Black Sunshine

  BLACK SUNSHINE

  Copyright © 2019 Davie J Toothill

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licenses issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the author.

  Davie J Toothill

  Book cover design by Rocking Book Covers

  Dedicated to all of my friends and family,

  Who have always supported my writing.

  CHAPTER ONE

  The shadows of the bars on her window stretched along the stained bedroom wall and Dalia knew that the hot, bright Italian sun was beginning to set.

  Sweat clung to her thin black body, pooling in her armpits and at the small of her back, making the white vest stick to her skin.

  She heard the occasional car outside the window, bass music vibrating the ground and seeming to shake the foundations of the house. Her prison. She had grown used to the sounds over the last few months. They had come to be both reassuring and frightening. She could picture the cars passing beneath on the bumpy road outside the second-story bedroom, but she never looked out of the pane-less window.

  Seeing the cars disappear down the road reminded her that the drivers and their passengers enjoyed a freedom that she no longer did.

  She pushed the thoughts from her mind. It was too painful.

  The shadows began to fade as the sun sank behind the houses across the street, the room filling with a comforting orange glow.

  This would be the night she saved herself. She had been planning it for the last few days. She knew she had no other choice. It was either now or never. She had to try to escape, try to reclaim her freedom.

  She would be. She had lost everything. Her body ached as if she needed reminding of why she could not survive another night here.

  They had taken everything from her. Her dignity. Her unborn child.

  The evening grew dark and Dalia remained crouched against the wall beneath the window, her bare feet and buttocks pressed against the cooling concrete floor that was losing its heat now the sun had set, her shoulder blades aching from continued contact with the wall, but she made no effort to move or stand, or to cross the room and flick the light switch on.

  She had once loved the sun set. It only reminded her now that day and night were both the same for her. There was no rest here, no respite from this life.

  Darkness was no cloak to hide within and yet daylight brought no safety. As a child she had been taught to fear the night but what to do when the days were as bad. The sun was an orange moon. The sunrise did not burn away the fears of night. Black sunshine cast only shadows and brought fresh pain. Day. Night. It did not matter.

  She was nothing here. Nobody. A body only when it suited them.

  The strangers who drove past as she stood on the side of the highway, the polizia, anyone who could have helped her, they did not see her at all. They looked right through her.

  She was invisible to those she wanted to see her, and visible only to those she did not.

  Dalia had started to imagine that she was ceasing to exist.

  Perhaps she was already gone. Vanished. She put a hand to her chest and felt her heart beating. She was still alive. Not everyone was so lucky. Her hand slid down to her stomach and she ached with loss.

  Sounds drifted from the other rooms in the house and she closed her eyes, squeezing them tight, as if this would block out the voices, the moans, the cries, the laughter.

  She focused on the thought that she would never have to listen to these noises again. Not after tonight.

  Sandals slapping against bare feet came from the corridor outside. Girls bickering, the clinking of a dinner tray.

  She did not understand the other girls. The ones who believed they would ever leave this place. The ones who laughed and tried to make the most of a bad situation. They could bargain and bicker all they liked but that would not get them out of here. Nobody was coming to save them. Did they not miss their freedom?

  Dalia tuned out the chattering beyond the walls of her room.

  She was not weak. She was no longer scared. For the first time since she had step foot in this house, Dalia had hope. It was invigorating.

  She clung to it as if it were a lifeline. It was, she had no doubt. It was all that was keeping her going, stopping her from breaking.

  She would get her freedom tonight.

  Whatever it took.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Sunlight lit up the bedroom and Sade pulled the thin white sheets over her head, an attempt to shield her closed eyes from the harsh glare. It was no use. The insides of her eyelids shone red and made returning to sleep impossible.

  Frustrated, Sade sat up and let the sheet fall from her body. She stretched, and saw her younger sister curled up beneath a mass of sheets on the bed beside her. She groaned, clambering out of bed, and slapped her sister lightly on the rear to wake her up.

  Bunmi gave an indecipherable grunt and tunnelled deeper under the sheets. Sade rolled her eyes and pattered across the landing to the bathroom. Raised voices came from downstairs; not filled with anger, but with excitement, and no small measure of stress, no doubt induced by the time constraints of this special day.

  As she pulled her pyjamas down and sat on the toilet, savouring the coolness of the seat on her bare skin, Sade knew that it was indeed a special day. A very special day for her older sister, as Mother had repeated every day for the last few months, but also for the whole family. Weddings always brought with them honour and pomp, and Sade knew that today’s proceedings would be no different.

  Even at sixteen, she was only too aware that the focus was on her almost as much as on her older sister; after Adeleke had walked down the aisle this morning, it would be Sade that eyes would fall upon in expectation of the next family wedding. The thought made her shudder despite the heat in the small bathroom.

  She flushed the toilet and checked her reflection in the small chipped mirror above the basinet. Her hair was sticking up at all kinds of angles and she could already feel her mother’s agitated but strong hands pulling a brush through it, trying to imbue it with some dignity. She rinsed her face with cold water, the pipes hissing as water coursed through them, and she heard the creak of the stairs. Her mother, no doubt having heard the pipes groaning into life, had come to check on them.

