After the incident, Nicky advised Precious and Tabitha to get some counseling. “You’ve just experienced something very traumatic. You’ll need help to process it all.”
Precious was reluctant, being naturally averse to talking about her feelings, but she agreed to go and see someone who Nicky recommended. She spoke to him about being up on the roof with Tabitha and Robert, feeling the tremors becoming more and more pronounced, the building moving beneath her feet, the timbers giving way, all her plant pots cascading out of sight.
What she didn’t tell the counselor was how exhilarating she had found the experience. She was worried that it would make her sound callous: people died that night. But, in some ways, it had been spectacular; the most alive she had ever felt.
It wasn’t clear what had caused the building to fall into the earth. There was talk of a sinkhole. Other people mentioned the construction of Crossrail, and the subsidence of listed buildings. Precious had argued vociferously that the building had collapsed because dozens of rowdy men in riot gear suddenly ran through it hitting people over the heads, and although it wasn’t a particularly convincing argument, it was politically savvy. Precious has to be politically savvy these days. At first all the activists only wanted her to run for the council, but now they’re being more ambitious. After the building collapsed, she received even more attention than before, and now her profile has soared.
It is the spring equinox, and bird song has been more noticeable these last few weeks. Precious can hear it now, the sharp, twinkling treble cutting through the low hum of traffic. It is the first day of the public inquiry and she and Tabitha will head over to Westminster in a couple of hours. Some lawyers have become involved (on a pro bono basis) and the press will be there too. Precious has prepared a statement. She runs through it in her head as she holds the baby, keeping her soft skin shielded from the sun.
Nicky comes out onto the patio. She is dressed but her curly hair is wet. She is holding a comb and a bottle of serum. She tilts her head to the side, squeezes a drop of gloopy liquid from the bottle, and rubs it into her hair then uses the comb to tease out tangles.
“You’ve got the baby-wearing down, I see.”
Precious smiles, but the baby hears her mother’s voice and gurgles.
“Just let me do my hair,” Nicky says, “I’ll take her from you in a sec.”
Precious holds her little finger next to the baby’s mouth, hoping to tempt her for a second time, but now that her mum, and the possibility of milk, is nearby, there is no settling her. The gurgle soon becomes a plaintive cry, and Nicky hurriedly readies herself. Precious unwraps the fabric, and Nicky turns away as her mother-in-law reveals skin.
Precious smiles. “Sorry, love, I’ve never been private about my body and I forget that other people are. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”
“No, no, no, it’s fine,” Nicky insists, turning back around to make a point, though looking everywhere but at Precious. She takes the child.
“I’m guessing you’re more shy about your body,” Precious says as she picks up her bra and slips her arms into each of the loops.
“You could say that. I’ve always been a bit of a prude. I get nervous when it comes to nudity. Don’t know why. I’m one of those women who use the little separate cubicles in the changing room at the swimming pool.”
“Ah, you’re one of those! I’ve always wondered who those cubicles were for.”
“I assume you are fine with getting naked in front of everyone.”
Precious laughs. “Well, I’m not one of those who parades around, checking out my own arse in the mirror, but yeah, I’m totally fine with stripping off in front of other people.” Then she says, “It’s sort of, you know, part of the job.”
Nicky smiles awkwardly, then looks at Precious, who is now fully clothed. She opens her mouth as if she is about to say something but doesn’t.
Precious has enjoyed getting to know Nicky better. The pair of them have long chats while sitting out here on the patio, or while on walks with Connie, and now with the new baby too. Nicky was never shown how to cook when she was growing up, so Precious has been teaching her these last few months. Tabitha offers contradictory advice from her seat at the kitchen table while she completes the crossword or a number puzzle.
Precious has also been getting to know her sons. Perhaps unconsciously, she has always thought of them as wandering, somewhat wayward, portions of herself, rather than as men in their own right. Now, Marcus is slowly revealing himself to her, and Ashley too, to a lesser extent, when he comes over at the weekend to watch football on his brother’s Sky Sports pass. From the sofa, she and Tabitha and Nicky ask deliberately annoying questions while Marcus and Ashley sit on the floor, cross-legged or knees up in front of them with their arms looped around. The pair have sat like this since they were children—as close to the telly as possible.
On the bus to Westminster, there is only room to stand, and Precious holds on to the pole with a hand that becomes clammier, and tighter, as the journey progresses. Through the window she sees London whirling past like a magic lantern. A woman is stacking green mangoes onto the fruit and
