Uchay Writes

This is the short story I submitted as part of my BA dissertation titled: Another Day for Black British Women: The man-made trauma which can break the so called ‘Strong Black Woman’.

Amanda’s POV

The faint sour smell of BO crept into my mask and filled my nose. I looked up to see the wet patch of this middle aged man’s armpit lingering over my head as he held onto the overhead pole.  All of a sudden, I felt a hand lightly touch the bottom of my back, just above my bum. I hated the underground, central line had to be the worst. Even on off peak days, the carriages are full so when I moved forward, I was right up against the glass and looked up. It was that middle aged man, his face wasn’t facing me as if not to notice anything, but his free arm was wavering where I had just been. Why does this always happen to me? I sighed to myself but didn’t want to cause any trouble in a jam packed carriage and I was about to get off anyways.

 Waste of time. Waste of energy.

 Even though it’s May, the heat seemed to come to the UK early this year as it attacked from all corners, humidity clenching my throat so I’m barely breathing. Wearing my black attire: black cropped jeans and a t shirt, did not help the humid situation at all. Why did Clarks choose black as its uniform? The hairs of my afro were sticking to my neck and forehead, why did I did leave it out? As I stepped onto the escalators I quickly tackled the fro into a messy top bun. The central line was the last resort for me to be able to get to work on time. Working all the way in Kilburn really wore me out at times, but the Clarks there were the only ones who accepted my application. At least the pay is good, with £8.90 per hour I shouldn’t even be complaining; hopefully they don’t close because of the pandemic!

The train journey isn’t even that bad, the only thing that’s a pain is the amount of times I have to change trains and the timing of the Overground. My journey today started from Mile End (Central line) to Liverpool Street (Hammersmith & City) and to Kings Cross St Pancras to Euston (Northern line).

It could’ve been so much simpler if the Hammersmith line was not delayed at Mile End. I almost shed a tear at the thought of my usual air conditioned train journey I could’ve had to Kings Cross. Before I knew it, I was tapping my oyster to get through the barriers and headed towards the sign PLATFORM 1, it was 14:12 so I just about made it for the train that would come in exactly five minutes. I walked down to almost the end of the platform to where the last bench was placed, knowing that when I get on the train, the doors will open on the other side exactly where the stairs will lead out at Kilburn High Street Station.

There are never many people waiting on this platform, probably 20 people max. As I sat down on the cold metal bench I observed who was on the platform like I usually do. The sun rays had not quite reached my area, so I took this opportunity to cool down in the shade. There were only around seven people on the same platform as me. There was only one other person who was even further to the end of the platform, he looked around my age and was bopping his head to what I assumed was music from his headphones. He looked like the typical white guy that came out of those Wattpad fanfics: dirty blonde hair, he had nice arms and wore white tee with blue dungarees. I couldn’t see his eyes properly but I bet five pounds that they were either blue or green.

I looked to the left, there was a couple sitting on the bench who were practically eating each other’s faces off, she was sitting in a way that her right leg was draped over his. I grimaced at the entangled mess.

As I was about to turn away I heard a little chuckle, I looked up and saw it belonged to a guy who was walking towards me. He was a dark skinned Black man, by the way his eyes were squinting I could tell he was smiling under his mask, and he was wearing the typical London boy summer fit: grey Nike shorts paired with a white tee and pouch. I already knew what was about to happen, thankfully as he said hi, the train had begun to pull in. I took that as my cue to immediately stand up and walk towards yellow lines, standing slighting aside so there was enough space for people to get off.

As the bell sounded and the doors opened and people rushed out, I suddenly felt this warm presence behind me. I looked behind me and it was that same guy who tried to speak to me before, he was way too close for comfort, so I quickly turned back. It was my usual routine to sit and watch people get off, watch their expressions and hurried movements, take in my environment. But now I was pissed because this guy had ruined my routine so he can talk to me. Does he even understand the meaning of social distancing? I already made a little plan in my head to sit down, and as soon as he speaks to me set it straight that I was a taken woman and he should leave me alone. I was definitely going to text Chichi after this.

