depressed.’ Zizi pronounces it Van Go—the American way—which annoys me. She pours us each a glass of juice. ‘Virginia Woolf. Sylvia Plath, of course. One in three people will be on medication at sometime in their lives. It’s really nothing to be upset about, Kiara. You’d take insulin if you had diabetes, right? Well this is no different. It’s just your brain not producing serotonin is all. But then you’ll know all about that now.’
‘My doctor said something about it,’ Kiara says, taking a sip of her juice.
‘Well there you go.’ Zizi pauses and taps her glass with a spoon. ‘You know, there’s this new fantastic treatment I’ve just seen a study on.’ Her eyes go empty and I know she’s sliding some information to Kiara. I glare at the fruit bowl in frustration.
Kiara receives the information and smiles. ‘Is this for real?’
‘One hundred percent,’ Zizi says.
‘But it’s not on the market yet.’
‘I’ll have a word with your mother and we’ll see what we can do,’ Zizi says. ‘I’m on it and look at me!’ She throws her arms out wide, the peacock blue kimono she’s wearing making her look like a bright bat. I’m really not sure if this is going to help Kiara or push her over the edge. But she smiles, happy enough.
‘Anyway, must get back to work. Max has roped me in to create an unbeatable election campaign for Harris. Can’t stand him, personally, but Max has decided he’s the man to get behind. Help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge.’ And with a swirl of silk, Zizi’s gone.
I know without looking that there will be nothing in the fridge. There never is.
‘Your mum is amazing, you know that?’
‘Hmm,’ I reply, not committing to anything.
‘Sorry, Pet, I’m so selfish at the moment. I keep forgetting. Can’t she do anything about the blank?’
I pick a grape from the fruit bowl and pop it into my mouth. ‘Nope. Or at least she won’t. “Nepotism is another form of elitism, darling. You’ll have to wait till you’re 21”,’ I say, in a husky imitation of my mother.
‘And Max, can’t he do anything? Isn’t he like your godfather or something?’
‘I thought he would,’ I say, leading Kiara into the living room and throwing myself onto a pleather sofa. (Zizi won’t have meat by-products in the house. Unless it comes between two buns and is slathered in ketchup. And only then when she’s premenstrual.) ‘He made this big fuss about it in the station. Said that the police didn’t get to say who did and didn’t get on his network. But Zizi overruled him and I’ve not heard a word from him since.’
‘That sucks. What’s the point of having friends in high places if they don’t pull strings for you. What is this? China?’
‘I know, right?’
The anger and disappointment of Max’s silence stings. I used to love Max. Like love him love him. It started when I was a toddler and he would come over with new toys and play with me while he and Zizi worked on some new aspect of the network. My earliest memory is of the bright red trampoline he bought me. I used to try to jump all the way over the mesh enclosure. I thought I could fly.
When I went to school and I realised that most of the other kids had mothers and fathers, even if they didn’t always live together, I asked mum if Max was my daddy. She laughed and laughed and finally told me not to be ridiculous. She then told me all about sperm donors and artificial insemination. I was six.
When I got older and I started to see less of Max—he was always halfway across the world making sure Glaze worked globally—I developed a crush so bad I could hardly speak to him when he did come over. Zizi told all of her friends about it at a dinner party. They all cooed and laughed. I ran back up to my room and refused to come out for two days.
The crush died after that. But right up until last week I still thought he was amazing. Him and everything
‘My doctor said something about it,’ Kiara says, taking a sip of her juice.
‘Well there you go.’ Zizi pauses and taps her glass with a spoon. ‘You know, there’s this new fantastic treatment I’ve just seen a study on.’ Her eyes go empty and I know she’s sliding some information to Kiara. I glare at the fruit bowl in frustration.
Kiara receives the information and smiles. ‘Is this for real?’
‘One hundred percent,’ Zizi says.
‘But it’s not on the market yet.’
‘I’ll have a word with your mother and we’ll see what we can do,’ Zizi says. ‘I’m on it and look at me!’ She throws her arms out wide, the peacock blue kimono she’s wearing making her look like a bright bat. I’m really not sure if this is going to help Kiara or push her over the edge. But she smiles, happy enough.
‘Anyway, must get back to work. Max has roped me in to create an unbeatable election campaign for Harris. Can’t stand him, personally, but Max has decided he’s the man to get behind. Help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge.’ And with a swirl of silk, Zizi’s gone.
I know without looking that there will be nothing in the fridge. There never is.
‘Your mum is amazing, you know that?’
‘Hmm,’ I reply, not committing to anything.
‘Sorry, Pet, I’m so selfish at the moment. I keep forgetting. Can’t she do anything about the blank?’
I pick a grape from the fruit bowl and pop it into my mouth. ‘Nope. Or at least she won’t. “Nepotism is another form of elitism, darling. You’ll have to wait till you’re 21”,’ I say, in a husky imitation of my mother.
‘And Max, can’t he do anything? Isn’t he like your godfather or something?’
‘I thought he would,’ I say, leading Kiara into the living room and throwing myself onto a pleather sofa. (Zizi won’t have meat by-products in the house. Unless it comes between two buns and is slathered in ketchup. And only then when she’s premenstrual.) ‘He made this big fuss about it in the station. Said that the police didn’t get to say who did and didn’t get on his network. But Zizi overruled him and I’ve not heard a word from him since.’
‘That sucks. What’s the point of having friends in high places if they don’t pull strings for you. What is this? China?’
‘I know, right?’
The anger and disappointment of Max’s silence stings. I used to love Max. Like love him love him. It started when I was a toddler and he would come over with new toys and play with me while he and Zizi worked on some new aspect of the network. My earliest memory is of the bright red trampoline he bought me. I used to try to jump all the way over the mesh enclosure. I thought I could fly.
When I went to school and I realised that most of the other kids had mothers and fathers, even if they didn’t always live together, I asked mum if Max was my daddy. She laughed and laughed and finally told me not to be ridiculous. She then told me all about sperm donors and artificial insemination. I was six.
When I got older and I started to see less of Max—he was always halfway across the world making sure Glaze worked globally—I developed a crush so bad I could hardly speak to him when he did come over. Zizi told all of her friends about it at a dinner party. They all cooed and laughed. I ran back up to my room and refused to come out for two days.
The crush died after that. But right up until last week I still thought he was amazing. Him and everything
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