Kwame opened his mouth again, then closed it. Out of frustration or torment, she wasn’t sure. In that instant, Anika knew this was a decision that nobody but she could make. She thought about her mother’s face, the utter apoplexy that would be unleashed in Nella at seeing her daughter brought home in a police car. Anika’s role as a witness would be coloured – quite literally. She knew that with instinctive foresight. And she couldn’t deny that a part of her was worried about being tarred with a criminal brush. About stereotypes, and the way that her mother had trained her that they weren’tlike that.
‘Fuck, fucking fuck,’ Eni was whispering, while Zaya weakly implored her to chill. Every one of them quaked with fear. But Anika was also angry at the fact that the storybook idea of who should help them right now was instead inspiring this response.
‘Just go,’ Kwame told her, a degree colder still.
He clearly knew the option she was going to choose.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Saturday 28th July
Given that Anika met Wendy in the bar just before 7 p.m., she shouldn’t be surprised that despite the evening’s shenanigans she’s walking in though her front door at quarter to midnight. The minute she turns her lock and drops the chain into place, Anika leans down and undoes the straps on her platform heels, gratefully stepping back down to earth. She picks up her shoes and pads down the hallway to her room, disappointed that her night out had ended under such a weird cloud, but she’s not sure if it was of her own doing or not. She unbuttons her clothes and slips into jersey shorts and an Erykah Badu tour tee. Music always makes her feel better and since Anika didn’t get to hear Jazzy Joyce spin records tonight, the least she could do is play some for herself and for the night air, as usual.
Except … I don’t just want to do that.
Heading to the kitchen to grab a glass of water and a bowl of the Torres truffle crisps that she’s been powerless to resist lately, she sees the clock on the oven showing it’s now six minutes to midnight.The diary .. . It’s still in the living room on the coffee table, and she forgot to write in it earlier.Maybe I could … ?Not even bothering to finish the thought, Anika rushes through the flat and switches on her mixer. She cues up a couple of records on the decks, then flops down onto her sofa and opens the diary, cramming some crisps in her mouth. Underneath the general list of affirmations, to which she quickly adds a new one –Today Ididn’t letanyoneget in the way of what I needed– Anika begins to write in her next day.
Sunday 29th July
Today started off before I even headed to bed after the shenanigans with Wendy and co. (which all worked out fine, they all got home safely). Decided to do a mix and whacked on my InstaLive to see who might want to tune in and hear me spin. It was mad – I reckon a few accounts with decent followings must have shared it or something, because before I knew it over two hundred people were watching! Every blend was seamless, my selections were flawless, and the audience loved it. Think I might get into doing a few more DJ sets on there soon.
She doesn’t have time to write anything else. Anika throws the diary down, grabs her phone and props it up against the windowsill in front of her decks, then taps into Instagram and waits for her phone to hit 00.01. It’s officially tomorrow. She hits ‘Live’ on her screen.OK, let’s do this.She pictures herself like the amazing Black women on the decks back at Intimacy. Anika has decent DJ skills too, when she’s firing on all cylinders … She chuckles, half relieved, half nervous as she sees Tina pop up with eye emojis in the chat on her screen. Five, then ten, then twenty people begin watching as Anika starts to play. She eases in with some Nina Simone – a downbeat remix of ‘Baltimore’ – then some old Sbtrkt, into some Kaytranada … Ten minutes in, the numbers begin to climb as she mixes. Just after she cues up some classic Lil’ Kim, Anika realises that the watcher-count has hit 202.It worked!
She grins at her camera, shimmying and rapping along for a moment, and then concentrates on her next blend. The music-generated euphoria erases the awkwardness of her pre-midnight escapades, from the club all the way back to her encounter with Eloise earlier in the day. Thinking about her brother being soclose by somewhere out there in the city gives Anika a faint shiver of guilt, though. She looks down at her decks and her vinyl and hears their father’s words echo through her memories. ‘With this you take your time. You really listen. You feel it!’
The vinyl, the record player? They weren’t thething, but they were tangible. They were the things thatgot youto the thing. Anika is certain that using another item – the diary – to get to that something she’s searching for is the answer she’s needed all along.
The song she’s playing comes to an abrupt end and the silence casts a dark shadow through Anika’s thoughts. Tomorrows can disappear just as abruptly.
She reaches over and ends the Live.