As I got in I sat down in my usual spot: the last seat in the row which had a glass screen, and just before the last doors of the train. As I sat down and got comfortable, the Black guy who, even through a mask, had been breathing down my neck decided to sit opposite me. He sat forward on the chair and leaned in, my natural reaction was to sit back more in my chair but he seemed unfazed. That’s when he started his useless drool, nothing I hadn’t heard before. As he rubbed his hands together I noticed the black rubber band on his wrist which read ‘BLM: BLACK AND PROUD’, which reminded me I had planned to go to the protest in a couple days with Chichi…

 I was quickly brought out of that thought with the deep and slightly muffled voice which said “Yo babes, how you doing today? I noticed that weird couple too, they were doing a madness, in this pandemic as well, all mad.”

I replied with a simple nod, I wanted to give as little interaction just to let him know I wasn’t feeling it at all. But he just kept on going. “The sun’s come early, your skin looks so nice and smooth, like caramel, why don’t we experience it together…” as he said those words he reached for his phone. I knew he was going to ask for my socials so I quickly said before he could embarrass himself any further “Sorry but I’m not interested, I’ve got a boyfriend, sorry”.

At this point more and more people began to fill the carriage, the guy sat back, and the way he was furrowing his brows I could tell he was giving a dirty look. Under his breath I could just make out “Just because you’re light skin doesn’t make you prestige, you’re dead anyways…”

As the remaining people came in, I watched them all sit down, everyone a space between them empty in the name of social distancing. The last space available was between the Black guy and middle aged white woman who looked about 50 and could tell she had little sunburn on her chest. She didn’t look happy as her eyebrows were furrowed; I guessed the heat was everybody’s enemy today. As the doors finally beeped to close, I watched as another woman rushed towards the door and narrowly missed being squished by sliding doors. I took in her looks as she struggled to find breath and plopped herself down between the middle of the seats which divided the Black guy and older woman. Even with her mask I could tell she was stunning, she was wearing a tie blue playsuit and had a white bum bag across her chest. Her box braids were embellished with gold accessories, I was so jealous, even with my box braids I felt like couldn’t pull off the beauty she was exuding in that moment, though my boyfriend compliments me all the time. I caught her eye and I could tell she smiled at me through the slight lifting of her mask and squinting of eyes, and I couldn’t help but beam back. Her energy was kind and warm, almost bubbly, she reminded me of Chichi.

I looked around to see if anyone else was seeing the same thing as I was, but to my surprise no one was really paying attention, I guess I was in my own little world. But then I heard a sound, it sounded like the kissing of teeth. I saw the Black girl turn her head toward the woman who I had noticed was looking at the Black girl up and down, her brows even more furrowed than before. This was definitely not because of the heat. I saw her facemask move slightly so it looked like she was saying something, but before I could comprehend what was happening the woman got up and stood by the door, her face mask still moving – she was mumbling to herself.

As soon as I looked back at the Black girl, I immediately realised what had just taken place. Just for a second the eyes which were just smiling as me were now slightly furrowed and concerned, but then I noticed she took a deep breath and her face relaxed, as if nothing had happened. I looked to the left to see the Black guy also watching from the corner of his eye but didn’t say anything.

Chichi’s POV

I had to close the blinds because the sun was reflecting onto the computer screen and into my eyes. I watched the cars trundle past on the road below as I twisted the cold metal pole until they disappeared from my sight and all that was in front of me was the cream linen. Just as I let the pole fall from my hands and clank back on the wall, I heard a buzz from my desk. I slumped into my swivel chair and pulled into the desk, grabbing my phone to see who it was. Amanda! She must have started work already; a grin appeared on my face as I remembered the vid she sent this morning of her trying and failing to do a handstand. But when I clicked the notification to reveal a long paragraph my smile slowly faded.

As I was about to type out my reply, there was a sudden vibration which almost caused me to drop my phone, it was Amanda, and she must have seen that I was typing my reply.

“People are such pricks, I feel so bad for not saying anything, I didn’t want to cause a big situation on the train, I know this has happened to you so I feel even worse, Chichi you’re not pissed are you?” Amanda’s voice cracked slightly at the question which almost broke my heart because I know she cares about me a lot and is my biggest supporter.

“Pissed? Babes, why would I be? It’s fine there’s not much you could’ve done anyway, but I don’t care about that, what about you? You were literally assaulted, what a creep, should’ve slapped his face, honestly we deal with so much rubbish and-” I was cut off by a shout on Amanda’s end.

“Oh damn, my manager’s calling, I’ve been hiding in the stockroom, but Chichi I’ll see you later anyways then we can properly talk okay?”

“Okay, love you!”

“Love you, mwah!” Amanda replied before hanging up.

