Chapter 3

“Not so, sir. I have taken her to hospital and any unwanted foetus will be out of her in a few days, have no fear. I cannot do anything to put her virginity back, but it was YOU who agreed to her participation in your deal. She had no control over it. She is the innocent one, here.”

The mother was having none of this. “Mister, whoever you are, she is now damaged goods, and almost impossible to find a husband for. She will now just be a drain on the family finances, so what use is that to us? You can take her back. We can’t afford the likes of her.”

“I beg your pardon, madam? Ayodele was used by YOU as a bargaining chip. She has been rescued from a terrible experience, and you REJECT her? Where is your parental instinct, your duty to your children?”

The father was better able to explain. “Sir, you did your duty as ordered, but we have to live with our economic circumstances. Having our debts cleared by the deal, we can survive – just, but with Ayodele back with us, we would go back into debt before long. We cannot AFFORD to take her back. That is the hard facts of life. Many families find themselves in similar situations and have to either send their sons out to work, or put a daughter on the streets to earn money on her back. We cannot afford schooling for our children; we cannot afford to take our eldest daughter back.

You said she was your responsibility; well she truly is. Much as we would love to have her back, it is impossible to do so. She is yours, sir. You could at least tell us your name, so we know who has her.” John was torn by this sad tale, but understood the rationale behind it. He just never expected to be flung into the middle of it.

He gulped, thinking rapidly. “You are handing over your daughter to me, Mr Amara? No strings attached? My personal possession?”

Her father spread his hands. “We have no money for a dowry, so no bride price. What man would take a bride under these conditions? She is not even a virgin. She has no economic value to this family now. She is indeed yours, Mr... ?”

John’s mind cleared enough to say, “Oh, my name is Kofi; John Kofi.”

Ayodele was now in tears. She had changed from being the returning victim, rescued from her oppressor; to a unvalued possession, a drain on her family’s finances. She had been rejected by her parents and was now a man’s personal possession. She was devastated. John bundled her into the Land Rover, and drove away as fast as he could, to remove this tearful girl’s distress from the sight of her parents. It was not a good time for anyone here.

It also complicated John’s own plans. Being responsible for a 14-year-old girl was not something he had anticipated. He originally thought the President might want to permanently dispose of her, and he would have volunteered his services in that regard, and delivered her to a charity in another country as a volunteer assistant. He agonised over his new-found responsibility.

After half an hour driving while thinking, he drew in to the side of the road, and fetched his military satellite phone out again. He dialled the same number, as the girl beside him started to recover, her interest piqued by his impossible phone call.

“Hello. Kofi Annan here. I’d like to speak to the UN Secretariat, please.”

He waited, then was put through. He began, “Sorry to get back to you so soon, but the girl’s parents have refused to accept her back, They can’t afford the cost of keeping her, is the bottom line. They dumped her on me, making me responsible for her. Best temporary solution I can think of is putting her in the nearest safe house. I can’t take her back to you know who. She would be in for extreme prejudice, I am afraid, and I’d hate to have that happen, boss.”

He listened, grimaced, and went on, “I know, boss, but I have a conscience, and a sense that we are better people than them. Don’t you feel the same?” Pause, then, “Thank you, boss. I knew you would come up with a solution. I don’t know the man: it was before my time, but I know he would do it for the honour of the service. Right. I have the address. Can you arrange that he will expect me?”

John seemed to finish his conversation, then started to listen intently.

“Really? – sorry, I keep repeating myself. I should have thought our bods would have SOME idea of the modus operandi involved.” He listened, then gave a short laugh. “That is a highly speculative concept. Why would aliens be concerned with our mundane affairs?” Pause. “I know: there is little in the way of alternatives, if such is the actual execution of the theft. Have you thought of asking them, direct?”

He pulled the phone away from his ear, to protect it from the cursing.

“Boss, there is no need to swear at me. It is a feasible option. Okay, if you don’t have a direct line, go through the Rehome colony. Everyone knows that they deal with them.

Yes, boss. I will await your call. I shall head for our friend’s house right away.”

