I was tired of trying to please everyone, of making sacrifices that no one seemed to appreciate. Many mothers would give an arm and a leg to have an opara like me. Yet my own mother was still bound by the mental shackles of a husband who had lived from beginning to end in a cloud. Perhaps, I should just be like Cash Daddy and do and say as I pleased. With time, people would learn to accept me for who I was. And so what if Merit did not want me? There were many Thelmas and Sandras out there who would gladly jump at the opportunity to wear my ring on their finger. After all, if Cash Daddy had paid attention to people like my father and my mother, he might never have made it this far.

Someone knocked on my door. I ignored it. The person knocked again. I still ignored it.

‘Kings,’ Charity said in a grasshopper voice, ‘Mummy and Aunty Dimma are here.’

Last night, my sister had almost slid into the wall when I passed her on the staircase, as if she were afraid that I would sting if her body made contact with mine.

‘I’m coming,’ I replied.

I rolled out of bed and pulled a T-shirt over my boxer shorts.

Aunty and Mummy were seated in the living room when I entered. My mother had actually persuaded Aunty Dimma to forgo her Sunday morning service to accompany her here today? The gravity of their mission was evident on their faces.

Charity was nowhere in sight. I greeted them and sat. For a while, we sat looking at each other. Finally, Aunty Dimma glanced at my mother and whispered.

‘Ozoemena.’

My mother then took in a deep breath, exhaled noisily, and opened up her case.

‘Kings, what happened between you and Godfrey yesterday?’

I kept quiet.

‘Why did you almost kill your brother?’ she added.

I continued keeping quiet.

‘Kings, am I not talking to you?’

‘Mummy, why didn’t you ask him what he did? Why did you have to come all the way to Aba to ask me that question?’

The women exchanged glances. Aunty Dimma’s glance seemed to be saying, I told you so.

‘Kings, what is coming over you?’ my mother asked. ‘You don’t even seem to realise that what you’ve done is very evil. Whatever your brother did, is that the way for you to behave? Couldn’t you find another way to resolve the issue without . . . without trying to kill him?’

‘There’s nothing to resolve,’ I replied coolly. ‘I can sponsor Godfrey and give him whatever he needs. But if you want your son to remain alive, he’d better stay in Umuahia with you. Maybe that will help tighten some of the screws that have gone loose in his head.’

‘Jesus is Lord!’ Aunty Dimma exclaimed.

Ha.

‘Jesus is Lord. Education is gold. God will provide. You people should continue living in your dream world.’

Aunty Dimma glanced at my mother again. My mother stood up and leaned forward with one hand on her waist and the other pointing at me.

‘Look at how you’re talking. See who’s talking about loose screws in the head. What about you?’

I still had some left over of yesterday’s oomph. I jumped up from my chair, slammed my fists in the air and stared her in the face.

‘I’m tired of all this rubbish! I’m tired! Whether you people appreciate it or not, I’ve been making all these sacrifices for the family. It’s because of you. And all I get is insults and derogatory remarks.’

Charity had reappeared. She was watching from the bottom of the stairs.

‘It’s not for us you’re doing it,’ my mother spat through clenched teeth. ‘I told you long time ago that I don’t want any of your dirty money. If your father were alive, none of this would have happened. Your father is there turning in his grave and wondering how his son, his own flesh and blood, can be living this sort of despicable life. This is not the way we brought you up. As far as I’m concerned, you’re a disgrace to your father’s memory.’

‘Let him keep turning in his grave,’ I said. ‘That’s why he died a poor man. If he had done what other people were doing instead of sitting there and idealising, he would still be alive today.’

Aunty Dimma covered her mouth with her hand and allowed her eyes to do the exclaiming instead. My mother became a column of ice and focused her frozen eyeballs on my face. Gradually, she thawed. Then, rushed over and landed two slaps on my right cheek.

‘Kingsley,’ she said, with tears rising in her eyes, ‘your father and I did not raise you to be a conman. You hear me? Enough is enough. You have to stop this 419. If not, I will never mention your name again as my son. As far as I’m concerned, you no longer exist.’

She sniffed. The tears had now overflowed the banks and were creeping far out to shore.

‘Since this your fast money has given you the guts to talk about your father in this manner, then you might as well just forget about me. Until you stop this 419, I will never, ever set foot in your house again. And I don’t want you to come and visit me. If you ever see me here in your house again, that is the day I will drop dead. You had better not think for one second that I’m joking. I mean every single word I’m saying.’

She grabbed her handbag and stormed out. Even the sound of Charity’s sobbing was drowned out by her footsteps.

‘Kingsley,’ Aunty Dimma said. ‘Don’t allow the devil to use you to wreak havoc in this family! Don’t allow—’

‘You people should learn to be realistic,’ I cut in gruffly, recalling Cash Daddy’s long-time-ago imitation of how rich people behaved and spoke. ‘This has nothing to do with the devil.’

‘That’s what you think! Even the devil was not always the devil. God made Lucifer then Lucifer turned himself into the devil. You might not know it, but money is turning you into a devil. You’d better stop yourself before—’

‘I don’t want to hear any more of this rubbish. Aunty Dimma, I’ve tolerated your tongue enough. All this talk . . . Does it put food on the table? Does it pay school fees? Me, I don’t believe in film tricks, I believe in real, live action.’

Whatever else she wanted to say got stuck inside her throat. She looked on in disbelief while I stormed past her and headed for the stairs.

For the first time in the history of womankind, Aunty Dimma’s tongue appeared tied.

Nevertheless, I could not face poverty again. Never again. My best bet was Cash Daddy’s suggestion. Once I took up his job offer at the Ministry of Works and Transport, my mother - and Merit - would definitely be appeased. So what if it was just a façade?

I noticed that my cellular screen was flashing. I grabbed it from the edge of my pillow and saw the five missed calls. All were from Cash Daddy’s number. I rang back immediately.

‘Kings, they got him, they got him,’ Protocol Officer said over and over again.

‘Got whom?’

‘Kings, Cash Daddy is dead.’

Then he started sobbing, making the sort of noises you should hope never to hear from a grown man.