People Person, page 31
“She’s been a bit quiet these past few days, but Patrice said they’re coming, so I guess we’ll see them…” Dimple trailed off as she looked around the church. It had been five years since they’d been here, and apart from everything looking a bit more worn than it had before, it was all kind of the same. The people, too. Time had passed, but their looks hadn’t.
“Oh look, there they are!” Danny waved at Lizzie and Patrice as they entered the church wearing matching black dresses.
“Why have you dressed like twins?” Prynce asked them when they’d made their way through the people who hadn’t found their seats yet.
“Hi, Prynce, nice to see you too,” Patrice said, hugging him. “Basically, we both bought the same dress and didn’t consult each other about it. And by the time we were both ready, neither of us had the time to change.”
“I could have found the time—” Lizzie said.
“So we could be late for today? Of all days?” Patrice asked her. “I don’t think so.”
Dimple stared at Lizzie until Lizzie finally looked up and made eye contact with her.
“You okay?” Dimple mouthed.
Lizzie nodded before looking down at baby Evie and smiling.
“She’s getting so big,” she mouthed back.
“Lizzie, why don’t you squeeze in there with your brothers and sisters and I’ll go keep an eye on Nicky and Amara?” Patrice said.
“Sure,” Lizzie said, squeezing Patrice’s hand before sidling in next to Prynce.
“You look well,” Prynce said. “It’s been a while.”
“It’s been about a week, Prynce.” Lizzie rolled her eyes. “I needed to sleep for five days after that nine night. It wasn’t easier than the first one we did.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Prynce shrugged. “Things have been busy.” Is your mum coming today?” he asked. “The mystery lady.”
“I think the question is: Is yours?” Dimple asked, joining the conversation and handing the still-sleeping baby to a very eager Danny so she could stretch her arms for a bit.
“You think Bernice would miss it?” Nikisha asked, pulling an iPad out of her bag.
“You’re not taking that up there, are you?” Dimple asked.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“I dunno, it just seems a bit… modern,” Dimple said.
“What’s wrong with that?” Prynce laughed.
“I don’t think it’s a good look for you to be laughing, Prynce,” Lizzie said.
“Laughing is how I hide my pain. Don’t you know that by now?” Prynce asked Lizzie.
“Oh! So you’ve been going to that therapist I suggested?” Dimple smiled at Prynce.
“Is Roman coming?” Nikisha asked Dimple. “I hope you’re not doing all the parenting and letting him live a stress-free life. The biggest mistake I made was not letting their dad look after Nicky and Amara from birth.”
“He’s meeting us at the hall. He’s gone to collect the drinks,” Dimple told Nikisha as rain started to hit the stained glass windows. “And no, Roman’s not like that at all. He’s more hands-on than I am, actually. He’s the one who does all the nighttime feeds. And most of the day ones, actually.”
“Good.” Nikisha nodded.
“He’s like the opposite of Dad.” Dimple shrugged. “In lots of ways. And it took me a long time to accept that. And to be open to that.”
“Dimple,” Nikisha put a hand on her sister’s shoulder. “Let’s get into your emotions around Roman and Dad later.”
Before Prynce saw his mum, he heard her enter the church. Bernice was sobbing loudly and wiping her tears on a handkerchief modeled on the Jamaican flag that she produced from the sleeve of her tight black bodysuit.
“You go and deal with her,” Nikisha told him. “And do not let her come up here.”
Prynce slipped away and moved through people who had filled the church but were talking among each other so energetically that they still hadn’t managed to find a seat.
“Your mum is coming, right?” Danny asked Dimple.
“She’s here.” Dimple pointed to Janet, who was sitting politely in the back, reading diligently through the order of service she’d been given at the church doors.
“Oh, I didn’t say hello,” Danny said apprehensively.
“You can say hello later,” Dimple told him. She’s going through something back there and I think she needs to be left alone for a bit.”
“She been drinking?” Danny asked.
“No, no,” Dimple shook her head. “She’s doing good recently. Taking things one day at a time, but yeah. Doing good.”