John concluded his call, and put his phone away. He turned round to look at Ayodele. “Joy, you didn’t hear or see me make a call; so you did not listen to such a non-existent call, and therefore you have no questions. Right?”

She looked at him askance, and took the message. “Agreed. No questions. Nothing to ask questions about. So where are we going now, master?”

“Now, that is a valid matter to enquire about. We are going to the house of a man who will guard you for an unspecified period of time, until I am in a position to resume my responsibility for you. I have accepted from your parents the so-delightful task of looking after you, and possibly taking control of your future life.

In my delicate position, I will require you to obey me in all things, even where it seems odd or unexpected. It comes with your appointment as my dependent.”

The girl was beginning to realise that her life depended on this man; that he was genuinely concerned for her welfare, and would do his best to keep her safe. As to the future, who ever knew what the future would bring? She was always aware that life was a tenuous thread, liable to be snapped at any time. When her parents sold her to the President – for that was what it was, a sale: she was the price for their debts; when that happened, she knew her life was forfeit. She had heard of such things.

Mama and Papa probably knew that, too. That knowledge may have been what brought them to refuse to have her back: otherwise, she would forever be in front of them as evidence of their guilt. But Jeeves had done some marvellous deed to rescue her; she did not know the details, but she was free, even if her parents had resold her to Jeeves. She FELT free now; her heart told her she was free. It was a wonderful, uplifting feeling; an internal shout of joy, a smile within her heart, even as she was bleeding below.

The mysterious Jeeves, or John, was clearly more than he at first seemed, but he remained an enigma to her. She accepted that this was the way he wanted it to be, and so it would be. She was in his hands; her life was in his hands.

She also suspected that without him, her life would soon be over. She found herself trusting her future to this disturbing man. He was seemingly a servant in the President’s house, but out here he was a different man; a man of authority; of decision; of determination. He seemed more like a true President than the real one who terrified and abused her.

John drove the Land Rover for another two hours, stopping only for quick comfort stops at filling stations, and a short break for food intake at a roadside snack bar. John picked up a couple of large bottles of water at the same time, to stop them dehydrating in the sunshine.

Eventually they turned into a side road for a few miles, and then into a large village next to a river. John consulted his phone, and used a picture on it to find the street he wanted. There, he drove slowly down the dusty road, looking for a house with a sheet of cardboard perched by the door. The sign had the name “John” painted on it.

Spotting the one he wanted, he took the car to the front gate of the house, and stopped. Getting out, he waved to a middle-aged man who had suddenly come out and collected the card. The man had obviously been watching for his visitor. The card was tossed inside.

Both men gave a quick glance up and down the street before John came round and opened the side door for Ayodele to emerge. John held her by his side as he walked to the front door of the house. The other man stepped aside, and John walked the girl straight inside without preamble. It was as if they had done this before, but she knew the man was a stranger, so it all confused her. The other man closed the door and locked it, before welcoming John in English, which she could just about follow.

“Kofi Annan, I presume?”

John smiled. “After a fashion. You must be Tommy Atkins?”

The other grinned back, “After a fashion,” and led the way into his sitting room. He called out “Mama?” and a middle-aged buxom lady appeared from the kitchen. “Yes, Tom? Are these our visitors?”

“They are. John, this is my wife, Bronwen.” He laughed as John’s eyebrows shot up. “We met in Cardiff. It would surprise you how many black families live in Wales. We moved here after I retired from Stirling Lines. Life is quiet here, as a rule, and we live o.k. on my pension. So, this is your ward, John?”

“Yes, this is the girl. Her real name is Ayodele Amara, but for the present, she is Joy Kofi, and will live with you under that name until I can collect her again. See if you can obtain a passport in that name, please, Tom. Could she be your wife’s cousin’s daughter, visiting you from Wales. It would be helpful, Bronwen, if you could teach her a few words of Welsh, for verisimilitude.” The lady looked pleased to be invited to join the team. “No bother, glad to help: Yr wyf yn falch o glywed hynny.”