It was time for me to hand in my paperwork, I couldn’t wait to see Amanda, and hopefully talk through what happened.

Working at an independent publisher was harder than I thought, especially here at Torin Publishers, who take in not only standard genres but all types of experimental writing which can be a pain to edit at times, especially when the writer is too stubborn to agree to some of the changes. It’s been eight months since I’ve been here, and things have been going okay but not great and I’m happy that my one year contract will be done soon. It had gone quieter recently since the pandemic started and was surprised that they still kept me on.

I looked into my front camera and smoothed down my straight jet black wig, making sure I looked perfect. I walked down the corridor where the walls were lined with professional shots of various novelists and poets with one of their works and a short description, except for at the end where there was an empty space. Whenever I see that space, which used to be two spaces, I get annoyed because of what happened last week.

People can make suggestions to what posters can be hung up on the wall and passing that corridor every day for the past eight months I had realised that there were not many people of colour. Out of sixteen posters there were three who were not white, so I thought it a good idea to suggest a poster to fill one of the empty spaces at the end with my favourite author: Simi Hanes, a Black British female author who was beginning to gain recognition for her murder mystery series which had all Black characters. I thought her image would be perfect for the company as it welcomed most types of writings as well as having a more diverse range of posters which would show their inclusivity. I printed a rough idea of the poster on a sheet of A4 with a description of Hanes.

I was so excited to show my manager, David, my poster that I almost skipped down the corridor to his office. His door was already open to let the air circulate as it was quite warm that day. “Hi Chichi,’ he greeted with a warm smile and he looked down to see that I was holding in my hand, ‘what’s this?”

“Good afternoon David,’ I replied and laid the sheet of paper on his already cluttered desk of manuscripts ‘you know how there are two empty spaces left for posters? I thought this could fill one of them, she’s an upcoming writer you may have heard of her.”

As David held up the sheet to scan the page, I noticed that his warm smile faltered ever so slightly. “I think it’s good that you’re discovering new writers but you’re not here to do these things, you’re here to help our clients and do paperwork, is this what you were wasting your time on?”

I was shocked by his tone; he’s never seemed to have a problem with me before. “What do you mean? It only took ten minutes and I’m all caught up on my paperwork already, I’m sorry if it bothers you that I wanted to share something new” I was breathing hard, I didn’t want to get angry but it is so frustrating that I always get my work done in good time and going the extra mile to make an impression but instead its thrown back in my face.

“There’s no need for that aggressive tone, love, I’m only saying you don’t need to waste your time on these things and focus on why you’re here in the first place, you’ve only been here a few months and I don’t appreciate you gallivanting around trying to change things like you own the place.”

Aggressive? Gallivanting? They made my blood boil because I have done nothing but put my all into this job even though I’m here for a limited time, but instead of arguing and risking my job I replied with “I understand I’m sorry”.

Two days later when I walked down the corridor, there was another poster up of an American author called Reuben Shines and my colleague Alex was standing in front of it. When he saw me he grinned and beaconed me “Chi look! I noticed that there were a couple empty spaces so I made this poster and David gave me the go ahead to add it to the collection, it looks sick right? Shines is such a good author.”

I hated when he called me Chi, I’ve tried correcting him many times, but he always laughed it off and say “come on why, Chi is so much simpler, why say it twice?” He honestly thinks he’s so funny, it’s so irritating. Alex was also an intern and we started around the same time, he was slim with a slight build, had brown tussled hair and soft green eyes, he was actually really attractive but his work ethic and personality in general is a huge turn off. There were times where he’d mess up the printing or struggled with editing documents which I’d eventually have to help correct. At those times he would make the stupidest of comments: “You go girl” or “a true queen” in a mock American accent and slight sassy tone. When I told Amanda she almost cried with laughter, and now “you go girl” has become our inside joke.

 It annoyed me that he was smiling as he stood by his generic poster as if he achieved something so great, he didn’t deserve it at all. It almost made me want to storm into the office and reveal to David of how incompetent Alex really was, but of course that wouldn’t change anything since David obviously favoured Alex more. I replied to him “Oh that’s cool, tried to get Simi Hanes up but I don’t think David was a fan” and ended with a tired fake laugh.

