Queenie

by Candice Carty-Williams

  “Fine. Spoilsport.” He hiccupped, turned away from me, and began to snore 0.3 seconds later.

  * * *

  I’ve no idea how I got to sleep, but I woke up teetering off the edge of my bed to the sound of the doorbell. Again. I looked over at the sleeper who had taken over most of my bed. Guy was still out cold. I pulled a sweater on and went downstairs.

  “Sorry, I’m not prepared for you at all,” I said as Cassandra stepped into the hallway and shook rain off her umbrella and onto my legs.

  “Shall we go out instead?” Cassandra suggested, looking me up and down. “I don’t like the smell of this place. Plus, it’ll be nice for you to get fresh air. You look knackered. Those bags!” She reached out and patted the area under my eyes.

  “Thanks, Cassandra. Always thinking of me, aren’t you?” I smiled, wiping water from my shins. I’m sure she used to say some nice things to me.

  “I am, actually. I transferred another hundred pounds to you yesterday because I knew that if we went out to eat, you’d ask me for money.”

  “I will pay you back, and soon,” I promised.

  “It’s my dad’s money, really. He wouldn’t mind if he knew.”

  “Thanks, Cassandra.” I wondered why I wasn’t lucky enough to have a father like Jacob. “I’ve got company,” I said quietly, leading her down the hallway. “Come into the kitchen, I don’t want to wake him up.”

  “Oh my God, another one? How many is it now?” Cassandra snorted.

  It was too early for this. “There you go with the judgment again!” I sighed. “That’s not a very feminist question. Besides, it’s not like that.” I poured Cassandra a glass of water. “It’s this inconsequential man that I used to sleep with loads, the Welsh one. I must have mentioned him?” I shrugged. “I actually got bored of sleeping with him because the sex was so rough, and unconnected. I mean, it was quite good, but just making me feel bad. Like everything else at the moment,” I confessed, hopeful that she’d pick up on it and ask what was wrong. She didn’t. “Anyway, last night he turned up off his face at two in the morning. He’d been at the White Horse and was so battered he didn’t know where he lived.”

  “That’s a coincidence—” Cassandra started.

  “Hold on, let me just run upstairs and get ready. I can’t stop thinking about croissants.”

  I got dressed silently as Guy continued to sleep soundly, a gigantic human starfish stretched to all four corners of my entire bed now that I wasn’t occupying a sliver of it. I left him a note telling him to let himself out the minute he woke up; then Cassandra and I made our way to BE/AN, another of Brixton’s newest and more minimalist coffee shops. When we got there and I saw how full it was of white middle-class young people with MacBook Airs, I suggested that we go somewhere that was run by Brixton locals. “You mean black people, don’t you?” Cassandra asked flatly.

  “I do, yes,” I said, leading her to the market. As we walked, she talked and I listened as she told me that she’d applied to do a master’s in psychiatry. I wondered if she’d use me as a case study. We found a coffee and cake stall run by an old Jamaican woman in a black, green, and yellow bandanna.

  “Black enough for you?” Cassandra asked.

  “Yes.” I flashed a mocking smile. “It is.”

  When we sat down, Cassandra enumerated the academic and financial pros and cons of her new career at me for half an hour; then, before I could try to talk to her about Ted, she announced that she had to head back north because she had plans with her “gorgeous guy.”

  I wondered how gorgeous he could actually be; nobody ever describes their partner as gorgeous unless they’re trying to convince themselves of it. We left the coffee shop and hugged good-bye, and I headed home. I pulled my headphones on and started listening to the latest installment of my favorite podcast, The Read, in some attempt to lift my mood slightly, hoping that Guy wouldn’t be there when I got back. Being alone probably wasn’t the best thing for me, but I didn’t feel like I could face anyone.

  I was almost home when I felt a hand on my elbow. I pulled my headphones off and turned around.

  “Didn’t you hear me? I’ve been shouting after you for ages.” Cassandra bent over and clutched her side as she caught her breath. “I didn’t realize how fast I could run in heels!”

  “Why didn’t you just call me?” I asked.

  “Why weren’t you just listening?” she said.

  “Cassandra, why have you followed me home?”

