She checked herself in the mirror for the third time. She didn’t seem pleased with that particular plain black skirt. She went back to the closet and brought out the black pleated skirt. With the burgundy camisole firmly strapped to her torso, in the most delicate procedure, she wore the linen top that was neatly ironed. She then adorned her body with the navy blue jacket. Her gold necklace with a heart pendant adorned her neck. Her hair was strapped in a ponytail. She puffed two quick sprays of the Chanel perfume in the air in front of her and then she started the ritual. She walked in circles as the dew of the fragrance settled on her body giving the slight lingering smell. Sometimes you walked past some folks and it seemed as if they were dipped in the bottle of the perfume, they were wearing. Estelle believed that, fragrances should be slightly scented on people. She grabbed her lap top bag, car keys and breezed to the study. The man in the study who was bent over his laptop hardly looked up.
“Have a good day honey.”
“Have a good day too. Be blessed” Ntuen said.
He looked up and caught his wife stepping out of the study. It was like ready, steady, snap! Like back in the days of analogue cameras. What a fascinating sight he saw. The smell of the perfume was still lingering in a mild way in the study. He stopped leaning over the machine, paused himself, sat back on the chair and his mind flooded with memories. The whole thing did not seem to make sense to him.
He remembered when he first met her twenty five years ago at the train station platform. It was a cold turbulent and windy day. The wind was blowing at about forty five miles an hour. Britain had witnessed series of storms that winter – first it was storm Abigail, then Storm Barney, then Storm Clodagh, then Desmond. Why weren’t these storms named after Sango, the god of thunder in Nigeria?