“I don’t!” I said, though internally, obviously I did care about the suicide part. If it was true. Who knew anymore?
“I guess I deserve that,” Ted said, running his hands through his hair, his trademark move. “I should have told you about the bab—”
“For the hundredth time, you should have just left me alone!” I screamed. I was sure everyone in the square was looking over. “I hate you!” I screamed again. “You trying to kill yourself has nothing to do with me, everyone has problems, Ted, and it doesn’t excuse what you’ve done. Leave me alone!” I was shaking.
“You’re a prick.” Kyazike ran into my eye line and swung her Longchamp handbag into Ted’s face. When did she get here?
“Get the fuck away from her now,” she barked, swinging the bag again and catching him on the shoulder. He put his hands up to protect himself, his cigarette still lit.
“Guys like you make me fucking sick. You’re married, bruv, you’ve got a baby on the way, go home to your fucking wife. From when I was walking over, I could hear Queenie telling you to back off.” Kyazike stood firm and pulled her arm back, ready to strike again. “What’s wrong with you, bro?”
A guy who looked like Ted came running over to protect his fellow man. “Are you all right, mate? Do you need me to call the police?” he asked, making sure he kept well clear of a handbagging.
“Nah, bruv, the only police I’m calling is on this dickhead here. He’s harassing my friend,” Kyazike shouted. “From over there I could hear her asking to be left alone, and nobody wanted to help, but you want to come running when the man is being troubled? You’ve got it all wrong.”
“Okay, fine, sorry.” The man backed away, his hands in the air. “As you were.”
“You heard what I said.” Kyazike turned her attention back to Ted. “You wanna come round the corner, bruv?” she asked, staring dead into his eyes until he looked at the ground. “Didn’t think so. If you come near her again, I will done you, I swear. No e-mails, no chats, no waiting outside the building, no looking at her, no nothing.” Kyazike smoothed her shirt down and pulled me away.
* * *
The next day, a letter appeared in my pigeonhole.
Dear Queenie,
I just wanted to say thank you for letting me speak to you.
I understand how hard this has all been and I know it is all my fault.
For what it’s worth, I wish I’d done that much sooner.
You’re such a sweet and sensitive person and I should have seen that beneath the steel.
Yesterday I told you things I never thought I’d tell you. I know they don’t make up for anything, but I hope they at least made you understand me better.
Nothing can ever make up for what’s happened, or the things I’ve done. But I hope you know I want to be a better person.
I also want you to be happy and know that I have been an impediment to that.
Above all, I’m sorry.
And, yes, I hope you can find it in your heart not to tell my wife about us. I know I have no right to demand that, but I do at least believe that no good can come of it for anyone.
I wish you nothing but happiness and love and decent people in your life. I hope that, if things don’t work out with my marriage, you might welcome me back into your life.
Love, Ted
Xxx
P.S. Your friend has some swing on her.
Before I left work, I put his letter on Gina’s desk. I didn’t care what happened to me. There was no way I could carry on with this if I wanted to get better.
On Friday, 7th June, Row, Gina
I’m guessing this is a little late, but thanks for the letter all the same. I should have listened to you. He’ll be gone by Monday.
chapter
TWENTY-NINE
“I’VE GOT A task for you,” Gina said, standing over my desk. “We need a piece written for the gigs page, and Josey is off. Can you step in?”
“Er, what do I need to do?” I asked, the weight of responsibility crashing over me like a wave.
“There’s this hot young thing everyone’s talking about, a singer called, I don’t know how to pronounce it, big hair, started her own record label, high-pitched voice.”
“I . . . think I know who you mean?” I said. “I’ve seen her play before, if she’s who you mean.”
“Good. She’s playing at Heaven, and we need someone to do a write-up. You’re urban, aren’t you, you probably know about this sort of thing.”
“Am I that urban, Gina?” I asked her.
“Anyway, gig is tomorrow, PR gave us two tickets, five hundred words from you, please. You won’t get paid more, but good for the CV. File by Tuesday.”
