The Cellar (11 page)

How frightened she looked, Muna thought. Had she prayed and prayed that someone who cared for her would come down the steps? Or had she heard the Devil’s laughter in the walls? Muna could hear it and feel it. A deep rumble that set the air of the cellar trembling and vibrating.

She watched Yetunde patiently for several minutes, and would have watched longer if she hadn’t felt the need for sleep herself. The day had been tiring and she still had much to do. But it gave her pleasure to see terror in Yetunde’s wide rolling eyes. She placed her hand on the packed suitcase that she’d left beside Yetunde that afternoon.

All hope is lost to you, Princess. Olubayo has searched your room and discovered this gone, and the Master has looked in the sideboard and knows your passport is missing. They believe you’ve left in a rage to visit your sister so the police will not be called … and that pleases the Master because he doesn’t want whites to know how little his wife respects him.

She peered curiously into Yetunde’s bulging, pleading eyes, and then rose to her feet and began moving the boxes and trunks that were piled against the back wall. Behind them were a series of ancient floor-to-ceiling iron racks, dirty with dust and cobwebs. Some of the slots contained empty wine bottles but most were unfilled. In places, Muna could see where hands had rested on the metal, disturbing the dust, and she wondered if the prints had been made by Ebuka when he removed her mattress, or the police when they searched the cellar for Abiola.

She was careful to leave no marks as she slid her hand through a slot at waist level and used her fingertips to locate the crevice in the thin stone veneer behind it. At first, since it never occurred to her that Yetunde and Ebuka were ignorant of the cellar’s second chamber, her reluctance to touch any part of the iron frame had been through fear of being punished if Yetunde realised she’d discovered it. But as time went by, and she saw that the Songolis were unaware of it, her desire grew to keep the knowledge from them.

The secret belonged to Muna and no one else. The Devil had revealed it to her one night when Ebuka had left his torch on the floor beside her mattress. She didn’t know how long she’d been in the house –
A week? A season? A year?
– but when she found the courage to switch on the beam, the cellar became less frightening. Until then it had been steeped in ominous shadow, glimpsed only in the backwash of light from the hall when Yetunde held the door open to allow her in at night or out again in the morning.

By torchlight it was smaller than her imagination had made it – half the size of the hall and cloakroom under which it stood – and her attention was drawn immediately to the dusty honeycomb of metal in front of her because the beam of the torch was shining straight at it. She thought it a strange way to build shelves until she saw bottles in some of the slots and guessed what its purpose was. There was nothing else apart from a card that glowed white against the blackness of the iron rack.

It hung by a string from the neck of an empty bottle and Muna could make out the picture even from five yards away. It was simple and clear – the outline of a hand with the long middle finger extended – and she would believe for ever that it had been put there for her to find. Where others might have dismissed the diagram as an obscene joke, Muna took it for a sign and followed the instruction exactly, removing the bottle and sliding her arm into the slot.

She turned to look at Yetunde now as her finger pressed on the latch inside the crevice and a section of the wall detached itself from the rest. She used her toe against the sturdy bar at the bottom of the metal to push it wider, and gloried to see the absolute terror in Yetunde’s face as a new level of cold crept towards her.

On the floor inside the second room lay the picture of the pointing finger. Muna had placed it there to prevent Yetunde discovering the secret, but, as the stale air stirred with the opening of the door, the card flipped over to show the writing on the reverse. Without the ability to decipher what it said, Muna believed the Devil had written it. And what more proof did she need than his rumbling laugh as the card lifted and turned?

This walk-in safe was designed and constructed in 1983 by Joseph Baumgarten. The patented concealed door is a strengthened aluminium alloy frame with a natural stone veneer, operated by cantilever hinges, counter-weights and a finger latch. For optimum performance, maintenance should include regular oiling of these mechanisms. The manufacturer guarantees all moving parts for ten years but takes no liability for breaches of security through carelessness or indiscretion. There is no lock. The strength of a concealed safe relies on silence.

She retrieved the hammer from where she’d placed it on the bottom step. You must enter of your own accord, Princess. If you do not, I will use this until you do.

Yetunde shook her head.