Alex shrugged, “Oh yeah I heard of her, it’s a bit weird her stories though, I know people like experimenting but I think she tried too hard to make hers different, that’s what I heard anyway”

I don’t know what came over me in that instance but I felt a pang in my chest and fury rising within me that he would share such a statement. “But you haven’t read it though; I promise you it’s amazing, crime fiction is getting a bit too repetitive nowadays, her story is a perfect new way to spark interest and attract new readers, it’s already gaining some attention.”

“Hmm I don’t know, don’t think it’s for me, maybe it’s because you may relate to it more, so you think it’s better than it actually is”

The frustration was building up.

“Umm what’s that supposed to mean? If you’re thinking I’m hyping her up just because she’s a bla-” my voice cracked as I tried to finish my point and I saw Alex’s face drop as if he knew what I was going to say and quickly cut me off with “Look, everyone has their favourite writers, no point in arguing something so trivial’, he looked down at his watch, ‘anyways I have to go now shifts almost done” he gave an awkward laugh and briskly walked away. I’m grateful that he ignored my slip up but still not happy by how dismissive he was.

Luckily David wasn’t in the office when I dropped off my load for that day, as I wouldn’t have been able to speak to him as I felt my throat burning and know that if I would even say one word, I would lose total composure. As I lay the papers on the desk, the top sheet took longer to release from my hold; my hands had become clammy from anxiousness and could see the faint thumb print in the middle of the page.

It was a Friday so it was the usual girls weekend with Amanda, there was no one in the office who I really connected with to hang out with anyway, they would go out for drinks and dinners but I was already too tired of putting up my professional front in front of them at work. They may be comfortable with each other but once I let loose and be myself, I don’t think they would view me the same. Our personalities and views of the world are too different, and that conversation with Alex confirmed that for me.

Instead of taking the usual bus journey to Amanda’s home I called an Uber instead, the lump in my throat was getting bigger and the tears were welling up as I thought of my eight months in the publishers, all the comments, all the work, and then the poster situation which seemed to have triggered something within me. I was lucky that the Uber driver wasn’t talkative, the only thing that filled the silence was the radio, which was stationed on Capital FM, Drake was barely loud enough to cover the small sniffles I made to prevent my nose from running.

I walked up the steps to the first floor of the apartment building and rung the bell and of course as usual I heard Amanda’s feet slap the ground as she came running to the door. She swung it open, and she had a big smile, all teeth showing, her little gap was always the cutest and her hair was thrown in a messy bun. She threw her arms around me, and we swayed for a couple seconds, and still embraced we took a couple of steps into the house, I used my foot to close the door. This movement which was a totally normal interaction meant everything to me now and I sniffed. Amanda shifted back sharply knowing something was wrong. She looked into my eyes; her smile was gone: “Chichi what’s wrong?”

It only took that simple question to break me down. I felt bad that Amanda was so happy and smiling; I wish I could be as carefree as her. The tears which I managed to fight back earlier welled up and spilled, my face crumpled up and a small wail escaped my lips.

I shook my head when I remember that evening, it took hours for Amanda to calm me down, I never thought I would reach such a point of where I’d breakdown like that.

The Get Together

For the past few days, the ‘another day for black women’ hash tag was trending on twitter with Black women sharing their experiences of hate and trauma which have affected them. It was a Saturday night and Chichi and Amanda were scrolling through their twitter timelines.

“Oh my days Chichi, have you seen Sara’s tweet? It totally blew up” Amanda exclaimed. Chichi replied with “Mhm” in response, she was already reading the replies and quote tweets. Sara was a friend of theirs who was completing her last year of university studying International Relations and Politics at Durham, and as one of the only few Black people she has been treated unfairly as well as many ignorant people in her lectures questioning her on issues such as Black Lives Matter. Sara in the tweet was talking about her experience of when she got into a huge argument over the Black Lives Matter movement to which she attached a video of what happened and name dropped who was involved.

There were some other tweets which Chichi and Amanda resonated with too:

‘I realised that when in school people used to tell me that I would look so good with straight hair but now I realised how those type of comments made me begin to believe that straight hair was the only way I could look good instead of embracing my curls #anotherdayforbw’

‘My colleagues were discussing music and when I entered the I heard “oh Tiana’s here let’s ask her, she would know”, then proceeded to ask me a question on who the better rapper was: Kendrick Lamar or J Cole, both of which I have not listened to #anotherdayforbw’

As the two friends scrolled through the endless tweets, Amanda started to get fidgety, her fingers would tap furiously across the screen but then she’d pause, then she would tap furiously again. She sighed deeply and looked at Chichi.

