Anika’s limbs started to fizzle. The feeling was almost the same as when she’d heard Eloise’s voice on the phone the day she’d called and asked for Nella, to tell them that her father had died. ‘He left memoney?’ Anika’s voice was barely a whisper.
‘Things had been so scattered,’ Eloise said in a rush. ‘His mind was … It was fuzzy, by the end, and he’d been trying to explain about a spreadsheet and something about some initials … None of it had made sense at the time, but it was only later that I put it together and realised he’d wanted to set some money aside for you, that he’d put it next to your initials, AL. The thing is, there wasn’t a proper will, and it had been hard for a while getting all the bills and life insurance sorted because of him being intestate, and I just hadn’t really thought …’ Another sigh. ‘He’d been so adamant about the vinyl, therecords, and so I thought that I’d done my bit for you, you know? All of it had been so much to get used to, finding out that he’d had …’ Her voice had turned shakier and she took a deep breath. ‘I was angry, Anika. I’d only just found out about you, and your mum, and maybe I could have tried harder to arrange it all, but maybe it was my subconscious way of … lashing out. I’m so sorry. I hadn’t meant for it to be like that. I want to pay it to you now. It’s just never been a great time to try to get in touch, and fifteen thousand pounds is quite a lot even for—’
‘Fifteen thousand?’ The volume of Anika’s voice felt like it would blow out sound-system speakers. ‘My father left mefifteen thousand pounds?’ She could hardly believe it. She thought of all their debts from childhood, her mother struggling to make ends meet, moving them out of their home to live with Clive. Anika had been thousands of pounds in debt after university, earning minimum wage and living off the generosity of her friend. That whole time, she’d thought that her father hadn’t given any real consideration to her struggles. To her.
‘Yes,’ Eloise replied hoarsely. ‘I’m so sorry, Anika, I—’
‘Fuck you.’
‘I’m sorry. I want to give it to you now and—’
‘I DON’T WANT IT!’ Anika yelled, even as her mind told her to reconsider. ‘I don’t want your fucking money now! It’s too late!’ She hung up the phone, shaking with rage, tears streaking her cheeks. ‘It’s too late …’ she repeated to herself. It wouldn’t have felt like it was from him any more.
That thought devastated her.
She wandered to the Tube station and onto the train to the shop in a daze. Anika wanted to speak to her mother, to explain or apologise to her in some way, though she wasn’t quite sure for what. She even forgot her usual ritual of listening to one full album on her way to work, her headphones lying dormant around her neck. Walking to the shop and opening up on autopilot, she avoided her phone in case Eloise tried to call back or message, feeling heavy, like her spirit was ringed in angry redness like her eyes must have been.
And so the jolt of Kwesi walking into the store an hour or so later with an oblivious, wide-open smile was like a firebolt.
He didn’t know. He didn’t know about any of it.Yet the rage and hurt pulsating in her brain wouldn’t let Anika hear that, not even from her own voice shouting in the back of her mind. Kwesi greeted her warmly, but the coolness of her response restrained him. He pulled back from where he’d been about to lean over the counter to give another of his tentative hugs.
‘Um … How’s it going?’ He glanced over to the record player, where Anika had put on Slum Village’sFantastic, Vol. 2album at an obnoxious volume in the empty shop. He nodded along. ‘Is this new?’
Anika scoffed audibly. The boy was only fifteen; he’d been a literal child when Dilla died. Why should he know that this wasn’t a new album? And yet her anger assailed every forgivingthought in her mind. ‘I thought you were a hip-hop head?’ she said. ‘More like rapping along to “Started From the Bottom” in the rugby changing rooms at that fancy school of yours, eh?’ Even she could hear that her voice didn’t sound teasing. The hurt on Kwesi’s face said it all. The shameful thing was, shewantedhim to hurt. Anika wanted her brother to hurt like she did.Fifteen thousand .. . ‘I mean, makes sense,’ she added sarcastically. ‘Don’t worry about it.’ Daggers, thrusting into him for no reason but her own damaged feelings.
‘What—’
‘Your mum rang me this morning.’ Anika cut to the chase. ‘I suppose she just found out we’ve been in touch. Did you even tell her you were coming here today?’
Kwesi scanned her face, his eyes large. ‘I told her I was going record shopping. I’ve just saved up for some Technics decks, so …’
‘Saved upfor Technics?’ Anika shook her head. ‘Saved up what? Your pocket money, yeah?’ She emitted a breathy, mocking laugh. ‘My dad gave me some ancient record player he was getting rid of when I was a kid.’ Her voice was low, far away. ‘Our dad.’ She met her brother’s eyes again. ‘But I got his records, right? The ones you wanted so much?’ She could feel herself begin to quake, from her fingertips, up her arms and right into her chest, her heart. ‘Well, don’t worry about it, Kwesi. You got everything else.’
His confusion began to mingle with what looked like concern and Anika realised her tears had started to fall.
‘Anika, I … I don’t get it. What’s happened? What did my mum say?’
Anika shook her head rapidly, holding up a hand and trying to find her voice, embarrassed and full of fury at the world. ‘Kwesi, I think for now it’s better if we just leave it.’ She forced the words out. ‘Sorry.’ She turned, pretending she needed to shelve somevinyl to avoid the crushed devastation on her brother’s face, and to hide the tidal wave of tears that had now begun to spill in earnest from her eyes.
‘Please, Anika, I just wanted to—’
‘Sorry.’
‘But … it’s not my fault!’
It was that. Those words. They’d sounded spoilt, entitled, to Anika’s ears.
She whirled around. ‘Oh, please. Just get lost, OK?’ She spat this in a haze of anger – the anger that, if she’d been honest with herself, wasalwaysballed-up deep inside. She’d been unable to hold it back at exactly the wrong moment, flinging it at exactly the wrong person. Anika regretted it immediately, turning her back on Kwesi as she gasped for air. She could hear him behind her breathing hard too, the shock of it all winding him like it had her. But by the time she turned around again, the bell over the door was chiming and he had gone.
Eight years later, even in the haze of sleep, Anika knows that it’s on her to fix what happened with Kwesi – and that only in her dreams could she admit that for all her waking bravado, it was fear that kept her from doing so.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Monday 20th August
Anika shuffles on an uncomfortable plastic chair and looks around the small clinic at her GP surgery on Monday morning. There are posters about flu jabs and kids’ vaccinations tacked to a dilapidated pinboard in the sterile room.
She spent the weekend busying herself while Cam was holed up in some last-minute pre-rollout meetings for the European release of his film. Most of Saturday morning was taken up with getting her hair braided after having dyed out the pink to return to her natural colour. Impeccable knotless microbraids now swirl around her shoulders and down her back, kissing her hips. Judicious use of the diary – and paying her braider, Jess, double to bring her sister to help – had meant that the style was executed in record time. Then she hung out at Deon’s second birthday party on Sunday while tentatively making further amends with her friends.
