A Reach for the Piece
While awaiting the GCSE examination results in 1998, a group of High School students languid till fate proffered more than they could traverse in their wildest dreams. A Reach For The Piece is a twenty-four hours real world experience by the daughter of a Rich Dad and her schoolmates immediately after high school education.
Boyfriend
David was not expecting that his Dad would return from work early. His Mum had warned him not to go elsewhere than the Lidl Store when she allowed him to ride his Dad’s new electric scooter on an errand. David could have conveniently strolled to the store three streets away from his home.
“I’m only allowing you to take the electric scooter because it is sunny out there.”
“Thank you, Mum. I won’t go anywhere else with it, I promise.”
Even as David and his Mum knew he was lying, the 17-year-old David knew he would always have his way with his Mum. His Dad bought the electric scooter to escape the penalty for driving under the influence while returning from the usual pub fiesta on Friday nights. He had already received two warnings to that effect.
“Tunji, would it not be dangerous to ride an electric scooter drunken?” Rebecca had raised concern.
“Drunken? How could I get dunk on just two mugs of Guinness?” He argued with his wife. After several falls and injuries, he packed it back in the box, hoping to return it to Amazon for a refund.
David cruised the scooter along the pavements on the quiet Montague Crescent. That was the street where his schoolmate, Josh lived. He knew Josh would see him and come out to meet up with him.
Josh’s father, Derek Kingston, was very strict and would allow only a few of his daughter’s classmates to visit the house. David was not one of them. Josh was grounded for a week the last time she was caught talking with David at the street corner.
Josh had barely stepped out of the door when David saw a car coming from the far end of the adjoining street. It was David’s father returning from work early.
“Hey Josh, I’ll have to see you later. Let’s meet up at the Square by six.”
“What happened?” Josh was baffled.
“I’ve just seen my Dad’s car drive past. He must not know I borrowed his electric scooter. I’ve got to return it to the storage before he notices.”
“That Renault coming? Are you sure he hasn’t seen you already?”
“Catch you later, Josh.” He was already riding away.
“Wait, Dave! Watch where you are going.”
“I am.”
“Okay, Dave. But slow down the speed, please!” She shouted.
At the next corner, a learner on the steering tried to apply the brakes but was dislodged by the scooter approaching at a high speed. He pressed hard on the accelerator. It was too late for the driving instructor to stop the car. David crashed into the moving vehicle head-on. He was tossed in the air and landed on the car’s bonnet.
Josh was going to close the door when she heard the car screech and a loud crash. Her heart jumped as she feared David might be involved in an accident. She rushed to the scene. Her fear was confirmed. David lay on the car bonnet, lifeless.
“My gosh! David!” Josh creamed.
“Josh. Is it, David?” The learner driver who just came down from the car was a classmate from the same school.
“Peter. Are you the driver?”
“Calm down, please. Let’s call the ambulance.” The driving instructor tried to take control of the situation.
“Oh God, Is he dead?”
“No, he’s not. He is probably in shock or coma.” The driving instructor allayed fear.
Just then, a car pulled by the other side of the road. David’s dad stopped to help at the accident scene. He had no idea his son was involved.
“These kids and dangerous speeding all over the place on electric scooters...” Tunji lamented.
“Good afternoon, sir.” Josh was the first to greet David’s dad.
“How are you doing, Josh? What happened here?”
“It was David trying to...” Josh was interrupted.
“Davi... what! My son?”
David could hear the faint sounds of Josh and his Dad’s conversation echoing from a distant mist. He tried to speak but was drawn back into the white clouds. He fell into darkness.
Girlfriend
David heard the car tyres screeched from his room. He peeked from the window and saw Josh texting on the phone as she walked across the street. She did not mind the furious driver who scolded her for endangering her life. David laced up his sneakers quickly and closed the door behind him quietly. He tip-toed down the staircase so as not to attract his mother’s attention.
His mum heard the footsteps from the kitchen and knew her son was up at his usual sneaky game. Rebecca pushed the kitchen door slightly ajar and waited patiently to catch David sneaking past the kitchen.
“Hey, Mister! didn’t you come in a minute ago?” She called on David.
“Oh! Are you there, Mummy?” David stopped and turned. His hand was already on the front door handle.
“You heard me, didn’t you? Where are you sneaking out to at this time?” She exerted her voice strongly.
“I'll be back soon, Mum!” His reply was casual as he opened the front door.
Rebecca was wary of David's excessive outgoings after his A-level exams a month ago. She hoped his results would be good enough to get him a place at the University of Cambridge.
“Hope you have your keys because I won't come downstairs to open the door for you late at night.”
