An exclusive short story from the Costa Book Award-winning author of 'Open Water'
Several hours after Stephen and I make the short drive in the rental to the airport, Accra’s bustling streets flashing past us, and I’ve helped him unload his suitcase, and I don’t want to say goodbye, or rather, I worry that my goodbye won’t show all I am feeling; several hours after he waves away my suggestions to accompany him to security, reminding me of the car,, instead pulling me in close, my head against the crook of his neck, and, after the clasp of hands, a growing distance, the...
I wake the next morning, heavy legged, my vision a cloud. Through one eye, a woman lying beside me. I try to place where I know her from and it’s when she rolls towards me that I recognise the gaze from the“You were snoring.” When I don’t say anything, “It’s probably the alcohol.”She nods. She must catch the worry on my face because she says, “It was good. We had fun.”“For you or for me?”“I need to get the night off me,” I say, rolling away from her, heading towards the bathroom.
And then, we’re lying side by side, a little breathless in the early afternoon light which rests against the bare walls and clothes spilling out of an open suitcase.Akuoko smiles, shaking her head, dissatisfied.“I liked him just fine. Besides, it was you. A version of you.” “Relax,” she says. “You’re good here.” I feel my shoulders slide down a little and I let out a long exhale. “There.” A click, several more. She looks down on a little screen on the camera and says, “Done. Easy. Let’s get these printed for you.”
I consider for a moment. “Would you show me how to do it? To develop film? My brother and his girlfriend, they shoot on these old cameras. I dunno, he’s the artistic one, but it would be cool to learn how to do something like that. Maybe tomorrow? Or next week? I’m here for a while longer.”“You didn’t ask,” she says. The printer huffs out a small page of images, a little gallery of my face, which she hands to me.She shakes her head, sharply, as if I’m ridiculous and I don’t fight her on it.
“And here you are passing it along.” Placing her spoon down, she says, “I couldn’t go to my sister’s funeral. I just couldn’t go.”“Don’t do that,” she says, sharp. “I did what I had to do at the time. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye.”
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