Zadie Smith - NW

I’m really happy for you seriously

Actual guests.

Iz for mum really.

right

also, I really love him.

lust him.

Important to him and he wants to.

It’s what people do innit.

sorry clerk one min

enough reasons?

I think I’m going to wear purple

Also for Pauline

And gold like a catholic priest

Hello?

Sorry that is really great — congrats!

Does this mesn

Mean procreation??

FUCK OFF WOMAN

FUCK OFF WITH YOUR SMILEY FACE

cant believe you getting hitched

whats happening to

me too

universe?

we iz old

we’re not fucking old

at least u achieving something. I’m just slowly dying

this my 2nd year as pupil. May be pupil for rest of

dying of boredom

life

don’t know what tht means

it = not good. Most peole tenant after ONE YEAR

anyway boring — can I ask question and you not get off

offended sorry

fuck most people

haha I am so not getting off right now

can I?

when u get hitched you have to give up everyone else anyway.

that’s the idea, isn’t it?

Stupid idea.

haha

So just more people to give up.

That answer your question big lady jesus?

Haha yes. You iz mind reader for realz

and when all else fails:

www.adultswatchingadults.com

passes the time

you know what I’m chatting about. Come on girl!

Oi mate don’t leave me hanging!

Sorry. Work shitstorm gotta go love you

bye noe

“bye noe”

124. A tenancy meeting question

Ms. Blake, would you be prepared to represent someone from the B.N.P.?

125. Harlesden hero (with parentheses)

Natalie Blake did not expect to be offered tenancy. To convert an external judgment into a personal choice she told herself a story about legal ethics, strong moral character and indifference to money. She told the same tale to Frank and Leah, to her family, to her fellow trainee barristers and to anyone else who inquired after her future. This was a way of making the future safe. (All Natalie’s storytelling had, in the end, this aim in view.) When, contrary to her expectations, she was indeed offered tenancy, Natalie Blake was placed in an awkward position vis-à-vis her personal ethics and strong moral character and indifference to money (or, at least, as far as the public representations of these qualities were concerned) and was forced to refuse the offer of tenancy and take the paralegal job at R senb rg, Sl tte y & No ton that she had been talking up for several months. A tiny legal aid firm in Harlesden with half its stencilled letters peeled off.

126. Tonya seeks Keisha

Natalie Blake’s clients called at inappropriate times. They lied. They were usually late for court, rarely wore what they had been advised to wear and refused perfectly sensible plea deals. Occasionally they threatened her life. In her first six months at RSN, three of her clients were young men who “went Brayton,” although they were much younger then Natalie Blake herself. This caused her to wonder if the school had gone downhill — further downhill. She snatched lunch from the jerk place opposite McDonald’s, sat on a high stool and had trouble keeping the oil off her suit. Pattie, fish dumpling and a can of ginger beer, most days. She tried to vary this menu, but at the counter any spirit of adventure abandoned her. A long-term plan existed to meet Marcia and Marcia’s sister Irene, who lived nearby, for lunch, but this fantasy appointment, with its two hours of idle time and no need to read briefs, never seemed to arrive, and soon enough Natalie Blake understood that it never would. Fairly often she saw her cousin Tonya on Harlesden high street. On these occasions — despite her new status as a big lawyer lady — she experienced the same feelings of insecurity and inadequacy Tonya had compelled in her when they were children. This afternoon Tonya wore sweatpants with HONEY written across the posterior and a close-fitting denim waistcoat with a yellow bra underneath. Her fringe was purple, the hoop of her earrings brushed her shoulders. Her platform heels were red and five inches high. Despite the toddler and the baby in her double buggy Tonya retained the proportions of a super-heroine in a comic book. Natalie meanwhile was sadly “margar,” as the Jamaicans say. To white people this translates as “skinny” or “athletic,” and is widely considered a positive value. For Natalie it meant ultimately shapeless, a blank. Tonya’s skin was never ashy but always silky and gorgeous and she was not prone to the harsh pink acne that sometimes broke out across Natalie’s forehead, and was present today. Where Natalie’s teeth were small and gray, Tonya’s were huge, white, even, and presently on display in a giant smile. As Tonya approached, Natalie was sure she, Natalie, had dumpling oil round her mouth. But perhaps all this displacement of anxiety into the physical realm was a feminine way of simplifying a far deeper and more insoluble difference, for Natalie believed Tonya had a gift for living and Natalie herself did not seem to have this gift.

“These children are so good-looking it’s criminal.”

“Thank you!”

“Look at André—he blatantly knows it.”

“That’s his dad. His dad bought him that chain.”

“Now he’s like: I’m a three-year-old playa.”

“You know what I’m saying! Seriously.”

Underneath the smile, Natalie saw that her cousin was disappointed with this exchange, wanting, as usual, to make a deeper “connection” with Natalie, who wished to avoid precisely this intimacy and as a consequence retained a superficial and pleasant exterior with her cousin as a means of holding her at bay. Now Natalie put down André and picked up Sasha. Neither child ever seemed real to her no matter how many times Natalie felt their weight in her arms. How could Tonya be the mother of these children? How could Tonya be 26? When had Tonya stopped being 12? When would her own adulthood arrive?

“So I’m back up in Stonebridge, with my Mum. Elton and me are done, that’s it. I’m finished wasting my time. It’s all good, though. I’m back to school, up in Dollis Hill? College of North West London. Tourism and hospitality. Studying, studying. It’s hard but I’m loving it. You’re my inspiration!”

Tonya put her hand on the shoulder of Natalie’s ugly navy skirt suit. Was that pity in her cousin’s eyes? Natalie Blake did not exist.

“How’s your mate? That nice girl. The redhead one.”

“Leah. She’s good. Married. Working for the council.”

“Is it. That’s nice. Kids?”

“No. Not yet.”

“You lot are leaving it late, innit.”

Tonya’s hand moved from her cousin’s shoulder to her head.

“What’s going on up there, Keisha?”

Natalie touched her uneven parting, the dry bun, scraped back, unadorned.

“Not much. I never have time.”

“I did all this myself. Microbraids. You should come by and let me do it. It’s just six hours. We could make it an evening, have a good proper chat.”

127. The connection between chaos and other qualities