David did not wait to hear the rest of his Mum's feeble threats. He closed the door and left without saying bye.
“Hm... Children of today.” Rebecca solaced herself. “It’s not me you will give high blood pressure in this house. You will kill your father first.” She completed her usual verse.
“Just why would he kill his father first? Was it not his mother that gave him all privilege for his attitudes?” The response came from the staircase.
Tunji had listened to the drama between his wife and his son from the bedroom. That was the only flaw in the UK housing models. Tunji purchased with a high mortgage loan. nothing could be done privately within the house. He couldn’t even make love to his wife when his son was at home.
Rebecca sized up her husband through the oversized eyelashes as he walked down the steps. Her look suggested that David’s attitude was the same as his father’s.
“See who is talking?” She muttered.
Rebecca was forty-eight and had been married to Tunji for twenty years. Unlike most migrants to the UK, the couple did not migrate for economic benefits. The family had a flourishing farming business back in Nigeria. It was 17 years after Rebeca had given birth to David, and she had yet to conceive another child.
Four years after David’s birth, relatives on both sides of the matrimony began to ask the most distressing questions. ‘What are you guys waiting for?’
“Your father was Muslim all his blessed life. He was free to take as many wives as he wanted. Why can’t you take another woman for yourself and set her up in an alternate home, my son?” Tunji’s mum counselled him in privacy.
“Ma'ami, I can’t do that! Rebecca and I are born-again Christians. Besides, we are legally married in the court of justice.” Tunji had fought for his marriage.
“Tunji, which justice is greater than that of Allah? It was a similar issue with Ibrahim, the son of Baba Jinadu on the next street. He is now blessed with twelve children from his three wives.” Tunji’s mum switched from private discussions to intellectual debates.
Even though Tunji and Rebeca were not too happy with the infertility issue, the couple sought help from divinity to prophets and specialist doctors without results.
The pressure on Tunji to take a second wife was taking a toll on the couple's mental health and became unbearable. They’d decided to seek medical help in the UK. Tunji and his wife relocated to the UK when David was six. The couple’s only child would be eighteen next autumn. They had both lost the hope of having another child.
“Tunji, you should be happy that your son has finally become an escapologist like his father. He disappears and reappears at home like his Houdini father.” She chuckled as she continued to garnish the Jolof rice with dodo on the kitchen table.
“Should you stumble on each other at the nightclubs, please remember to tell him not to bring his Oyinbo girlfriend into this house again.”
“Rebeka! But seriously speaking, Josh is a nice girl.” Tunji meant it.
“Tunji, listen carefully, now. My son will not marry an Oyinbo girl. He will marry from Africa, a girl who can cook and wash his clothes. Not the one that will insist on the husband sharing the housework.”
“Hmm... That sounds like a full-time contract for a wife!” Tunji joked.
“Tunji, let me share this funny experience about the Oyinbo girl with you. Would you believe that when David first introduced her to me, She called me Mrs Adebola, Can you imagine that?” She laughed.
“Rebeka! Does this Oyinbo girl not have a name for Christ’s sake!” Tunji shrugged his shoulders as he took a bite from the plate.
“Yes, she has a name, though. I only did not bother to memorise her name. Aboro memorise her name ni aboro accept her as my son’s wife.” She mixed her words with her native dialect.
“Okay! Her name is Josh. So, no more tagging her ‘Oyinbo girl’ in this house. That is not acceptable in the British value oaths you undertake. Wake up, Rebecca!” He swallowed a mouthful of jollof rice.
“Well, maybe you are right, sha.” Rebecca sat beside her husband at the dining table.
“Times have changed!” Tunji mumbled as he swallowed a spoonful of dodo.
David squinted his eyes as the bright lights beamed intensely on his eyes. At the noise of footsteps and the faint voice of his Mum, he wanted to tell her it was okay, but his mouth was heavy, and his head felt light as he fell back into the darkness again.
He soon caught up with Josh, who was waiting for him by the fence of the next house. Josh knew David’s mum did not like her friendship with his son. She did not bother to touch the doorbell. David had tried to convince her several times that his mother did not hate her. “That is my mum’s natural facial expression!” He explained to Josh.
“That car almost hit you, Josh.”
“It wasn’t my fault, though! Was it?”
“You were texting on your phone and not looking when you crossed the road.” David pointed out her fault.
“The driver was driving at 50 miles on a 30-mile-an-hour road.”
“Bad girl!” David wrapped his hands across he and hugged her.
“Hey! You’ve got your A-level result yet?” She got serious.
“No, not yet! I’ll get it tomorrow. Yours?”
“My dad said he would stop at school to check for me.”