“What’s wrong?” Chichi asked as she noticed Amanda’s frustrated face, her nose screwed up, her usual look of when something was bothering her.

Amanda sighed and replied, “I know you may not want to hear this but I think we should speak out too, we’ve both had a trash year and I know you don’t like to cause problems for yourself, but I’ve seen you breakdown before, and I don’t want to see that again” Amanda’s eyes which were now glossed over with tears were looking right into Chichi’s widened ones, who wasn’t expecting this serious tone.

Chichi knew she was referring to the breakdown which happened just the other week and understood that Amanda was just trying to help her heal and try to maybe reach out, you never know what could arise by sharing experiences.

She tapped the ‘new tweet’ icon and started to type “as someone who has anxiety and breakdowns I feel like I should share my experience in the work place, a place which I thought would give me a taste of my dream goal of being an editor and writer but it  wasn’t like that at all…”, at the same time Chichi was drafting her tweet Amanda also started tap away at her screen: “We women suffer so much, just the other day I was victim to sexual assault and also called “caramel”, I know the stigma against light skin and mixed women in our community but this stupid beauty standard puts pressure on me to look a certain way and all these men are almost watering at the mouth, it’s very creepy and uncomfortable…”

As soon as they both hit the tweet button, Amanda turned her phone on airplane mode, but Chichi turned her phone off completely, wanting to forget about the whole situation and focus on her time with Amanda.

It had been three hours and the girls had done face masks, eaten and a series of films, almost a perfect evening when Amanda told Chichi that they should check twitter to see if anyone responded.

Chichi took a deep breath as she turned her phone back on, as she entered her pass code and saw the Twitter icon had twenty plus notifications on the top left. Maybe only like one hundred people saw it, it shouldn’t be too bad, Chichi thought, but as she opened the app and saw her tweet, her face screwed up, thousands of people had already retweeted, liked and commented.

“Omg that’s horrible, they always assume things or comment stupid stuff at my workplace too…”
“That’s the harsh reality, we have to act like that to seem approachable…”

She smiled at some of the responses she received and that she wasn’t truly alone in her experiences, but as she scrolled further down she started seeing hate comments: “You always complain about racism, you’re honestly overreacting”

“No one asked you to do all that work, you brought it upon yourself”

There were even some comments which called Chichi racial slurs but she was expecting that, there would always be trolls no matter the situation but in a way she felt relief that she was able to get her voice heard. She was even surprised to see in her DMs some verified accounts of fellow Black writers showing their support, even some offering some advice and links on what she should do to share her own editing and writing skills and companies to approach.

For Amanda she got a couple hundred retweets and responses, most of which were of women sharing their assault stories too. A couple of accounts tried to troll by saying she was ‘asking for it’ or that it wasn’t his fault because the train was packed so could have been a mistake. The hateful comments which hit her the most were from a few black women themselves who said that she shouldn’t even be using the hash tag since she was not fully black so can never understand or relate to their experiences, that her light skin gives her more privilege. Amanda knew that her mixed heritage would cause some people to look down on her, but she still felt a feeling of uselessness and abandonment as the Black community who she grew up around were rejecting her. Chichi also saw the hate responses on Amanda’s tweet, clapping back at everyone she could find, “Ignore them, your experience is just as valid as anyone else’s, you’re a Black woman and you deserve to be heard!”

As soon as Chichi finished her sentence, she felt a buzz and Whatsapp messages from Torin’s Publishers group chat fill her notification bar, she had totally forgotten that her and some colleagues were following each other on Twitter so must have sent her tweet to the group. She clicked the notification to open the chat to reveal the messages:

“Chichi are you okay what’s this about?”

“When did this happen, I don’t understand where this is coming from”
“What is she on about? We didn’t do anything and she calls us racist.”

Chichi’s hands began to shake, realising what she had just done and how her job was now in jeopardy, David had not commented on anything, but the double blue ticks showed that everyone – including him – had seen the tweets shared in the group. She knew what she did was the right thing but all the attention she was getting was unexpected and overwhelming. Amanda noticed Chichi’s strained expression and took the phone from Chichi’s hand and turned it off, told Chichi to take deep breaths and rubbed her back until she calmed down again.

“Let’s just watch another film and sleep on it, we’ll worry about things in the morning, okay?” Amanda said in a soft tone to Chichi who had now calmed down.