  The door swung open and Mrs Babatunde’s large frame peered into the room, taking in her daughter’s semi-nakedness, before her eyes drifted up to the state of her hair. She looked aghast, shaking her head, as Sade turned off the faucet and looked down at the floor, almost ashamed of her hair, which she had no more control over than she did the winds or the sun or the rain.

  “Mama –” Sade began, wanting to express her apologies for her flyaway hair.

  “Shower and brush your teeth as quick as you can,” Mother said, swatting at a fly that had flown through the open bathroom door and now circled her blue gele, her headwrap, as if curious to discover her hair beneath it. “I’ll wake Bunmi; no doubt she’s still in bed. Be quick. Today is a very special day, after all.”

  With that, Mother left the bathroom, closing the door behind her with a sharp click. Sade heard her mother calling for Bunmi, before the sounds were drowned out by the pipes going into overdrive as she turned the shower on.

  She stood under the cool water and used her hands to scrub her skin, feeling the nighttime sw
eat that had accumulated on her black skin washing away down the plughole and waking her up. She paid special attention to her hair, pulling her fingers through the tangled curls.

  When she’d scrubbed herself clean, she turned off the taps and towelled herself dry, feeling water pooling at her feet on the white tiled floor. The door opened and Bunmi was ushered into the room, still in her sweat-stained pyjamas, by Mother.

  “Get yourself clean,” Mother was saying, herding her inside. “And do something with that frown. You can’t look so miserable on your sister’s happy day.”

  Bunmi groaned as she stripped down and got into the shower. Mother looked at Sade’s hair, clearly still not impressed but at least less frustrated than before and pulled her out of the bathroom and into the girls’ bedroom, brandishing a brush.

  Sade winced as Mother brushed her hair. A red mass of material, shining softly in the bright yellow dawn sunlight, had appeared on her bed.

  “Is that my outfit?” Sade asked wearily.

  Though Mother loved the pomposity of a big celebration, Sade knew that she would feel self-conscious and uncomfortable in such a lavish outfit. She would much rather spend the day in shorts and a t-shirt, but the thought of Mother’s reaction if she told her this was too much to contemplate.

  “Yes,” Mother replied. “And no complaints,” she added, as if sensing where Sade’s thoughts had taken her. “This is your sister’s special day, and I want no trouble from you or Bunmi. The whole neighbourhood will be here. Remember that. Remember.”

  “Yes, Mother,” Sade sighed.

  It was going to be a long day.

  Misreading the sigh, Mother spun Sade around to face her and clutched each side of her face with her clammy, meaty hands.

  “Don’t worry,” she said, squeezing Sade’s cheek with her fingers. “After Adeleke is married, it will be your turn and we’ll find you a good husband and then this special day will be yours. Just wait, my love, you’ll get your moment. You’ll have your special day.”

  Sade wanted to tell her that she had no intention of letting Mother find her a husband. She knew the requisites that her mother had. Good job, good family, good standing with the neighbourhood. She was not interested in finding a husband who ticked all the boxes on her mother’s long checklist.

  She had feelings for only one boy and the thought of marrying anybody else was ridiculous, but she could not tell Mother any of this. Especially not today. She nodded as much as she could manage with her face in Mother’s grip. Mother seemed pleased with her response, smiled, spun her back around and resumed the brushing of her hair.

  The pipes stopped grumbling and Bunmi reappeared a moment later, her tiny thirteen-year-old body wrapped in a threadbare white towel. Water trailed along the floor after her. Mother immediately set upon her with the brush, eliciting squeals of discomfort and annoyance from Bunmi.

  Free from Mother’s grasp, Sade sat down on her bed and ran a hand through her hair and wincing as her palms rubbed her sore scalp. Trying not to pay attention to Bunmi’s continued protests at her mother’s brushing, Sade turned her attention to the mass of red material on her bed.

  She picked it up and ran her fingers over the smooth silken material. It was beautifully made, but that didn’t make her feel any more reassured about wearing such an extravagant outfit. She pulled the long red silken buba, or blouse, over her head and twisted her body so that the corners and hems fell to the right places on her body. She was relieved that the silk material was not stuffy, or at least not as stuffy as she had feared, though she felt sweat form in her armpits and between her legs as she stood and adjusted her clothing in the sunlight pouring through the window.

  Mother gasped with delight, catching sight of her. Bunmi used the distraction to slip away from her grip and fell upon her own red buba, throwing it over her head before Mother could resume her brushing.

  Mother helped Bunmi adjust the blouse whilst Sade fumbled with the ornate red and silver iro, or wrapper, that she eventually managed to tie around her waist, cinching the buba around her middle. Mother finished helping Bunmi with her own iro and then came and fixed Sade’s.

  The two sisters stood in the middle of the room, wearing their matching red outfits, and Mother clasped her hands together and nodded in approval. She looked so happy that Sade would not have been surprised if a tear had appeared in the corner of her eye. But no tear showed itself.