  “My umbrella, it’s in your hallway,” she huffed. “I was at the bus stop and saw that it was going to rain again!”

  We reached the front door and I opened it. Silence. No Guy. I pulled Cassandra’s umbrella from the coatrack and handed it to her.

  “Anyway, now I really will go. I must get back to my guy, he was having a lads’ night yesterday and I said I’d make him a hangover breakfast.”

  “Yes, Cassandra, it must be so nice having a nice man around! How wonderful for you to have someone actually care where you are and how you are,” I half-snapped as I heard stirrings from my bedroom. I looked up the stairs.

  “You don’t need to be jealous, Queenie. When you’re good and ready, you’ll find someone like my—” Guy began to walk down the stairs, his eyes half-open. “Guy.”

  “Well, we can’t all be as lucky as you,” I said. “Morning, Guy. I trust you slept well?” I said sarcastically as he stared at Cassandra. “Sorry, I should introduce you. Cassandra, this is Guy.” I gestured quickly at Guy, hoping that he’d nod a hello and then make a swift exit.

  “Guy, what the fuck?” Cassandra’s olive skin flushed red and her eyes darkened. She looked like she was summoning a demon.

  “What?” I asked, bemused. “Cassandra, this is . . . Guy,” I repeated, looking at Guy, then to Cassandra. Guy sat on the steps and lowered his head into his hands.

  “No, Queenie, this is my boyfriend, Guy,” Cassandra spat, pushing me on the shoulder. I am sturdy so didn’t fall over, but the impact was felt.

  “I’m sorry, Cass,” Guy said, muffled, his head still in his hands.

  “You’re sorry?” Cassandra shrieked. “We barely have sex and it’s because you’ve been fucking my best friend, Guy?” She charged toward him but tripped on the first step and fell, landing on her knee. I rushed over to help her up.

  “Don’t touch me. You slut.” I felt like the floor disappeared under my feet.

  “What?” I said, not really grasping what was happening. I went to close the front door. As I did, I saw the woman opposite standing on her front step. She must think that I’m running some sort of twenty-four-hour dramatic workshop from the house.

  The hallway was silent but for the sounds of three people’s varied breathing. I felt my stomach toss and turn. I looked at Cassandra, then at Guy. “Cassandra, I didn’t know! How could I? You’ve only been together a couple of months!” I said quickly, defending myself. “I didn’t ever meet him!”

  Cassandra pulled herself up, rubbing her knee. “And why do you think that is, Queenie? I knew that if you met him, you’d want to fuck him, like you fuck literally all men who look your way these days! Single, attached, married, anything!”

  I walked back over to the stairs and held on to the banister out of fear that my legs were going to go.

  “For hours I listen to you tell me about the pointless, horrific users you go and spread your legs for, the ones you’ve just met in bars, the ones you trawl for on those disgusting, sad, lonely dating apps and pick like you’re choosing from a box of chocolates. And don’t think that’s a slight about your weight, I know how sensitive you are about everything. I’m talking purely about the men you select, the ones you either have here that you kick out after they’ve given you what you need, or those ones whose houses you turn up at in the middle of the night and let do God knows what to you. Oh—and obviously this must be one of them! Clearly! My boyfriend must be one of them, one of those faceless dating app guys that you don’t even name when you
tell me about them. Let me guess where he comes in the sequence? First, second, thirtieth? I hope you’ve been using protection!”

  “All right, Cassandra,” Guy said, finally emerging from the sand in which he’d buried his head. “Stop shouting at her. My head’s killing me.”

  “What the fuck is wrong with you?” I shouted at Guy. “You must have known!” I stared at him.

  “That’s it, you two talk to each other like I’m not here,” Cassandra roared and stamped her foot. Guy and I both turned to look at her, briefly connected by the disbelief that an adult person could be acting so like a child.

  “Cassandra, I didn’t know, how many more times can I say? I met him at a party and he didn’t tell me anything about himself! You’re one of my best friends, why would I do this to you? What sense would that make?” I pleaded with her.

