important to have her liking.
“How about,” she said, almost desperately, one hand rubbing against her leg, seeking out the drying mosquito bite, “I call you Tilly?”
The girl withdrew her palms and folded her thin arms, seemed to consider.
“Well, Titi doesn’t sound that much like Tilly. Tilly has all L’s and not enough T’s . . .”
The girl watched her, the corners of her eyes wrinkled up as if she was about to smile again.
“TillyTilly? Can I call you that? TillyTilly, I mean? It has two T’s . . . and I don’t want to get your real name wrong, and anyway, you call me Jessy when I’m actually Jessamy or just Jess, so Jessy isn’t really my real name either . . .”
She trailed off as she realised that the girl was laughing. She didn’t laugh like the other kids in Jessamy’s class; her laugh was a dry, raspy chuckle that sounded like wheezing. Jess found that she liked it.
Jess laughed too, glad that the two of them were there, one standing, one sitting, in the sunshine, glad that she had been so eager to be friends with somebody for once. It was a peering through good and pretty coloured glass, this gladness, this feeling that someone had been around the compound, knowing who she was, and wanting to talk to her. She had never been sought out this way before. It was funny and pleasing, like a bubbling fizz growing in her stomach.
The girl paused in her laughter, and then looked over her shoulder. Curious, Jess looked too, but couldn’t see anything except the Boys’ Quarters, which stood tall and grey and empty. Beyond that, she supposed, was only the car park and the back road that led to the rest of the houses in Bodija.
“I need to go,” the girl said, saying “go” on a winding-down breath, as if she were about to say something else, say what she had to go and do, but she didn’t.
Jess leapt up from the staircase and was surprised to see the girl shrink as if expecting a blow. She began to back away, moving faster with each step.
“Wait! Um. Wouldyouliketobefriends?” Jess asked, anxiously.
The girl stopped stock-still for a few moments, then spoke softly and almost as quickly as Jessamy had.
“Yes.”
Another swift, illuminating smile, then she added hastily, “Watch for a light tonight.”
She turned and hurtled away from where Jess stood, moving past the Boys’ Quarters and around the back of the car park in what felt to Jess, who could hardly follow her figure for the sheets of sunlight wobbling down, like seconds.
Jess thoughtfully climbed the steps up to the middle floor. The air smelt like a mixture of toast and baking bread. Aunty Funke was supervising Tope, and Akin was grunting as he poured cassava from one huge pot into another; they were at the final stage of the gari making in the kitchen, and steam billowed from the open kitchen door. Her mother had gone shopping with a carload of old friends. She had tried to persuade Jessamy to come along, but Jess, who had been to the amusement park with her mother, father and these same friends the day before, demurred. It had been almost, but not quite, as bad as the zoo.
In the parlour, she could hear Aunty Biola attempting to teach her father Yoruba, collapsing into helpless giggles whenever he mispronounced his vowels, giving them the flat English sound instead of lifting them upwards with the slight outward puff of breath that was required. Jess couldn’t speak Yoruba to save her life, but she somehow had an ear for it, and could hear when it was spoken properly, even catch a little meaning in it. She crept closer to the beads that formed the door curtain and peeped through them.
“ Orukọ mi ni . . .” her father began, then stopped, confused when Aunty Biola fell about laughing again. He had said orukọ , “my name,” through his nose, as if it was a weird kind of sneezing sound.
“ Orukọ ,” she stressed gently as soon as she had recovered.
Her father shrugged, grinning.
“That’s what I
“How about,” she said, almost desperately, one hand rubbing against her leg, seeking out the drying mosquito bite, “I call you Tilly?”
The girl withdrew her palms and folded her thin arms, seemed to consider.
“Well, Titi doesn’t sound that much like Tilly. Tilly has all L’s and not enough T’s . . .”
The girl watched her, the corners of her eyes wrinkled up as if she was about to smile again.
“TillyTilly? Can I call you that? TillyTilly, I mean? It has two T’s . . . and I don’t want to get your real name wrong, and anyway, you call me Jessy when I’m actually Jessamy or just Jess, so Jessy isn’t really my real name either . . .”
She trailed off as she realised that the girl was laughing. She didn’t laugh like the other kids in Jessamy’s class; her laugh was a dry, raspy chuckle that sounded like wheezing. Jess found that she liked it.
Jess laughed too, glad that the two of them were there, one standing, one sitting, in the sunshine, glad that she had been so eager to be friends with somebody for once. It was a peering through good and pretty coloured glass, this gladness, this feeling that someone had been around the compound, knowing who she was, and wanting to talk to her. She had never been sought out this way before. It was funny and pleasing, like a bubbling fizz growing in her stomach.
The girl paused in her laughter, and then looked over her shoulder. Curious, Jess looked too, but couldn’t see anything except the Boys’ Quarters, which stood tall and grey and empty. Beyond that, she supposed, was only the car park and the back road that led to the rest of the houses in Bodija.
“I need to go,” the girl said, saying “go” on a winding-down breath, as if she were about to say something else, say what she had to go and do, but she didn’t.
Jess leapt up from the staircase and was surprised to see the girl shrink as if expecting a blow. She began to back away, moving faster with each step.
“Wait! Um. Wouldyouliketobefriends?” Jess asked, anxiously.
The girl stopped stock-still for a few moments, then spoke softly and almost as quickly as Jessamy had.
“Yes.”
Another swift, illuminating smile, then she added hastily, “Watch for a light tonight.”
She turned and hurtled away from where Jess stood, moving past the Boys’ Quarters and around the back of the car park in what felt to Jess, who could hardly follow her figure for the sheets of sunlight wobbling down, like seconds.
Jess thoughtfully climbed the steps up to the middle floor. The air smelt like a mixture of toast and baking bread. Aunty Funke was supervising Tope, and Akin was grunting as he poured cassava from one huge pot into another; they were at the final stage of the gari making in the kitchen, and steam billowed from the open kitchen door. Her mother had gone shopping with a carload of old friends. She had tried to persuade Jessamy to come along, but Jess, who had been to the amusement park with her mother, father and these same friends the day before, demurred. It had been almost, but not quite, as bad as the zoo.
In the parlour, she could hear Aunty Biola attempting to teach her father Yoruba, collapsing into helpless giggles whenever he mispronounced his vowels, giving them the flat English sound instead of lifting them upwards with the slight outward puff of breath that was required. Jess couldn’t speak Yoruba to save her life, but she somehow had an ear for it, and could hear when it was spoken properly, even catch a little meaning in it. She crept closer to the beads that formed the door curtain and peeped through them.
“ Orukọ mi ni . . .” her father began, then stopped, confused when Aunty Biola fell about laughing again. He had said orukọ , “my name,” through his nose, as if it was a weird kind of sneezing sound.
“ Orukọ ,” she stressed gently as soon as she had recovered.
Her father shrugged, grinning.
“That’s what I
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