Kiss marry kill, p.1
Kiss Marry Kill, page 1
KISS MARRY KILL
YEMI DIPEOLU
FOR MK
CONTENTS
TITLE PAGE
DEDICATION
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
COPYRIGHT
PROLOGUE
Ade watches as she walks towards him, her dress skimming the floor as she moves, her face shielded by a veil. He knows that underneath it she is beautiful, that beneath her flowing dress she is carrying something even more beautiful than herself.
He sees this, acknowledges it, but he does not feel it. His spirit does not dance at the sight of her, his eyes do not fill with joyous tears at the prospect of starting a family with her.
He knows that he is selfish, that he is being selfish marrying her, but he wonders too what kind of woman would sign up for a life like this?
A woman who loves you, she had claimed once when he’d had the audacity to ask. Ade had not believed her. Even now as he stands at the altar, he still does not believe her. Could love really accept that it cannot be loved back but love anyway? Would love really risk its own destruction so that it could try to heal another, far too broken to be fixed?
If it can, then it is exactly the kind of love that Ade needs, for although he does not love her, she has become his oxygen: the thing he needs to keep from drowning.
And so, here he stands, heart not racing, nerves as still as a summer’s day, just wishing he could walk away. But he can’t. He cannot let his family down.
His mother, who is sobbing in the front row, her garishly tied gele nearly reaching the sky as if it too were rejoicing, relieved that her son is finally getting married, that he is finally over Cynthia, the ‘Jamo girl’, would never forgive him if he fled.
And so, Ade says I do and plants a soft passionless kiss on his new wife’s lips.
At the reception, he pretends to enjoy himself.
He obliges when she asks him to dance. Accepts the spray of pounds and naira, tokens of well wishes in their new life.
Later, when the Guinness has flowed and the jollof has been eaten, Ade sees her, his Cynthia, hiding in plain sight. Amongst the colourful masses, she is wearing black, her skin glistening under the warm romantic lights, her eyes, full of malice, locked in on his.
He wants to rush towards her, to tell her that what she’s seeing here means nothing, but when he rises to his feet, interrupting his brother Tayo’s speech as he does so, the only word he can form is her name, which after so long feels foreign on his lips. His brother falls silent, and the rest of the crowd turn their heads in the direction Ade is looking. Seeing nothing, they turn back, their faces the perfect picture of confusion and concern.
Ade nearly crashes into the cake trying to get to her. The cake topper shakes threateningly from side to side before finally toppling over. It is too late, though. She moves too quickly, or he moves too slowly. She is gone, through the door, before he has a chance to call her name again.
The grief he’s spent the past three months trying to suppress at last overwhelms him, and before he knows it he is on the floor crying, on his knees begging. It is because of this that Ade does not hear the door opening, or his mother shouting that this is the wedding of two respectable families, that they have no business being here. It is only when two pairs of arms drag him up by his armpits, when one pair of those arms pushes his hands behind his back and forces him into a more tangible form of captivity, that he realises what’s going on.
You’re under arrest on suspicion of murder.
The rest is a blur. His brother rushes to his side, his mother clings to his ankles crying ‘Omo mi, Omo mi o …’
Ade pays them no mind. He allows the police officers to pull him away, and the entire wedding party follows them out of the hall and onto the street.
The wife he doesn’t want but desperately needs is standing quite apart from everyone else, her hands resting on her tummy.
For the first time that day, Ade lets his gaze meet hers, and he finds, just as he’d expected, that unmoving look of desperation.
He gives her a small smile as the squad car skirts away from the pavement and into the dark Dorset road.
CHAPTER ONE
Twelve weeks before Cynthia’s disappearance
It was an unusually hot spring evening and the stifling air sizzled with warning. As Cynthia Bennet sped down the M3, she did her best to ignore the feeling of mounting panic in her chest.
Breathe, she told herself, closing the window in an attempt to convince herself that it was the gentle breeze making the hairs on her arms stand up.
With a sigh, Cynthia glanced over at Ade, her partner of three years, who’d been staring at her for the better part of five minutes.
‘I don’t know what you want me to say,’ she told him, indicating left so she could merge into the slip road. ‘I get why you didn’t want to tell her, but why did you have to drop this on me now?’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, for what felt like the hundredth time since his announcement. ‘I just didn’t want you to have to lie too.’
Which was exactly how it was going to look anyway.
When Ade finally told his mother that they’d moved from London to Dorset over a year ago without telling her, Cynthia was sure she’d be accused of using her so-called feminine wiles to lure him into a life of deception. Sure, Ade would admit that it had all been his idea, but that would only serve to amplify his mother’s disdain for her, which Ade claimed she was imagining. Apparently, his mother’s snide comments and backhanded compliments were her way of showing affection.
‘So, what do you want me to do?’ Cynthia asked, turning her attention back to the road. They were in the city now, and, as she took in the tall shiny buildings looming over dilapidated storefronts, she was momentarily distracted by how much London had changed since they’d moved away.
