“I need you to forgive me,” he pushed.
“What, why?” I shouted. I didn’t care who was looking.
“Can we go to our place, to the park?” he said.
“No, Ted, we can’t. If there’s something you need to say, please say it here and now, and then I’m going. I mean it.” I started my calming breathing.
“Fine,” he said, dropping his voice. “I’ve had two major breakups in my life, Queenie. And after each of them, I . . .” He paused for dramatic effect. “I tried to take my own life. Nobody knows this. Just my family, obviously, because they had to pick up the pieces, and . . . my wife.” He paused again. “I just—I couldn’t deal with the thought of being alone. So when my wife came along, well, before she was my wife, I knew that because she was older and wanted children soon, she wouldn’t leave me. So we got married. And everything since has all been so quick, and I should have thought about it, I know, but I didn’t, because I was just so relieved not to have to be alone anymore, but then I met you, and you turned my life upside down.” Another pause. “You said it yourself. You’re young, and you’re so appealing, with your beautiful big lips, that skin, and those curves.” He stopped talking to light another cigarette. “Do you have anything to say?” he asked after taking an aggressive drag. “Don’t you care about what I’ve just told you?”
“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 <[email protected]> wrote at 11:34:
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.