* * *
“I don’t think I’ve ever been described as urban before,” I said to Kyazike, looking around the club.
“Fam, you’re not urban,” Kyazike shouted over the noise of the crowd who were talking over the opening act, a young black guy with a high-top on the stage with a looping machine. “I think that guy thinks he’s urban with that hairstyle, though.” She laughed, her whitened teeth lit blue by the club lights. “Hold this, I wanna go wee before she starts.”
Kyazike handed me her glass and walked off in search of the loo. “Please don’t leave me, I’m still not okay with crowds,” I whined in the direction of her back as she pushed through.
I took some deep breaths and looked at my shaking hands.
“Careful!” I yelped as a blond boy wearing what he probably typed “African print dashiki shirt” into eBay for fell into me and spilled Kyazike’s drink down my arm. He stood up straight and sniffed, handing a little bag of powder to his friend.
“Do you mind?” I shouted, staring at the boy and his friend, a short brunette with a piercing that went through her bottom lip.
“What? We’re not doing anything,” she snapped, staring at me and putting the bag in her pocket. I turned back to the stage. Seconds later, the boy fell on me again, this time staying where he landed.
“Fine,” I huffed, squeezing through sweaty bodies until I got to an open space. I looked around for Kyazike as panic began to rise up from my feet.
I found some room to breathe at the bar and leaned against it, steadying myself.
“Have I met you before?” a good-looking, sandy-haired man beside me leaned over and shouted into my ear.
“I don’t know, have you?” I asked him, leaning away.
“Who knows?” He smiled. “Maybe you’ve just got a familiar face.”
“Maybe!” I said, turning back to the stage.
“Is this your first time seeing NAO play?” The man leaned into me again.
“No, and I’ve actually got to review her, so I’m going to pay attention, if you don’t mind,” I said, not wanting to be rude but mainly not wanting to talk to anyone but Kyazike, who was still not back from the toilet.
“It’s just the opening act, you’ve got time until she comes on,” he mansplained. “Can I get you a drink? Yours looks like it’s almost done.”
“No thanks, I’m not drinking,” I said, stern. “This is my friend’s.”
“I usually drum for her.” The man leaned against the bar, pleased with himself.
“That’s nice,” I said, my eyes still on the stage.
“Can I get you a soft drink, at least?” he asked as I looked around for Kyazike again.
“There you are! The toilets are full of druggies, fam, I watched about ten pairs of girls go into the cubicles giggling and come out sniffing when I was standing there needing a piss.” Kyazike looked at the man. “Who’s your friend, Queenie?”
“Sid,” he said. “I was just asking your friend here if she wanted a drink, but she seems to be too into this guy.” He gestured to the stage.
“Fam, let him get you a drink, he’s buff,” Kyazike said into my ear. “Bit older too. Nice.”
“You have him, then,” I said, handing her drink back.
“If I liked white guys, I’d be all over him,” she said, winking at him. He smiled back fearfully.
“We should get closer to the stage, come on. Nice to meet you!” I pulled Kyazike by the arm. “You shouldn’t encourage me, you know I’m trying to be better at this stuff, Kyazike,” I said when we found somewhere to stand that allowed me to see the stage.
“I wasn’t telling you to sleep with the guy, Queenie,” Kyazike shouted behind me. “Nothing wrong with a little flirt. Besides, no wedding ring.”
“Too soon,” I said. “Besides, rings can always be taken off. . . . Look, she’s coming on!”
* * *
“It was so good, Darcy, she was amazing!” I chattered excitedly. “She had this transfixing neon light show in the middle of the stage that pulsed with the bass, and the band was amazing, and the songs—”
“So you had fun, then? That’s good!” Darcy said encouragingly.
“Yes. I did. For the first time in a million years. And no men, if you can believe it. In fact, you’ll be so proud of me. This guy, this drummer—and drummers are obviously the best band members. You know. Because of the arms . . . and the rhythm—well, he asked to buy me a drink, but I very firmly said no.”
