“Well, yeah. I guess I never thought of her as a person, I just saw her as someone who should protect me. And in a way, she did, in the end. It’s my mum who took the pain. No house, living in a hostel on her own, not many friends, she alienated them all while she was with Roy. Court case to try and get her money back, so fucking fragile now that she can’t work, she doesn’t have a life anymore. She was such a mess when Roy kicked us out that she couldn’t make it through a day of work, but look! I’ve followed in her footsteps. Like mother, like daughter. Except this time, I’m the one to blame. Not Roy. I’ve done all this to myself . . .” I trailed off. “Sorry for babbling, I think I’ve got heatstroke. I should go and put my clothes on.” I put the phone down, feeling unease shifting in my chest. The dark thoughts had quieted.
Queenie
Darcy, I think I just had a breakthrough at the Lido. I’d always assumed it would feel good, was obviously wrong, still feel quite bad
Queenie
Also, I could have been put on some sort of child offender’s register for indecent exposure
Maybe I should try yoga for relaxation? Swimming was obviously not my thing, and I hadn’t even made it into the pool.
chapter
TWENTY-FOUR
“HOW OLD ARE you today?” my grandmother asked, sliding an envelope that she hadn’t bothered sealing across the kitchen table.
“Twenty-six,” I replied, my mouth full of porridge. I picked it up and turned it over in my hands.
“Are you sure? I thought you were younger,” she said, watching me as I opened the envelope. “I didn’t write in the card, you get the point,” she said impatiently. “But there’s twenty pounds in there. Maybe you could go to the high street and get yourself a nice top?”
I got up from my seat and walked over to her, bending down and putting my arms around her neck.
“Time flies. Are you sure you’re not twenty-two?” my grandmother said wistfully. “I remember when you were born. My father in heaven, nobody had seen as much hair on a baby’s head. There still hasn’t been one in our family with as much as you.” She sighed. “You were born worried, I remember that, too.” She paused. “Anyway. Better go and clean your skin, then you can start the day. I’m turning the hot water off in an hour.”
“I was thinking, Grandma,” I said before I left the kitchen. “I was wondering if you’d invited my mum?”
“Queenie, listen. I did, and I am not taking the invite back,” she snapped. “Whatever mistakes she’s made, she is my daughter, and your mother. So she is coming to celebrate the birth of her child.”
“No, that’s fine. I think she should be here,” I said.
As I ran the bath and asked my granddad if he would give his sighs a rest for this one day, I replied to birthday messages from people I hadn’t seen for years and probably wouldn’t see again on Facebook. Nothing from Tom.
• • •
“How does it feel to be twenty-three?” Tom asked, handing me a cup of tea.
“Rough.” I smiled weakly, putting it on the bedside table. “I think I’m too fragile to ingest at the moment.”
“Nobody told you to have a fourth glass of wine,” Tom said with a laugh, climbing into bed next to me. “Oh, Mum and Dad’s present to you is being delivered today, and they’re calling us at midday. They want to wish you a happy birthday themselves.”
“Why and how are your parents so nice?” I asked. “Oh—you’ve given me the wrong mug.” I showed him the Q.
“I’m surprised you can even see which one you’ve got.” He laughed again, swapping with me.
“This is entirely your fault,” I rasped, my mouth dry. “You know by now what my limits are, and you are wholly irresponsible for not jumping across the pub and knocking that last glass out of my hand.”
“I know, but you’re so sweet when you’re drunk,” Tom said. “No arguing, and all you want to do is cuddle and thank me for looking after you.”
“I lose my need to be defensive when drunk! You’re taking advantage.”
“Trust me, nobody can take advantage of you, drunk or not,” he assured me. “Did you have fun?”
“I think so. That was my first birthday with people and presents in a long time. I haven’t wanted to celebrate it in ages,” I realized. “Thanks for organizing everything.”
“It’s the least I could do for you,” Tom said, grabbing my hand. “Right. If you’re twenty-three now, how long until I get you down the aisle and get a bun in your oven? Twenty-nine and thirty-two respectively?”
