‘Chat to Cam?’ Anika asks, her face turning hot. ‘Cam Asiedu?’
‘Yeah. I’ve been seeing him, kind of. Well, a date or two, you know.’
The woman seems both smug and a bit unsure, but Anika is still definitely jealous. Nodding, she takes a breath. ‘Decent shout to ask him, then,’ she says, and perhaps it is. But there’s a reason why this role has been brought to her attention, Anika issureof it. The diary. That job ishers.
‘Anyway, take things easy, yeah?’ Nia is saying. ‘See you soon.’ She ambles away, her pleated gold skirt swaying around her curves.
‘See you.’
Anika heads to her locker, just about remembering the code. She pulls out her laptop and quickly moves over to her now-vacated desk. Docking her computer, she not-so-subtly squirts hand sanitiser onto a tissue and wipes it over the plug-in keyboard before firing up her email and taking a deep breath.
Let’s get to work.
By the time Thursday evening rolls around, even with her week of phase-in, the idea of yet another day in the office before the week is over seems like torture. After eating dinner in front of anInsecurere-watch, she flips her smart TV over to YouTube and pulls up an iconic video of Neneh Cherry in the 80s, performing pregnant onTop of the Pops. Watching the beautiful singer rapping in her gold bomber jacket and matching bra, looking cool as fuck, Anika is inspired. She reaches for the diary sitting beside her on the sofa and starts to write.
Friday 27th July
Finally, end of the week. That new job is closer than I can imagine – my current work situation is le ghetto, but I am certain it’s not going to last much longer.
Today I wore exactly what I felt like, and it was just for me. I felt a supreme confidence at the centre of myself, with no need forvalidation. No lie – my skin was glowing, my hair was moisturised, my curves swerving. My body is strong and healthy now. I honestly don’t feel like there’s any risk of any * issues * cropping up again.
I woke up before my alarm this morning, raring to go, and did a forty-five-minute yoga routine before heading into work.
I blocked anyone who got in the way of my happiness one way or another, using my words or my actions …
Yeah.This is the energy she needs all the time. In fact, she decides to set up a few general affirmations as standard. She breaks off from tomorrow’s entry to scrawl a list of manifestations in the page’s margin. Then she flips forward through the diary pages, meticulously writing upcoming dates at the top of each page for the next week, and repeats the list under each one.
Today I was entirely healthy.
Today I was strong.
Today I felt confident.
Today I was looking fit.
Today nobody pissed me off (not that I couldn’t handle anyway).
Today I did some exercise and smashed it.
Today I won the lottery. (Come on, come on, come on!!)
She turns back to finish tomorrow’s entry with a smile.
Chapter Nineteen
Friday 27th July
The next evening, Anika sits on the bus into town after work. She fans herself using a worn postcard of her favourite Frida Kahlo painting in time to the Zebra Katz song pounding in her earphones, and the music momentarily transports her away from the London double-decker to a New York City ballroom. Perhaps it would have been worth enduring the oppressive heat on the Underground to get to her destination faster, but she sticks the bookmark ofThe Broken Columnback in place in her book as she finally sees her stop up ahead. Getting off the bus, she dips into the side streets, walking quickly along the bustling Soho thoroughfare that leads to Shameeka’s office. The buildings are bathed in the pink glow of the sun as it lowers and there’s a general feeling in the air like the whole city is just about to spill out onto the streets in relief. Anika feels the same way. She’s gagging for these after-work drinks with her friends.
There are workmen digging up the pavement on the opposite side of the road as she walks towards Shamz’s office, and their eyes all turn towards her. She stops the music on her phone and takes out her earbuds to put them away, adjusting the spaghetti strap of her loose, cropped yellow silk top. Anika cansensethe gaze of the guy nearest to her sweep up the length of her body, his high-vis vest hanging open and clinging to the sweat of his otherwise unclothed, sun-reddened torso. She can anticipate the words about to escape his lips as she presses the agency buzzerand she spins round, reaching out to him as though to catch the inevitable variation on a street-harassment theme.
‘Awright, darl—’
‘I amawright, thanks,’ Anika says. ‘You?’
‘Good,’ he replies, just as his colleague adds:
‘Give us a smile, love. Might never happen, eh?’
