2

2 Carole stands quietly at the noisy after-party in a far corner of the room along with the other bankers and funders who, like her, look out of place in their smart business attire when the room is full of weirdly dressed arty types slobbering all over each other this isn't her milieu at all so she declined Freddy's invitation to 'do the rounds and get to know the lesbian thespians' he's working his way through the crowd, tie removed, shirt loosened, hair flopping about, charming everyone he meets from what she can tell, leaving them chuckling at his repartee before he waltzes off to the next person who's going to be impressed with him instead of upper-class reserve, Freddy exudes upper-class confidence, along with a bashful boyishness that endears him to people of all backgrounds she wishes she had his effortless social skills Carole had been intrigued by the play, set in Benin, although as she knew little about Nigeria, her parents' homeland, and had never been, she knew

even less about its neighbour it wasn't her fault, any close relatives were dead, according to her mother, having lost both her parents young, it made it difficult for her to return her mother was never going to be one of those West African matrons one sees at airports who arrive with a trolley-full of excess baggage and get into arguments at check-in complaining the scales are wrong when clearly the scales are right Carole is curious to visit Nigeria, hasn't been sent there for work yet, her desire to act on it isn't a priority at the moment, she'll take her mother back one day, maybe with Kofi for support, Freddy too Carole loves Kofi, he's perfect for her mother it was so odd seeing a stage full of black women tonight, all of them as dark or darker than her, a first, although rather than feel validated, she felt slightly embarrassed if only the play was about the first black woman prime minister of Britain, or a Nobel prize-winner for science, or a self-made billionaire, someone who represented legitimate success at the highest levels, instead of lesbian warriors strutting around and falling for each other during the interval at the bar she noticed a few members of the white audience looking at her differently from when they'd all arrived in the lobby earlier, much more friendly, as if she was somehow reflected in the play they were watching and because they approved of the play, they approved of her there were also more black women in the audience than she'd seen at any other play at the National at the interval she studied them with their extravagant head-ties, chunky earrings the size of African sculptures, voodoo-type necklaces of beads, bones, leather pouches containing spells (probably), metal bangles as thick as wrist weights, silver rings so large their wingspan spread over several fingers she kept getting the black sisterhood nod, as if the play somehow connected them together the thought crossed her mind it might be the black lesbian sisterhood nod, she scrutinized them more closely, guessed many of them could be lesbians, even the ones wearing head-ties were wearing very practical shoes

was this a predominantly gay gathering she found herself in? she stopped making eye contact and grabbed hold of Freddy's arm who took it a bit too far and nuzzled her neck now, just as she's mentally preparing herself to dive in and drag Freddy away from the party, a woman walks towards her whom she hasn't seen in – how long? oh crap! oh double crap! it's Mrs King she hasn't seen her since she left school at eighteen what on earth is she doing here? meanwhile Shirley is astounded to see her protégé on the other side of the room, barely recognizable, it's none other than Carole Williams without thinking she gravitates towards her leaving Lennox and Lakshmi to continue enthusing about the jazz Lakshmi plays that Lennox likes enough to attend her concerts, which Shirley can't stand as she makes her way through the crowd, she's astonished to see that Carole is no longer a grubby child but elegant, beautiful, refined, even from a distance it must have worked out for her then Shirley feels a suppressed fury rise like bile up her windpipe 'keep in touch, Carole, I want to know how you get on, you can call on me at any time for support' – the ungrateful child had done nothing of the sort Carole is wearing a peach-coloured skirt suit and tasteful pearls, both look expensively genuine, her hair is straightened into a ballerina bun, her make-up is perfectly understated, she's much slimmer than she'd been as a teenager and appears taller in high heels Shirley feels frumpier than usual (which is saying something), even though she's wearing her new polka-dot dress from John Lewis, tied (very) loosely at the waist and done up with a nice bow at the neck Mrs King, Carole exclaims, extending her hand rather regally

you must call me Shirley, Carole, it's Shirley Carole's accent is barely recognizable, practically aristocratic, her perfume is fragrant, everything about her is polished it turns out she's a banker in the City, Shirley expects nothing less from this vision of success before her, she's here with her husband, Freddy, over there, his family are shareholders in a company that sponsors the theatre, although between you and me, this play isn't my sort of thing at all, Carole says nor mine, Shirley replies, feeling she's betraying Amma by not raving about the play along with everyone else in the room (unless they're all faking it, as luvvies are wont to do) she herself would have loved to boast in the staff room about her friend's play at the National, but she can hardly do that when it's about lesbians how are you keeping? Carole asks, you must be retired, I expect not at all, I'm not that old, still teaching, for my sins, at the same insane asylum which has escaped compulsory closure many times, as you might have heard, yes, still there, still bringing on the next generation of prostitutes, drug dealers and crackheads Shirley throws back her head in a guffaw expecting Carole to join in, who instead looks aghast, prompting Shirley to offer up a cheery, corrective smile to give the impression of not being em-bittered I'm still mentoring the most able children, she says quickly, brightly, still rescuing those who have potential (and because she can't help herself), those who need my dedicated help over many years to set them on the road to success there's an awkward pause during which Shirley feels a menopausal flush drown her face in sweat, dammit, not now, she should never have had a drink, a trigger, if she mops her face up with a tissue, she'll smear the make-up across it and look like a madwoman what on earth must Carole think? Carole tries to hide her discomfort at Mrs King's passive aggressiveness, she wishes Freddy would whisk her away, the woman's sweating like a pig, which is a bit odd, is she nervous? Mrs King had exerted such power over Carole, it felt abusive

now here she is, a bit older, greyer, fatter, although it's hard to tell because from a child's perspective all adults are old and fat therein follows a silence so long it becomes excruciatingly embarrassing, both women grimace at each other Shirley breaks it, well, nice to see you after all this time, Carole yes, nice to see you, too, Carole replies, and looks into Mrs King's eyes, expecting a devilish glint, instead they're watery, is she upset? she looks sad, hurt, does Mrs King actually have feelings? it dawns on Carole that she's always thought of Mrs King through a haze of teenage rage, yet the woman was probably only trying her best, she just didn't go about it in the right way Carole doesn't want to upset the woman, not now, yet she seems to have done just that, she needs to make amends I know it's rather late in the day, Mrs King, I mean Shirley, I'm not sure I ever thanked you for your help when I was at school, well, better late than never, huh! the huh wasn't intentional, Carole couldn't help herself don't be silly, Shirley replies, you've absolutely nothing to thank me for, I did what I could to help you along, never in a million years did I expect or even want to be thanked, it was my pleasure, more than that, it was my duty as a conscientious teacher, I was just doing my job and it makes me happy that it worked out for you, that's thanks enough in my book Carole sees that the watery eyes have become actual tears, it dawns on her that Mrs King really did help her when nobody else could or would, how could she have not realized this until now? Mrs King takes a step backwards, embarrassed by her vulnerability, Carole suspects I must fetch my husband or we'll miss the last train home, school tomorrow, Year 9, the worst, goodbye, Carole, it was lovely to bump into you.