![\"Missing](\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/05\/Missing-Pipes-Nuts-and-Screws.jpg?resize=640%2C360&ssl=1\")
<\/p>\n<\/p>\n
by Adaora Ogunniyi<\/p>\n
\u2018My toast is too dry; it\u2019s scratching my lips, Daddy!\u2019<\/p>\n
Chuka swallows, clenches his teeth. Breathe. Breathe Chuka, breathe<\/em>.<\/p>\n Two backpacks bursting with books and snack boxes sit on the kitchen island. Three more.<\/p>\n \u2018Daddy, I cannot find my shoes!\u2019 Emeka calls from his bedroom.<\/p>\n \u2018Check under your bed!\u2019<\/p>\n Stubbing his left big toe as he picks up coloured pencils and half-ripped drawing pads from the lounge, Chuka muffles a groan. He grabs three Oreos, three yoghurts and three smaller backpacks.<\/p>\n \u2018Daddy, I feel like throwing up,\u2019 Ada says, puckering her lips for emphasis. \u2018Found it!\u2019 Emeka comes hopping on one shoe-clad foot as he works the other. Crash! He knocks down a chair and grabs a toast which he must now eat in the car.\u00a0 On the commute, Chuka snatches six minutes to reclaim his breath. Nkem. My love<\/em>. \u2018We\u2019re hiring a governess,\u2019 he says, his voice a monotone.<\/p>\n Silence.<\/p>\n Once at school, the children disembark, hurling \u2018bye daddy\u2019 amid car door slams. The drive back home is less frenzied. As he pulls into his driveway, Chuka notices a missing pipe in the gate. When did this happen?<\/em> One foot through the door and he wonders how long it\u2019ll take to clear the chaos that\u2019s his home. School mornings are the worst. Like pulling a tooth from an un-numbed gum.<\/p>\n One school morning arrived after another, until \u2018Six months\u2019 began to unclog the hole of Nkem\u2019s passing.<\/p>\n Chuka had to fill it. Fast. He had to resume work and a governess had to commence hers.<\/p>\n For three weeks, under an eagle-eyed father, the new governess proved to be exemplary. All was well. Chuka dove under the quilt of long office hours and endless trips, sealing million-dollar deals.<\/p>\n But all wasn\u2019t well.<\/p>\n Three months in, and Governess Agnes embraced the unfamiliar luxury of her new workplace. Alone times, when the children were off to school; assorted meals and drinks that derided depletion; sitting by the swimming pool and sinking feet in lush carpet grass while savouring the smell of wounded lawn and chlorin; and the luxury of pay packets\u2014ever timely and bursting with Chuka\u2019s gratitude. So warm and reckless was Agnes\u2019 embrace that rules soon began to lose their nuts and screws: siestas not observed, vegetables trashed, nighttime teeth-brushing gone with the wind. And the internet? The children explored their unfettered access, floating about on the perilous cloud of webs.<\/p>\n A year later, while Agnes lay sprawled on the sofa after three glasses of Sandeman, the children, spurred by the hoarse and somewhat weird, whistling from her throat, scurried away. They\u2019d be back from the newly opened amusement park before Agnes awoke. Uncle X from the web was sure.<\/p>\n Right before they reached the gate, Chuka came driving along. What a surprise. Daddy made it for Oma’s birthday! Veiled by the thick fog of that Tuesday afternoon, the white van waiting to whisk his children away melted, unseen, into the mist.<\/p>\n That night, Agnes\u2019 mobile phone rang.<\/p>\n \u2018Hello?\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018You fucked up.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018It\u2019s\u2026 it\u2019s not my fault, he cut short his trip.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018So, we try again?\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018Yes.\u2019<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Adaora Ogunniyi is from Lagos, Nigeria but currently pursuing my MA in Creative Writing at the University of Hull, United Kingdom.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" \u2018My toast is too dry; it\u2019s scratching my lips, Daddy!\u2019\u00a0<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":65745,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_bbp_topic_count":0,"_bbp_reply_count":0,"_bbp_total_topic_count":0,"_bbp_total_reply_count":0,"_bbp_voice_count":0,"_bbp_anonymous_reply_count":0,"_bbp_topic_count_hidden":0,"_bbp_reply_count_hidden":0,"_bbp_forum_subforum_count":0,"om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_uf_show_specific_survey":0,"_uf_disable_surveys":false,"footnotes":"","_links_to":"","_links_to_target":""},"categories":[425,359],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-65743","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-contemporary","category-family-story"],"aioseo_notices":[],"amp_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/65743","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=65743"}],"version-history":[{"count":6,"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/65743\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":65800,"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/65743\/revisions\/65800"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/65745"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=65743"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=65743"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=65743"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nDid the smell of burning caramel get to her? Chuka asks her to stop eating, tells Oma to keep on eating: dry toast or not. With a tie wrap, he holds Kosi\u2019s tangled hair in a crooked bun, casts a glance Obi\u2019s way. But Obi doesn\u2019t notice. He is meticulous with each decisive descent of molars on dry toast. Mrs Adun\u2019s drills<\/em>. But Chuka had sworn to obi; last week was the last time. He\u2019ll never be late for another maths drill. Never.<\/p>\n