As he stood before the door to Val's flat, the stare that had been following him since he entered the compound was still driving screws into his neck. He turned to return the appraisal to the woman. She jerked, slapping the older woman with half plaited hair, the landlady of the place, on the shoulder. A pretend laugh. It was the older woman’s turn to stare, curious, and he sent back a polite nod. He wanted to squeeze them until their eyes fell out.
Val called out to him, saying the door was open. She was carrying trays of dry plantain, placing them on the fridge. She greeted him.
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