Tomilola sat listlessly on the sofa in the living room, staring out at the Big W. It was almost noon. The sun was approaching its zenith, its heat busily baking the Lagos oil. The hands were flocking to the bunk house, coming in from the barns and the closer ranges for lunch. She shifted her gaze from the daily hustle and bustle and stared at the little house across the road.

The house that had been Demola's.

Pain clawed at her heart and the numbing sensation she'd been battling since he'd left two weeks ago got a little deeper.

Rose came into the room, pouting as she spied Tomilola on...