Orphan Sisters Read online

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  About the Author

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Part One

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Part Two

  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

  Part 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

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-one

  Chapter Forty-two

  Chapter Forty-three

  Chapter Forty-four

  Chapter Forty-five

  Chapter Forty-six

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Copyright

  About the Book

  Lana and May are a very long way from home.

  Their Nigerian parents have emigrated to England in search of a better life for their family. Nineteen fifties London is a great adventure to the girls but not always welcoming. There are signs in windows of lodging houses warning: ‘NO BLACKS, NO DOGS, NO IRISH’.

  When tragedy strikes and the girls lose their father, their mother is unable to cope. When she fails to recover from the surprise birth of another child, all three girls are sent to an orphanage. Lana is determined to keep her sisters together but when baby Tina is cruelly taken from them, she must face the possibility of their family being torn apart – perhaps for ever…

  A heartbreakingly lovely and original saga celebrating black history which will appeal to historical fiction readers new and old.

  About the Author

  Lola Jaye has penned four novels and a self-help book. Her work has been translated into several languages, including Korean, German and Serbian.

  She grew up in South London, and has also lived in Nigeria and America. She admits to watching too much TV, but firmly believes it enhances her writing. She even taught a class on it!

  Keep up to date with Lola via: her website, www.lolajaye.com, or on Twitter, Instagram and Facebook.

  For Mum, Toods & Nanno

  PART ONE

  Chapter One

  Nigeria, 1958

  Lanre sat in between Mummy’s knees, short legs stretched out in front of her, head tilted by the force of strong fingers as they meticulously wove each strand of hair into a spiral shape around her head. Asking Mummy to read out Daddy’s letter for the umpteenth time had merely been a ploy to delay the inevitable.

  ‘Ow!’ she complained as, once again, a shock of pain passed unapologetically through her body. It was swift, almost forgettable, yet a mere prelude to the next one.

  ‘Ow, ow,’ her mother teased. ‘Why are you complaining like a baby? You are seven years. What would your father say of this?’

  ‘He would tell me I must be smiling always. Even when I am having my hair plaited.’

  ‘That is correct.’

  A chicken ran past Lanre’s feet, and she wished she could chase it. She often did.

  ‘Don’t worry, I am almost finished. You will soon look like a beautiful girl for your daddy.’

  Lanre smiled at that. She hoped to one day be as beautiful as Mummy with her pointed nose and her long hair that, when plaited, touched the tips of her elegant shoulders.

  She wished Daddy would indeed see her new hairstyle, along with the pretty dress Aunty had purchased for her only yesterday; it was blue with flowers embroidered on the side. Mummy sometimes said that with Lanre’s extra-long eyelashes and pretty British dresses, she was the most beautifulest girl in their street and possibly the whole of Nigeria!

  The pain lessened as Mummy worked her way through the final strands, the humidity wringing sweat from her forehead. As Mummy applied the Vaseline to her scalp, Lanre closed her eyelids and once again thought of Daddy; how his top lip curled whenever he laughed; the way his broad shoulders moved front to back when he walked towards her with his arms outstretched, like he did every time he saw her; how much she missed him. Lanre opened her eyes in time to see one of the neighbours pass by, clad in a green and black wrapper, which was folded and tucked under each armpit.

  ‘Don’t worry, the hair will soon finish,’ said Mama Bimpe with encouragement. ‘We all have to go through this to look lovely!’

  ‘Yes, Ma,’ replied Mummy dutifully.

  Lanre did not like being interrupted when thinking of her daddy, but the front yard was open to all, graced with a multitude of vegetation that included plantains and one coconut tree, which some of the local children climbed for enjoyment. The house never felt empty, even though Daddy’s absence had left a noticeable void. Neighbours filled the house separately but daily, bringing food, like fufu wrapped up in a giant leaf or sometimes soup, which Mummy did not like because she preferred to cook her own. They would sit for hours talking about adult subjects that did not interest Lanre. She was seven and not supposed to listen in on adult conversations, but she always did. When Mama came to visit with Baba (every day), they would often refer to their oldest grandchild as ‘the more inquisitive of the two’. Or just a ‘nosy little girl’. But this was OK; Lanre liked having a title separate from her little sister Mayowa.

  Minutes later, her hair finally completed, Lanre stood in front of Mummy.

  ‘I know you are missing your daddy,’ her mother said, flicking an imaginary something from Lanre’s cheek. ‘The letter said we will all be together soon. Trust your daddy. He is working hard to bring us all to England. He is attending college and he is working at a job.’

  ‘Yes, Mummy.’

  Mummy’s beaming smile allowed Lanre the comfort she craved. Her mother never smiled much lately. Before Daddy left, he and Mummy were always smiling together, holding hands when they thought no one was looking, feeding one another blobs of pounded yam as Lanre and Mayowa giggled their embarrassment. Mummy and Daddy were not like other married people in the area. They did not shout at one another in the road like Mr and Mrs Adjobe, and there were never any rumours about Daddy impregnating this girl or that (Lanre still wasn’t quite sure what ‘impregnating’ actually meant, but it couldn’t be good). The Cole family were essentially like white families in England, according to Mama (who had never been to England but was a very wise grandmother), which was to say perfect. In England there was no hardship and no conflict. Everyone was happy and they laughed all the time.

