Dear Beneficiary by Janet Kelly Read Free Book Online

we’d met. We’d seen each other regularly in that time and had developed a routine of him visiting me at home at the weekends and one or two evenings in the week.
    It was early on a Sunday morning and he was clutching a large bunch of lilies. I hadn’t the heart to tell him I was allergic to them, and explained my sneezing fits as the start of a cold.
    He’d been quiet and, for the first time since we’d got together, hadn’t made any physical move towards me other than a soft kiss to my right cheek. I might have been disturbed by this had I not been busying myself with the act of stifling my reaction to the flowers.
    â€˜Cynthia. I have to go home to my country,’ he’d said quietly. He had stared intently at the floor, avoiding looking at me.
    â€˜What do you mean, go home?’ I’d enquired. ‘Why and for how long?’
    Darius stood up and held me at the waist, towering over my five foot two frame. I swear I could see a tear in the corner of his left eye.
    â€˜I had a call last night and my family is in trouble. They need me – I must go and help them.’
    He said he couldn’t tell me the exact details because he didn’t know very much more. He’d had a call from his father, who asked him to go home. Darius’s mother had been ill for some time but she’d taken a turn for the worse and his father was having difficulty getting the authorities to provide the right treatment.
    â€˜My father is an old man, Cynthia, and is frightened. I’m the only son he has and he relies on me to get the treatment my mother needs. It’s difficult in Nigeria as we don’t have anything like your NHS. It may be it will just take a few words in the right place to get everything sorted out.’
    Darius’s company had booked the flight from Heathrow. He’d already packed and was ready for the car that would pick him up first thing in the morning. I begged to know why he couldn’t deal with everything from England. We have phones, emails and texts – even bloody letters!
    â€˜Surely your company can help out back in Nigeria? Do you really need to go?’ I asked, throwing my arms around his chest and clutching onto him as a drowning man might a bit of driftwood.
    He explained that Nigerians work better face-to-face and that his father always felt vulnerable when he was away. His mother suffered from a degenerative illness and it wasn’t just about her care. Sometimes his father just needed to know there was someone else around to help.
    â€˜My sisters are married and have moved away. They have their own families to look after. In my father’s eyes I need to help and of course I will.’
    Darius was being kind and considerate so I tried to stop my selfish pleadings, acknowledging that his family needed him, possibly more than I did.
    He kissed me gently and said he’d really miss me, that being in England had been a far better experience because of my kindness and hospitality. I’d hoped he’d say because of his love for me, which he couldn’t live without, but he didn’t. He did look sad enough for me to believe he wasn’t running away, that he did have feelings for me and he’d no choice but to go home. He handed me his business card and told me he’d be there for me if I ever needed him. I needed him then, so that wasn’t true.
    I tried to tell myself I wasn’t too distressed by the end of our relationship. It had only lasted a couple of months, nine weeks in fact. Hardly a lifetime. In some ways I’d been glad it was over as I had started to fall in love with him and that would never do. Although Darius had been a delightful distraction it was difficult explaining the time I spent with him. My family often questioned why I wasn’t available for Sunday lunches, mid-week babysitting duties and the occasional Saturday shopping spree. Whereas previously I’d been amenable to