  The bedroom door opened, and Father came in, wearing his own traditional wear and glancing at his daughters with approval. He murmured to his wife and then shuffled his large frame back out of the room, showing them a large sweat patch between his shoulder blades as he turned. Poor Daddy, Sade thought. Mother most definitely wore the trousers in this household and Daddy had no doubt been woken at the crack of dawn and forced to change under the watchful eye and instructions of Mother. He was probably sweating like a pig downstairs, entertaining the arriving guests.

  “Your father says it’s almost time,” Mother said, voice still filled with pride. She took a deep breath, swatted her hand at another fly, and set to work helping the girls put their own geles on. Unlike Mother’s sky-blue gele, the girls had matching red ones.

  Sade closed her eyes as Mother fixed hers, feeling the top of her head and her sore scalp already itching with the heat under the folds of the ornate headdress. She willed today to go quickly so she could change out of this outfit and try to get her body temperature back to a reasonable level. She saw Bunmi swipe a hand across her own forehead, sweat trickling down the bridge of her nose as Mother finished adjusting her gele.

  “My girls are beautiful,” Mother said, when she had taken a step back to admire them both. Sade and Bunmi kept quiet. “Downstairs, then.”

  It was an order, and Sade traipsed after Mother and her sister, out of the bedroom and down the creaking staircase. The sound of voices grew louder, and she wondered how many people had already arrived. The ground floor of the house seemed to be teeming with people, all the women in elaborately coloured geles and bubas and iros. It seemed like each woman had attempted different styles of geles, some tall and thin, some large and ornate, some twisted in elegant knots and some in styles Sade had never seen before. It was like a competition; who could wear the most elaborate, tallest headdress and, hence, garner the most attention and compliments.

  Sade wished she was not wearing one. Bunmi stuck close to her side, doubtless feeling the same way as she did. Sade wrapped an arm protectively around her as Mother marched them through the guests, who parted to let the family of the bride through. Sade felt the eyes of all the guests on them and didn’t like it one bit.

  Through the parting guests, Sade got her first glimpse of Adeleke in her bridal outfit. She looked beautiful, there was no denying that. Her gele was a golden silk and ornately fashioned and her face radiated joy and delight. As she was so used to seeing her older sister looking grumpy, with an apron pulled over her bosom, Sade was surprised by the difference.

  Beside her, Adeleke’s husband-to-be, Ikenna, stood in his robes, looking every part the doting and respectable husband that was no doubt the main reason Mother was so delighted by the union.

  “Sade, you look beautiful,” Adeleke smiled, clutching her close to her, then releasing her almost immediately and pulling Bunmi in close. “As do you Bunmi. Gosh, it’s wonderful to see my sisters make such an effort to celebrate this special day with me.” She bent to embrace them both, putting her face between their heads as if to kiss them on the cheeks, and hissed, almost whispered, “Don’t embarrass me. Stand there, keep quiet, and don’t do anything. Hear me?”

  Sade smiled and nodded, Bunmi copying her, as Adeleke pulled away, a tight smile on her face. Sade’s cheeks ached from the forced act of smiling. Not that it mattered, because Adeleke had already lost interest in her two younger sisters and was fussing over Ikenna with Mother. Sade understood what was expected of her and Bunmi. They were to be there, looking respectful, but most definitely staying out of the wa
y and letting Adeleke enjoy her big day without fear of embarrassment from her younger siblings.

  The wedding proceedings were long and arduous, but Sade made sure she upheld her Mother and Adeleke’s wishes and remained in the background, looking pretty and keeping silent. Neighbours and family friends and long-distance relatives crowded around them, clutching her cheeks or patting her arm, all of them commenting on how proud she must be of her older sister, before moving on to congratulate the bride. Sade was sick of it all after a few hours. Beside her, Bunmi’s smile and façade of cheeriness was evaporating. She was getting bored, her mouth frowning petulantly, her feet scuffing the floor as she kicked at the ground gently. Mother shot Sade a dark look as she spotted the disobedience, and Sade shuffled closer to her younger sister.

  “Stop that,” she said under her breath. “Mother will be mad if you don’t.” Bunmi glanced at Mother, saw her expression, and stopped immediately, her disobedience withering under her harsh gaze.

  Sade was pleased for Adeleke. She looked so happy when the priest pronounced her and Ikenna husband and wife, but she wished that the whole thing could have hurried up. After the wedding, Mother marched everyone back to the Babatunde household and denied Sade permission to go upstairs and instead enlisted her help in serving the guests with drinks and food.

  Sade felt like a maid as she waited on the other guests with a tray of snacks that Mother had been preparing for the past few days. She tried not to trip on the bottom of her buba as she shuffled between guests, avoiding bumping into anyone and trying to make sure she offered a snack to everyone. Bunmi was also making the rounds, though the frown on her face showed that Sade was at least better at looking pleased to be there.

  When at last Mother was satisfied that she had carried out enough of her sisterly duties and could no longer be put upon to carry trays and serve drinks, Sade was given permission to go outside. She left the tray on the kitchen table, bypassing an elderly neighbour, Hasana, a rail-thin woman who walked with a stoop and needed a cane to get around, who looked like she wanted to envelop her in conversation, and slipped out of the back door of the house.