Maame(87)

“Maddie—”

“I think my ideas are being stolen by my colleagues, but I honestly can’t tell. I don’t understand what intellectual property means. I want to ask Nia and Shu to drop everything and look after me again, but they have their own lives and maybe they’re tired of feeling like babysitters and … it’s hot in here!” I stand up, pulling at my jumper. “Sorry, I … I just … When did it get so hot in here?”

“Maddie?”

Angelina’s suddenly very blurry. Is she melting?

“Oh, it’s happening again,” I say, stretching my collar. “Panic attack. Anxiety. Something, I don’t know, but I—”



* * *



There’s a blinding light in my eye.

So it’s true what they say about following the light when you die.

“Maddie?”

“God, is that you?”

“No, it’s Dr. Rusher.”

“What?”

The light disappears and someone hoists me up and into a chair. My vision is still fuzzy when someone hands me a cup of water.

I fainted, apparently, induced by a panic attack. Luckily, the doctor who visits the company a couple of times a month, a doctor, who can only be seen by way of an appointment booked a week prior, is in the house. He decides I don’t need to be taken to A&E, but I do need to go home and rest, and that I should book some time in with a GP just to be safe. Ask for something to help with anxiety. “A beta-blocker, perhaps,” he says.

I notice Penny standing in the corner; I wonder if she regrets hiring me.

“I can work from home.”

“No, you heard the doctor,” she says gently. “You need to take today off. I’ll call you in the morning to see how you are. Kris gave your mother a call and she’s on her way.”

I almost frown, wishing she’d called Nia or Shu, but fix my face in time. “Thank you.”

Penny tuts at my sincerity. “Don’t be silly.”



* * *



Mum was very quiet when she came to pick me up. She asked if I was okay, felt my head, held on to my arm as we left the building, but said nothing else in the cab ride to the flat.

I was planning on going straight to bed when we got back, but Mum steers me until she finds the kitchen and sits me at the table before filling a glass with water and placing it in front of me.

“You didn’t have to come,” I tell her when it’s been quiet for too long.

“Of course I came,” Mum says, incredulously. “I’m your mother.” She fidgets as we sit at the kitchen table and I slowly drink my water. “Not your boss Penelope, but your smaller boss—what’s her name? Krissy?”

“Kris.”

“Yes, her. She…” Mum sighs. “She gave me attitude over the phone. All I asked is why you fainted and she said ‘maybe because her dad died!’ As if I don’t know that! They made it sound as if you’ve been unwell and I’ve been ignoring it, but grief happens to everyone.” She shakes herself off. “Anyway. You’re my daughter. I know when you’re fine and she—”

“I’m not fine.”

“What?”

“I said I’m not fine!” Thankfully, my glass is empty when it topples over, which Mum simply catches and refills. “Mum, for goodness’ sake, why would I be fine? My dad is dead.”

“Maddie, I know that,” she says, “and I know it has been difficult for you, but you need to pray for the strength and rely on God for—”

“Prayer doesn’t always work.”

Mum slams the glass down. “Then you are not doing it right!”

We stare at each other until she sits down.

“I don’t know what else to tell you,” she says. “I don’t know how else to comfort you. I used to understand you when you were younger. You just loved your books and your school friends and—”

“And then you left,” I finish quietly. “And you kept leaving.”

“I’m here now and it’s more than some children have.”

“It’s also less than other children have.”

She sighs. “Maddie, just tell me what’s wrong, eh?”

I look down at the table and I’m surprised when I say, “I feel like it’s my fault Dad’s dead.”

“Maddie! How can this be your fault? Because you moved out of the house? What do you think you could have done to stop it?”

“At least I should have seen him on his birthday.”

“Yes, that part is a shame, Maddie, and I am sorry for that. But you were there for all the other birthdays when James and I were not. Sometimes I didn’t return from Ghana because I knew, for your father, having you there was enough.”

I look up.

“It’s no excuse, I know, but try to remember, if you feel guilty,” she says quietly, “for missing one birthday when you were there for all the others, for Christmas and all the Father’s Days, then how must your brother and I feel?” I notice she’s looking down and pinching her palm. “Of course, your brother should feel more guilty because I was on the other side of the world and he was in the same city but … but still.”