Page 63 of People Change

‘Yeah.’

‘That makes sense. I don’t think we’re good for each other,’ Shirin said, before ending the call.

And that was that.

He sat his GCSE exams in the sports hall, and in some of them he knew Shirin would be there. He looked around the room, and each time he spotted her she was either looking away or, if she had been looking at him, she quickly diverted her gaze elsewhere. After each exam he did not linger, as the others did outside to discuss the test. It had been agreedbetween his mum and Mr Rodgers that he’d sit his exams but did not need to attend any of the final-week classes, which he was relieved about. He went to a different college, instead of the school’s sixth form.

Shirin messaged him once, weeks after their phone call. She apologised and said she hoped he was doing well, and that she missed him. He wanted to reply, to say he missed her too, but what she had said had imprinted itself into his mind. It confirmed everything he’d thought about himself: that he was no good for her. So he didn’t reply. She didn’t message again and neither did he. They cut their ties effortlessly – that was how it looked from the outside at least, but he never stopped thinking about her, rehashing what they had said or wishing things were different.

Back Yourself

Now

‘We need to stage a walkout,’ Shirin says. Around her are a group of Shirin and Mariam’s trusted colleagues – the ones who take part in the monthly Diversity and Inclusion open forums because they care, not for pretence. Before her now is Mariam, Kate (a white editorial director in the children’s division), Derek (an editor in the audiobook team, who has just complained that everyone gets him mixed up with Femi, a Black man who hasn’t worked in the company for three years now), Naomi (a publicity manager) and Ross (a Scottish designer who often wears tweed). They are looking at her like she is speaking another language.

Shirin stands, walks around the meeting-room table to the front of the room, where the whiteboard projector screen is, though there is nothing being displayed. She feels like a character from an adventure movie, trying to rally her troops for battle. But the reality is they’re a group of ethnic minorities, gay people and/or allies, who are tired of publishers promoting racist fascists.

‘We have to do something. Some of us might have to work on this book,’ Shirin continues.

Kate is wearing deep pink lipstick that is well applied and rubs her lips together nervously. ‘I’m here to support and be led by you all,’ she says. Kate is the type to go on about her white privilege often, which is a little annoying, but she is well-meaning.

‘It’s bullshit, to be honest,’ Naomi says. ‘I was told I’m doing his PR. I have to pitch his shite book to the press, when he once spent fifteen minutes taking the piss out of Indian people. I’m fucking Indian, for fuck’s sake.’ In her anger her Birmingham accent becomes more pronounced.

‘Shirin is right, we need to do something – a walkout in protest to show we’re mad and won’t take it,’ Mariam says. Shirin remembers Mariam saying that ever since she was little she has been going to Free Palestine protests with her family, and though Shirin has never been to a protest before, because the thought usually makes her nervous, it is all she wants to do now. To shout for change.

‘Listen, I want to, you know I do, but I have rent to pay,’ Derek says. ‘I’m tired too, but let’s not be too hasty. We need these jobs – what if they fire us?’

Shirin and Mariam look at each other. Mariam gives Shirin a look as though to say,Don’t tell them yet, and Shirin nods, like,Fine.

After they found out Hoffman will be publishing Rob Grayson’s book, Mariam and Shirin convened in the stationery cupboard. Mariam stood there, a concerned look on her face. ‘Something isn’t right. Are you okay?’

Shirin explained everything. Things she’d never told anyone about Rob. It was an exorcism. To speak out about the trauma, to let herself cry as she said the words and removed the toxicity from her body. She told Mariam about Rob, Jordan, Tom and Kian. Mariam knew Shirin had been seeing Kian, but didn’t know the extent of their past.

It wasn’t just school that she talked about, though. Once she began speaking, she found it hard to stop. Mariam didn’t interrupt, didn’t really move at all, except to rub Shirin’s back. Shirin told her how nothing in her life is how she envisaged it being, that even her friends don’t have her back, don’t get her. When she mentioned her argument with Phoebe, and how she’d seen Tom again on New Year’s Eve, she expected a visceral reaction from Mariam – one that she feared. She imagined Mariam would call Phoebe trash, as Hana had done, and be done with it, but instead she let Shirin finish. Shirin realised it was so rare to be heard. There’s one good thing that has come from Hoffman at least: she’s got to know Mariam.

When she finished, she leant against the shelves. It was uncomfortable, with different sharply shaped objects jabbing into her back. She stayed in that position, relishing the slight pain, pushing further into it. Mariam laid both her hands on Shirin’s shoulders. ‘Mate, why have you been keeping all this in?’

‘I thought I could hold it together. But it’s too hard. Like, they gave Florence the promotion because she had another offer, not because she performed better. Then my grandma – if it wasn’t for Lilian, I could have seen her one last time, youknow?’ She felt the tears coming and breathed in deeply, but they fell anyway. ‘I don’t see anything here for me any more. They publish racists. A racist who abused me. I can see that now – that it was abuse. It wasn’t normal and it still affects me now. I just think I didn’t want to admit for a while what it was.’

Mariam took Shirin’s hand in hers. ‘I truly am sorry, Shirin. If you like, I can teach you how to pray for your grandmother – for everything. It’s too much for you to shoulder. Maybe if you leave it to Allah, you’ll feel more at peace?’

Shirin squeezed Mariam’s hand, found it hard to speak, but managed to say, ‘I’d like that, thank you.’ Because she would. She has felt so faithless for the past year, so outside the religion that she knows. She wants to connect with God, but isn’t sure how to.

‘And you’ve got me, you know,’ Mariam said. ‘I am always here for you to talk to. You don’t have to keep it in any more.’ Then she told Shirin, ‘I’ve been interviewing for new jobs.’

Shirin’s back began to hurt, so she stood straight, both because of this and because of what Mariam had said. ‘Seriously?’

Mariam nodded. ‘Have you heard of Green Tree Press? They’re a new publisher founded by a Palestinian woman.’ Shirin had seen articles about them online – and a billboard for one of their books in Hackney Wick. ‘I just did the last interview for a marketing manager position. I didn’t want to tell anyone in case I didn’t get it, but I have a good feeling. I know publishing is shit everywhere, but this feelsdifferent – I’ve never even had a manager who’s a person of colour, let alone a Palestinian like me.’

‘Wow,’ Shirin said. ‘I really hope you get it. But also, don’t leave me here alone, please.’

‘I love you, Shirin, but from what you’ve told me, you need to take control. You can leave Hoffman too. We’re not trees; if we don’t like something we can, and should, move.’

‘I’m pretty sure that’s an Instagram caption.’

Mariam smiled. ‘I mean, it is, but I’m serious. It’s true, and you know it. Publishing has its problems, but I think anywhere else would be better than here. They make you think they’re ethical and they brainwash you, but really Hoffman is the worst publisher of them all. Like, I know HR is never on our side, but especially here, they’re as bad as our managers.’

It’s true, the HR representative at Hoffman Books is sketchy. She once told Shirin in the kitchen that she was going on a Tinder date and, to be polite, Shirin asked for more details, to which she showed Shirin a picture of the aforementioned date and said she only dated Black men. She is white. Shirin was speechless for a moment and eventually replied with, ‘Oh, okay.’ She reminded Mariam of this now, to which Mariam made a sound between a cackle and a groan.