When the rain never comes 2

By Izu Osuigwe

CASMIR tried to sleep but couldn’t.

At 8:00pm, he checked his phone and sighed. Resigning himself to wakefulness, he pushed himself up from the bed, staggering as his ears rang from the effort.

He changed out of his pyjamas into his clothes—now loose on his frail frame. Six months on a sickbed will do that to anyone.

Opening the bedside locker, he pulled out an envelope containing his test results and tucked it under his shirt. His gaze shifted to the money Mirabel had left on the table. Fifteen thousand naira. He murmured a silent thanks to Nurse Mirabel.

He shuffled out of the room, his steps slow and deliberate. The corridor was quiet, save for the faint hum of televisions. He encountered only two visitors checking on relatives and avoided eye contact.

Refusing to take the lift, he trudged toward the staircase, each step a battle. As he descended, his heart pounded with the effort, and he barely made it to the car park before collapsing against a Nissan Pajero.

A newer model. Expensive.

In another life, he owned cars like this. Cars even more expensive than this.

Summoning the last of his strength, he pushed forward, stumbling toward the gatehouse. The TV was on inside, voices drifting out.

Lowering himself below the window level, he took careful steps—then his strength gave out.

He fell.

Flat on the cold ground, he lay still, barely breathing. If the gatemen were summoned, they’d see him. He couldn’t risk that. But his body betrayed him, and within moments, darkness swallowed him whole.

He was home.

The driver pulled into Beta Chicken, unprompted. A daily ritual.

Inside, Bose, his favourite server, lit up when she saw him.

“Evening, sir.”

“Evening, Bose. The usual. And add two caramel and one mango ice cream to the order.”

As soon as he arrived home, his kids ran out, squealing with excitement as they grabbed the takeaway bags.

This—this was success in Nigeria’s evolving economy.

He played with them, laughing, kicking a ball Onyi tossed at him. Trapped it under his foot. Their cheers rang in his ears, growing louder and louder until

Wait.

The kids were only smiling. So where was the roar coming from?

He woke up.

The cheers weren’t his kids. They were from the gatehouse—one of the teams must have scored.

Reality slammed back. He was still here. Still in danger. If the gatemen had come out to let a car in, he’d have been caught.

Forcing himself up, he stumbled out of the hospital premises.

Located off Adeola Hopewell Street, Victoria Island, the hospital was far from where he needed to be. By the time he reached Sanusi Fafunwa Street, his legs gave out again.

Sitting on a kerb, he stared into the night, considering his future. It was bleak. Very bleak.

Without his blood pressure medication, he was a goner.

And there was nowhere to go. He had cut off his family and friends because Dera had wanted it that way.

When times were good, they had been a close-knit family.

A passing bike operator slowed down, and Casmir flagged him.

“Aro Beach, off Jakande Junction,” he muttered.

Meanwhile, Dera had just left the hospital, falling into Tunde’s waiting arms.

He held her tenderly, leading her to his car. As he drove down Adetokunbo Ademola Street, then turned left at Zenith Roundabout, she sobbed quietly beside him.

On Ajose Adeogun Street, she wiped her tears. By the time they reached Hammond’s near Landmark Event Centre, she was already fixing her makeup.

Tunde, though, was barely containing his excitement.

The chase had been long, complex, and delicate.

Other men would have given up. Not him.

From the moment he joined Optimal Capital and saw Chidera, he had known—married or not, he wanted her.

The first time he saw her, she had stepped out of an SUV in the parking lot.

Velvet-dark skin. Five ten, willowy but full in all the right places. 42-inch hips. A stomach pouch that hinted at motherhood but only added to her allure. Wide almond eyes, full lips, a smug nose.

He had stared.

A chuckle from behind had broken the spell.

“You’ve been caught by the Spirit of Dera.”

He knew the voice. Chima. His friend and the man who had gotten him into Optimal.

“Chima! Morning. Who is that angel?”

“That’s Dera. She works here too. But don’t get ahead of yourself. She’s happily married.”

“Is that a quote or a fact?”

“Guy, no one has succeeded. Not for lack of trying. We’ve all shot our shots.”

“Then I’ll enjoy working here.”

And just like that, Tunde had joined the game.

Optimal Capital was a stock brokerage and Private Capital Investment firm catering to the ultra-rich.
Founded by Chief Ajayi Adegbite, an ex-banker who realized the wealthy left billions lying idle in accounts. He created a business to invest those funds in stocks, real estate, and commerce—ensuring profits for everyone involved.

