Queenie(99)

“Okay, fine, sorry.” The man backed away, his hands in the air. “As you were.”

“You heard what I said.” Kyazike turned her attention back to Ted. “You wanna come round the corner, bruv?” she asked, staring dead into his eyes until he looked at the ground. “Didn’t think so. If you come near her again, I will done you, I swear. No e-mails, no chats, no waiting outside the building, no looking at her, no nothing.” Kyazike smoothed her shirt down and pulled me away.



* * *



The next day, a letter appeared in my pigeonhole.

Dear Queenie,

I just wanted to say thank you for letting me speak to you.

I understand how hard this has all been and I know it is all my fault.

For what it’s worth, I wish I’d done that much sooner.

You’re such a sweet and sensitive person and I should have seen that beneath the steel.

Yesterday I told you things I never thought I’d tell you. I know they don’t make up for anything, but I hope they at least made you understand me better.

Nothing can ever make up for what’s happened, or the things I’ve done. But I hope you know I want to be a better person.

I also want you to be happy and know that I have been an impediment to that.

Above all, I’m sorry.

And, yes, I hope you can find it in your heart not to tell my wife about us. I know I have no right to demand that, but I do at least believe that no good can come of it for anyone.

I wish you nothing but happiness and love and decent people in your life. I hope that, if things don’t work out with my marriage, you might welcome me back into your life.

Love, Ted

Xxx

P.S. Your friend has some swing on her.

Before I left work, I put his letter on Gina’s desk. I didn’t care what happened to me. There was no way I could carry on with this if I wanted to get better.

On Friday, 7th June, Row, Gina <[email protected]> wrote at 11:34:

I’m guessing this is a little late, but thanks for the letter all the same. I should have listened to you. He’ll be gone by Monday.





chapter


TWENTY-NINE


“I’VE GOT A task for you,” Gina said, standing over my desk. “We need a piece written for the gigs page, and Josey is off. Can you step in?”

“Er, what do I need to do?” I asked, the weight of responsibility crashing over me like a wave.

“There’s this hot young thing everyone’s talking about, a singer called, I don’t know how to pronounce it, big hair, started her own record label, high-pitched voice.”

“I . . . think I know who you mean?” I said. “I’ve seen her play before, if she’s who you mean.”

“Good. She’s playing at Heaven, and we need someone to do a write-up. You’re urban, aren’t you, you probably know about this sort of thing.”

“Am I that urban, Gina?” I asked her.

“Anyway, gig is tomorrow, PR gave us two tickets, five hundred words from you, please. You won’t get paid more, but good for the CV. File by Tuesday.”



* * *



“I don’t think I’ve ever been described as urban before,” I said to Kyazike, looking around the club.

“Fam, you’re not urban,” Kyazike shouted over the noise of the crowd who were talking over the opening act, a young black guy with a high-top on the stage with a looping machine. “I think that guy thinks he’s urban with that hairstyle, though.” She laughed, her whitened teeth lit blue by the club lights. “Hold this, I wanna go wee before she starts.”

Kyazike handed me her glass and walked off in search of the loo. “Please don’t leave me, I’m still not okay with crowds,” I whined in the direction of her back as she pushed through.

I took some deep breaths and looked at my shaking hands.

“Careful!” I yelped as a blond boy wearing what he probably typed “African print dashiki shirt” into eBay for fell into me and spilled Kyazike’s drink down my arm. He stood up straight and sniffed, handing a little bag of powder to his friend.

“Do you mind?” I shouted, staring at the boy and his friend, a short brunette with a piercing that went through her bottom lip.

“What? We’re not doing anything,” she snapped, staring at me and putting the bag in her pocket. I turned back to the stage. Seconds later, the boy fell on me again, this time staying where he landed.

“Fine,” I huffed, squeezing through sweaty bodies until I got to an open space. I looked around for Kyazike as panic began to rise up from my feet.

I found some room to breathe at the bar and leaned against it, steadying myself.

“Have I met you before?” a good-looking, sandy-haired man beside me leaned over and shouted into my ear.

“I don’t know, have you?” I asked him, leaning away.

“Who knows?” He smiled. “Maybe you’ve just got a familiar face.”

“Maybe!” I said, turning back to the stage.

“Is this your first time seeing NAO play?” The man leaned into me again.

“No, and I’ve actually got to review her, so I’m going to pay attention, if you don’t mind,” I said, not wanting to be rude but mainly not wanting to talk to anyone but Kyazike, who was still not back from the toilet.