“I’m with you.” Danny smiled and crossed his arms as he looked at Janet, who was fixed on that order of service. He guessed it was easier for her to focus on something she could hold in front of her than to think too much about why they were all there.
“What a day, eh,” Danny said as thunder rumbled on, a quiet growl that moved above the church. “What a day.”
“Shouldn’t this have started?” Lizzie asked Nikisha.
“Coffin isn’t here yet,” Danny told them. “They’re gonna text me when it arrives.”
“Everything going okay with work this week?” Nikisha asked Lizzie. “You know, I’ve tried to call but you seem to have misplaced your phone.”
“Well, I’m a doctor now.” Lizzie smiled and crossed her arms, which Danny noted happily. It was still never lost on him when his siblings showed the same mannerisms that he did. “I’ve got doctor’s business to be doing, not sitting on the phone to you while you shout at Amara. And I don’t appreciate it when you all text me with your medical worries.”
“Who is that?” Dimple gasped as a striking woman entered, gliding glamorously through the church doors. The rest of her siblings turned around to look, and were all suitably curious. It seemed as though the rain that had started falling outside hadn’t dared to touch her; her black dress bedazzled with black sequins, her long braids, and her makeup were all flawless.
“Oh. That’s my mum,” Lizzie said casually.
“Your mum?” Danny asked. “Forgive me for what I’m about to say, but—”
“Don’t say it.” Lizzie held a hand up to stop Danny from continuing.
“Respectfully, I can see why Cyril went after her,” said Prynce as he slid back into his seat. “ ’Cause even me, at twenty-nine—”
“Prynce,” Lizzie said.
“It’s a compliment!” Prynce told Lizzie as he and everyone else in the church watched Kemi, head held high, slink into a seat a few rows behind them.
“Coffin’s here!” Danny said cheerfully, looking at a text on his phone. “Ready, Prynce?”
“Nah.” Prynce shook his head. “But let’s do this.”
It is hard for six people of equal heights to carry a coffin on one shoulder, and, like the last time, it is much harder when six people ranging from five foot six to six foot three are tasked with the job. Luckily, the coffin didn’t fall on the floor, although it threatened to do so more than once. It certainly made the opening to the proceedings as memorable and thrilling as goings-on at that particular church always seemed to be.
The service seemed to go by both quickly and as though time would stretch forever. The pastor had obviously recycled the same order of service that had been used for Delores. Maybe that had been Cyril’s request, or maybe the pastor was just lazy. Nikisha did not cry, Danny shed one tear, Dimple sobbed so much that Danny had to hold the baby for the whole service, Lizzie visibly held her sadness in, and though he was silent, Prynce let his tears fall freely down his face.
“And now, with the eulogy, Cyril’s eldest daughter, Nikisha.” The pastor stepped aside from the lectern as Nikisha, modern iPad in hand, made her way up to the front of the church.
“Hello, everybody, and thank you for coming,” Nikisha said. “This is my second time delivering a eulogy in this church. The first time for my grandmother, Delores Ricketts, and this time for her son, and my father—our father—Cyril Pennington. I didn’t think I’d be here so soon, but there we go.”
Nikisha took a sip of water and willed her voice not to shake.
“Cyril Pennington was born to Delores Pennington and Zelbert, surname unknown, in Red Ground, Coffee Piece, in the parish of Clarendon in Jamaica. Delores moved to London in 1972, when Cyril was two years old. He was raised by his grandparents, Clarence and Rita Pennington, and his aunt, Desrence, living happily in the same house he was born in, until the age of fifteen, when his mother sent for him. It was only then that Cyril learned that Desrence was not in fact his big sister, but his aunt. When he came to England, Cyril moved into the house Delores shared with her husband, Israel, and their children, Cyril’s half sisters: Tessilda, Lavinia, and Marvette, on Somerleyton Road, Brixton.”
Nikisha looked over at Lavinia and Marvette. Lavinia nodded as she listened intently, as though listening to a radio show, and Marvette looked sad. Not devastated, but sad. Their eldest sister, Tessilda, had moved to New York with her husband a couple of years ago and hadn’t bothered to come back for Cyril’s funeral. Their children were there, though, attending as guests rather than family members.
