Hull
HULL
Shirin is back in , at her dad’s house, in her old bedroom. The single bed feels smaller than it used to, and when she tried to sleep last night, her body kept sliding off the edge. So she slept with her back pressed up against the wall, and it was bizarrely comforting. Her phone pings constantly with messages from Mariam or her former colleagues, updating her on news articles covering the walkout.
The walkout wasn’t exactly front-page news, but it did feature on some online news sites. The Bookseller had it on their home page, with a picture of Mariam and Shirin holding their placards high and proud, with the headline
HOFFMAN EMPLOYEES WALK OUT FOLLOWING ROB GRAYSON ACQUISITION
Shirin wrote a long feature article about the protest, about publishing prominent fascists in general, for HuffPost . It went viral. Shirin’s DMs are flooded with people writing to convey their support for her, as well as people who think she is scum and should go back to her country if she doesn’t like it here. She responds to the latter by either liking their messages or taking screenshots and posting them to her feed with no caption. One of the people writing the vile messages works for American Express and people are calling for his employer to sack him.
The actual events during the protest were a blur. Now, when she tries to recall it, she can only remember snapshots. Like the sheer size of the crowd. People she had seen in the kitchen, who she never thought would care enough about something like this, stood among them, shouting even louder than Shirin and Mariam, waving placards Mariam had made saying DROP ROB GRAYSON . Another colleague’s sign said WHY ARE YOU PUBLISHING A RACIST? Ross had a megaphone—though it is unclear where he got it from—and he was shouting, “To the left, to the left, send Rob packing!” It didn’t quite have the ring to it that he thought it would, but they went along with it anyway.
Passersby, mainly tourists and office workers around London Bridge, stopped and observed. Some held their cameras up to video the protest. Southern and Thameslink staff occasionally came out of London Bridge to join in the chanting, too.
Shirin had never been to a protest before, let alone been at the front of one. She had always wanted to, but something about being so present in a crowd had made her nervous. With Mariam by her side, though, her nerves were alleviated, and the power and rage of the group radiated within her and propelled her to continue.
Two days after the walkout she informed her landlady that she’d be leaving her flat and told her to keep her deposit in lieu of her month’s notice. A van and a storage unit were booked, all her stuff quickly boxed up and moved.
She isn’t sure why she didn’t leave sooner. Both Hoffman and her flat. Once she changed one thing in her life, it was surprisingly easy to let everything else go. Lilian responded to her email resignation with a simple That seems best.
And that had been it. Shirin knows Hoffman Books will swiftly replace her with another person of color, eager for a chance to shine in the industry they love, and the cycle will no doubt continue.
In the middle of the day, when Karen and her dad have gone out for a walk, Shirin is watching daytime TV. She is surprised by how different she feels now. She did not realize the weight of everything she was carrying. Though she still feels a sense of emptiness, like without all the heaviness from before, she is realizing how unfulfilled she is. Her medication is working at least, and she is trying out the mindfulness app that she rolled her eyes at when both Kian and her doctor had recommended it. She switches the channel to watch Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? and spends the day blocking trolls from her social media accounts.
Phoebe pops round later that afternoon. Shirin’s dad and Karen are back in the house, and earlier Karen made a pointed comment about Shirin staying in their house. “How long do you think you’ll be here for then?” She was unpacking her Asda shopping, huffing each time she lifted one of the bags from the floor to the kitchen table to sort the groceries into the cupboards. Shirin had offered to help, but Karen had told her to not be silly and that she wouldn’t know where anything went anyway. Shirin wanted to say that actually, she’d lived in this house longer than Karen had. That the kitchen looks exactly the same as it did when she was a child. The cabinets white and shiny, the countertop black marble.
“Not long, just until I can find a new job.”
“Right, okay, love,” Karen had said, and continued unpacking. Shirin had gone into the living room to find that her dad had changed the channel to Sky Sports. He lay on the sofa like he had when her mum was here, his bare feet dangling off the end.
Now Phoebe is standing by the front door, and Shirin takes her keys from the side table and goes out with her. They go for a walk, which reminds her of being fifteen again, and how they’d meet halfway between their houses and go on long walks, stopping off at the takeaway to get cheesy chips to share. She always imagined that when she was an adult she would feel so different—like she had her shit together and knew what she was doing. It’s rare she says this aloud, because she cringes at people talking online about how hard “adulting” is, but she has to agree: it is hard. You never really feel like an adult, and now she has reverted to being a teenager, living in her single bedroom, in her hometown, jobless.
