- The Storried Platform
‘SECOND FIDDLE’ – By Dean O. Arutoghor
Bimpe’s naked shoulders slumped as she sighed heavily. Absently, she continued scrubbing away at the dishes piled up in the sink just under the kitchen window. Her forlorn eyes looked past the unkempt garden and over her ramshackle fence before settling on her neighbour’s sitting room window. She taught she caught a glimpse of her childhood friend, Kunbi, peering from behind a curtain but couldn’t be sure.
The beautiful and glamorous Kunbi. Kunbi, the only woman she knows that has more real-life friends than she does Facebook friends.
Kunbi who had outshone her in looks and brains when they were in Federal Government Girls’ College, Sagamu, Nigeria and then easily did the same when they both studied law in England.
Kunbi who had gone on to practise as a lawyer and only turned down the opportunity to become a partner in a law firm because of family commitments.
Bimpe, on the other hand, had never had the opportunity to practise because she had fallen pregnant soon after university and by the time her fourth and youngest child was of school age, she had completely lost her confidence.
Kunbi who had effortlessly charmed the tall, slim and handsome businessman, Tunde, with whom she bore three adorable kids. The same Tunde whom she had turned down and introduced to Kunbi instead because she thought he was only chatting her up for a bet with his friends as he couldn’t possibly be interested in a plain Jane like her.
Kunbi, who, only a few months ago, had managed to throw one of the most lavish birtday parties for her husband’s 40th.
To top it, as if fate had not mocked her enough, the same Kunbi had moved into the biggest and most expensive house in the adjacent street to hers only three months ago. A week after her own marriage had collapsed.
Bimpe started to feel sorry for herself again but was soon smiling when she spotted the still sweaty, grey Nike ankle running socks lying on the kitchen floor.
Over at the grand house with the new fence and the well-manicured garden, Kunbi was peeping out of the side of her curtain at her childhood friend’s kitchen window. She truly felt sorry for Bimpe. No husband, no children and stuck in a dead-end job. She…
She was distracted by her husband, Tunde, returning from his evening run. He was sweating profusely. She smiled warmly at him as he started to take off his sweaty clothes and stuffing them straight into the washing machine as usual.
‘That’s odd,’ she thought. She could have sworn he was wearing grey Nike ankle socks when he left an hour ago.
By Dean O. Arutoghor
Bimpe’s naked shoulders slumped as she sighed heavily. Absently, she continued scrubbing away at the dishes piled up in the sink just under the kitchen window. Her forlorn eyes looked past the unkempt garden and over her ramshackle fence before settling on her neighbour’s sitting room window. She taught she caught a glimpse of