She’d grown up in Manchester, and the city, whichever one, had always been the place she felt most at home. She had never considered that after only a year away the never-ending rows of traffic would surprise her, or that the group of schoolgirls, their skirts hiked up well above their knees, their enormous Primark earrings dazzling in the sunlight, would no longer remind her of herself.
Ade had occasionally spoken of his desire to someday leave the city life behind and live somewhere where the houses were separated by more than a single wall, but at the time Cynthia hadn’t taken him seriously. She’d thought that, like her, he’d be miserable anywhere else. But then he’d found their cottage in Windchapel, with its white-bricked fireplace and wood-panelled ceilings, and before she knew it they were spending their Saturdays looking up kitchen designs on Pinterest.
‘Nothing,’ Ade replied. ‘You don’t have to do anything.’
‘So, you do want me to lie.’
‘No.’ He slipped his hand onto her knee and stroked it with his thumb in a way he knew she liked.
‘I’ll tell her soon, I promise,’ Ade said. ‘We just really need tonight to go well. And if we bring it up …’
‘Fine,’ Cynthia relented, even though she didn’t feel fine at all. This was the first time Mama had invited her to dinner without Ade’s interference, and she’d never felt so nervous in her life. The fact that she now had to lie to Mama’s face only intensified her anxiety.
‘Music?’ Ade asked, changing the subject as Cynthia slowed for a red light. They watched in silence as an elderly woman pushed an empty pram to the other side of the street.
‘And babe …’ Ade said, the sound of Boyz II Men crooning about some unidentified misdeed filling the car.
‘Yeah, I know.’ Cynthia rolled her eyes. ‘You’re sorry.’
*
Half an hour later, Cynthia was on the floor, looking up at Mama.
Both her knees were touching the ground, and she flicked her eyes to Ade, who gave her an encouraging nod, reassuring her that she was greeting Mama correctly – unlike last time.
Mama, meanwhile, was observing her with a tight-lipped smile that didn’t even try to reach her eyes. Her carefully shaped eyebrows were raised, and Cynthia couldn’t tell if she was annoyed or impressed. It bothered her, how much she wanted Mama’s approval, how desperately she wanted to get this right.
A few long, silent
‘Please, my dear,’ she said, and to Cynthia’s surprise she reached out a hand to pull her up. ‘I know you Jamaicans don’t kneel in your culture. There is no need to pretend here. Come,’ she added, glancing up at Ade, who at six-two was almost a foot taller than both Cynthia and Mama. ‘Your brother is waiting.’
Inside, Ade’s younger brother, Tayo, was already seated at the table, which was adorned with a red-and-white tablecloth. A candlelit centrepiece cast a warm light over the expensive-looking crockery stacked next to it. It all felt strangely romantic.
‘See, I told you she liked you,’ Ade whispered. ‘She doesn’t bring out the dolphin centrepiece for just anyone, trust me.’
He led her into the dining room where he took his seat at the head of the table. Mama claimed the seat to Ade’s right, but when Cynthia tried to sit to his left, Mama rushed to her side and dragged the chair away from her.
‘That chair is rickety,’ she announced, rocking it from side to side to emphasise her point. ‘Why don’t you go and sit next to Tayo over there.’ She pointed to the seat at the far end of the table, closest to the door. Resisting the urge to test the chair herself, Cynthia slipped into the seat next to Tayo. Mama glanced at the clock on the wall and tutted.
‘Welcome to the reject zone,’ Tayo whispered, and even though he’d meant it as a joke, Cynthia felt for him. At the few family events Cynthia had been to, Tayo had been on the receiving end of Mama’s fiery tongue, and his relationship with Ade seemed distant at best. She’d asked him about it once, and he’d tried to shrug it off. He was clearly the outcast of the family, a position Cynthia understood far too well, and they’d become fast friends. He’d told her about how much he wanted to drop out of medical school to study design, and she’d shared photos of the small boat she’d bought, which he teased her endlessly about. She realised now that Tayo also hadn’t told Mama about her and Ade moving to Windchapel, and she wondered if he’d known that Ade had been keeping it a secret.
‘In Jesus’ name,’ Mama said, and everyone bowed their heads while Mama blessed the food and cursed ‘any known or unknown enemy who dared threaten the happiness of her family’. Tayo snorted, and opened one eye to look at Cynthia, which made her feel a little better.
After Mama concluded her prayer, the family passed around the plates, and then the Pyrex dishes filled with the Nigerian food Cynthia was only just beginning to learn about. Jollof rice was scooped onto plates, efo and pounded yam expertly dished out.
‘Babe?’ Ade held up the dish in his hand, and Cynthia suddenly felt like she was on trial, the meal she chose acting as evidence of her guilt or innocence.
If she had what Ade was having, Mama might see it as a sign of weakness, like she didn’t have a mind of her own, but she didn’t want to risk eating Mama’s jollof rice either. It had not agreed with her last time.
In the end, Cynthia settled on some plantain with a few pieces of chicken – not much, but at least she knew she could finish it.