Monday 30th July
Anika glances at the clock on her work computer as she pushes away from her desk. Five minutes to midday – probably the earliest she’s ever headed down to the canteen for lunch, but she’s entitled to that hour, and by God she’s going to take it.
And today, she has someone to meet.
When she arrives downstairs, the salad bar in the canteen is brimming, each compartment pristine and blissfully free of cross-contamination. Anika picks up a bowl and starts putting together her favourite selections without having to fight for the tongs with a shirt-sleeved exec or a timid editorial assistant. The quality of the canteen is surprisingly decent and her mouth is watering as she spoons lightly spiced couscous studded with plump sultanas into her bowl, followed by crisp tabouleh, a side-spoon of creamy potato salad, a few olives slick with oil and herbs, crispy orange carrot sticks and hummus.Today I ate what made me smile …
She’s nervous, though, which is expected perhaps, even withthe diary’s general protection. Anika doesn’t expect Cam to be there yet – she almost doesn’t even expect that he’ll remember their agreement to meet over lunch at all. She’s eager to speak to him and not just for the purpose of her interview, which she barely has time to prep for as it’s been inconveniently scheduled for tomorrow morning. Anika’s excitement to sit down and talk to Cam properly is dampened by the reality of their past, though. She’s not sure what direction the discussion will take, or how much she should say about what happened back then. She broke off from writing in the diary last night in bed while she considered the best scenario, but then realised it was after midnight. She drifted off to sleep without projecting anything about Cam for the next day – so now she’s going to have to let the chips fall where they may.
In her dreams, Anika replayed that last time they spoke when they were kids. The look on Cam’s face when he told her to leave, the moment that she did. The diary that lay beside her as she slept last night was the very same diary from back then, lying dormant for so long. Past, present, future were swirling together in her mind so much lately …
Anika goes to pay for her food, then to her surprise as she looks around for a table, she spots Cam. He’s waiting on the upholstered seating in a corner by one of the huge windows that spills sunlight into the room. Most of the other tables are, for the moment at least, populated only with smatterings of people wrapping up work meetings and canteen staff fitting in their own lunches before the rush descends. He’s not easy to miss.
Anika walks over carrying the tray with her salad and Coke, eyes trained on him. Cam is oblivious, a large pair of headphones over his head as he stares down at his phone, absently tapping a syncopated rhythm on the tabletop. Dressed in dark jeans, his typically pristine white trainers and a matching white T-shirt, the simplicity makes him look pulled together, relaxed,confident. Anika briefly checks over her bright shirt-and-shorts co-ord, her toned arms exposed to the cool of the canteen’s air conditioning. She knows she’s looking good – but once she gets closer and sees what Cam is studying on his screen, her nerves jump. Her Instagram feed – it’s familiar even at a glance. Anika quickly realises that he’s nodding along to the DJ set she saved to her grid last night.Did he watch it live? Maybe it was him who shared it?
Anika taps him on the shoulder. ‘What’s the verdict? Any good?’ she asks as Cam’s face whips up to meet her. She expects some red-handed embarrassment, but instead she’s greeted by the bright perfection of Cam’s smile as he pulls the headphones down to settle around his neck.
‘Understatement,’ he says. ‘This mix slaps. Every time I’m thinking I know what you’re gonna draw for, I’m taken somewhere different.’ He continues to smile at her. ‘You said it back then, though, didn’t you? Goal unlocked. You’re a DJ.’He remembers that?‘I should be getting you on the show.’
Anika sets her tray on the table and pulls out the chair opposite him, letting out a sarcastic puff of a laugh. ‘Yeah, I don’t know if I’m quite on that level, but I appreciate the belief.’ She sits down, studying the contents of her tray for a moment before deciding she might as well tackle the ambient nostalgia head on. ‘So … you’ve had an epiphany about our past, then?’ she asks cautiously.
‘Could say that.’ Cam leans back against the high, padded seat behind him and folds his arms, the smile on his lips weakening. ‘In fact, if we’re thinking in religious terms, that night did lead to an excommunication of sorts. For a while anyways. Not that any of that is my bag.’ He turns to look out of the window at the train tracks far below. ‘It was a turning point, that’s for sure.’
Anika studies his profile. ‘Yeah,’ she says. ‘I know. For me too, for what it’s worth.’
He turns back towards her, his eyes twinkling faintly even as his expression is serious. ‘Maybe that’s good, though. That therewassome good back then, too.’
