She loved the UK, she really did: lunch at Towpath Cafe, a Tube carriage full of passengers ignoring a mad person talk about the Bible, Lahore Kebab House, Falcon Enamelware, Stormzy at Glastonbury in a Union Jack stab-vest, Popbitch, and the Cazalets.
But now these tin-pot chumps were breathlessly livestreaming their own slow-motion societal collapse, pausing only to zoom in on Boris Johnson’s new rescue dog, Dilyn, who (trembling) was being carried into Number Ten in a see-through pet bag.
“A puppy?” Anne said. “How can a puppy that young be a rescue?”
Well, Coralie didn’t have anything on until Montessori pickup at three thirty. And she couldn’t give birth until after Zora started secondary the next day. And Sally had just made her buttery toast with marmalade. She tucked her feet up on the sofa, took a sip of her tea, and relaxed to enjoy the show.
•••
For her firstday at Camden Girls, Zora wore a white broderie-anglaise nightie she’d bought on eBay using her birthday money, and a generic black M&S school blazer from a charity shop. Underneath, for modesty, she had a white T-shirt and black bike shorts. On her feet were white socks and the very scuffed Doc Martens she’d worn throughout Year 6 as school shoes. Her hair was tied back, Lucy Honeychurch–style, with a black grosgrain ribbon. At BartholomewRoad, Marina, Tom, Rupert (aged four), Adam, Anne, Daniel, and Madonna (and Coralie) all assembled at 8:15 to see her off.
“And Florence sent this for you,” Coralie said. “Sally’s taken her to nursery.”
It was a drawing of two smiling balls on sticks.
Zora studied it tenderly. “Is that us?”
“I think so,” Coralie said. “She’s not very gifted.”
“Coralie!” Tom protested.
“Inthatarea!”
“Zora.” Marina put her coffee cup in the sink. “Are you sure you don’t want to wear something normal?”
Daniel gasped. “Don’t listen, Zora. What do you think, Madonna?”
“There’s no such thing as normal,” he made the poodle say in a funny voice.
“Well, there is,” Tory Tom said. “It’s me, and things that I like. But you’re not normal, Zora, you’re far too special.”
“She’s far too beautiful,” Adam said.
“Stop!” Zora covered her ears. “Cringe!”
Coralie waved her phone. “Where will we do the photos? We need some natural light.”
“Come onto the stairs,” Marina said. “Out the front.”
They did Zora by herself; then Zora with Rup; then Zora with Marina and Adam; then with Tom as well, and Coralie. (Daniel took that one.) Then Zora with Anne, and Zora with Anne and Adam. Finally, they did Zora on her own with Madonna in her lap. More and more girls walked past, streaming toward the school.
“This is actually getting embarrassing,” Zora said. “And the whole point of secondary is that I go to school alone.”
“Not on your first day,” Marina said.
“Yeson my first day!” She descended the stairs, looking like a child one second and an ancient, intimidating queen the next.
How could this be? Zora Whiteman going to secondary school? Tears were forming in Coralie’s eyes. Marina was openly crying.
“Stop growing up!” Anne said.
They all watched silently as she walked to the end of the street.
Marina sniffed. “Is she not going to turn around?”
Zora turned, waved, then disappeared.
Tom put his arm around Marina and punched Adam softly on the shoulder. “You did it.”