  ‘Mummy, please read Daddy’s letter again!’

  ‘OK, but this is the last time today. Call your sister, come.’

  ‘Mayo-waaaa! Mayo-waaaa!’ she yelled. In seconds, her sister was walking towards them, dragging her feet across the sandy floor.

  ‘What is it?’ Mayowa’s eyebrows were knotted. Her younger sister was always annoyed
at something.

  ‘Mummy is going to read Daddy’s letter from England again!’ said Lanre.

  Five-year-old Mayowa, dressed today in a yellow dress with a white bow on the shoulder, sat beside her sister, yawning half-heartedly. Her hair was a little shorter and much harder in texture than Lanre’s. Mummy often called it ‘stubborn’ – which was also a great way to describe her little sister, especially when she’d refuse to play with Lanre whenever her best friend Titi was away in Ondo.

  Lanre clutched her sister’s hand as Mummy once again read the precious letter, which had taken four weeks to arrive. At least this had been quicker than the previous delivery, which had eventually arrived minus the money Daddy had enclosed. Baba said postal theft was ‘an offshoot of poverty brought on by the teefing Europeans’, whatever that meant, whilst Mama blamed it on ‘greedy Nigerians’.

  Mummy began the letter and, once again, Lanre’s thoughts drifted to the day Daddy revealed he was leaving for England. Her mummy and daddy had been sitting under the shade of the coconut tree on makeshift seats made from an upside-down table that someone with too much money and not enough sense (according to Mummy) had discarded. Lanre and Mayowa had been throwing an orange and yellow ball to one another, only to suddenly stop when Mummy had begun to cry. Lanre had been momentarily distracted until her sister had thrown the ball at her and it had bounced roughly off the side of Lanre’s face.

  ‘Why did you do that?’ Lanre had complained.

  ‘You’re supposed to be playing with me!’ Mayowa had replied. Mummy had quickly stopped crying and begun to laugh as Daddy had held her tight. This had been very confusing.

  Mummy had explained later that she had been happy because their family had been given the chance of a lifetime, but she had also been so very sad that Daddy would have to leave. Lanre still didn’t quite understand.

  ‘When you girls and your mother join me,’ Daddy had continued, ‘we will have a good and happy life in England. He had placed Mayowa on his lap as Lanre had started to understand what this all meant: Daddy was leaving.

  ‘And you will speak very good English, like the white people there. Good Queen’s English,’ Mummy had added.

  ‘I don’t want the Queen’s English!’ Mayowa had protested, before burying her face into Daddy’s shirt.

  ‘I thought that is what I am speaking now,’ said Lanre.

  ‘It will sound better than this. Better than my own,’ said Mummy.

  ‘Ah, ha, Adanya, there is nothing wrong with the way they speak.’ Daddy had hugged Mayowa close.

  ‘I want the children to be better,’ Mummy had answered.

  Daddy had shaken his head. ‘Anyway, do not worry, my angels. We will not be apart for more than six months. Once I have enough money, I will send for you all.’

  That had been nine months ago.

  ‘Oya, Mayowa you are next!’ said Mummy, placing the precious letter to one side.

  Her sister groaned with dissatisfaction as Lanre glanced into the tiny cracked mirror, pleased with the results. Her daddy always commented on how pretty she looked after Mummy had finished her hair.

  She missed her daddy so much.

  They’d spoken only once on the telephone, four months previously, and just a few days after Mr Adelepo’s rich grandchild had installed a telephone at his office almost six miles away. That occasion had been so full of joy, not least because it had been the first time Lanre had ever seen a telephone before.

  Her little sister’s exaggerated whimpering was silenced by the sound of a disembodied voice. ‘Adanya! Adanya! Come quickly!’

  Mummy let go of Mayowa’s head, much to the child’s relief.

  ‘Ma?’

  Mama calling her daughter’s name was far from unusual, but Lanre detected urgency in her tone. They entered Mama’s house, just a few doors away, and sure enough an assortment of neighbours had already gathered, all smiling greetings in Mummy’s direction. The air was thick with heat and expectation. A slim gecko ran up the wall.

  ‘I have an announcement!’ said Baba, in that baritone voice. Strong lines of white dominated his beard and full hairline. His large belly protruded from his generously fitted buba. Lanre liked to poke it through the kaftan-like garment after he fell asleep on the chair. ‘Mr Adelepo’s granddaughter’s friend has a sister in London. She returned from there yesterday and delivered this message today. A message from London!’

  Mummy grabbed Lanre’s hand. ‘What is it? Is it my Tayo? Is he OK?’

