Maame(3)
I turn to leave and throw “Love you” over my shoulder.
My hand is on the door handle when I hear him shakily say, “I love you, too.”
I turn back to him and the words “You do?” are out of my mouth before I can stop them.
Dad frowns like he doesn’t understand my question; his eyes are trying to find mine whilst he struggles to turn his neck. Then Dawoud bursts into the room with breakfast.
I step out of his way. “Bye, Dawoud.”
“Bye, Madeleine-y!” he calls after me.
I’m replaying Dad’s words inside my head whilst looking for my keys. I know my dad loves me … it’s just been a while since he’s said the actual words. A very long while.
Outside the house, I notice that a fox has gotten into the neighbor’s bin and has ripped through the bag, trailing food and rubbish across the pavement. This is what David Attenborough was warning us about when we decided to encroach further on their habitat. But we didn’t listen.
“Been there,” I say in solidarity.
I’ll write next door a note explaining the trick is to put a few loose bricks on the wheelie bins at night, and post it through their letter box after work. They only moved in a few weeks ago and I don’t know them yet, so I won’t sign it.
I try to see what I can decipher about my new neighbors by their garbage. I see that they don’t make an effort to recycle, so sadly they themselves are trash. It’s a shame, because one of them was playing music last night, which I could hear through our thin walls, and their taste in nineties R & B is pretty good.
The 250 bus is rounding the corner when I get to the bus stop, and it’s already filled with schoolchildren getting off in three stops. Per usual, I stand and watch fifteen more shove their way on in front of me, jamming the closing doors. I take a picture of a girl’s backpack caught between the doors and send it to Nia.
Maddie
Were we ever this annoying?
Nia
Lol, yeah. Driver of the 156 used to hate us
Remember that day he saw all of us waiting and just shook his head and drove off?
Not our fault we were loud. We were hyper from those neon fruit drinks and fizzy strawberry laces
I smile at Nia’s quick response, because it’s 1:00 A.M. where she is. She’s always been a night owl, and I picture her with her ombre locs piled on top of her head, listening to music on her bed with the back of her legs flat against the wall.
I look up at the bus and the girls squashed tight at the front, giggling together. I had a lot of friends at school, all through to college, even, but when they moved out of London for university and I stayed put to look after Dad, we drifted apart. I realized then that our friendships were not based on loyalty or love but convenience and proximity. I went from a close group of seven to one. Nia.
Nia’s been my best friend for almost ten years now, but she’s currently doing a business degree in Utah. She took a few gap years to work when we all went to university and so she’s only now in her final year. She’ll be back home in the summer—hopefully, for good.
I wait four minutes for the next bus and arrive at Thornton Heath station nine minutes before my train. I stand two feet to the left of the third bench so I’ll be one of the first to board. On the way home, I’ll stand on the right side of the live departure boards at Waterloo station, waiting for the 17:53 train. Monday to Friday, always the same.
My train arrives and it’s busy as always with no seats available, but I rarely hunt for one. I look for an empty corner, settle in with my bag between my legs, fold my book in half and read.
When we arrive at Balham, it gets really full and I do what has fast become a habit of mine. I peer over my page and people watch. Playing my favorite game, I mentally ask: Who here loves their job? Could it be the blond woman in the brightly patterned summer dress? Who here hates their job but can disguise that feeling for the required amount of time? The man in a navy suit with short braids and massive headphones? Who couldn’t care less, so long as they’re paid? The suited and booted city slicker, sighing impatiently when the train stops at a red light, standing far too close to the woman in front?
Whilst we’re over ground at Clapham Junction, I take my phone out and turn my data on.
Google: Jobs with the happiest employees
Number one on the list is … teaching.
That’s got to be a lie. Considering I was a student not too long ago, I’m qualified to say, with a respectable level of certainty, that they’re some of the worst treated people out there.
Nursing
Charity sector
Events management
On a list of jobs that have the unhappiest employees:
Customer service
Hospitality
Administration
When Waterloo station approaches, I brace myself for another day at a job Google itself has deemed deserving of a bronze medal in the race to unhappiness.
There’s always a rush to get off the train; no one wants to be last, but surely it can’t have anything to do with an irrepressible desire to get to work that eleven seconds earlier.
As soon as I’m separated from the mass of people, a message from Mum comes through. Just seeing her name flash reminds me of last night’s phone call.
* * *
“Maddie, can you transfer me some more money, please?”