Then you will suffer agony, Princess. And even if the tape and the scabs burst on your mouth, and screams escape you, the Master and Olubayo won’t hear them. Their sleep isn’t natural. It comes from pills and not from tiredness.

She split the tie that held Yetunde’s right wrist and watched the hand drop with a thud to the floor before placing the metal head of the hammer on the protruding bone and rocking it from side to side. Groans and grunts reverberated in Yetunde’s throat.

I’d like you to scream, Princess. I go to sleep each night wanting to hear you beg. My dreams are happy ones – full of blood – and I feel better when I wake. Do you want to die, Princess?

She split the tie holding the other wrist then lifted the hammer as if to strike, but Yetunde had already begun the painful process of shuffling her obese body towards the open door of the second chamber.

Thirteen

Barely a day passed before Ebuka grew unsettled about Yetunde’s departure. Muna blamed the witchy-looking neighbour who rang the doorbell on the second morning. She invited herself inside and looked at Ebuka in surprise when he said he hadn’t heard from Yetunde. He explained that his wife had taken her clothes, suitcase and passport, and he assumed she planned to stay away for some time. After that, Mrs Hughes became inquisitive.

Was it normal for Mrs Songoli to go away without warning? Had she done such a thing before? And how had she managed to leave so quickly? There had been less than an hour between Mrs Hughes speaking with Ebuka at the gate and her finding Muna in a faint. Had either of them seen a taxi pass? At the very least Mr Songoli should call Yetunde’s friends to discover if they knew where she was. What if she’d met with an accident?

Ebuka’s resentment at being interrogated by a virtual stranger meant his answers were curt, and Muna saw that Mrs Hughes found them suspicious. She stepped in to make the explanations herself. Mamma always threatened to leave when she was angry … She kept her suitcase in her bedroom cupboard for that reason … They had seen many taxis while they were out but hadn’t thought to look for her in them … It was a good idea to speak with her friends … She would persuade her father to make the calls after Mrs Hughes left.

Mrs Hughes appeared to accept what she said but Muna noticed that her curious eyes were never still. Every so often she glanced towards the stairs, tilting her head as if listening for sounds. ‘It’s unkind to put you through the same trauma you suffered at the time Abiola was taken,’ she murmured. ‘I wonder why she’d want to keep any of you guessing about where she is.’

‘I think Mamma might want to punish Dada in this way, lady,’ Muna whispered shyly. ‘It upset her very much when he told me to put on Abiola’s anorak and boots so that I could take him outside. I said I didn’t want to, but Dada insisted and that’s what made her angry. I think she feels he doesn’t remember Abiola often enough.’

Perhaps Ebuka knew this was true for he gave a tired shrug of recognition. ‘I don’t think about him as much as I should. Days go by and his name’s never mentioned. I should have realised how his loss must have impacted on Yetunde, but all my energy has gone into coping with this wretched disability.’ He smacked his useless legs. ‘I’ve been inconsiderate.’

Mrs Hughes walked to the door of the sitting room and ran a thoughtful gaze around it. ‘She can’t have called a taxi on that phone,’ she said, nodding towards the landline. ‘Muna had the handset in the garden. I wondered why at the time.’

‘I took it to stop her breaking it after Dada threatened to call the police, lady. Mamma destroys things when she’s angry. She hopes it will show Dada how upset she is.’

‘Is that why she’s happy to leave him wondering where she’s gone?’

Muna nodded. ‘She says he’ll look for her if he loves her. I’ll help him do that now. Together we will make the calls to Mamma’s friends.’

Unexpectedly, the woman raised her hand to the girl’s cheek and stroked it gently. ‘She’s wrong to leave you with so much responsibility, Muna. You’re too young for it.’

‘I like caring for Dada, lady, and I know all that has to be done.’ She opened the front door. ‘Mamma will come back soon and I will tell her how kind you’ve been. She will like you as a friend, I think.’

Ebuka was harder to pacify. Once the seed of doubt was planted in his mind, it grew and multiplied. How
had
Yetunde left so quickly? They both knew she couldn’t have called a taxi since Muna had taken her mobile as well as the landline. Which left what? That Princess had walked away, dragging her suitcase behind her? Impossible. Yetunde never walked anywhere. And why hadn’t
he
seen the similarity between his wife’s and his son’s disappearance? What were the chances of two members of one family vanishing into thin air within months of each other unless the same person took both?