“I’ve spent a lot of time asking around to piece together the bits of our dad’s career, and this is what I’ve got: He worked as a soundman for a few clubs back in the day before trying his hand as a presenter for a local radio station. He drove buses on the side, and this turned into a full-time job as time went on. And the more he drove, the less time he had for music professionally, but it was still a huge part of his personal life. His colleagues Deborah and Tony told me that before every shift, Cyril would make his way to the depot with his boom box and play his song of the day for anyone who was in there. He’d smile whatever their reaction and tell them the same thing: That one day he was going to be a world-renowned DJ. Dad, you might not have got to be a world-renowned DJ, but me, my brothers, and my sisters remember the songs that DJ Fireshot used to play when you’d drive us around in that gold Jeep.” The congregation laughed. The gold Jeep was clearly infamous, as was DJ Fireshot’s musical career that had never really gone where it needed to go.
“I don’t have a lot to say about Cyril—sorry—our dad personally. I’ve been tasked with delivering his eulogy because I’m the eldest, but I probably know the least about him out of me and my four brothers and sisters. If I’m honest, I definitely had the least time for him.” Nikisha stopped for a moment and looked over at them all. “He was a man who largely kept his feelings and his dealings to himself. But having spoken to the people who knew him, what I came to learn about our dad is that Cyril Pennington was, above all, a people person. A cheerful man. A social man. He liked to laugh, and to make people laugh. An extrovert, he led with happiness and confidence. He was truly a man who didn’t dwell on the bad. Life to him was about finding happiness in the smallest things. As a father, and I’ll be real here…” Nikisha paused.
Dimple’s heart stopped beating, Prynce looked concerned, Lizzie looked over at Patrice, and Danny wondered if he was going to have to go up there.
“… as a father, I believe that he had good intentions.”
All the siblings breathed an audible sigh of relief that carried through the church.
“And I believe that he cared, in his own way, for me, my sisters, Dimple and Lizzie, for my brothers, Danny and Prynce, and for his grandchildren, Nicky, Marley, Amara, and Evie, who luckily he got to meet briefly before he passed. And the belief that he cared for us all has to be enough. So goodbye, Dad. Thank you for the times we did have with you. You will be missed. And I want to say thank you to our mothers, Bernice, Tracy, Kemi, and Janet. They raised us for you too.”
* * *
When they left the church, the rain had stopped. Their mums had made their way to the wake, and Janet had taken baby Evie. She presented it as taking Evie off Dimple’s hands, but the truth was that she had been obsessed with her granddaughter since she was born, even though she’d never been Roman’s biggest fan.
“P, can you take the rest of the kids with you, please?” Lizzie asked Patrice, who was already deep in conversation with her niece and nephews. “We’re going to make our own way there.”
“I couldn’t believe it when Marvette dropped these off.” Nikisha held up the keys to the gold Jeep.
“I couldn’t believe the Jeep actually worked,” Danny remarked, crossing his arms.
“Why?” Lizzie asked him. “You think he was going to let that Jeep die before he did?”
“It’s a bit too soon for jokes like that,” Dimple sniffed.
“All right, crybaby,” Prynce said, putting an arm around Dimple. “Let’s get in.”
Nikisha opened the door on the driver’s side, climbed in, and stroked the steering wheel. She’d only driven the gold Jeep a couple of times since it had been given to them, but the act felt so familiar to her. Danny climbed into the passenger seat next to her, opened the glove box, and started rummaging around.
“Prynce, you get in the middle.” Lizzie opened the back door. “You’re the smallest.”
Prynce threw his head back in anger before doing as he was told.
“Let’s not start all of that again.” Dimple squeezed in next to Prynce and raised her eyebrows at Nikisha through the rearview mirror.
“I don’t know how many times I need to tell you lot that I’m catching up to Danny,” Prynce said. “Why can’t you see it?”
“We can’t see what isn’t there,” Lizzie told him as she clipped herself in next to him. “You in, Dimple?”
“I’m in.” Dimple nodded.