Chichi replied “Cool, let’s sleep on it, I can’t be asked to deal with this right now.”

*

It was the next morning at 11:00 when Chichi received an email from Torin Publisher’s HR that stated that even though she did not mention the company, that her colleagues knew about it and it still paints a negative light on them, that if she felt uncomfortable at work that she should have reported it to them instead of spreading things on social media and as a result will be suspending her internship until proper investigations have been carried out which would determine whether they will keep her on or not.

Chichi read out the email to Amanda who said “So basically they’re saying your internship ends now without actually saying it, I hate this for you, you’ve worked so hard to get where you are but now this is happening, they act like they care but they don’t. They don’t deserve your contributions anyway!” Chichi laughed at her friend’s rant, but it dawned on her that she now had to call her mum about the whole situation which induced a new type of anxiety, she had some family on twitter and had a feeling her mum already knew about the tweets and reception. She wanted to call her but couldn’t bring herself to do it.

The hours went by as the two friends spent the day out shopping, trying to keep their problems at bay but they couldn’t pretend forever. At 4pm Chichi’s phone rang, she saw the caller ID which said ‘Nnem’ and immediately knew what was coming. “It’s her!” Chichi sighed in an exasperated tone and Amanda’s eyes grew wide, she also knew how harsh Chichi’s mother was.

Amanda tried to comfort Chichi, “She won’t be happy, but it’s not your fault that you were mistreated! I’m sure if you explain she’ll understand!” But Chichi wasn’t too sure, she knew her mum would not be happy at all, as the phone continued to ring Chichi left Amanda in the living room and into the bedroom to ready herself for the hounding she was about to receive. She sat down on the double bed and clicked ‘Accept Call’.

“Hello?” Chichi answered, there was no answer but she could hear breathing, “Hello, Mum?” Chichi asked again.

“Chichi” Her Mum said.

“Yes mum?” Chichi answered.

“Chichi” Her Mum called out again but this time louder.

“Yes mum?” Chichi answered once again.

“Chichi! How many times did I call your name? Do you want to disgrace this family? What is all this I see you talking about racism at work, you never mentioned anything like this to me before, so you want to lose your job yeah? Chai! So, this is how you want to be seen. You know they don’t like us here, you need to stop your complaining and go back to work or else you won’t amount to anything, I did not come to this country for you to do this nonsense! Chichi answer me what’s wrong with you?” Chichi’s mother shouted down the phone in a rush.

“Mum I couldn’t say anything! I had to speak my mind, there are so many Black women around the world that have experienced these things so it made sense for me to do it, if I told you, you would have said to ignore them and see it through until the end but I couldn’t take it. They found out about my tweets already and sent an email today saying not to come back until they’ve investigated the issue further.” Chichi’s response started firm but wavered at the end.

“Ehh what? Chichi, they did what? Chai! You see yourself now, you see what you have caused yourself? What will you do now? Won’t that be on your record, who will take you now?” Chichi’s mum exclaimed.

“It will be fine, I promise, I’ve received so much support from so many people, some even referring me to places where my skills and work will be truly appreciated. I know you’ve done so much for me Mum, but I have my own voice and I want to have control over what I want to do.” Chichi responded calmly.

There was a moment of silence between the mother and daughter, the heightened breath of her mother had now slowed down and Chichi’s palms were beginning to sweat, waiting patiently for her mother’s response.

Her mother broke the silence in a steady tone, “Chichi, I’m not happy about this, you know, but you’re an adult so I can’t tell you what you should do, I understand a little of your frustration but it’s something we Black women face every day. Do what you want, I am your mother so I will always love and support you, but don’t come to me if you end up in a worse position later because I have warned you now okay?”

“Yes Mum.” Was all Chichi could respond, she knew her Mum wouldn’t fully understand her actions but happy because she felt she developed a new connection with her.

Her mother sighed, “Okay ada, I’ll speak to you later, love you”

“Okay Mum, love you too, bye” Chichi replied and heard the phone hang up. She dropped the phone on the bed and wiped her damp hands on her thighs, and rotated her right wrist, noticing that it had been tense whilst holding the phone. She inhaled and exhaled deeply, thinking of all the things she had to sort out, but today she was going to enjoy some peace during her storm with Amanda, who had approached the bedroom as she heard that Chichi had stopped talking. Both friends whose voices had been shared and heard by many, linked arms and walked to the kitchen to make food, leaving their worries for another day.