“That’s a long way away,” I said, burying my face in his chest. “You might not love me by then.”
“Rubbish. I’ll always love you.”
• • •
I shook my head, trying to dislodge a pointless memory. My phone started to vibrate violently in my hand.
THE CORGIS
Darcy
Happy birthday
Kyazike
To you
Darcy
Happy birthday to you
Kyazike
HAPPY BIRTHDAYYYYY
Darcy
Dear Queeeeenieeeee
Kyazike
Happy birthday
Darcy
To you!
Kyazike
Ayyyyyyyyyyyyyy!
Kyazike
We want to see you one of these days, you know!
Queenie
You just want your hair done, Kyazike. I’ll be up to it soon
Kyazike
Nah, fam. Just want my Queenie back
I sat in the bath feeling strong enough to reinstall Instagram and remind myself how HAPPY everyone was when I heard the doorbell ring. I listened closely to the shuffle of footsteps and the dull thud of cane on carpet to the front door. “Hi, Granddad!” I heard Diana squeal. “Where is she?”
“She’s where she always is. In the bath.” My granddad sighed his reply. I heard a flurry of footsteps, and pulled the shower curtain across the area of the bath occupied by my body just in time for Diana to come running in.
“Happy Birthday!” she shouted, thrusting a small envelope in my face. “It’s nothing big. Just a gift card to H&M. Only for ten pounds, but still you can buy some accessories or something.”
I reached through the plastic curtain and took it from her. “Thank you! You didn’t have to do that.” I put the card on the bath rack.
“Aren’t you going to open it?” Diana asked me as though I weren’t in the middle of washing.
“Should I see you downstairs?” I suggested.
“No, it’s okay, I’ll keep you company.” Diana lowered the lid of the toilet seat and put her feet up on the radiator. “I was gonna go out with my friends today because Kadija got us half-price tickets to Thorpe Park, but I felt bad if you were just going to be here with Grandma and Granddad on your birthday. How old are you today?”
“Twenty-six. And it’s not so bad. I don’t like birthdays that much anyway.”
“Oh my God, are you joking?” Diana exclaimed. “Birthdays are the best! On my fifteenth, me and my friends went to some Clapham rave, it was wavey. And they all put money in so that we could have a table in the VIP area—”
“VIP? How did you afford that? You’re all babies,” I pointed out.
“Um, excuse me, fifteen means I am almost an adult. Anyway, the night was sickening, I was the center of attention and Mum extended my curfew. That is why birthdays are so good.”
“I’ve never had a birthday like that, and I’m much older than you,” I pointed out.
“Well, maybe that’s why you’re depressed?” Diana asked as though she’d hit a eureka moment. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. No offense. I just mean, maybe if you had more fun times, you wouldn’t think about bad stuff, maybe? I dunno. Sorry.” Diana shrugged, backing out of the bathroom.
I finished my bath, got dressed in a calf-length floral dress that used to be my grandmother’s, and went downstairs. Diana was standing in the hallway
with her sneakers on.
“We’re going out,” she said, looking me up and down. “But get changed first.”
“But, Diana, I’m ready. This is vintage,” I said, standing in front of her, allowing her to take in the full outfit.
A change of clothes later, Diana and I were on the high street, me in the changing room of a charity shop. Not the one that our grandmother works in; we’re not allowed to go in there. She says it’s mixing business with pleasure.
I was struggling into an orange and turquoise Paul Smith shirt. Being out of the house for this long was taking its toll on my anxiety levels. When I did finally get it on, having had to negotiate the fabric over my sweating arms and back, it would pop open at the bust every time I took a deep breath. Diana opened the changing room curtain and looked at me.
“No.” She closed it again. “Do you wanna go to Morley’s? I want four wings and chips,” her voice asked from the other side of the curtain.
“No.”
“I should have known you’re too stuck-up for that. Let’s get a milkshake, then,” Diana said, grabbing me by the elbow as I emerged and steering me toward one of those weird urban-designed modern ice cream parlors.