“Would Ms Anderson give it to him?”
“My Dad has a way with everybody. She’ll give it to him I guess.”
“That’s cool then. Our bus is here. Let's go.” David flagged down Arriva Bus Six towards Bletchley.
“MK Stadium for two.” He scanned his phone on the payment machine. They walked to the last row on the bus, giggling as they sat side by side.
In the back seats of the black Jaguar jeep, Derek instructed the driver where they were going next.
“Take us to MK Stadium, Mike!”
“We’ve got 15 minutes to catch the six o’clock show!” Gladys put the driver on alert.
“It’s just five-twenty. We should get there before six.” Derek checked on his Breitling Navitimer wristwatch.
Derek and Gladys were friends from their secondary school days. They co-present Mid-Morning Tones, an ITV popular show. They won the rights to private production of the show after a long legal tussle against ITV. Though the show remained with ITV Studios, they had the production contract managed by Alleyan Studios, their private company in Wolverton, Milton Keynes.
At the back seat of the jeep, Derek moved his hand over Gladys’ lap. With a smile, Gladys gently put his hand back where it came from.
“C’mon Derek, the driver is watching.” Gladys cautioned him in a low tone.
“Seriously! You think he doesn’t know about us?” He whispered back.
“Hmm... You haven’t even filed the divorce suit on your wife.” She opened a conversation in a hushed tone.
“No, not yet! I am holding on for Josh to gain admission into Uni before the process starts.”
“Look, Derek! Talk about the devil!” Gladys' voice boomed as she pointed towards the Burger King parking lot.
She had spotted Josh with David walking into Burger King. Gladys knew it would start another round of scuffle with Derek and his wife, who was supposed to keep eyes on Josh as a full-time housewife. She enjoyed listening to Derek’s complaints about his wife at the office.
“What was it?” Derek missed Josh as they walked into the restaurant.
“Your daughter! Alright, never mind. Let’s grab some nice burgers at Burger King.” Gladys suggested subtly.
“No! But you never liked to eat at Burger King. Besides, we don’t have the time now. The premiere will start in another 20 minutes.” Derek pushed back.
“So, what if we miss the first 10 minutes?” Gladys would not submit to gags.
“Special guests are expected to be there 30 minutes earlier.” Derek wondered what came over Gladys.
“Okay, let’s go if you feel strongly about that.” Gladys knew she had lost on this bid. She agreed with Derek.
The driver pulled over and parked directly outside the cinema. Derek, hand-in-hand with Gladys, walked toward the cinema doorways.
The Fresh College Graduate
If securing a job with ITV Studios could bring out the very best of British talents, Dammy had more than enough to offer the largest entertainment industry in the UK.
Dammy is about attitudes, bliss and swags. He was only sixteen when a senior presenter with ITV, Derek Kingston, discovered him during a high school drama presentation at Milton Keynes College. The slender body and lean muscle forms made Dammy a big fan of the audience, especially the girls.
He became the casting editor with ITV Studios at 23. His large office on the third floor of the TVC Building was a hive for wannabe models and actresses.
The casting for the new soap ‘Passionate with Love’ had attracted more talent than usual. The casts selected from the auditions were scattered all over Dammy’s office, eager to complete the release forms when his mobile phone rang. He excused himself from the crowd to pick up the call.
“Hey, Abigail! You alright?”. He smiled at the phone.
“Yes, I’m good, Dammy. Just back from the GP.” Abigail’s musical voice tone filtered through Dammy’s mobile phone.
“Great! Are you feeling better now?” Dammy wouldn't let her finish before jumping in.
“Yes, I’m good. Are you coming home tonight?” Abigail spoke softly.
“Em... Not quite sure yet, babe! What’s up, babe, you are missing me already?” Dammy knew she did.
“Well, you know I always do. But I have a big news from the GP.”
Abigail's legs were cross-bowed on the bed in a four-bedroom apartment they rented two months ago in Croydon. She was in an oversized, rumpled white shirt from Dammy’s wardrobe. Her delicately shaped lips and six-footer slender body would sell any fashion magazine. At 21, Abigail, of East African origin, was every man’s fantasy date. She was Dammy’s live-in girlfriend.
“I hope you are not pregnant?” Dammy guessed.
“Jeez! How did you know? You guessed right, babe. I'm four weeks pregnant!” Abigail giggled with excitement.
The floor elevator’s doors beside Dammy opened. His producer, Ms Sue, came out of the lift with a grey-bearded man.
“Hey, babe! Let me call you back, please.” Dammy dropped the call with Abigail abruptly.
“What?” Abigail’s voice faded off.