“Found it!” Danny exclaimed. “I knew it would be in here somewhere.”
“What is it?” Prynce asked, poking his head between Nikisha and Danny.
“Can you sit back and put your seat belt on?” Nikisha shouted at Prynce, sliding the key into the ignition and turning it, allowing some small emotion to hit her as the Jeep rumbled to life.
“Professor Nuts!” Danny held up the CD he’d retrieved from the glove box. “Remember this?”
“How could we forget?” Lizzie crossed her legs and let a small smile pass her lips.
“DJ Fireshot’s favorite song,” Nikisha added, checking the mirrors, looking at her siblings squashed into the back seat rather than paying attention to what was behind the Jeep. When Dimple’s swollen eyes met Nikisha’s through the rearview mirror, she winked at Dimple to let her know that it was all… okay.
Danny took the CD from its case carefully and slid it into the drive, crossing his arms while he willed it to work.
When the song began and boomed through the speakers—the soundtrack to that very strange day all those years ago when they’d been taken to that park—Cyril Pennington’s five children knew that their dad, as absent as he was, could only have been himself. And that that was, in the way that it had to be, enough.
“Run that back!” Prynce shouted over the music. “For Cyril.”
Danny smiled as he started the song again, his fingers pressing the tiny buttons on the archaic CD drive.
“For Cyril!” Nikisha, Danny, Lizzie, and Dimple repeated, as the gold Jeep pulled away from the curb and sped down the street, demanding attention from everybody it passed in the way that it always had. The way that Cyril always had.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I have many people to thank, not just for the support while I wrote this, a novel I didn’t think I’d be able to finish, but for being there. The first person I’d like to thank is myself, because YOU are the person I’m in constant conversation/argument with, and getting this novel out was dependent on us being on the same page in many senses. So thank you, Candice, for cooperating with Candice.
Thank you to my editors, Katie Espiner and Alison Callahan, for your patience, your guidance, your wit, and your ability to steer me toward the unlocking of thoughts I wouldn’t have gotten to on my own. Separately and together you are so instrumental to me being able to write a novel that feels entirely complete, this time around and the last.
Thank you to my supreme agents, Jo Unwin and Deborah Schneider, for keeping things going on both sides of the pond, and a special shout-out to Nisha Bailey for everything you do, and with such kindness.
Cait Davies, Leanne Oliver, Maura Wilding, I can’t believe I get to work with the best in the fucking business. Thank you so much for everything you’ve done and have been doing since Queenie touched road in 2019.
Thank you Zoe Yang for keeping me on the editorial straight and narrow, and thank you AGAIN Sophie Wilson for coming in with your keen eye for detail and for mistakes. Before you got to People Person, it wasn’t what it is now.
Hadil Mohamed, I can’t believe what you’ve done here. You’ve managed to take these characters out of my head and give life and vision to them in a way that’s even more real than I imagined. Your talent is inspiring and unending. Thank you. Mylène Mozas, you’re a marvel! Thank you for creating a cover that I loved the second I saw it. Thank you also for bearing with my endless neuroses around aforementioned cover.
To the family members I chat to: Nan, Mum, Selena, Claude, Esther and Sweetie, Kai, Aunty Heidi: Thank you for bearing with me since 1989 and beyond even though I don’t always pick up the phone. And Sharmaine Lovegrove, my adopted big sister! I can’t believe the unlimited love and care and advice you give to me. I absolutely don’t deserve it.
And my friends. As you, and I’m sure everybody, know, I have a lot of emotions that I can’t really ever contain on my own, and it’s thanks to all of you that I’m not crying every minute of every day. But let me be specific with my thanks:
Hattie Collins: If I didn’t speak to you about every single thing I was doing every single day, then how would I get through any of it? Pain is the essence, the game is a lesson, and I’m grateful that I have you to navigate it all with.
Danielle Scott-Haughton: Pimping? Oh boy.
Selcan Tezgel: For the Turkish rice, and everything else. You are more special than you know.
Aimée Felone: The FBI man knows why I love you and if I say it here everyone will know too much.
