Chapter 6
6
‘I cannot believe you ran into Wale on that call. I would have loved to have seen your face.’ Using the back of her foot, Shona closes the door behind her, shutting out the loud sounds of her mum and sister speaking in Lingala in the living room. She hands me one of the two bowls of madesu – a popular Congolese dish made with cannellini beans, palm oil and tomato sauce.
‘Honestly, I’m still in shock.’
Shona lifts the back of her long, purple braids before lowering herself gently on to her bed. She pulls them over one shoulder. Her room is small but cosy. It’s full of plants, candles and wall memorabilia from the music events she’s helped organize: crumpled-up tickets, wristbands, stickers and photographs.
‘Is it bad that I wish I was more made-up?’ I take a big inhale of the madesu’s different spices. ‘By the way, this smells divine.’
‘Can’t take any credit,’ she says. ‘All Mumsy. And no. Every girl wants to see their ex when they’re looking like a baddie. But you, my friend, are lucky. You have great skin.’ With a wink, she blows over her spoon and I give her a faint smile. ‘So, how you feeling?’
Words can’t even describe.
‘I feel …’ I push air through pursed lips. ‘And I literally saw him on TV yesterday! You were right, Shon. He got roasted on the reunion. The women he played were not having it.’
‘And rightly so!’ Shona cries. ‘Look, he deserves every smoke for ending things the way he did. You been on The Tea Lounge recently? He’s catching heat there as well.’
I pull out my phone and jump straight to The Tea Lounge: the go-to Instagram page for daily celebrity news – well, for many Black Brits. And I use the word ‘news’ lightly here, as the page is basically just an accumulation of pictures, Tweets and Insta Stories that the bloggers behind the account repost with the aim of getting a reaction from as many people as humanly possible.
My eyes are instantly drawn to a still.
THE VILLA STAR WALE PARTNERS WITH CARERS CHARITY TO HOST GALA
Okay, this was not the controversial post I was expecting.
Underneath the headline is Wale’s cast member photo from The Villa . He’s standing in front of a bubblegum-pink backdrop in blue beach shorts with his bottom lip sucked in – I think he was attempting a sexy smile. He’s also topless … Unhelpful.
I swipe to the next pic – a screenshot taken from Wale’s Instagram Story … posted three days ago, it seems. He has his arm draped over a friendly-looking, middle-aged woman with straw-blonde hair and lots of gold rings.
Ecstatic to announce that I’ll be partnering with ACE to organise their first charity fundraising gala on 21st September!
I hiss. Seriously, this guy is doing anything to salvage his reputation! First his memoir, now this! I scroll down and skim the comments – a never-ending stream of people not afraid to express their opinions. There is clearly a divide between those who are outraged at his girl-hopping antics and those who see his character on the show as just pure entertainment.
davethedon This guy carried this year’s season on his back!
pattycakestrina Boy, bye! You’re clearly only doing this to save face! #WaleIsTrash #JusticeForKelechi
ruthiep The most iconic Love Villa contestant ever
lexijordan08 For charity?! LMAO Like ‘mental health’, charity is the new buzzword (rolls eyes)
I scroll and scroll and scroll. Many are not buying his altruism, even though Wale has been affiliated with ACE charity since before he went on the show. It’s weird seeing complete strangers tear apart the person you once loved. I wonder how his new fame is affecting his mental health, affecting his family. Despite everything, I really do hope he’s doing okay.
‘Quick question.’ Shona pulls me out of my thoughts. She scrapes her spoon into her bowl and pops it into her mouth. She makes a loud sucking sound. ‘Do you think it was purely coincidental? You bumping into Wale?’
‘Go on.’
She puts her bowl down and then tugs on one of the drawstrings of her leopard-print hoodie. ‘Think about it,’ she says. ‘Wale knows you write. He knows you have ghostwriting experience. He knows who your agent is.’
‘So, what are you trying to suggest? That he recommended me? Mayee said she put my name forward …’
She shrugs. ‘Yeah, but maybe he told his agent to approach your agent.’ She pinches her bottom lip with her fingers and then, after a short ponder, she says, ‘Do you think he’s trying to reconnect?’
I belly laugh. She clearly doesn’t know Wale as well as I do. ‘Wale wouldn’t do that,’ I say with absolute certainty. ‘The man struggles to have conversations where he’s forced to be direct about his feelings. Besides, he had no way of knowing that I would even go for it.’
‘True.’ Suddenly, Shona bursts into a fit of giggles. ‘Oh gosh. What if you do get the job? Would you take it? Twenty K is a lot of money.’
