Kwesi’s eyes glinted with excitement even as he tempered himself into a nonchalant nod. ‘Nice. Yeah, I’ll come down then.’
But what Anika didn’t realise was how a series of incidents leading up to Kwesi’s visit that weekend would prove fatal to their burgeoning relationship. And now it’s eight years later and she’s standing in a coffee shop with his mother, trying to forget everything that happened. Was it pride that kept Anika from reaching out to her brother all this time? No. It was fear that Kwesi would reject her, having seen her lying fallen at the bottom of the pedestal that he put her on …
‘Two flat whites, madam,’ the barista shouts, and Eloise reaches for her coffees. Kwesi is in Camberwell. Should she ask Eloise forhis details?I could try again.Anika knows she could control the situation better this time. She’s different now. She has the power to write her future into being … But the time doesn’t seem quite right.I need to finish getting myself together before I can sort anything else out.
‘Well, the coffee’s great here,’ she tells Eloise.
The older woman sets down the exact change onto the glass dome of the countertop to pay for her drinks. ‘Good. Great,’ she says distractedly, looking at Anika more closely. Her mouth opens and closes as though she wants to add more but isn’t sure what. ‘Anika … I … I hope sometime that …’ She purses her lips slightly. Anika’s jaw tenses. ‘I’m just glad to have seen you. I’m glad you seem to be doing so well.’
‘Thank you.’
As Anika walks out of the coffee shop, her eyes fall on the glint of the ruby ring on her left hand – the one that her mother gave her in the hospital. That, in a roundabout way, her father gave her. Maybe she’s spent too long dwelling on resentment, failing to see all that she has been given by Nelson Lapo. Love.Music.A sibling …
The ring, a bit like the diary, is meant to bring her luck.
And I have been lucky. I am, and I will be.
But Anika wants – needs – to test it. To make sure.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Saturday 28th July
‘Neeky!’
Anika turns at the sound of Wendy calling to her among the melee of the Mayfair wine bar on Saturday evening. She notices one of only perhaps three Black guys in the overcrowded place clock first the nickname, then the girl shouting it, and then Anika. He smirks and looks her up and down appreciatively. At least he doesn’t seem to think the word suits her, slang-wise.
Wendy is waving, her long arm a slightly deeper hue than its usual alabaster thanks to her recent holiday in Portugal. Anika waves back then pulls down at her short, belted black-and-gold playsuit, wondering how much of a pain it’s going to be to go to the loo in. Luckily neither this bar nor the club they’re going to later are the sort of establishments likely to have floors covered in piss, unlike some of the places Anika’s used to – that is, on the increasingly rare occasions she goesout-out.
Besides, she’s willed a good night on the diary page, so it will be so.
It’s also rare that she and Wendy hang out with anyone other than each other when they meet up. Somehow their friendship ended up out on an island of its own. This evening, however, Wendy has invited Anika out alongside a woman from her work and two of her friends from back home in Rye who’ve just moved to London. Ordinarily Anika would have rapidly sought an excuse to duck out of it, but when she rolled her eyes as shelooked up Intimacy, the club nestled in the basement of a five-star hotel that Wendy insisted they go to, Anika was shocked to see that legendary New York DJ Jazzy Joyce was playing. It was too good to pass up. Not to mention the fact that she’s not seen Wendy in the flesh since her stay in hospital. Her friend has pre-booked a table in the club, apparently planning to pass the outing off as an entertainment expense at work, and Anika had no intention of arguing with free entry.
Wendy teeters over in patent leather heels, her long dark hair waving down her back, her slender body encased in a cleverly underwired black bustier paired with skintight black stretch trousers. It was only in the last couple of years that she’s become comfortable in accentuating her physique. All through the early part of their friendship, Wendy was self-conscious about her supposed top-heaviness – she used to refer to herself as looking like party balloons tied to a lamppost – but from her look tonight, she’s definitely moved towards self-acceptance. A rush of warmth takes over Anika as Wendy flings her arms around her neck and they stand squeezing one another hard, ignoring the drunkenly enthusiastic murmurs of the City boys standing by the polished bar.
‘Wow, hon, talk about a bloody sight for sore eyes,’ Wendy shouts over the pulse of the music, her eyes shining with the threat of tears as she pulls back and kisses Anika’s cheek.
‘Aw, babe. It’s so good to see you!’ Anika subtly nods towards the bar and edges her mouth closer to Wendy’s ear. ‘What can I get them to get you to drink?’
A few minutes later, with drinks from the ‘lads’ carefully secured, Anika and Wendy make their way towards the small corner table where Wendy’s friends from home are draining the last of their white wine. They greet Anika with high-pitched overenthusiasm and although Emily and Rosie move in for hugs and double-cheek kisses, Anika swiftly holds out a hand with asmile and they settle on animated handshakes.Yup. Cringe-free.
‘It’s so nice to finally meet you,’ Rosie says, scooting her low stool over to allow more room for Anika around their small table. ‘Wendy’s always telling us about her cool friend Anika. Oh, and she told us about how you’ve just been in hosp—’ She halts suddenly and clasps a hand to her mouth. ‘Sorry,’ she says, looking over at Wendy’s widening eyes. ‘Um, yeah, anyway, it’s just really great to meet you.’ Rosie smiles awkwardly at the other two women. Anika smiles as she lifts her glass to her lips, pleased at the diary’s protection.
‘Yeah, good to meet you, too,’ she replies jovially before taking a sip of her G&T, relishing its sharp fizz.
Wendy answers a call on her mobile, shouting loudly into it. ‘Back left corner, darling. Yes. No, we’re right at the … Yep. Cool. See you in a mo.’ She turns to the rest of the table. ‘Brilliant, Inessa’s just coming through the door. We should head off soon, get this party started!’ She lets out an excited squeak and pulls Anika into her side, reaching towards Emily with a grabby motion in the air. Her friend takes her hand and Wendy continues. ‘Ladies, this is going to be afabulousnight!’
Since the diary came back into her life, regret is something that Anika has mostly been able to avoid – but the emotion is pretty stark right now. She looks wistfully over at the handkerchief-sized dancefloor that stands near-empty in the fancy hotel’s club. It’s surrounded by a crush of expensive bodies, though, and by low tables pre-supplied with gaudy gold buckets crammed with overpriced bottles of champagne. Her eyes catch with those of one of the only other obviously Black women in there, standing behind the decks doing the warm-up set. The DJ winks at Anika in a manner that suggestsit’s a paycheck, innit. Anika smiles back, raising her glass of bubbly. At least she’s playing to a crowd, which is way more than can be said for Anika’s DJingefforts.
Their champagne – prepaid for by Wendy – sits in a cradle of ice next to two other bottles bought for their table by a group of guys with gaudily designer-branded button-down shirts and shiny shoes. She can smell their pungent, leathery aftershave from where she’s leaning back surveying the scene. Inessa, Wendy’s workmate, excuses herself from where she’s been talking animatedly to a tall man with dark, gelled hair nearby. She slumps back onto the low velvet banquette beside Anika, tucking her short, sleek black bob behind one ear to expose an earring that hangs in a long gold line ending in a sparkling diamond.
‘Having fun?’ Her sarcasm is audible even over the pounding amapiano music.
‘Hah.’
‘That man just told me he wants to invest two million pounds into our business. I met him for thirty minutes earlier this week, and now just like that,’ she snaps her fingers, ‘he’s in. I swear sometimes just having boobs is a business strategy. That’s why Wendy’s doing so well.’
Anika laughs for real this time, in incredulity at the cruelty – and inaccuracy – of the comment. She turns to Inessa with an assessing look. ‘Jealous?’
