before he’s finished, Yazz is pulling away, just when they’re getting into a great conversation
she’s heading towards a tattooed man (or is it a woman?) standing alone, smoking, looking out at the river
good to see you, Dad, she says distractedly over her shoulder, I’ve just seen someone I know
I’ll be over to visit you and Kenny soon, promise
Yazz has no idea of the hollow he feels where she’s been so lovingly nestled at his side, the way she did as a small girl who was devoted to him, never wanted to let go, even when she had to go to bed or go home, holding on to him, forcing him to prise her bony little arms off him
a small child who loved him just as he was
unconditionally
most people think he’s remarkable so why doesn’t she, his beloved only child?
all she has to say, and really, just once shouldn’t be too difficult
you done good, Dad.
2
Carole stands quietly at the noisy after-party in a far corner of the room along with the other bankers and funders who, like her, look out of place in their smart business attire when the room is full of weirdly dressed arty types slobbering all over each other
this isn’t her milieu at all so she declined Freddy’s invitation to ‘do the rounds and get to know the lesbian thespians’
he’s working his way through the crowd, tie removed, shirt loosened, hair flopping about, charming everyone he meets from what she can tell, leaving them chuckling at his repartee
before he waltzes off to the next person who’s going to be impressed with him
instead of upper-class reserve, Freddy exudes upper-class confidence, along with a bashful boyishness that endears him to people of all backgrounds
she wishes she had his effortless social skills
Carole had been intrigued by the play, set in Benin, although as she knew little about Nigeria, her parents’ homeland, and had never been, she knew even less about its neighbour
it wasn’t her fault, any close relatives were dead, according to her mother, having lost both her parents young, it made it difficult for her to return
her mother was never going to be one of those West African matrons one sees at airports who arrive with a trolley-full of excess baggage and get into arguments at check-in complaining the scales are wrong when clearly the scales are right
Carole is curious to visit Nigeria, hasn’t been sent there for work yet, her desire to act on it isn’t a priority at the moment, she’ll take her mother back one day, maybe with Kofi for support, Freddy too
Carole loves Kofi, he’s perfect for her mother
it was so odd seeing a stage full of black women tonight, all of them as dark or darker than her, a first, although rather than feel validated, she felt slightly embarrassed
if only the play was about the first black woman prime minister of Britain, or a Nobel prize-winner for science, or a self-made billionaire, someone who represented legitimate success at the highest levels, instead of lesbian warriors strutting around and falling for each other
during the interval at the bar she noticed a few members of the white audience looking at her differently from when they’d all arrived in the lobby earlier, much more friendly, as if she was somehow reflected in the play they were watching and because they approved of the play, they approved of her
there were also more black women in the audience than she’d seen at any other play at the National
at the interval she studied them with their extravagant head-ties, chunky earrings the size of African sculptures, voodoo-type necklaces of beads, bones, leather pouches containing spells (probably), metal bangles as thick as wrist weights, silver rings so large their wingspan spread over several fingers
she kept getting the black sisterhood nod, as if the play somehow connected them together
the thought crossed her mind it might be the black lesbian sisterhood nod, she scrutinized them more closely, guessed many of them could be lesbians, even the ones wearing head-ties were wearing very practical shoes
was this a predominantly gay gathering she found herself in?
she stopped making eye contact and grabbed hold of Freddy’s arm
who took it a bit too far and nuzzled her neck
now, just as she’s mentally preparing herself to dive in and drag Freddy away from the party, a woman walks towards her whom she hasn’t seen in – how long?
oh crap!
oh double crap!
it’s Mrs King
she hasn’t seen her since she left school at eighteen
what on earth is she doing here?
meanwhile
Shirley is astounded to see her protégé on the other side of the room, barely recognizable, it’s none other than Carole Williams
without thinking she gravitates towards her leaving Lennox and Lakshmi to continue enthusing about the jazz Lakshmi plays that Lennox likes enough to attend her concerts, which Shirley can’t stand
as she makes her way through the crowd, she’s astonished to see that Carole is no longer a grubby child but elegant, beautiful, refined, even from a distance
it must have worked out for her
then
Shirley feels a suppressed fury rise like bile up her windpipe
‘keep in touch, Carole, I want to know how you get on, you can call on me at any time for support’ – the ungrateful child had done nothing of the sort
Carole is wearing a peach-coloured skirt suit and tasteful pearls, both look expensively genuine, her hair is straightened into a ballerina bun, her make-up is perfectly understated, she’s much slimmer than she’d been as a teenager and appears taller in high heels
Shirley feels frumpier than usual (which is saying something), even though she’s wearing her new polka-dot dress from John Lewis, tied (very) loosely at the waist and done up with a nice bow at the neck
Mrs King, Carole exclaims, extending her hand rather regally
you must call me Shirley, Carole, it’s Shirley
Carole’s accent is barely recognizable, practically aristocratic, her perfume is fragrant, everything about her is
polished
it turns out she’s a banker in the City, Shirley expects nothing less from this vision of success before her, she’s here with her husband, Freddy, over there, his family are shareholders in a company that sponsors the theatre, although between you and me, this play isn’t my sort of thing at all, Carole says
nor mine, Shirley replies, feeling she’s betraying Amma by not raving about the play along with everyone else in the room
(unless they’re all faking it, as luvvies are wont to do)
she herself would have loved to boast in the staff room about her friend’s play at the National, but she can hardly do that when it’s about lesbians
how are you keeping? Carole asks, you must be retired, I expect
not at all, I’m not that old, still teaching, for my sins, at the same insane asylum which has escaped compulsory closure many times, as you might have heard, yes, still there, still bringing on the next generation of prostitutes, drug dealers and crackheads
Shirley throws back her head in a guffaw expecting Carole to join in, who instead looks aghast, prompting Shirley to offer up a cheery, corrective smile to give the impression of not being em-bittered
I’m still mentoring the most able children, she says quickly, brightly, still rescuing those who have potential (and because she can’t help herself), those who need my dedicated help over many years to set them on the road to success
there’s an awkward pause during which Shirley feels a menopausal flush drown her face in sweat, dammit, not now, she should never have had a drink, a trigger, if she mops her face up with a tissue, she’ll smear the make-up across it and look like a madwoman
what on earth must Carole think?
Carole tries to hide her discomfort at Mrs King’s passive aggressiveness, she wishes Freddy would whisk her away, the woman’s sweating like a pig, which is a bit odd, is she nervous?