I swallow. I’m getting sick just thinking about it.
“Are you okay?” Joanna places a hand on my back.
I shake my head to dislodge the thought. “It’s just . . .” I sigh. “I’ve only just realized that I’m effectively . . . unemployed.”
A lengthy silence follows as the reality of my situation kicks in.
“Aww, you’ll get a job in no time,” says Joanna, trying to lighten the mood. A cleaner with a mop and bucket in hand strolls by and nods. “And with Godfrey on your CV, I can’t imagine you’ll be out of a job for too long.”
“Yeah, and at least you no longer have to deal with Louise, eh?” Brian spreads his hands. “It’s humanly impossible to have a worse manager than her.”
“True,” I say flatly. “I still wish I hadn’t lost my job, though.”
Brian pushes out his lips. “Sooo,” he says after an awkward pause. “Do you want me to pop these back in the stationery cupboard then?” He gestures at the array of neon colored Post-it notes that I’ve been hoarding in my drawer.
“No,” I say more forcefully than I intended to. “Pop them in the Sainsbury’s bag. Please.”
We tackle my pedestal next, sorting through piles of paper, and all the while I try to ignore the hotness creeping into my eyes. Today will be the last time that I see this desk, sit in this chair and look at these two screens. I feel as though I’m going through a breakup and I’m getting kicked out, right after being served with divorce papers. God, this is so unfair.
In silence, we finish clearing my desk, dumping unwanted papers in the recycling bin. I stand and tuck in my chair. Joanna and Brian bow their heads.
“Good-bye, Godfrey & Jackson,” I whisper, my voice cracking on the final note. I’m just about to launch into a good-bye speech when I realize my chest is buzzing. I grab my phone from my pocket and when I look at the screen, I taste bile in my throat.
Shit. It’s Mum.
Now I’ve got another problem to deal with. My big mouth just had to tell Mum that I’d got a promotion, didn’t it?
What would I do without my favorite aunt, eh?
THURSDAY
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I’m upstairs in Aunty Blessing’s study at her terraced house in Poplar, sitting in my usual chair. It’s where I share my life problems with my favorite aunt, in the hope that she’ll offer me advice and help me to see things objectively. Aunty Blessing is like a second mum to me. She was there for us when Daddy passed away—braiding my hair and Kemi’s, helping with our homework or with food shopping. Over the years, we’ve become really close. In fact, I open up to her more than Mum. Where Mum is set in her ways, Aunty Blessing can see things from a different perspective—for example, she helped me to navigate some of the politics at work, when Mum just said, “Well . . . may God give you wisdom.” Most days, I love Aunty Blessing for this, but today . . . hmm, not so much.
“Aunty!” I stare at her dumbfounded. “How is losing my job a blessing in disguise? We worked hard putting my promotion case together, remember?”
As I had recounted what happened, Aunty Blessing had inhaled her beloved e-cigarette, blowing billows of citrusy smoke in my face, but now she puts it down. “I do remember,” she replies, and yet there isn’t an ounce of outrage in her voice. “Come on, Yinka, it’s not like you even like your job. In fact, how many times have you sat in that very chair and complained about your manager, the culture, how stressful work is?”
I wince.
“I love my job.” Aunty Blessing places a hand on her chest, and I pull a face.
“Why wouldn’t you? You get to be Annalise Keating.”
She frowns.
“You know, Viola Davis from How to Get Away with Murder.”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m just saying, maybe it’s time for you to work elsewhere. Eight years is a long time. They passed you over for a promotion. Twice! Honestly, Yinka, I’m surprised that you stayed as long as you did.”
I dig my foot into the rug. We’ve had previous conversations like this. But why on earth would I want to leave one of the most prestigious banks in the world? Godfrey & Jackson is like the Google of the financial sector.
“Anyway, you have to move forward. What other banks are you looking at?” she asks. “Oscar Larsson? Citi? Deutsche Bank?”
I blank-stare guiltily at her.
“You haven’t started looking, have you?”
“I just lost my job. I need a few days to recover.” I also need a few days to binge-watch TV, but I don’t tell her that.
Aunty Blessing gives me a warning look. “Well, don’t wallow in self-pity for too long. How will you cope financially? I know they’ve given you a package, but it can take a few months to get a new job.”
“I’ve got savings,” I say. “Also, next weekend Nana is moving into my second bedroom. She’ll pay me rent.”
That’s one thing I’ve done at least. After I had returned home from clearing my desk, I got straight on the phone to Nana. She was ecstatic for a moment, before remembering she had to be sad that I’d lost my job.
“Well, if you ever need any assistance—whether that’s looking over your applications or you’re low on cash.” Aunty Blessing raises her brow. “I mean it, Yinka. Come to me. Any time.”
“Thanks.” I smile at her. “What would I do without my favorite aunt, eh?”
She reaches forward, opens her bottom drawer and stashes her e-cig away. “So how did your mum take the news?”
I give her another one of my blank-guilty looks.
“You haven’t told her! Why not? She’s your mother.”
“I haven’t got round to it,” I lie. I will never get round to it.
“Yinka, how will you find a huzband now?” she would say, clapping after each word. “How will you find a huzband when you’re jobless, ehn?”
“Make sure you tell her,” says Aunty Blessing, pulling me out of my thoughts. “It’s not right that I know and she doesn’t.”
“Okay,” I say. Still, I’m thinking, hell no. I’m not even going to tell Kemi in case she tells her. Besides, I’m sure it won’t take me that long to find a new job. I mean, I’ve got eight years’ experience.
“Do you know what?” she says, as she leans back in her swivel chair and digs her finger in her thick, natural hair, which she tends to tie back in a bun. “While you were talking, something came to mind. Do you remember after you graduated you went to Peru?”
“Yes,” I say, wondering where she’s going with all of this.
“Well, didn’t you come back saying you wanted to work for a charity? Maybe now is your chance.”
A snort comes out of me as I laugh. Aunty Blessing gives me a look.
“What’s so funny?”
“Aunty. I haven’t wanted to work in the charity sector for donkey’s years.”
“But you were so adamant at the time,” she insists. “I just thought it was a passion that you might want to revisit. I haven’t seen you so passionate about something in a long time.”
My gaze shifts to a glass award on the wall shelf, ten-year-old memories flooding in. Aunty Blessing must have noticed as she doesn’t try to fill in the silence.
After I graduated, I wasn’t keen to rush straight into work—I’d spent sixth form busting my arse to get straight A’s so I could study Economics and Management at Oxford, then when I got in, I spent most of my days in the library busting my arse to get a 2.1. So I went on a gap year abroad, despite Mum’s disapproval. It was me and four other Brits: Kathy, Jojo, Donovan and Hailey. We went with an international charity called Action 28. It was such a brilliant time. Every day we would set up a homeless shelter, handing out food and essential toiletries, and we would provide companionship using our basic Spanish. I loved talking to the people who came through the shelter, hearing about their lives, and being able to do small things for them that would make a difference.
When I returned to the UK, I was this close to terminating my allocated graduate position at Godfrey.