Muna brought him Yetunde’s mobile, which he’d left on charge in his bedroom. I don’t know, Master, but the numbers of Princess’s friends will be in here. I think you should do as the white suggested and call them. I believe she was waiting for a friend when she lost her temper with you.

What gives you that idea?

She was in her best dress and using her most expensive handbag, Master. She never did that unless she was going out.

Ebuka frowned, trying to recall what Yetunde was wearing, but Muna knew that, even if he remembered, he wouldn’t be able to say if it was Princess’s ‘best’.

What are you suggesting? That she planned to leave the house anyway … and her friend just happened to turn up during the time we were absent?

I don’t know, Master. I can only tell you what I saw.

Ebuka eyed her with distrust. You’re very quick with your answers. Are any of them true? You lied to Mrs Hughes about Yetunde saying she’d break the handset if I called the police.

Muna turned away. You were dazed, Master. Princess said many things you didn’t hear.

Where are you going?

To the kitchen, Master. You’re unkind to be angry with me. It’s not my fault if someone took Princess away.

She closed the door to shut him out but placed her ear against the panels to listen to the handful of calls he made. He was too ashamed to say his wife had left him after an argument, and asked only if Yetunde was there. Each time he was told she wasn’t, followed by curious questions about why he thought she might be. As the conversations became increasingly awkward, he gave up and wheeled himself into the sitting room.

Shortly afterwards Muna heard the television playing, and she thought how clever she’d been to urge him to talk to Yetunde’s friends. He would hesitate to try again. He disliked women too much to give them a reason to laugh at him.

Muna never imagined she might regret being rid of Yetunde. In truth she hadn’t believed it was possible to make a woman so huge and gross vanish so easily. If she’d pictured a future at all it was that life would be pleasanter when Princess learned to fear her.

Only now that Yetunde was absent did Muna understand how necessary she was. Problems arose that Muna hadn’t foreseen and couldn’t solve. She’d thought Yetunde lazy but it seemed she’d done more than Muna realised.

The cupboards and fridge were almost empty of food. There was no detergent to wash clothes and sheets, no replacement disposable gloves to handle Ebuka’s catheter and prevent infection, no fluid to clean and sterilise the bags. And Muna was ignorant of how to acquire these things. Nothing had ever run out while Yetunde was there. Goods had arrived each week though Muna didn’t know how Yetunde ordered or paid for them. Nor had she seen who delivered them. If she was downstairs, she was sent to the kitchen; if she was upstairs, all she saw from the windows was the roof and sides of a white van.

Everything was left in the hall, packed in plastic bags with red and blue letters. These told Muna nothing since she was unable to decipher them, but she guessed they spelled the name of a shop. Before Abiola went missing, this wasn’t important. As long as the plastic bags arrived, she was able to make the meals Yetunde demanded; without them, she could do nothing.

She remembered her terror when she opened the cupboards on the day the police left and discovered them bare. Yetunde’s temper would be bad enough when she returned from the hospital with Olubayo to find Ebuka dead in the cellar, but she would be beside herself if Muna told her there was nothing to eat. Princess’s rages were always worse when she was hungry.

For once, Muna’s fears hadn’t materialised. It seemed to have something to do with the new mobile Yetunde had bought on her way home by taxi. She was certainly more interested in that than she was in Ebuka, refusing to accompany him to the hospital because she couldn’t leave her newly diagnosed epileptic son. She stood at the door until the ambulance had gone; then, free of watchers, she settled herself in a comfortable chair and gave all her attention to her new toy. A few hours later plastic bags appeared in the hall again.

Muna asked Olubayo how it was possible to purchase food by tapping a tiny screen but he said she was too stupid to understand. She couldn’t read or write or recognise numbers. Think of it as magic, he told her.

She didn’t ask again. It wasn’t wise to let Olubayo believe himself superior. With his father absent and his mother only interested in Jeremy Broadstone, he’d turned his attention back to Muna. She couldn’t count the number of times she’d looked up to find him staring at her with desire in his eyes. When she hid her weapons about the house, they were as much to defend herself against Olubayo as against Yetunde.