“Oh, well done.”
“Thanks. He was one of those mainstream millennials, which wasn’t so appealing, but I wouldn’t have let him buy me a drink even if he wasn’t. He didn’t try to bang me on sight, though, so that’s something, I guess.”
“What’s a mainstream millennial?” Darcy asked.
“Have I made this term up?” I questioned myself. “I’m sure I’ve seen it on the Internet. You know, those men: bike riding, knitted sweater? Pretends Facebook isn’t important to him, but it really is?” I was met with a blank stare, so carried on. “Craft beer, start-ups, sense of entitlement? Reads books by Alain de Botton, needs a girlfriend who doesn’t threaten his mediocrity?”
“Oh, right,” Darcy said, not as mediocre-man-hating as me. “Anyway, well done, you! One of these days we’ll have a whole week of conversation where we can pass the Bechdel test!”
“Wouldn’t go that far. Right, as much as I love tea and talking, I need to go and write this gig up for Gina.”
* * *
Four weeks, three thousand fucking pounds to useless estate agents, and one phone call to Eardley later, I was packing to move into a very, very tiny studio flat that I would have trouble swinging a kitten in, if I were so inclined. My grandparents had sat me down to talk about how renting was for fools and that I should use the money from my mum as a deposit for a house, but they were forced to open their eyes to the fact that times had very much changed when I went on Rightmove and showed them what a deposit of ten times that couldn’t even get me. I had to sit with the “in our day you could buy a house in Brixton for three pounds” thing for the next hour, but at least I’d won the first round.
Despite his bad hips, my granddad was practically jumping for joy at the prospect of having all of my grandmother’s attention back, while she was pretending to be totally unbothered by my leaving.
The doorbell rang, and I heard Diana’s voice fill the house. “This is going to be long, I swear,” Diana said loudly enough for me to hear.
“Diana. Come on, your cousin needs help,” was Maggie’s equally loud pantomime-like response. “My back is too bad to do much, though, so I’ll just be sat here.”
I walked into the kitchen to get another box. “Hello, both.” I smiled.
“Today’s the big day!” Maggie beamed. “We’re very proud of you, you know. You’ve come a long way. Aren’t we proud, Diana?”
“Yeah,” Diana said, opening the fridge.
“I don’t think she’s ready to live alone,” my grandmother said, moving Diana out of the way and taking a raw chicken out of the fridge.
“Mum, she’s not moving far away,” Maggie defended me. “But who knows what could happen? She might have one of her attacks, and fall and hit her head,” she added, changing her tune.
“Everybaddy always so cautious.” My granddad shuffled into the kitchen. “You can’t see how sturdy Queenie is?” He grabbed my shoulders and shook me to make his point. “She’ll be fine. And even if she’s not, she’s not coming back here.”
“You too dyam wicked,” my grandmother shouted at him.
“Me jus ah joke!” My granddad laughed loudly. “Queenie, start by getting the stuff out of my shed,” he said, and stopped laughing instantly.
My grandmother removed the chicken from its plastic packaging and threw it into the sink. She turned the tap on as Diana watched, horrified. “Grandma, they’re saying on the news that you shouldn’t wash chicken before you cook it! Bacteria can splash around the sink,” she squealed.
“Has my food or my food preparation killed you before now?” My grandmother kissed her teeth. “No. Go and find suttin’ to do.” She put on a pair of rubber gloves, tackling the chicken and listing to Maggie further reasons why living alone was going to kill me. I left the kitchen when Maggie offered to come round and bless my new flat with holy water.
I walked through the garden to the shed and stepped in, bending my head to avoid collecting all of the cobwebs from the ceiling with my hair. I was stacking boxes by the rickety wooden door when I heard my granddad coming up the path. “That cane is a dead giveaway, you can’t sneak up on anyone,” I said, wiping sweat from my forehead. “Come to make sure I get everything out?”
