Maame(51)

“You look nice,” I tell her. She’s redone her locs at the front and has on a shade of red lipstick that warms her brown skin.

“Really?” She shrugs. “I was just at my grandma’s. It’s good to see you, Maddie. I’m really sorry about your dad.”

It takes Nia an entire minute to say those four short sentences, but that’s the way she speaks, slowly and carefully, incapable of rushing sentences, of getting thoughts out before she loses them. It’s my favorite thing about her.

She gives me a long hug and she smells light and fresh and of secondary school. We leave it there. She doesn’t ask why or how; she unpacks the food she bought, container after container, and puts them in my fridge. Then we watch films for the rest of the day.



* * *



When Nia’s in the shower, I kneel by my bed and face the window so that God can see me. I recite my usual nightly prayer where I ask God to take care of my mum, brother, and …

“This is the part where I would say Dad,” I tell Him, “but what do I say now? Please rest his soul? Do I still pray for him or is he taken care of? How long have I been praying this prayer? Over ten years—the same words. You could probably do without the repeat.”

I climb into bed and, after Nia gets in too, I switch off the light.

I haven’t cried today and I remain awake for hours, wondering if this foreshadows oncoming sociopathic tendencies.





Chapter Nineteen


From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: RE: My absence

Oh my goodness, Maddie, how awful. I am so sorry. Please put your out-of-office on and don’t worry about work. I lost a parent only last year, so make sure to let me know how you’re doing and if there’s anything you want us to help with.

To be clear, we don’t expect you to be at work at all this week (or next—just keep in touch).

Sending love to you and your family.

Kris x

On Tuesday morning, after Nia’s helped cancel my Florence flights, I ask her, “Is it weird that I haven’t cried since Sunday?”

“Not really. Everyone’s different.”

We’re on the sofa together, watching the sun edge higher into the sky. It’s going to be another beautiful day.

“I know but it feels weird. I just … can’t seem to cry anymore.”

“Are you sad?”

“Constantly.”

There must be something I miss in my own voice because Nia turns to me and says, “Don’t feel like you have to hold it in. You do that a lot.”

“Do what?”

“Pretend to feel the opposite of what you’re really feeling so others won’t feel the same. You can cry in front of me.”

“I don’t like to cry in front of people.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed.” She sits back and says, “Tell me about your dad.”

I shrug. “I don’t know what to say.” What are you allowed to say? “My dad’s undoubtedly a product of his generation and upbringing. He doesn’t talk much; he’s … I mean, he was, just naturally reserved and private, even with his children. We weren’t really a close family; we each did our own thing; in a way, we were all just housemates.” I look at Nia and suddenly say, “We had a lot of trouble with money when I was growing up. Before we sold the house.”

Nia tilts her head. “You did? You always had money, though!”

“No, I just always looked after my money. My mum first went to Ghana when I was twelve and after a while I would tell you guys at school that she was coming back and forth regularly, but she’d be there for up to a year.” Nia’s face doesn’t hint at judgment or surprise. She’s just listening. “I used to wish she’d return in winter, for Christmas and my birthday, but it was rare that she’d make it back in time. My mum’s not good with the cold, you know?”

Nia nods.

“It’s not even that I minded her not being home,” I continue. “I liked doing my own thing and I was used to it, but I would think, Miss my birthday again, fine, but Christmas? Let’s at least pretend.” I don’t know where I’m going with these disjointed confessions, but there’s so much to tell Nia, so much that no one outside my family knows and I want to get through it all, to finally share this piece of myself. As I do, I realize a part of me has always wanted to tell Nia these things. “My parents were together, but not. My dad wasn’t very good at looking after us, so my brother relied on his friends and I sort of looked after myself. Mum would send me money to live on when Dad could only cope with paying the bills, and I’d buy cheap ingredients, pads instead of tampons, clothes from charity shops, and saved where I could, just in case.”

“In case of what?”

I shrug. “Once, I was in a lecture at uni and Mum called me in tears because bailiffs were at the door threatening to take the TV. We had arrears of just under a grand. I’d gotten paid that day—from my bookseller job—and had to hand it all over with a bit more from my student loan. I remember the relief in my mum’s voice when I gave my card details over the phone to the collector.”

Nia frowns and leans forward. “Mads, are you serious?”