We sat opposite one another in a booth in the corner by the bathrooms and peeled the sticky menus apart. “What do you want?” Diana said from behind the menu. “I know what I’m getting. Oreo waffle, I always get it.” Diana held up her phone and scanned the room with it. “Hold on, just snapchatting our settings! I’ve captioned it ‘Cuz is 26,’ ” she said, showing me a picture of myself looking at the menu, bewildered by the choice.
Twenty-six, and this is my life, I thought, looking around at the teenagers leaning on tackily decorated walls, all staring at their phones. Three years from now and I was meant to have been getting married. I was meant to be stable, and loved, and . . . I looked back down, and the words on the page started to blur. I looked over at the loo door. If I ran in there and had a panic attack, I could at least not let Diana see me fall apart again. I was meant to be getting better, and if she saw me having a panic attack she’d tell my grandmother, and then there’d be a whole thing about me going to therapy and it not working so bringing shame on the family for no reason.
“You all right?” Diana asked, locking her phone and putting it on the table. I must have looked really bad if she was stepping away from her phone.
Set an example, I thought, breathing in slowly and counting to three, hoping that my nostrils weren’t flaring too obviously.
“All fine, just looking for a waiter,” I said.
“You’ve got to go up and order, obviously,” Diana said, looking at me suspiciously, and slipped out of the booth. “You sure you’re all right?”
“Sorry. I’m fine!” I said, my heart rate slowing. “Just get me the same thing as you.” I handed her the twenty-pound note from our grandmother and watched her walk to the counter. When she was there, I put my head in my hands and closed my eyes. Just breathe, Queenie. Breathe, imagine you’re, what is it Janet said, why can’t you remember? That’s it, the safe space, find your safe space. Where is it? That’s it, it’s the attic room in Grandma and Granddad’s first house. The room that they said was haunted, but you didn’t mind, you used to love the creak of the floorboards, and the way that the temperature of the air dropped when you stepped into the ro—
“Are you sure you’re okay? We can go back if you’re feeling weird?” Diana threw herself back into the booth.
“No, I’m fine,” I said, surprising myself by meaning it. “It’s all good. So, what’s this Oreo waffle, then? How exactly does it work?”
* * *
We walked back to the house, the sugar from our treat coursing through my veins like a shot of adrenaline. Diana was telling me, and the street, exactly how annoying it was to have a mum as religious as Maggie. “She makes me pray before every meal, Queenie,” she moaned. “Even snacks! Have you ever had a packet of crisps smacked out of your hand because you didn’t thank Jesus for them first?”
That topic lasted all the way back to my grandparents’. We walked through the door, and I saw three extra sets of shoes in the hallway. I could hear voices coming from the front-front room. I stepped out of my sneakers.
“Hello!” Darcy said, walking out of the room, holding a bright pink helium balloon with BIRTHDAY WISHES emblazoned on both sides in blue bubble writing.
“Happy birthday, Queenie!” Maggie jumped out after Darcy, holding a small gift bag. I looked for the owner of the third pair of shoes and saw my mum trail out nervously, trembling arms holding a birthday cake studded with candles, only half of them lit. My stomach tightened, and I had to force myself to get back into my grandparents’ old attic, my safe place. What I actually wanted was to climb into my grandparents’ current attic to escape all of this attention.
Maggie handed the bag to me and swept me up in a hug. “Maggie!” I protested, easing away from her. “Hi, Mum,” I said quietly to my mother, still standing behind her sister, the weight of the cake testing her strength.
“Oh, come on, birthday girl! Cheer up!” Maggie said, rolling her eyes. “Diana, was she this miserable when you were out?”
“Mum you know she doesn’t like hugs. It’s all right not to want people to touch you, you know.” Diana walked over to Darcy. “You must be Darcy, yeah? I’m Diana, Queenie’s cousin. Nice to meet you properly.”
