Tea with Mrs. Okafor

Mrs. Okafor lived in the flat below Lucas. She was very old, she walked with a stick, and she never smiled. When Lucas bounced his ball in the hallway, she would open her door and say, "Quiet, please," and close it again.

"She doesn't like children," Lucas told his dad.

"Maybe," said Dad. "Or maybe she just doesn't know any."

One rainy Thursday, Lucas and his dad were coming home when they saw Mrs. Okafor on the front steps. Her shopping bag had split. Oranges were rolling down the steps, and a bag of rice had landed in a puddle.

Lucas didn't think about it. He ran and caught two oranges before they reached the pavement. Dad picked up the rice. Together, they carried everything to her door.

"Thank you," said Mrs. Okafor. Then, after a pause: "Would you like a cup of tea? Your father too, of course."

Lucas had never been inside her flat. It was full of books, piled on shelves and tables and even on the floor. On the wall were black-and-white photographs of a young woman in a white coat, standing in front of a hospital.

"Is that you?" asked Lucas.

"That was me, a long time ago," said Mrs. Okafor. "I was a nurse and a midwife for forty years. In Lagos first, and then here." She poured the tea from a big round teapot with a chipped spout. "I have delivered more babies than there are people in this building."

Lucas's mouth fell open. Mrs. Okafor laughed, a big, warm laugh he had never heard before.

She told them stories all afternoon. About the night the hospital lights went out and she worked by flashlight. About learning to ride a bicycle at fifty-two. About her grandchildren, who lived far away in another country.

"Do you see them a lot?" asked Lucas.

"Not often," she said quietly. "It can be lonely, sometimes, on my own."

On the way upstairs, Lucas was thinking hard. "Dad," he said, "maybe she wasn't grumpy. Maybe the ball was just really loud. And maybe she was a bit lonely."

"I think you might be right," said Dad.

After that, Lucas visited Mrs. Okafor every Thursday. He took his reading book, and she listened to him read, and corrected his words in a teacher-ish voice that made him giggle. In return, he showed her how to send photos on her phone, so she could see her grandchildren more often.

One Thursday, he found a note pinned to her door, in neat curly handwriting. It said: Lucas, the kettle is on. Bring your ball. The hallway could use some noise.

Lucas grinned and ran down the stairs. He bounced the ball once, very softly, outside her door, as a knock. From inside, he heard that big, warm laugh.

⭐ The End ⭐