Last night she retrieved one of her old journals from when she was in sixth form, from a shoebox at the back of her wardrobe. Recurring among the pages was Kian’s name. She wrote of how she longed to message him again but thought he wouldn’t want her to, convincing herself that it was better, easier, that they didn’t speak. She relates to her younger self now, thinking the same thing eleven years later: that she misses him, that she wishes he was here, that things were different.
“So you just quit then?” Phoebe asks her now, as they cross the road. Anlaby Road is a long stretch. They’re doing the walk Shirin used to do to go to primary school and, if they walked even farther along, secondary school.
“Yeah,” she says.
It’s hard to talk to Phoebe now—they are detached from each other. It’s a sad feeling, losing a friend. Their conversation is stilted. There is a gulf between them, though she isn’t sure if Phoebe even recognizes why this is. The heat wave is over and it’s feeling like March again, though the trees are gaining leaves; spring is on its way. Shirin wraps her arms around herself, hoping that doing so will insulate her body heat within her jacket. Phoebe is wearing a thin blazer, like it’s not chilly. Perhaps it is the true northerner in her that means she can take it.
“Aren’t you meant to be at work?” Shirin asks. It’s Tuesday afternoon.
“I’m ‘working from home.’” With her fingers, Phoebe puts air quotes around the words. “And I wanted to see you. I’m sorry I didn’t pop round on the weekend. I was at a friend’s hen do.”
Shirin shrugs and says, “That’s all right.”
At Shirin’s resigned tone, Phoebe gives her a pointed look. “What’s up with you? Things are weird—you’re not talking as much.”
“The last few weeks have been a lot,” Shirin says.
Phoebe makes a guttural sound, a cross between a sigh and urgh . Shirin looks up and, rather than appear annoyed, as she imagined Phoebe would look, sadness crosses her face. “I’ve been thinking about the café, and I feel really weird about it. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just sort of snapped. If it’s any consolation, I was on my period. But sometimes you make everything about you. And I really do think you need to let go of the past. I’m not saying this to be a dick—I’m saying it as a friend.”
It takes Shirin a moment to replay Phoebe’s words in her head. Back then, she would have nodded along, murmured something like Yeah, okay, because Phoebe had apologized at least. But Shirin has been through too much now. She is not the fifteen-year-old girl who longs for a better future, accepting bad treatment, even if it’s masked as something else. It’s one thing to let go of the past, but to do so you need to accept it, not flippantly brush it away as Phoebe always encourages her to do.
“Phoebe, with all due respect, this is not okay,” she says through gritted teeth. Her legs continue walking, though they stop when Phoebe’s do.
“What?”
“I’ve given you so many chances now, but you’re not a good friend to me. Or maybe we just aren’t good friends to each other. I was bullied, abused, and you were there while it happened, and you are gaslighting me by pretending none of it was real, that I have no right to be upset.”
“No—”
“Yes. This isn’t up for debate. My experiences aren’t up for debate, and never will be.”
It is that easy. She turns and leaves Phoebe standing there, her mouth slightly open in shock. By the time Shirin is back home, she feels a peace that comes from knowing she likely won’t see Phoebe again. She will not call or text her and they will lose contact. She’s realized she is a different person from the one she was as a teenager, and it’s unrealistic to expect their relationship to continue after all this time. That’s the thing about friendships—they don’t all last forever, and that is okay. Or, as they say on Twitter, ending a friendship needs to be normalized. When she is with people like Mariam—and Kian—Shirin feels so good afterward, like she has been heard and supported. It has taken her a while to realize that with Phoebe, that isn’t the case. They are only friends because they always have been, and if they met as adults, they would never choose to be. She goes straight to her bedroom and sends Mariam a voice note about what happened.
Mariam’s voice note back says, “The excuse about being on her period… that is a tired and, to be honest, very weird excuse. When we’re on our periods, we don’t become monsters. I’m sorry you went through that on top of everything else. You deserve better—and good on you, for standing up for yourself.”
Shirin replies, thanking Mariam for everything, truly, because without Mariam she sees that her life would have been much darker.
She knows she could have been a better friend to Phoebe, but similarly, Phoebe could have been a better friend to her. Maybe that’s the point. The fact that they weren’t is a sign that they’re not meant to be, and that’s fine. Now, though, in getting her friendships in order, she needs to speak to Hana.
While Shirin would rather throw herself out of a moving car than deal with confrontation, she knows she needs to have this conversation with Hana. Once you focus on sorting out your life, it becomes addictive.
It is almost midnight. Her dad and Karen went to bed not long ago, and she’s migrated from her bedroom to the living room. In her room she had just done a dua for Maman Bozorg using a book Mariam gave her, which lists different prayers. It is a comfort, even if she has to speak the English translation. Keeping Up with the Kardashians is on in the sitting room, and Shirin is inspired by Kourtney’s confrontation with Khloé about something minor. They argue, but then they hug and there is a segment about how family is family, and how Khloé didn’t realize she had hurt Kourtney.
