It was one of those nights, when the approaching footsteps of the following day’s troubles pound so loudly against one’s mind that sleep gets frightened and runs away.  The day had been a busy one for both of them.  He had spent it out shopping with his son.  She had spent it scrubbing and mopping.  Immediately after the nine o’clock news, the man stood up from his favourite chair, the one that was closest to and perpendicular the television.

‘I’m going in,’ he said.

The woman also stood up.  She switched off the television set and escorted their son to his bedroom.  When the boy was safely tucked into bed, she went in and changed into her long, flowered nightgown, the one that kept her warm at night even though it looked like the sort of thing an old, white woman in a horror movie might wear.  Then she lay beside her husband and turned off the bedside switch.  Her eyes had been closed for a long time when she heard a gentle knock on the door. 

‘Who is that?’ she asked.

‘It’s me,’ a little voice answered. 

‘What is it?’

 ‘Mummy, please can I come in and see my shoes?’

She decided it would do no harm to let him see the shoes one last time if that would help him fall asleep.  But before she could respond, her husband spoke. 

‘Come in.’ he said, turning on the switch by his own side of the bed.

The door screeched open and Kingsley tiptoed into the room.  His bathroom slippers made a sound as if he was stepping on a rat and causing it to squeak each time he moved.  He headed straight for the trunk box where his mother kept her expensive wrappers and important documents.  The white cardboard box was still on top, where his father had left it after they returned from the Bata shoe shop earlier that day.  He lifted the cover, brought out the contents, removed his feet from the bathroom slippers, and slotted them into the brown, leather shoes.  With his eyes on his feet, he took two steps forward and three steps backwards.  Then he raised his right foot to his face, smelt it, and smiled. 

‘Okay, it’s enough,’ Augustina said.  ‘Go and sleep so you can wake up early for church tomorrow morning.’

Kingsley removed the shoes and put them back in the box.  Before replacing the cover, he spread the thin, white sheet of protective paper across and tucked it in on every side.  His actions were tender, as if he were changing the diapers of his firstborn son.   

‘Daddy, goodnight.  Mummy, goodnight.’

Both parents grunted responses. 

As soon as the door shut behind him, Augustina concluded that a problem shared is a problem half-solved and decided to say what it was that had been weighing on her mind. 

‘What time did they say they’re coming?’ she asked. 

A casual observer might have assumed that she was sleep-talking.  But the husband knew exactly what the wife was talking about.  In fact, the probability was very high that he had also been thinking along those same lines. 

‘They didn’t say exactly,’ he replied, without changing his position on the bed.  He was lying facing one direction with his back towards her, while she was lying facing the other direction with her back towards him.  ‘But since it’s Sunday, I imagine they’ll be coming any time after Mass.’

‘Did they say whether they’ll be sleeping over?’

‘They didn’t, but it’s very likely.’

Just then there was another gentle knock on the door.

‘Who’s that?’ she asked.

‘It’s me,’ he replied.

‘What is it?’

‘Mummy, please can I come in and look at my shoes?’

Augustina suddenly felt the strong urge to beat up a child.  She sprang up straight in bed and raised her voice. 

‘Will you get out and go to your room and sleep!  Look, if I come out and meet you there, I’m going to keep flogging you until you fall asleep!’

The sound of rats squeaking as they were being stepped on, rushed away into the opposite direction.  Kingsley was due to start primary school on Monday.  Earlier that day, his father had taken him to barb his hair, to buy his exercise books, pencils, crayons, schoolbag, and his first pair of school shoes.  Ever since they returned from their shopping trip that evening, he had been in to admire and try out the shoes at least one million times. 

Augustina lay back in bed and sighed a deep, grave sigh.  Her husband understood that her sighing had nothing to do with their son’s irritating behaviour.  He turned round and moved closer to her in the bed.  He curved himself along the contours of her back, like a spoon against another spoon.  Then he tickled her feet with his toes and stroked her hair.   

‘Are you letting this thing get to you again?’ he asked, in the sort of voice that Casanovas use when the lights are dim.

Augustina kept quiet.  Her muscles remained tense against his body and refused to respond to the tickling, the stroking, or the voice. 

‘I’ve told you not to allow these things worry you,’ he continued. 

‘Paulinus,’ she replied.  There was no corresponding affection in her voice. ‘I have every reason to be worried if your sisters are coming tomorrow.  You know how it is whenever any one of them is around.  Not to talk of when they’ve all decided to come in a group.’

‘Augustina, listen to me.  It doesn’t matter.  No matter what they say or how they behave, just remember that it’s all words and intimidation.  There’s nothing they can do to you.’

She analysed his logic and fell for it.  Straight away, her body switched into relaxation mode.  His hands went from her hair to other parts of her body.  In a short while, she was transported to another galaxy, and completely forgot about sleep or tomorrow. 

#

After Mass, Paulinus dropped them off at home and returned to church for what Father Mathias had described as a brief men’s meeting.  When she finished preparing lunch, there was a loud thumping on the front door, as if the person outside was freezing to death and could not wait to come indoors.  Oluchi, her step-sister’s daughter who lived with them, went ahead to check.  Augustina murmured a hasty Hail Mary and followed at a safe distance behind her.  Oluchi looked out of the front window and saw who it was. 

‘Ma Kingsley, they’re here!’ she yelled quietly, like a child who was alerting his siblings that it was time to put away the toys and pretend as if they were reading, because their authoritarian father had just driven in.