Dream Another Day-Separated (part 5 )

Charles comes down from the sofa, takes up the album, and turns the first page. Stares like reflections on the mirror glares at him. They are at a beach, in swimming trunks. He is lying on his back on a heap of sand. Beside him is Winifreda, kneeling down, building castles over his feet. Five paces away, a family is on picnic. At the sea, far off, a wall of wave is rolling toward them.

" What is the meaning of this," he asks in anger, his face crumbling and drenching sweat.
Nike grins.
"Infidelity, Charles! This picture was taken on March. You are supposed to be in a meeting at Abuja. But there you are at a beach in Lagos with this street girl.
He jumps up immediately, dropping the album to the floor.
" Who is a street girl? Winnie? Take your time, woman! I'm warning you. Never call Winnie a street girl again," he yells poking his fingers on her mouth.
"Just look at you. Look what you've done to yourself. You thought you know Winifreda too well. But you don't, Charles. Take a close look at the album. She manipulated you. She ruined you. She blew away everything you've put together all your life."
Charles worries grow more intense. His body has become hot, and his head, aching. He sits down, resting his head on the palms. 'Women can't be smarter than this. If Winifreda helped Nike to frame me, and created this huge phoney scenario then the world has come to an end,' he thinks. Nike is looking straight into his eyes and reading his thinking.
"Winifreda trapped you. You misjudged her looks and smiles. And ignored her dubious character. She tricked you into pleasing her. You are despising your family because of her."
He bows his head. His fingers, twitching, tapping the arms of the chair. And his legs, stretched, knocking together.
"Charles, let us put these distractions away. Please, in the name of God, let's forgive each other. Pick up our pieces and move on as a family. I'm pleading with you. Forgive me if I've wronged you."

He crosses his legs, stops the drumming.

"Who gave you those pictures," he asks pointing at the album on the floor.
Nike keeps quiet. Then she picks up the album. And sits down opposite him.
"Charles, we should let go. We should move on."
He pulls back his legs.
"Who gave you those pictures," he says again, anger still crumpling his face.
Then a bell chimes on the front door. She takes the album to the dining table. Then she opens the door. Two women with a baby are standing there.
"Can we come in," says the older woman.
"Curie! Why this early," whispers Nike.
A phone rings inside the house. Charles picks it up. It is Winifreda's number.
"Hello!"
"Charles, my uncle has agreed to hear the case next Friday. I'm so happy. I can't wait to be your wife. Can we meet this night, please."
"I'll call you back, Winnie. I'm driving right now."
"Okay, I'm waiting, Charles."
He puts off the phone. Drops it into his pocket.
The front opens wider. Their visitors come in.





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