  “Because you’re fucking miserable, and you’re pathetic, and since you broke up with Tom all you can do is fuck, fuck, fuck, to fill a fucking void,” Cassandra shouted hysterically. “And of course you’ve done it with my fucking boyfriend. And a million others. You make me sick. I’m leaving, I can’t look at either of you. Stay here and carry on fucking each other.” Cassandra opened the front door and slammed it on the way out.

  Guy looked at me and held his hands up. “I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean for this to happ—”

  “My God, get the fuck out, Guy. You’re the fucking worst!” I was so overwhelmed by disgust and regret and upset that I could barely see.

  “I didn’t mean for it to go on as long as it did, and I really do like her, but the sex is so . . . You know, she’s not like you. And I know that your name is uncommon, but I didn’t think that the Queenie Cass spoke about could be you—”

  As Guy rambled, I charged into the living room and gathered up his clothes and shoes. “Are you really standing here telling me about your fucking motives, like I’ll give a shit? Get the fuck out!” I threw it all at him with force and watched as he got dressed slowly. “Fucking faster!” I shouted as he gathered up what was left to put on and walked out the door without looking back at me.

  I paced the living room, my head throbbing. My legs started to shake, so I sat down; then the room started to spin, so I stood back up. What was happening? How and why was my world spinning off its axis at such an alarming rate? I couldn’t breathe in. I left the house and walked toward the main road. I could see Cassandra walking ahead and ran to catch up with her. When I was close enough to touch her, I reached out and grabbed her hand. She turned to look at me, mascara and snot running down her face, and sped up.

  “We don’t have sex, Queenie. We don’t have sex because he says he’s too tired from shifts and we don’t talk about not having sex because he gets cagey, and look! I break my back to please him, and all you need to do to get his attention is suck his dick.”

  I speed-walked beside her, trying to catch my breath. “But, Cassandra . . . it’s not my fault . . . I didn’t know—please can you stop or slow down?” She sped up. “Why are you trying so hard to please him?” I asked her. “Look what he’s been doing.”

  “Do you know what? I love him, Queenie, not that you know what that is. I try to work things out, not push away.” Cassandra twisted the knife with her words. “And not all of us want to act like teenagers. Some of us want to move forward with someone, Queenie. Some of us want to grow up.” Cassandra stopped and turned to look at me. She was shaking.

  “And unlike you, some of us don’t let the past dictate the way we live our adult lives.” She carried on down the road, and I stood and watched her walk away. When I got back home, my phone lit up.

  THE CORGIS

  *CASSANDRA HAS LEFT THE CORGIS*

  Darcy

  Where’s Cassandra gone?

  Queenie

  Turns out Welshman is CASSANDRA’S ACTUAL BOYFRIEND. WHEN SHE WOULD SAY “MY GORGEOUS GUY” IT’S BECAUSE HE IS LITERALLY CALLED GUY, AS IN THE GUY I WAS BANGING

  Kyazike

  Raaaaah

  Queenie

  The whole time we were sleeping together

  Darcy

  Shit. Small world, isn’t it?

  Queenie

  I actually did some quick math and I think I started sleeping with him before they met

  Queenie

  Don’t ever tell her that though

  Kyazike

  LOL we ain’t telling her nothing

  Kyazike

  And don’t worry, fam, I’ll back you if she comes to fight you

  Darcy

  Don’t worry, it won’t come to that! She’ll realize that it’s his fault, not yours

  Queenie

  Oh God oh God oh God oh God

  chapter

  NINETEEN

  Queenie

  It’s been three weeks and you still aren’t speaking to me, Cassandra. I don’t know what to do. You know how sorry I am. XXXX

  I ROLLED OVER in bed and pressed SEND, holding my breath as I watched the blue iMessage bubble turn green. Either her phone was still off, or she’d blocked my number.

  I couldn’t lose anyone else in my life. I’d tried reaching out to her via every form of communication bar fax and telegram, but nothing. Kyazike suggested she go round there to “talk to her on a level,” which I’m trying to figure out is a threat or not, and Darcy thinks that I should give her space and time to process everything.

  Did I do something wrong? I’m the one who was a side chick, I’m the one who was nothing but some sort of sex person to yet another man who didn’t think I was deserving of anything but hard sex.

  I guess I don’t matter. Not to Cassandra, not to Guy, not to anyone. My mum, my dad, Ted. Tom. Nobody has ever wanted me, not properly.