I stare at her square in the eye. ‘I am not getting that job. I don’t even have enough experience. And please, why would Wale want to work with me? The same person he said he couldn’t trust?’
The memory of our break-up sends me into a quiet mull. Shona doesn’t notice – she’s pouring her glass of water into the soil of a peace lily. Shona is a dedicated plant mum.
‘No offence, hun,’ she says, moving on to water what looks like a mini palm tree. ‘But you really know how to pick them. Between Seth and Wale, I don’t know who’s worse.’
I met Seth when I was fourteen; he was seventeen. We dated for about a year. On the low.
When we moved to Orpington, a suburb in Greater London, my parents sent me to Jeffrey Moore – an independent private school. I was the only Black girl in my year group. And since I didn’t want to be known as ‘that fat Black girl’, I decided that every day I would wear a different pair of glasses. I wore thick ones, sparkly ones, multicoloured ones, smart ones. I much preferred to be known as ‘that glasses girl’.
And one day, it actually worked. I was waiting at the bus stop when a familiar-looking boy with a Jack-from- Titanic -inspired haircut tapped me on my shoulder.
‘Oi, I know you,’ he said animatedly. ‘You’re that girl who changes her glasses all the time. You go to Jeffrey Moore.’
For the first time in a long time, I felt seen.
I don’t know how Seth and I went from exchanging small smiles when we crossed each other in the corridors to hooking up in his tinted-window sports car after school, but things between us progressed quickly. Because of my age, Seth told me we had to keep our relationship a secret. As far as his parents were concerned, he was my maths tutor. It was the only lie he could think of that would allow us to spend some time together at his house.
From very early on, I noticed that Seth’s parents acted off around me. They gave me tight smiles and promptly fluffed their cushions anytime I got up. Whenever Seth offered me some biscuits, they watched me as if they were counting how many I took, and they were visibly surprised when they heard that I didn’t attend Jeffrey Moore on scholarship.
Anytime one of these subtle incidents would happen, I would lock eyes with Seth, hoping he would do something about it – if not in front of his parents, at least in private. But he never spoke up. It was like he was completely oblivious.
Then one afternoon, as I walked round the back to come in, I overheard Seth and his parents in the garden. They were concerned about how many hours he was spending tutoring me – after all, I wasn’t paying him.
‘She’s not your girlfriend, is she?’ said his mum, as if the very possibility was horrific.
Seth couldn’t reply fast enough. ‘What?! Hell no! Who do you take me for? Look, she doesn’t have that many friends at school. I feel sorry for the girl, okay.’
To this day, I wish I had burst through the gate. I wish I had told Seth and his parents what I really thought of them. That they were rude, snobby, fat-phobic racists – yeah, that would have really got them clutching their pearls.
Instead, I retreated from the gate and cried all the way home.
Later that evening, I dumped Seth over the phone. Apparently, he panicked when his parents came close to the truth. He was blindsided; he didn’t know how to react or what to say. He apologized; said he was a knobhead but agreed that it was best we go our separate ways. After all, once summer was over, he would be off to uni.
For a long time after our break-up, I struggled to connect the Seth I thought I knew to the Seth in the garden. Did he really keep our relationship a secret because of my age or was it because of what I looked like? It’s been roughly seven years, and still, I haven’t gotten over the trauma.
‘C’mon, Shona. Wale wasn’t all bad.’ I shove my thoughts of Seth into a dusty corner. ‘Hey! You even said you liked the guy, remember? And he was thoughtful. Funny. Encouraging.’
‘Yeah, I guess he did support you loads with your writing. Oh –’ Her face softens. ‘I’m so sorry about … you know.’
The sudden reminder of Wildest Dreams brings up the gut-wrenching sting of rejection that I’ve been trying so hard not to relive, to the point where seeing Wale again was a welcome distraction. But Shona is looking at me kindly, and I can feel the tears start to well. Heart burning, I focus on shovelling food into my mouth, my eyes fixed firmly on my bowl. But the more spoonfuls I take, the more fragile I become. Eventually, I crumble.
‘Ohhh, hun.’ Shona scooches closer and thrusts an arm over me.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say between snuffles. ‘It’s just … so shit. I worked bloody hard on that book.’
‘I know.’ She tilts her head against mine, rubs small circles on my back and tells me everything will be okay.
‘And if worse comes to worst,’ she adds, her thumb brushing away a stray tear, ‘you can always send Mayee your other book.’
I frown before realizing what she’s talking about. ‘Now that ,’ I say with a laugh, ‘would be the ultimate payback.’