Maame(53)

“Last time I was here, you were in Ghana and Dad was alive,” he responds. “So don’t ask about me.”

“His sister never speaks to me this way,” Mum says. Her voice trembles and I know she’s looking at the ceiling, talking to God. “At least I have one child who loves me.”

“Maddie doesn’t know you, that’s why,” James says. “You think I don’t know he came to London with you this time? He tried to follow me on Facebook. Kwaku, yeah? That’s why you wanted Maddie outta the house, so she wouldn’t catch you. If I see that man put one foot in here, I’m gonna—”

I close the bedroom door and turn the TV volume up.

Kwaku. He must be the one behind the unsaved number. He was in London. He came with Mum, so he’s been here since she has.

Where was Mum when Dad died?

Dad was fine when Maddie was here.



* * *



I remain upstairs wondering how long I have to stay. My dad’s not here anymore and I hate this house because of it. The house that I left him alone in.

I’m not really here. I’m not really here. Everything is fine because I’m not really here.

The sun bursts in through the window and I have to shield my eyes before closing the curtains.





Chapter Twenty


Ben

I’m here if you need me xx



It’s an ordinary week within the most extraordinary circumstances because apparently—and this is what everyone fails to mention about the grieving process—I still have to live.

Nia has a few assignments to turn in still, which she can do online, so during the day she sets herself up in the living room.

On Wednesday she makes me pancakes and we watch TV. She opens her laptop to complete a project, and I say I need the toilet but end up closing the door of my bedroom. I get into bed and watch TV on my phone. By the afternoon, I don’t know how many episodes I’ve watched. Nia calls me down for lunch, but I say I’m still full from breakfast.

Mum calls. “The funeral home says we need to go there and fill out some forms.”

“Oh, okay.”

“No, I’m going to get your father’s brother to do that when he arrives, since Mabel is still in Ghana trying to change her return date,” she says. “You’re too young. Only twenty-five and burying your father, it shouldn’t be on you. I’m going to make sure Freddie does it. I don’t want that on your shoulders.”

“Thank you, Mum.”

“That’s why I’m here, darling.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Maame.”



* * *



Nia and I go for a walk across Battersea Riverside whilst Nia tells me about one of her professors—long story short, Nia is not a fan. We then talk about school; we agree we feel nostalgic but would never go back.

Nia returns to her laptop and I try to read but the words swim on the page and the attempt itself is exhausting so I get into bed until dinner, which is sweet potato and roasted vegetables. We eat together and start a thriller series called The Cabin Plan. We watch four episodes before bed.



* * *



On Thursday, Nia sleeps in and I sit on the sofa, staring into the garden. I search my phone for the latest picture of Dad. When I can’t find it, I panic because it’s the only one I have.

“Oh God, oh God, please no.”

I scroll through picture after picture of pretty buildings and food. Finally, I find and favorite it so it’s easier to reach next time. In the picture, James has dragged a chair to the front door so that Dad could sit outside. He hadn’t been outside in a very long time; I’d guess months, but if I force myself to think, it could have been years. It’s a horrifying thought, which even the most dedicated of introverts would balk at the prospect of.

“Poor man.”

A tear slips onto my screen and slides right off. Dad’s smiling in the photo though—a really wide smile. He’s skinny, however, nearing gaunt.

“All the drugs,” I whisper.

But he’s smiling. His tracksuit bottoms were stained, but he’s smiling. His nails needed cutting, but he’s smiling.

I wonder what he’s thinking, and if he’s in any pain.

I triple-check the photo is under Favorites.

I tell Nia I’ve already had breakfast. I read whilst she studies, but nothing’s going through, so every so often, I turn a page until it sounds like I’ve read a few chapters.

Then it’s time for lunch and I think, already? Did you eat this regularly before? I can’t remember.

When Nia goes home to pick up a textbook she needs, I go upstairs to pee and end up crying on the toilet, asking the floor and the empty space around me for my dad back.

A voice returns, “Why? It’s not like you were around.”



* * *



Shu visits in the afternoon. When I open the door, she stares at me with dark eyes, gives me a hug, then holds up a grocery bag.

“I got you some shit for your sadness,” she says.

“You should write poetry.”

“Flatmates still gone?”

I nod.

“Where’s Nia?”

“Getting some books from her house.”