  I rolled out of bed and pulled on the nearest outfit without looking at what it was, beyond obviously checking that it was long enough to cover my bum. I walked down the stairs, passing Nell in the hallway. She stared at me, asking if I was okay just as I got to the front door. I mumbled that I was fine and left the house, striding purposefully toward the bus stop until I realized that I (again) wasn’t wearing a bra, so slowed down. Why did I always forget this crucial item when getting dressed? As the bus moved along, I drafted a monologue in my head, jotting very key points down in my phone.

  As the bus approached my stop, I looked out the window and saw rain hitting the glass. Deciding that I needed to get on with what I’d come to do rather than just go round on the bus until the weather got better, I stepped off as it started to pour, then did some sort of shuffle-running, arriving on the doorstep of mine and Tom’s old building drenched through to my bones.

  I took some deep breaths and rang the doorbell, wiping rain off my face and observing my reflection in the glass pane. I realized that my headscarf was still on, soaked through. I whipped it off just as a petite blond girl I thought I recognized opened the door. She must have been a neighbor I’d seen in the short time I’d lived here. Her hair was up in a loose bun and she was wearing nothing but a black T-shirt that reached her knees. As she stepped back from the door, her pert breasts shook with the motion, her nipples almost pointing to the sky. I crossed my arms in order to cover my comparatively heavy bosom.

  “Hi,” I huffed, blinking water out of my eyes, “I think I must have pressed the wrong buzzer. I meant to press flat B, sorry.”

  The girl squinted at me through small blue eyes, and her face dropped. “Er,” she started, “let me just . . .” then turned and ran up the main stairs. I stepped into the communal hallway and wiped rain off of my arms and legs with wet hands, splattering the ceramic tiles. The smell of the building was soothingly familiar, and with each deep breath I felt the tension in my stomach loosen.

  “What are you doing?” I heard. I looked up and saw Tom standing on the stairs outside our old door in nothing but a pair of sweatpants. As he closed the door behind him, my mouth dried up and my stomach lurched half with fear and half with desire. It had been so long that I’d forgotten what he looked
like topless. I thought about turning to leave, but I’d gone all that way in the rain so was going to say what I’d gone there to say. Plus, it was still pouring.

  “Tom! Hello, stranger.” My voice trembled. “How are you?”

  Tom didn’t reply, he didn’t move, he didn’t show any sign that he was pleased to see me. He just carried on looking down at me.

  “So,” I started, “I know that you might not be ready to talk to me, but I just need to say something. I—”

  “Queenie, this isn’t fair.” Tom cut me off firmly. “You can’t just show up here.”

  “Okay, and yes, you’re right, and I know that I should be respecting your space, but, like, I used to live here, plus you’ve been ignoring my messages for months and I didn’t know what else to do,” I said in a small voice. “I don’t need to come up, but let me say what I need to.”

  Tom opened his mouth to protest, probably, but closed it again. I took that as my cue to begin.

  “I don’t know how it’s been for you, but the last few months have been fucking terrible for me,” I confessed. “I’m so far away from where I was when I was with you. We used to speak about marriage, and babies, and at the time I didn’t think I could do it, and I was scared, but now I’m even more scared that I’ve lost you, and lost the marriage and the babies—” I took a deep breath. “I’m having all of these random one-night stands with men who treat my body like it’s a sex aide, and there was this one guy who I was sleeping with and the sex was, on reflection, pretty brutal, but then Cassandra came round and it turns out it’s her boyfriend, which is mad, and so she called me a slut”—I paused to take in a deep breath—“and there’s also this guy from my office who I knew I shouldn’t get involved with but I’ve been so lonely and I was just waiting for you to get in touch, and he turned out to be married so I really shouldn’t have got involved. . . .” It was like I couldn’t stop it from coming out. Tom wasn’t looking at me, but I could see from how red his face was getting that he was angry. I carried on anyway. “So I’m sensing that I’m probably oversharing, but the point is that I miss you and I’m scared of the person I’m becoming.” I finished speaking and took a deep breath. “I’m not me without you. This break is killing me.” I took another deep breath. “I’m sorry. For everything.”