Stoke Newington Sweetness
"Children's author Efua writes from her Stoke Newington townhouse. When illustrator Marcus collaborates on her new book, she shows him that imagination isn't just for kids."
Marcus had illustrated thirty children's books. Efua's stories were different—deeper, magical in ways that resonated with adults too. Their publisher thought they'd be perfect together.
She welcomed him to her Stoke Newington home—a Victorian townhouse bursting with character, like her. Ghanaian-British, thick curves in colorful print, with eyes that suggested she knew fairy tales weren't just for children.
"I write about hidden worlds. Doors that lead to wonder. Do you believe in those?"
"I believe in imagination."
"That's a start. Let's see if we can take you further."
They worked for weeks—her words, his images, something extraordinary emerging. But the real magic happened in the margins.
"Your drawings are beautiful," she said one late evening. "But they're safe. My stories aren't safe."
"What do you want me to do?"
"Feel them. Really feel them." She moved closer. "Let me show you what my stories are really about."
She kissed him in her study, surrounded by books about wonder. Her thick body was its own fairy tale—soft and surprising and deeply, deeply real.
"All good stories are about this," she breathed. "Connection. Transformation. The moment when ordinary becomes extraordinary."
They made love among her words, creating something new from something old.
"There... yes... that's the feeling I write about..."
She came with poetry in her voice, and he followed, understanding finally what her books meant.
"Now," she said afterward, "now you can illustrate my work. Because now you understand."
"The book will be different," he said.
"The book will be true." She curled against him. "And so will we."
His Stoke Newington sweetness had opened hidden doors. And Marcus had found a wonder worth illustrating forever.