  ‘He is very well, of that I am sure.’ He pulled from his pocket, an oblong-shaped envelope and someone gasped. Lanre recognised Daddy’s handwriting immediately and so did Mummy, it would seem, because she too gasped rather loudly. Baba passed the precious envelope to Mummy, who was careful to open it slowly so as not to tear the precious written words inside.

  ‘Do you know what it is?’ asked Baba, rather knowingly.

  The room was now a hub for more neighbours, friends, passers-by, in fact anyone who cared to join them. Even Lanre’s best friend Titi had arrived, a development that almost thrilled her more than the arrival of the letter.

  At last Mummy spoke. ‘It is a ticket.’ Her hand moved towards her opened mouth.

  Lanre wanted to ask if there was only one and, if so, why?

  ‘Ah no, there are three tickets!’ said Mummy doubling over with laughter and yet a tear rolled down her face.

  Lanre felt her legs buckle as the crowd erupted into a loud mixture of cheers and congratulations; Yoruba and English; laughter and joy.

  Daddy, as always, had kept his promise. After so many months apart, they were finally going to go to join him in England!

  The luggage was packed. A number of family members would be benefiting from the various larger items they would have to leave behind. But, as Mummy said, they would buy many new things in London. Much more beautiful things.

  ‘I can’t wait to go!’ said Mayowa.

  ‘Shhh … Mummy is sad to be leaving. Don’t let her hear you!’

  Mayowa threw Lanre a confused look. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘I know what I mean.’ Lanre was older and knew grown-up things. She was aware Mummy would miss the only home she had known. She would miss her parents being a loud call away, and miss being surrounded by people she’d known her entire life. Lanre was sure of this because she felt exactly the same way. She too would miss walking to school with Titi in the matching khaki dresses that every girl in the school had to wear. She would miss watching Mama pound yams in the large mortar in the yard, especially after Mummy had told her no one in London owned such a thing – they would have to buy it already pounded and inside a bag, according to Daddy’s letter. Just last week, Lanre had overheard a conversation between Mummy and Mama:

  ‘My daughter, do not be sad. You will soon be with your husband. This is what you have wanted for so long.’

  ‘I know, Mummy. And when that day comes, I know I will miss you all so much.’

  ‘As will we. Especially your father. You have always been his special one. This is why we named you Adanya: her father’s daughter.’

  ‘Thank you, Mummy.’

  ‘You are destined for great things, my child. You were not born to stay here and amount to nothing. You will not sell tomatoes, pepe, or onion on the street. And never will your children. We did not name them after British queens for no reason!’

  ‘Yes, Mummy.’

  ‘I am sad to see you all go, but I do not want you to stay in this country. We are part of the British Empire, so it is right you will go and sample its fruits. Your father is thinking differently, though. He is always shouting about foreign rule this and that, and saying he can’t wait until the white people leave his country! Don’t mind him. I am happy you will soon be living in the United Kingdom and with all of the wonderful people!’

  Grandmother exhaled with a huge smile. ‘This is what I want for you and your children. They will be big people one day, and so will you. England is the ri
ght decision. It is more than I could have asked for, so stop these tears and be thankful you have been chosen. OK?’

  ‘Yes, Ma.’ Mummy wiped her eyes, and Lanre wished she could embrace her. But if she did, they’d find out she’d been listening to a private adult conversation, and that was not allowed. She would hug her on the aeroplane instead. The big frightening aeroplane she was about to set foot on for the very first time in her life.

  After what would be their last meal in Nigeria for now – a delicious plate of pounded yam with two meats instead of the usual one – Lanre excused herself from the dinner table early. She wanted to be alone in the room she shared with her sister one last time. But as her bare feet trod the hard floor, she heard the collective groan of her elders as the house quickly descended into darkness. The electricity, never reliable, would probably be off until morning. She slowly navigated the short route to her bedroom, careful not to veer away from the left to avoid cockroaches that might have been scuttling around. She hated those. Lying back on the single bed, she was delighted when light from a neighbouring house illuminated her room. The electricity had returned. Although she was used to the erratic electricity supply, it was fitting that her last night in Nigeria would not be cloaked in darkness. She’d heard from a teacher at school that London had electricity twenty-four hours a day! What would that feel like? She was about to find out. Her eyes rested on the peeling grey walls. The dull heat allowed the room to shrink before her eyes as sweat beaded her forehead. She couldn’t wait to be in London. Titi had already expressed her jealousy as she delighted in telling her once again of how cold it would be.

  ‘They say it is freezing all of the time!’ she’d enthused.

  ‘That’s OK; at least I will not be hot like you are here!’

  Titi had not looked amused, but still followed her to the Adelepos’ empty yard and into a small outhouse where Titi opened a very large white container full of bags of food at a very cold temperature. She’d dared Lanre to place her hand inside.

  ‘Ah, that was easy!’ Lanre had told her, moments later.

  Titi had merely folded her arms and knotted her eyebrows. ‘It was only twenty seconds!’