Shirin messages Hana:
Are you free to talk?
Hana sees the message and then Shirin’s phone is ringing, and the profile picture she saved for Hana flashes on her screen. Hana is only nineteen in the picture, and it was when they went to Greenwich Park for the first time, the background showcasing summer and the succulent green grass. It seems a much simpler time, though it didn’t feel that way in the moment.
“Hello?”
“What’s up? Is everything okay?” Hana says.
Shirin shuts her eyes tightly, which makes what she says next feel marginally less difficult. “I feel like we’re not close anymore.”
“What are you—”
“I’ve been feeling hurt because you seem to have all these new friends who you prefer to hang out with instead of me. Which is fine, but then you say we’re best friends and always want to reminisce about the past, and it makes no sense to me. I’ve been struggling lately, and I never wanted to say it, but I think I really needed you. And I don’t want us to just continue drifting.”
Hana doesn’t say anything for a moment, and Shirin holds her breath, forcing herself not to fill the silence that follows by backtracking to avoid the awkwardness. Down the phone, she can hear Hana sigh.
“Shirin, that’s not it at all. I really am sorry about your nan. I didn’t realize you needed me. But about you thinking I don’t want to hang out with you—that’s not it at all. I…” Hana pauses, like she isn’t sure how to say what she wants to say next, until she blurts it all out. “I’ve been feeling really shit lately. I didn’t want you to see that side of me. You seemed to be doing so well in your job, and everyone seems to have their shit together. And, of course, they do, as we’re nearly thirty. But I don’t. I was hanging out with people that I thought would help me get a job in fashion or something, and I’m not going to lie—I got caught up in their lifestyle. But I do miss you, Shirin. I miss us. You can tell me when you’re annoyed at me. I’d rather that than you pretending we’re okay when we’re not.”
“I miss you, too. And I’m sorry, as well. I think everything has been so much that I let us drift apart and I didn’t let you know how I was feeling sooner. I find it hard saying how I’m really feeling, but I know we should be able to tell each other. To clarify, though, I don’t have my shit together. And we’re not nearly thirty. God! We have three years left—and it’s not like we’ll drop dead after we hit thirty anyway. It’s simply a new phase of our lives.”
Hana lets out a small chuckle. Then Shirin tells Hana exactly how her life isn’t put together. She tells her everything. Of course Hana knew she was part of the protest, but she didn’t know of Shirin’s close connection to Rob Grayson. She wasn’t made aware that he was the same Rob from Shirin’s school that she had told her about. Shirin unfairly expects Hana to derive some glee from this, some camaraderie that things aren’t going well, but instead Hana says, “Fuck, I’m sorry, Shirin.”
It seems Shirin didn’t give her friend enough credit, and that’s on her.
They spend the next hour catching each other up properly on their lives. Millie has offered Hana a PR assistant role at her company, which she plans to take. “I think I romanticized having a dream job,” she says.
“I know what you mean. I definitely did that too.”
“Like, can a job really be the dream? You’re still working.”
“Yeah. Like, my dream is to not work and live a life of luxury,” Shirin says.
“ Exactly . And I need to let uni go, I know. It just felt like the time in which everyone was equal, and now I’ve found myself falling behind everyone. It’s embarrassing.”
“It’s not embarrassing, Hana. There isn’t one set path in life, and that’s okay. You’re still objectively the coolest person at every party, I hope you know.”
“I mean I do know that, but thanks for vocalizing it.”
Shirin can hear the smile in Hana’s voice, which makes her own lips perk up too.
The phone call is cut short when Karen comes into the living room to tell her to keep it down. Despite Karen’s steely expression, Shirin feels weightless after speaking to Hana. She is almost giddy that she has her friend back, that she was able to say everything she felt and be heard.
This moment with Hana—and with Phoebe—marks a change in all her relationships. She has been so scared of telling people how she really feels, of calling them out on the things that they’ve done that hurt her, of opening herself up for them to do the same to her. But now she thinks she values herself enough to do that. She’s realized that if she does not set the precedent for her relationships, and what she will and won’t accept, then she will never have the kinds of relationships she truly wants. She always wanted to avoid confrontation, she thinks, because it was easier to be quiet at school. It meant you were not seen and were less likely to be picked on that day. But actually, confrontation is important. It is part of a healthy life, like eating kale. You might not like it at first, but it’s good for you in the long run—and you might end up quite liking the taste, once you’re used to it. She hopes so anyway.