Under him, Dr. Udoka also in his sixties served as General Manager

Barrister Michelle Savage, in her early forties, fair complexioned, wholesomely pretty, fully endowed up and down as Company Secretary.

Abel Osaro, in his middle fifties, was above average in height and a born misogynist as the Company Accountant.
Tunde, who just joined as HR Manager, while Chima, his friend, handled Marketing.

Dera and Emotan, pretty and Slim Thick, worked in Client Services under Chima.

And in one thing, Dera, Emotan, and Michelle agreed:

Abel Osaro was the most useless man they had ever met.

Each had a story.

“That idiot!” Michelle fumed.

“What did he do this time?” Emotan asked.

“What he did or what he said?”

“Whatever. Let’s hear it.”

Michelle sighed. “I was rushing for a meeting, making good time towards the staircase when he chuckled behind me and said—” She hesitated, then forced herself to continue.

‘This one you dey waddle like a duck, where you dey carry that humongous nyash dey go?’”

Dera and Emotan burst into laughter, despite themselves.

“I feel insulted!” Michelle huffed.

“Sorry!” Dera gasped. “It just sounded so—”

“Apt?”

“No, but—”

“Forget it.”

‘No, I also had an encounter with him the other day, I was in the lift when he joined me and we greeted, he then asked how many kids I have, I told him three kids, and he asked how long I have been married, I said twelve years, guess what he said?”

“What?”

“With your wide hips, you are made for childbearing, I don’t know why your hubby is ignoring you, you should be popping them out, once a year and the occasional twins every leap year”

“What? What did you tell him?”.
“I was so mad I told him thank God my husband is not an animal like you”

“Good for him, I hope he got embarrassed hearing that “

“For where? The yeye man replied ” Dera, true to God, with your voluptuous, luscious body, you need a beast to tame it” I had to run out of the lift”

The other ladies looked at Emotan, but she said nothing about her experience with him, just remarked to Barr Michelle;

“How come no one has reported him?”

“Says who? I did once, I took the opportunity of Mrs Adegbite coming to visit her husband to report Abel to both of them”

“What did Abel say to you?”

“I was walking to my car for a lunch outing, then I passed Abel and made sure I gave him a wide berth by walking along the edge of the sidewalk, yet he turned and quipped ” Lawyer please, pity the flowers and be walking on the middle next time, your generous behind is obscuring the sun from shining on the poor plants, preventing them from indulging in photosynthesis”

Both ladies fought not to burst into laughter again.

“Hian, what was the response of Mrs Adegbite and Chief when you reported Abel?” Dera asked.

“They both burst into laughter and said I should ignore him”

Emotan, however, said nothing.

Later, as Dera walked back to her office, she wondered—what had Abel said to Emotan that could be so humiliating she refused to share?

Tunde had wasted no time getting close to Dera. The more she resisted, the more determined he became.
As an expert hunter he had checked his environment for likely competitors, Chief Adegbite may be one, but in all his trips local and international he preferred to travel usually with youth corpers or students on attachment which he balances by ensuring he was accompanied by the same number of the opposite gender, terming the trip a working experience opportunity.

Chima, his friend and a hunter like him, had not shown any interest in the lady before he joined the firm; as such, there was nothing to fear there.
Apart from the junior staff and drivers, the other likely candidate was Abel Osaro but he had quickly observed the resentment all the ladies have for him.

Then he found his opening.

Rumours spread—Dera was selling off more of her bonus shares than anyone else. Casmir was sick. Out of work.

Tunde swooped in, offering support. But she refused to play outside her marriage.

So, he changed tactics.

“As long as she’s hitched, she won’t play,” Chima had told him.

“I know. What can I do?”

“Maybe if she divorces the guy…”

And that was how Tunde started whispering about freedom.

Freedom from burdens too heavy for her young shoulders.

Dera listened. And listened.

When the time came, he got her a lawyer. Casmir, groggy from medication, signed divorce papers he didn’t even know were there, when he was signing off on the sale of his house.

So, when she handed him the final divorce order, he had been blindsided.

Now, in Tunde’s car, her sobbing had stopped.

She fixed her makeup, and he pulled up at Hammond’s for their post-divorce celebration.

As they stepped out, his phone rang.

“Dera, go ahead. Our table is number twelve.”

As she walked towards the door, Tunde stared at her departing figure, mesmerized, admiring her swaying figure and enthralled by the way her curvy hips were shooting catapult!

(To be continued in part 3)