Mama eyed Cynthia’s half-empty plate and looked as if she was about to say something when the doorbell rang. The group turned their attention to Mama. They weren’t expecting anyone else.
‘Oh,’ Mama said, patting her hair as she stood. ‘Please excuse me.’ As she ambled off to answer the door, the remaining trio exchanged confused glances.
A few moments later, Mama returned to the dining room, a tall woman dressed in a navy-blue skirt suit and high-heeled shoes following behind her. Her face was carefully made up – dark-red lipstick had been expertly applied, and long straight hair fell neatly over her shoulders.
Cynthia could immediately tell that it was her real hair and not a weave, and she brushed the already slick edges of her own Afro puff with her hands, suddenly feeling uncomfortable.
‘Fey-Fey?’ Ade leapt from his chair, his eyes and mouth widening into a smile.
‘Dey-Dey.’ The woman opened her perfectly sculpted arms to greet him. He accepted her embrace, the pair swinging from side to side as they hugged, Mama standing triumphantly behind them.
Cynthia looked from Mama to Ade’s back to Mama again. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what Mama was up to, but if she was going to make it through this dinner with her dignity intact, she was going to have to play it cool. She refused to fall into Mama’s trap, even if Ade was too blind to see the truth.
The woman turned to greet the rest of the dinner party.
‘Tayo.’ She smiled at Ade’s brother and leant over Cynthia to give his hand a friendly squeeze. ‘And …’ Her dark-brown eyes settled on Cynthia’s, and she smiled at her too, extended her hand. ‘I’m Ifelayo,’ she said. ‘But everyone calls me Ife.’
‘This is Cynthia,’ Ade said, excited to introduce them. ‘Cynth, you remember I told you about my friend, Ife? The one I grew up with?’
‘Yeah,’ Cynthia lied, smiling through gritted teeth. Ade definitely hadn’t mentioned this beautiful woman he’d probably taken baths with, but Mama was smirking, and Cynthia didn’t want her to think she’d won. ‘Great to finally meet you.’
Ade made his way back to his chair, and Mama gestured to the seat to his left, allowing Ife to sit comfortably in the chair that didn’t ricket.
‘Would you like something to eat?’ Mama asked.
‘The efo looks lovely as always, aunty.’ She said efo as if she’d come out of the womb being able to pronounce it, shortening the ‘o’ sound in a way Cynthia could never quite manage. No matter how many times Ade tried to teach her, she always ended up pronouncing it like ‘a foe’. She looked down at her pathetically empty plate and wished she’d had the guts to try something else.
Ade pulled the Pyrex dish towards him and served Ife’s food as Cynthia shrunk down further in her seat, the anxiety she’d been feeling earlier flooding back in. She’d never thought of herself as a jealous person, but the fact that this whole scenario had been choreographed by Mama had caused her usually solid self-esteem to take an unexpected nosedive. It didn’t help that Ife was an absolute stunner.
‘It’s been way too long, Fey,’ Ade said between mouthfuls. ‘Where’ve you been?’
‘Dubai, mostly. I moved back home a couple of weeks ago.’
‘Your aunty tells me you were a project manager over there,’ Mama said.
Ife nodded.
‘We thank God.’ Mama glanced over at Cynthia, cracking her chicken bone between her teeth before returning her attention back to Ife. ‘There are some women in this world that think that shaking their nyash is a right way to make a living. But you, Ife, you’ve always been a good girl. Hard-working, respectful. You should be proud.’
Cynthia shifted in her seat. If Mama’s intention was to upset her, then she’d failed. She wasn’t upset; she was furious. Sure, she shook her nyash for a living, but so fucking what? She’d danced for some of the biggest names in the UK and had recently opened her own studio. Yes, it was small and having some serious growing pains, but it was hers, and she wasn’t going to let Mama or anyone else make her feel ashamed of something she’d quite literally bled for.
Cynthia had always wondered if her career choice was behind Mama’s disdain for her, but Ade had insisted that his mother didn’t care about things like that. ‘She only cares about what’s in here,’ he’d said, leaning over to touch her chest the night after she’d first met Mama.
Bullshit.
She shot Ade an ‘I told you so’ look, and he gave her a sad smile and a sympathetic shrug. Apparently, it was too much trouble for him to stand up for her just this once. Still, Cynthia was determined not to let Mama get to her, and she leant forward to start a conversation with Fey-Fey.
‘What kind of projects were you working on in Dubai?’ she asked, even though the conversation had already moved on.
Ife gave her a warm smile.
‘Tech, mostly. I worked with a few start-ups out there which was pretty intense.’
‘And now?’
‘Things are quieter,’ Ife replied, looking away.
‘Hey,’ Ade poked her with his elbow. ‘Everything okay?’ Ife tilted her head to look at him, and it was obvious, even to Cynthia, that everything was not. Ade said something only Ife could hear, and Ife nodded.
‘Later,’ she said.
‘So, tell us more about Dubai,’ Ade said, allowing the rest of the group back into the conversation. ‘I would have killed to design some houses over there.’
