A burst of panic sets in. She knows that if she told him outright that she couldn’t or didn’t want to do it, he would easily yield – God knows he’s got a whole bunch of other DJ mates. But Anika is all too aware that he’s recalling the conversation they had all those years ago; the dreams she had for herself. She can’t pass this up. The thing is, this set won’t be just in her living room, it will be in front of some of the most influential Black British entertainment stars, not to mention judgemental hangers-on, all live in the flesh ready to hear every possible weird selection and clang she makes.But wait, she realises suddenly.I have a secret weapon.Except …
Tomorrow?
It’s already six minutes to midnight. Subtly – or at least she hopes so – Anika lifts her cumbersome handbag onto her lap, massively relieved at having it with her instead of some tiny Telfie. It mightjusthave saved her. If not, then she’s completely screwed. Her hand searches inside the bag and …yes! It closes around the diary.
Thank God.
She picks up her phone as the time on the display flips on to 23.55.Shit, shit, shit.
‘Er, excuse me a sec, yeah?’ She says it to all of them, but Cam is the only one really paying attention. Standing, she grabs her bag and shuffles her dress down as she strides away, wondering if Cam’s eyes are tracing the movement of her hands as they smooth over her behind. She pictures the words she wrote yesterday.Me and those high heels got on like Naomi on a catwalk – and I’m not talking that tumble at Vivienne Westwood.She smirks to herself, but is sobered by the knowledge that she has approximately 240 seconds to ensure things go this well tomorrow.
Speeding up, Anika grips her bag closer to her chest as two efficient waiters sweep towards a nearby table then pause so that their timing is in sync as they lower the plates, but then a pair of women ambling in front of her force Anika to slow down her stride. They toss their expensive blow-drys and smile at the hostess, an acknowledgement of one of their tribe. The woman is talking to a colleague near to the toilets they’re also heading towards.
Anika doesn’t have time for this. She tuts loudly, almost running into the women as they struggle to push open the heavy, ornate door to the ladies’ and being engulfed by a cloud of their sickly perfume. They shoot a look at Anika and she glares back as they teeter into a cubicle side by side. Anika has a feeling their rendezvous will be of the snorted rather than the sapphic variety.
Stepping quickly into the other free cubicle, she grabs the diary out of her bag and whips free the pen that’s clipped to its spine. Hiking one Louboutin onto the toilet seat to lean on her thigh, she scribbles the words she needs to ensure that everything will work in her favour, her hand shaking. Then she jabs at her dark phone screen as it balances on the cistern. 23.59 … 00.00.
Anika exhales into a laugh.OK. I can do this.A simple reminder, one that she returns to, of what she’s overcome after the precipice she faced. Of the infinite potential she’s unlocked.
She takes the opportunity to use the loo, hearing the women scrape air roughly into the backs of their throats to collect the narcotics no doubt still lingering there. They whisper hurriedly at one another as they leave. Anika takes her time to check her lipstick in the mirror as she washes her hands, now that the emergency has passed. Her tightly coiled hair forms a fadingpink bouncing frame around the warm brown of her face. She scrunches her fingers into her curls to fluff them up, even though she’s added exultations of her hair and skin to the growing list of constants in the diary. They’re clearly working. She slings her leather bag back over one shoulder, strutting out of the toilets … and the hostess almost runs smack into her. Anika pauses, awaiting an apology, then gives a short, wry chuckle to herself at the absurdity of such an expectation.
‘Miss,’ the woman says, like the word is an epithet. ‘Can I just ask what you were doing in the toilets?’
Is she fucking serious?‘What, do you want a number?’
Anika moves to go around her and the hostess mirrors her, blocking Anika’s path. ‘We’ve had some issues with—’
‘Are you accusing me of doing drugs?’ she asks, folding her arms, pinpricks of heat rising to the surface of her skin. She can hear the rustle of whispers from nearby tables, the turning of attention towards this brewing confrontation. ‘I know that can’t be right.’
‘Miss, if you wouldn’t mind—’
‘Actually, I would mind.’ What a fucking cliché. Anika knew this night was going too well. A thick, hot bubble of anger surrounding a knot of embarrassment – she can’t help it, still – begins to rise in her throat. Then she hears a deep voice behind her.
‘Anika.’ The frequency of it immediately calms her. ‘Everything good?’ Cam asks, appearing at her side. His jacket is back on and he slides one hand into his trouser pocket casually, the other finding its way again to the small of Anika’s back. Her skin livens for another reason.
A besuited man who Anika recognises as the manager the hostess was talking to earlier looms towards them from the darkness of the restaurant. With a jolt, she pictures another of the lines in the diary.I will win any fight I have to.One of the otherstatements she’s been adding every day now.Let’s see.
‘Well, not quite, sir.’ The hostess was replying to Cam’s enquiry. ‘I’m afraid we do reserve the right to ensure that our patrons are adhering to our policies and so I’d like to make certain that your guest wasn’t engaging in the use of illegal drugs on our premises.’ She speaks like she’s swallowed a corporate pamphlet. Or like she expects the language to dazzle them. The hostess looks at Anika, gesturing off to the side. ‘If you wouldn’t mind just stepping over—’
‘I was talking to her,’ Cam interrupts, nodding towards Anika, speaking slowly. The polite menace in his voice makes her clench her thighs together. The way it’s not dominant, more a show of solidarity – of synergy – that inflates her confidence along with the memory of the projection she wrote down. Adrenaline begins to build in that recently vacated space in Anika’s gut as she looks over the hostess’s shoulder and sees more huge, balanced trays are swooping out of the kitchen, hiding the faces of the wait staff. She needs to time this right.
‘I’m afraid …’ The hostess attempts to speak again and Anika takes a step towards her, regretting the loss of the heat from Cam’s hand.
‘You’reafraid?’ she asks, low. The woman’s hazel eyes widen as she stumbles back a step and Anika finds no regret in the feeling of power that surges the adrenaline higher within her.
‘Er, I don’t think there’s any need to be aggressive.’
Anika laughs loudly and openly at that. The woman steps back again, blinking rapidly.
‘Miss …’ It’s the manager this time. His hand reaches out and takes her elbow, and the proprietary gesture ignites a hot flame of memory in Anika, of that first night she refused to let her fate be dictated by another.
A feeling she’s only just reclaimed.
The motion of yanking her arm away sends the managerstumbling into the hostess. Not quite how Anika had intended it to go, but it works. She calms into a shrug, retreating lightly on her toes as the woman topples, sending waiters and plates flying. Anika half expects to feel shame for showing even a hint of her boiling insides.But things are different now.
A split second later, Cam’s beautiful face moves closer to her and cracks open into a wicked, delicious grin. ‘Well. Shit,’ he says. He arches an eyebrow inquisitively, but Anika just reaches out and grabs his hand, pulling him away quickly. She steps delicately between the carnage, over one of the hostess’s dislodged high heels and the remnants of expensive meals now residing on the floor, and they rush upstairs towards the exit. She’swon, just like she said she would.
They’re panting as they burst out of the restaurant and into the night. A few metres away, cabs and double-deckers rush past, the pavements still bustling with people on a late-summer Saturday. But none of it really registers, because hidden down this alleyway Cam is closer, closer, very close. His energy, his heat, backs Anika gently against the brick wall behind her. She grabs the lapel of his jacket and feels the material tense and relax slightly as his chest heaves. His next exhalation brushes against her mouth and then his lips are pressing over hers again, a decade-plus since the last time. Her entire soul sparks to life and she smiles against him.
