Queenie(90)

“Who was that? You look like you’ve just seen a duppy,” my grandmother said.

“Nobody,” I croaked, sitting down in the nearest chair.

“Lie you ah’ tell,” she accused me.

“No, it’s fine,” I said, standing up on shaking legs. “I’m going to therapy now.”

“Are you sure you’re in a state to cross London?” my grandmother asked as I grabbed my bag and walked out the front door. “I’m not coming to get you again. I’ve just put the pot on.”



* * *



“I know that you want to do some final techniques today, but something very shocking has come up,” I said to Janet as soon as she opened the front door an inch. “My boss has asked me to go back to work.”

“Well, that’s wonderful news!” Janet smiled.

“Is it? Is it, Janet?” I asked, my head swimming.

“Yes, Queenie. This day was always going to come, and I think we can agree that it’s going to be less demanding going back into a job you already know than having to search for a new one. Sit down, please.”

I threw myself into the chair opposite Janet. “But I am not ready, Janet,” I said, gripping the arms of the chair.

“Says who?”

“Do you, a trained professional, think that I’m ready?”

“I don’t see why not. We’ll have to adjust this session to work on some coping methods, but all in all, I think that this can only be a good thing. It’s a real positive. And even though our run is over, I’ll always be here. You aren’t as alone you think.”





chapter


TWENTY-SEVEN


IF I COULD remember how I felt on the first day of secondary school, I imagine it was exactly like this. My rucksack is packed, my shoes have been shined (metaphorically, but I think that my grandmother might have actually polished them in the night), and I ironed a dress for the first time in ten years, hung it up for tomorrow, and went and found my grandmother giving it a going-over ten minutes later.

Darcy insisted she’d meet me in the square outside the office to quite literally ease me back in, which was one less thing to worry about. If I couldn’t walk, I could be carried.

I had a bath at 8 p.m., said good night to my grandparents, and got into bed. I was feeling very wholesome. I set my alarm for 7:30 a.m. and settled into bed. Sleep came easily. Success. Maybe I was a changed person.



* * *



I woke up and checked my phone: 2 a.m. I was wide awake. Why had I never felt this alert when it was time to go to work?

“Come on, come on,” I sighed, turning over in the bed.

“Queenie? What’s wrong?” I heard my grandmother shout from her bedroom.

“Nothing!” I whispered. “Just talking to myself.”

“Guh ah yuh bed. Yah ’av work ina di’ marnin.’?”

At 4 a.m., I was still awake. At 5 a.m., I was even more awake. At 6 a.m., dawn started to break and the birds in the garden started to sing. There was no point in trying to go back to sleep.

At 7 a.m., I heard my grandmother stirring. She shuffled into my room. “Are you sleeping?” she asked, full volume.

“Even if I had been, that would have woken me up. Morning,” I said, stretching to full length and simultaneously burying my head in the pillows.

“I’m putting the hot water on. Come down for your porridge and wait for it to warm,” my grandmother said as she trotted down the stairs, her dressing gown trailing behind her.

“I’m not hungry,” I whispered after her so as not to wake my granddad.

“You think she’s letting you leave here without breakfast?” he yelled from their bedroom.



* * *



When it was time to go, I stood by the front door looking in the mirror. I looked like a version of me that was only slightly familiar to myself. Thinner. Less color in my face. The bags under my eyes were maybe here to stay.

“You look nice. Smart.” My grandmother walked out of the kitchen and fixed the lapel of my coat that had tucked itself in. “Like my mother when she first came over to visit me. She was a proud woman. Go, go mek me proud,” she said.

“That’s a lot of pressure. I’m only going back to work,” I said. “Not stepping off the Windrush, Grandma.”

My grandmother turned me by the shoulders and pushed me out the door gently. “Don’t overthink things. What’s the word the therapy woman say? Catastrophize. Nah badda catastrophize.”



* * *



The journey was unbearable. But, I remembered, mainly unbearable because it’s commuting, and everyone finds public transport oppressive and horrific. It wasn’t just because I was weak.

At moments of acute anxiety, I did some deep breathing and tried to count all of the blue things in my eye line. When that didn’t work, all of the green things. By the time I’d gone through all of the colors of the rainbow, I was off the train and walking toward the Daily Read office.

I felt my stomach drop to my knees and stopped in my tracks. I held on to a nearby wall. “Morning! Welcome back!” Darcy beamed, launching herself onto me.

“Hello!” My voice gave me away.