My grandmother stepped out of the front-front room. “Can we all go inside one room and stop congesting the hallway, please?” she barked, herding everyone except for Darcy in. She looked at me knowingly. “You have some time to say hello to your fren,” she said, walking into the room and closing the door behind her.
“What happened to the candles, Mum?” I heard Diana moan. “I tried to plan all of this properly.”
Darcy and I stood for a moment in the hallway, looking at each other. She’d put on weight, and her blue eyes stood out against her unusually tanned skin. “Been on holiday?” I asked, suddenly unreasonably very awkward about standing with her when I was such a shit version of the me I used to be.
“Yeah, Simon and I went to France a couple of weeks ago. It was a nightmare. He didn’t want to leave the villa. Said that we needed to spend the whole holiday working on ‘us.’ ” She stepped toward me and handed the balloon over. “Happy birthday, friend.”
I put Maggie’s mysterious gift bag down, took the balloon, and patted her on the shoulder.
“Thank you. This is nice. Why are you here? How did you know the address?”
“Your cousin is very wily. . . .” Darcy smiled. “We’ve been in contact for a while now. She tweeted me a few weeks ago. We’ve been ‘DM-ing.’ ” Darcy raised her eyebrows, smug about using lingo she wasn’t used to. “And I was going to invite Kyazike but thought that might be too much for you right now.”
“Yeah, you might be right,” I said, realizing how much I really, really missed Kyazike. “I’ll be back to my usual text self soon, sorry for being so rubbish.”
“You don’t need to apologize,” Darcy said softly. “I guessed you needed to switch off from it all. I feel like a bad friend, though. I should have handled it properly, helped you more.”
“You didn’t need to handle anything!” I protested, horrified that she thought she had any responsibility where my mental health was concerned. “It wasn’t for you to sort. I put a lot on you. Wasn’t fair of me. I’m sorry,” I said. I was getting good at this apologizing business. “I bet you get more work done without me, though.”
“So much more, you wouldn’t believe it. But it’s not as fun,” Darcy pointed out.
“I wasn’t much fun those last few months. It must have been like watching someone on self-destruct.” I laughed awkwardly. But felt less awkward.
“I’m not your friend because you entertain me,” Darcy said.
I moved toward her and hugged her tightly, surprising her and myself. “I’ve missed this,” she said into my shoulder, her voice muf
fled by my hair. For the first time in ages, I felt like me.
“Thank you for being my friend,” I said. “Even though I didn’t make it easy.” I pulled away after a while, and pointed up at the balloon. “So. Where’d you get this classy gift from?” Darcy didn’t reply, and when I looked at her for some sort of response, I saw that her face was wet with tears.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“What’s happening?” my grandmother asked, throwing the door to the front-front room open. She looked at Darcy in horror.
“I just—I’ve just missed her!” Darcy sobbed.
“Oh, there there, dear!” my grandmother said, pulling Darcy into her bosom and patting her on the back gently. I wished she’d consistently extend the same comfort to me when I was upset.
“Come on, let’s all go in here,” I said, and we walked into the front-front room, my balloon blithering along the doorframe as I pulled it in behind me.
“Okay, please can we do the candles now? I had to blow them out once already,” Diana snapped, pulling a lighter out of her pocket and lighting the candles.
“And why do you have that?” Maggie asked, cocking her head, her wig going left as her head went right.
“It’s, er, Kadija’s, she left it in my bag, Haaaaaappy Birthdaaaaay . . .” Diana began to sing, nervous eyes on her mum, who stared back at her, neither of them dropping a note. I looked down at the cake and blew the candles out.
“Did you make a wish?” my mum said quietly, her voice cracking halfway through the question.
“No. No point,” I said, continuing to look at the cake. “I haven’t believed in wishes since I was a child.”
My grandmother bustled into the kitchen for her best china plates (“It’s because we have a white visitor,” Maggie sighed), and Diana started to cut the cake into huge slices. “Shall we say grace?” Maggie asked, gesturing to the cake. Diana looked at me.
Queenie Page 25
