Chapter 27

CHAPTER 27

I am in the garden in Nairobi, and he is here. His voice shares a frequency with the low breeze in the grass. The table is set for Christmas, and music is playing. The warmth of the sun. The sound of the ocean. But we are six hours from the coast? Six hours against the sun-soaked window. Anthills appear all around. Vultures circle. I hear the crescendo of the train and—

S HH . I T WAS JUST a nightmare, baby girl. Virinder pressed my face against his chest and hushed me like I was resisting him. He nodded to the painkillers on the bedside table. Did you take these again, Enola? He said my name like I was an idiot. I told him they were painkillers, not crack. He said that I didn’t need them. I reminded him that he took medication. He said that anxiety medicine was not the same as misusing painkillers.

You just need to relax, babe. You’ve been all over the place.

He was right. I hadn’t been myself since karaoke. And it wasn’t helping that my book was now finished and on submission to publishers. There was space to fill in my mind, and what was filling it wore a ripped denim jacket.

Virinder told me to close my eyes and go to a happy place, and so I went back to Kenya. I walked through the beach house until I saw him by the gate with the moon behind him. He opened his mouth to tell me that he loved me, but before he could say the words, Virinder interrupted, treacly-voiced: Where did you go, baby girl?

Lisbon with Ruth.

Maybe we could go away together? I have some holiday I’ve not used and—

Can we not talk right now?

Of course, he said. But he didn’t mean it. He was insecure. I was making him insecure. He started to stroke my hair, lightly, like he was more focused on the appearance of the action than the purpose. But then his hands moved down my body, between my legs.

What are you doing?

He said that he wanted to help me relax. He was so good with his fingers that I didn’t tell him to stop. Tell me if I’m going too fast? I nodded, breath thickening. I reached back, but he told me not to worry about him. I just want you to feel good.

Afterward, Virinder fell asleep, and I put on his dressing gown and walked up the spiral stairs to the terrace. The night sky was cloudless, and you could see the stars. There is the one that looks like a cock. And over there is the other one that looks like a cock. And finally, there’s one more that looks like—you guessed it—a cock. I did something I never let myself do: checked his social media.

Because I’d deleted his profile, the only information available was old, so I searched for Steph instead. Careful not to send an accidental request, I scanned her timeline for clues of his new girlfriend, but Steph only had a few photos visible: one with him, one with Patrick, always laughing, always drunk. I opened our archived message chain. His picture was a selfie that he took on the beach in Watamu. I used to think it meant something that he had kept it but the reality was that he just liked the way he looked. Just then, his status changed to “online.” Fuck. Could he see me? No, of course he couldn’t see me. But I could see him. I watched the word like I was watching him from the shadows outside his house. I pictured him picturing me, each of us waiting for the other to move. Perhaps his new girlfriend was asleep next to him just as Virinder was asleep downstairs. Perhaps she understood him. Perhaps she made him happy. I scraped my thumb against the brick wall.

Back in bed, my skin tingled next to Virinder’s warmth. I took another painkiller and hoped, as I had for a while now, to feel differently in the morning.

I N THE MORNING , THE clouds moved like water in the skylight. Virinder was stood at the door in his brown suit, and I was perched on the arm of the sofa in my Mario Kart T-shirt.

You’re quiet this morning, honey.

I told him not to call me that. He laughed, an airy monosyllable. Sorry, baby girl.

I clenched my jaw.

Will you be here when I get back? he asked.

Not tonight.

I said that I had promised to help Ruth prepare for an interview. He joked that Ruth had a job interview every week. I told him that wasn’t funny, and he apologized. He explained that he had a case that wasn’t his area and he felt out of his depth. I was hoping to see you tonight. But if you need to be with Ruth, I totally understand, he said, looking at his shoes. I was about to protest, but he noticed a mark on the maroon leather, and I watched as he went to the kitchen, retrieved a shoe polish kit, cleaned the invisible stain, returned the kit, and then stood back by the door. He looked twice more at the shoe before looking to me.

Fine, I said. I’ll cancel with Ruth.

He went to kiss me, but I warned him that he would be late. He hesitated at the door. You know, Enola, you can talk to me.

What do you mean?

Just, if anything isn’t okay?

Virinder was looking at me with concern, but there was a smile in his eyes as if he wanted me to be upset so that he could comfort me. It was the opposite to how he was; he recoiled at emotion. I wasn’t sure anymore which was worse.

I told Virinder that everything was fine, and he asked if I was sure. I wished that he would stop asking. How was I supposed to know? Was I supposed to tell him my doubts before I understood them myself? And it wasn’t just the pressure to feel what he wanted me to feel; it was also his behavior. We always ended up doing what he wanted. But because the things that he wanted to do were nice, I couldn’t complain.

Yes, I’m sure. Go, you’re going to be late.

Okay, bye, Enola . He wanted me to laugh because he wasn’t calling me honey. But it wasn’t funny. I love you, he said.

See you later, I replied.

Virinder told me he loved me after two months, and I still hadn’t returned the words. I knew it was awful. I knew that I was doing to him what had been done to me. I could feel myself chilling and growing scales, my eyes turning black. I was looking at Virinder the way that I used to be looked at. And still, it was Virinder that I blamed. I wanted to take his love and beat it out of him.

He chuckled like my lack of love was a challenge. It’s okay. You’re still not ready. But I’m quietly confident…

The door shut, and a persistent hum settled beneath my skin. I looked at the canvasses of convertibles and strangers in coffee shops. I picked up the Italian colognes and caffeine shampoos. Time moved around me like hoovering around furniture; I didn’t even boil the kettle. Something was wrong, and it wasn’t just my doubts about the relationship. My period? A full moon? Perhaps it was the threat of change. It was the end of October. I was nearly thirty. America nearly had a new president. Then I received an email and understood.

Hi Enola,

Sorry that the first bit of news isn’t good, but we’ve had the first no. See below, but they said they didn’t connect with the voice. Don’t be disheartened. They are just one publisher. Onward!

Diana x