“I know we never really talk,” my granddad said quietly, leaning against the shed stairwell.
“I don’t take it personally, you don’t talk to anyone,” I cut in.
“Queenie, just listen, nuh?” my granddad said, knocking his cane on the floor.
“Sorry, Gandalf.”
“Who?”
“Nobody,” I said.
“As I was saying,” my granddad began, “I know we never really talk. But, as you say, that’s just my way.” He paused to readjust his position on the door, wincing. “But because I don’t talk nah mean I don’t feel. When you came to stay those months ago, I felt bad.” He sighed. “I felt so bad that you were going to end up like your mother. I could see it in you, in your eyes.” He stopped. “I could see the fear, and the resignation. I thought you’d given up. And I felt like I did, in my chest, when she turned up here after Roy hit her so hard she almost didn’t get up.” He paused again. “But you didn’t let it take you.” He paused and lifted his glasses to wipe his wet eyes. “You’re full of fight, Queenie. Full of fight.” He turned away and ambled back down the garden path, leaving me standing there unable to process anything he’d said.
Diana bounded up past him to join me. She watched me blow the light layer of dust off boxes of belongings that hadn’t seen the light of day for months.
“We are proud of you, you know,” Diana said awkwardly. “My mum wasn’t just saying that.”
“Are you joking?” I asked.
“No. What’s funny?” Diana said, lifting one box and being pulled back down by its weight. “You weren’t well, but you got better, and you went back to work and now you’re moving into your own place. That’s good. That’s progress,” she said wisely.
“I wouldn’t say I’m better,” I told her, wiping sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. “Be careful. You don’t need to lift the heavy ones.”
“Jeez, take the compliment,” Diana said, scraping a cobweb from her hand onto the wall of the shed.
“Let me tell you something,” I said to my cousin. “You’re going to go through a lot in your life. Us black women, we don’t have it easy. The family, they come with their own stuff—”
“You don’t have to tell me about that,” Diana cut in.
“And school, university, work, it’s all going to come with its stuff. You’ll meet people who ‘don’t see race’ and are ‘color-blind,’ but that’s a lie. They do see it,” I explained. I knew how my cousin’s attention span waned when being taught anything, so I tried not to sou
nd like I was lecturing her. “And people should see it. We’re different, and they need to accept our difference,” I continued, and Diana nodded along. I kept going while I had her. “We aren’t here for an easy ride. People are going to try to put you in a mold, they’re going to tell you who you should be and how you should act. You’re going to have to work hard to carve out your own identity, but you can do it. I’m not going to tell you about the men until you’re older, but that’s a discussion we’re going to have to have,” I told Diana. “Or women. Whoever, whatever, it’s your choice.”
“You think with Grandma I’d have a choice?” Diana pursed her lips at me.
“Anyway,” I said, “I’m here with you. Remember that.”
“I know, cuz.” Diana smiled. “I hope I can grow up to be as strong as you are.”
I clambered over boxes and hugged Diana.
“Queenie,” she said.
“Yes, Diana?”
“Can I come and stay with you when Mum gets on my nerves and I need somewhere to just kick back and relax?”
“No.”
chapter
THIRTY
“WE ARE GATHERED here today—” Kyazike began, standing to address those of us seated around the large circular table.
“It’s not a wedding!” Diana shouted, cutting her off.
“Hello? I know that, little Miss Attitude,” Kyazike said, raising an eyebrow. I looked around the quiet Italian restaurant to see who else’s dinner my family was disrupting.
“As I was saying, we are gathered here to celebrate the well health and recovery of your girl and mine, our warrior, our badboy, Queenie Jenkins,” Kyazike said, surveying everyone around the table to make sure they were paying attention. “This year has been a madness, but she’s pulled through it. Even if I had to swing for man.”
“Hear, hear!” Darcy shouted, putting her arm around me.
“Swing for which man?” Diana asked Kyazike. Everyone turned to look at me.
Queenie Page 30
