Maame(55)

“Yeah, course. Got to.”

“Why?”

“Because,” she says, “I can’t carry on living believing human beings are as good as it gets.” She looks at me. “We’re the worst.”



* * *



It’s really quiet when Shu leaves. I’m sat in the living room staring at the TV and think about texting Nia to hurry up. The silence begins to make a ringing noise. I pull my jumper over my mouth and scream.

When Nia returns hours later, she asks, “How were you?”

“Yeah, fine,” I answer.

She looks at me. “You sure?”

I nod and try to put some authenticity behind my smile. “Yes, I’m sure.”

We take a short walk to the local shop. Nia and I rank chocolate bars whilst we’re there; we disagree on many but both hold white chocolate in high regard. We make omelets for dinner and finish season one of The Cabin Plan.

Penny

Dear Maddie,

I’m so sorry to hear about your father. We’re thinking of you and your family at this difficult time.

Lots of love to you and we’re here for you if you need anything. Xx





* * *



Friday is cereal for breakfast and then I sleep until lunch, then decide I’m not hungry yet and skip it. I’ve only cried two … three … four times since my dad died? That’s not enough. Only yesterday Nia made me laugh; this morning, I looked out of the window to another blue cloudless sky and thought, What a beautiful day.

Nia pokes her head into my room. “Come on, let’s go to Sainsbury’s, the big one.”

I lift my head off my pillow. “Too far.”

“The weather’s nice though,” she says as if that decreases the distance, “and I’m craving Twisters.”

“The ice cream?”

“Yeah. Let’s get a box.”

“Okay, I’ll check the bus time.”

“It’s only a twenty-minute walk.”

The thought alone makes my bones heavy. “I’m really tired, Nia, can’t you go alone?”

She smiles plainly. “I want you to come with me.”

“Are you afraid to return and find me swinging from the ceiling?”

“I am now.”

“Not to worry. I don’t have the energy.”

“Good to know,” she says.

“I’d just take the overdose route.”

Nia claps her hands twice. “Enough. Let’s go.”



* * *



I pull my hair back and put on a bra. My socks are odd, but the world has bigger problems. I have to shield my eyes when we’re outside, and we begin to walk.

“Please feel like you can talk about your dad if you want to,” Nia suddenly says. “But also don’t feel like you have to.”

“Those two options essentially cancel each other out, leaving the compromise to be … silence?”

“I’m just saying, feel free to say what you feel when you feel it. I’ve only just been able to start talking about my dad without feeling some kind of way.”

“But it’s been ten years!”

She laughs. “Don’t look like that, everyone’s different.”

“You know, only recently I’ve been thinking that it was because I never asked.”

She shrugs and says, “If you had, I would have shut it down quick.”

“I wish I’d called my dad or gone to see him sooner before he died,” I confess. The street’s quite empty today and we stop at a red light. “I was meant to be there that morning, but I went out drinking the night before, and I don’t even drink. I didn’t want to go out that night either, but I made both of those decisions and the regret is eating at me. I’ve never suffered such an irreversible regret before, a regret with no silver lining, and it makes me want to block out any noise or thoughts and it pulls me down until I’m heavy and tired from doing nothing other than attempting to avoid how I feel.”

We cross when it’s clear, instead of waiting for the walk symbol.

“I get that,” Nia says. “Couple days before my dad died he sent me and my sister this soppy message. Talking about how much he loved his girls. It was so random, I remember just rolling my eyes and not even replying. I still don’t know why I did that. I guess I thought I’d see him soon or whatever. There’s always going to be something we regret or feel guilty about because no one is the perfect child.”

“And perfection is subjective.”

“Exactly. So you might not think you were perfect, but maybe your dad did.” Nia hooks her arm through mine. “And I know for sure you loved him and did all you could for him when you were at home. That’s not going to make you instantly feel better obviously, but you’ll start to believe it, over time. Basket or trolley?”

“What?” I look up and we’ve reached the supermarket. “Trolley,” I choose and search for a pound coin. “Let’s get some orange juice, too,” I say. “Oh, don’t forget the Twisters.”





Chapter Twenty-one


Eliza

So sorry to hear about your dad dying, Maddie. I lost my mum a while back so I know what you’re going through. Talking about it with someone really helps. It will get better soon. X