers, she looked away. She'd been avoiding him ever since the confrontation in front of his office. Had he made the right decision by alienating her? She seemed interested in helping his search for Romola

"Nothing is ever right in this country. Sun is too hot. Rain too cold. What kind of country is this?" The man beside Olumide swore, stuffing his files into his briefcase.

Olumide didn't mind the chill weather but he wasn't used to waking up alone in his own house. Part of the reason, he had been crashing at the hotel was because Dami wasn't in the house—Muyi’s house—and even though he knew it was impossible, he expected Muyiwa's ghost to appear in the room demanding retribution.

He picked his phone again and refreshed the conversation between him and Matthew. Foolishness was his middle name. The girl had offered to give him information about Romola for free but he had chosen to go his own way. Now, he had transferred 50,000 naira to a man he didn't even know from Noah. He could almost imagine his sister standing over his shoulder and wagging her fingers.

"Sir?"

He faced the old man with a stooped back and hair that greyed beside his ears.

"Let me walk you to your car." The man held out an umbrella.

Olumide shook his head. "No, don't worry."

"I insist."

"I still have a couple of things to finish. I just came downstairs to clear my head."

It wasn't to clear his head. He was waiting and hoping that Matthew would send the pictures. Two days was enough time to deal with any possible delays but there was no response yet, except for an acknowledgement of receiving the cash and a promise to send more pictures.

Olumide knew it was stupid to believe that the man’s internet service provider was the problem but he had come downstairs nonetheless looking for better reception.

He refreshed the conversation again but the result was the same. He clicked the number on Matthew's page.

"Hel-lo," A rough thin voice answered the phone.

"Good afternoon. Am I speaking to Matthew Ajayi?"

"Yes. What is it?"

Olumide drew the phone from his ear and frowned at his screen before responding. "Yes, this is Mr Olumide Makinde. Remember me?"

"Maybe? Maybe not."

"You asked me to pay you some money for," Olumide's voice dropped to a whisper, "Some pictures."

"Ogbeni, talk well. I cannot hear you."

"Romola's pictures. You were supposed to send them to me."

"Oh. Is you sef. I forgot."

"If I forget to pay you, it would be a different story."

"Oga, be calming down."

Olumide's comeback died in his throat as he heard the sound of a beep. The he-goat had the effrontery to end the call on him.

His phone vibrated with some notifications and he clicked on the Instagram bar leading to his inbox. Seven pictures of Romola sat in his inbox. The first was an unflattering picture of a much younger Romola. It looked like a photo of a hardcopy photo. The other six were pictures he already had.