The Wolf at Number 4. Ayo Tamakloe-Garr

Gerald, don’t. I’m okay. I don’t need help.”

      “Come on, tell me where you stay.”

      “I won’t. Your time is important. Don’t worry about me.”

      “No, sweetie. You are important to me. I want—”

      The conversation had gone on long enough.

      “There’s someone at my door. I have to go. Bye.”

      I slammed the receiver.

      After taking three tablets of paracetamol, I went back to bed.

      It was late afternoon when I awoke. Feeling much better, I took a shower and settled in front of the television. To my amazement, I could catch only GTV. They weren’t showing anything worth watching, so I poured myself a glass of wine and started to mark some test papers.

      At about half past six, there was a banging at my door. I got the door without any idea that I would find Gerald standing there with a black polythene bag in his hand.

      “Sweetie!” he exclaimed with a ridiculous grin he imagined was alluring.

      “Gerald? How did you find my house?”

      “Wherever there’s a desire, there’s a way,” he said, taking my hand off the doorpost and walking in. “Ei, you still haven’t unpacked. See all these suitcases.”

      I just stood there, hands on hips.

      “So you had a party and didn’t call me,” he said, picking up an empty bottle of Cabernet Franc from a stack near the door.

      He looked at me and I glared at him. He then relaxed himself in my seat and started going through my test papers.

      “These children, demma head die pass,” he said with a chuckle.

      I balanced myself on the arm of my sofa with a sigh.

      “Ei sweetie, so you won’t offer me water sef?”

      “What do you want, Gerald?” I asked.

      “I came to see how you’re doing.” He reached down and took his mobile phone out of the pouch on his belt. “See my new phone? It’s a Sony Ericsson.”

      “No, I won’t, Gerald. What do you want?”

      He regarded me for a while. From my eyes, his gaze dropped lower to my chest, then even lower, and then back to my eyes again. “You really aren’t feeling well.”

      “What?”

      “All this cold feedback I’m getting from you. You really must not be feeling well.”

      “Yes, I’m not. So I’d really appreciate it if—”

      He sprung up from his seat. “That’s why I brought this.” He reached into his polythene bag and brought out a VHS tape. “It’s Nana Banyin’s new movie, Mpanyins^εm. Abi you’ve heard of it?”

      “No.”

      “Well, you’ll love it,” he said. “You have a deck, right? Off the light and let’s watch it.”

      The VCR sat right beside my TV. I had to think quickly. “It’s not working.”

      But he was quicker. He had already started to insert the cassette. After setting up the movie, he flopped back into my sofa and then tugged on my arm to join him.

      Mustering all the patience humanly possible, I dropped down into the seat beside him. I figured I would try to make the best of the situation by at least trying to enjoy the movie.

      After less than half an hour, I was completely fed up. And not just because the movie was poorly written, poorly directed, poorly acted, and poorly produced, but because Gerald kept on placing a hand on my knee or thigh or around my shoulder.

      “I’ll be back soon,” I told him.

      He was too engrossed in the movie to care.

      I pulled on my favorite hoodie, which I had pinched from Mike’s house, and walked out of the house into the cool night air.

      I had no idea where I was going, but anywhere was better than inside with Gerald. When I got to the fork that branched off to number 4, Junior emerged. He was dressed up in a blue T-shirt folded up at the arms and black trousers held up by suspenders.

      He looked in my direction, so I mouthed a “Hi” and waved before it occurred to me that he would be unable to see me.

      He did manage to notice someone was there. He walked towards a now stationary me. When he got close, I lowered my hood and he said, “Oh it’s you. Hi. How are you doing?”

      “I’m okay. You’re looking good. Are you going somewhere?”

      He grinned and looked down at himself. “Thanks. Dancing class. The one I told you about.”

      “Oh yeah. You said it was on weekends. I forgot.”

      “No worries.” His hands were in his pockets now. He looked about. “So what are you doing out?”

      “Oh, uhm . . .” I paused to think up a lie, and just as I opened my mouth to spill it out, he started to say something, interrupting me.

      He was quick to apologize. “I’m sorry. Please go on.”

      For some reason, the truth rolled easily off my tongue. “I’m hiding from someone.”

      He chuckled. “I see. You should pay your debts, you know.”

      I could not stop myself from laughing out loud. “No. It’s not like that. He’s after something else.”

      “I see. Give me a moment,” he said.

      He went round the back of his house and emerged with a bench, which he set down in front of the garage door. He gestured that I join him.

      “Aren’t you going to be late?” I asked as I sat down beside him.

      “Oh, don’t worry. These are Ghanaians we’re talking about. You know how Ghana man time is like.”

      I giggled. “Oh yes. Six o’clock is seven thirty.”

      That made him smile. “Besides, ten minutes won’t make much difference.”

      “Okay.”

      “I’m sure after ten minutes, it would be safe for you to return home.”

      My giggle turned to laughter. “This guy? I don’t think so. He’s persistent.”

      “Or would you like me to go get rid of him? I have macho,” he said, flexing his muscles.

      “Hoh!”

      He smiled. “Touch it and see.”

      I poked his arm. “Yeah, you do. And that would be so, so nice. Unfortunately, he’s a coworker, so I can’t afford to antagonize him too strongly. Let’s just wait for him to leave.”

      We could see my porch from our vantage point, so we sat there waiting for Gerald to surrender my home. In the meantime, Junior told me about himself. He was an artist. I thought that was really cool.

      “Yeah, but not everyone approves,” he said with a grimace.

      “I think I understand.”

      “The old man really wants me to practice instead.”

      “Practice what?”

      “I’m a medical doctor by profession.”

      “Wow.” It was genuine this time.

      “So tell me, Miss Desire, why you came out here.”

      I was starting to tell him about my getting a job at the JSS when the lights suddenly went out.

      “Oh ECG!” came a cry from inside the house.

      My