I don't remember

“We, mnjinga, fanya haraka. Tutachelewa”. My twin sister Nai, short for Naimah (also short for Bitch) ordering me to hurry up whilst calling me stupid in Swahili. Not even ready herself but feels inconvenienced with me lounging around in my towel. We were only heading to a house party thrown by her so-called best friend, Staci, whom I am not fond of being around, but it has been a while since I went to a party. I was keen to let loose.

Nai and I were born in Morogoro, a small city in Tanzania, East Africa; we arrived in the UK when we were three. Swahili is our native language. Nai and I understand and speak it fluently.

Nai was born three minutes before I was, alongside her superiority complex. We are supposed to be identical twins. Yet, the cosmetic enhancements my sister has had has made it slightly easier to tell us apart. Our lips are beautiful and full; our wide almond-coloured eyes sparkle in all seasons; we are naturally curvaceous, quite petite on top, but with wide, round hips. Nai added some fake boobs; her bra cups are now big enough to hold a newborn baby. Most of the time, my rust-coloured hair is in tight-Bantu knots. However, Nai changes hers as often as she changes underwear. She currently has beautiful, thin ankle-length braids. Sadly, she is yet to trip on them.

We live together in Central London in a 24-hour serviced apartment complex. We own a deluxe, 872 square feet, three-bedroom apartment with a river view overlooking some of London’s most famous landmarks. How did two 28-year-olds afford such a place in the heart of London? Our Mum, Fatima Ali. An award-winning author who owns not one but two publishing firms. The apartment was a present for our 21st birthday, but we still have to work to get by. Nai is a model, and I am a journalist for the London Digest.

“I have nothing to wear!” I stropped. Nai stops what she was doing, scrunches her face in the mirror, huffed, turned to me and said: “Ujuagi cha kuvaa? Shenzi we.” she loves an insult.

“Yes, bitch, that is what I just said.”

She gives a cheeky grin and turns back to finish her make-up, then mumbles, “well, if you planned yo- OW!” I threw my compact mirror at her to shut her up. It landed on her left temple, right on target.

Nai starts to softly rub the pain away, trying her hardest not to smudge her make-up. “Fine. Wear those blue, ripped jeans over there.” She pointed to a pile of clothes on her bed; 'pile' is an understatement. “Pair it up with...erm…that pink string top, with the asymmetrical straps and those Perspex court heels.” She stares me up and down, then turns back to proceed to apply eyeliner. I rolled my eyes. I walked over to her bed and started rummaging through the mountain of clothes.

“Oh, Imani?”, when Nai calls my full name, I know she needs to tell me something she does not particularly want to. Nai usually calls me Illy. She turned her body to face me once more, her temple still slightly red from the impact of the hit.

“What have you done now?”, I ask. She looked shocked, but it was sarcastic. “Why do you always assume I’ve done something wrong?” I cross my arms and sigh in disbelief, ‘when have you not?’ I thought to myself.

“Fine” Nai tries to pull her ‘puppy dog’ eyes but, they don’t work on me, on mum, yes, me? Nope. “Bitch, what have you done?” I asked again. She hesitates to answer, which is quite shocking, considering she always has something to say. She sighs, then proceeds: “Staci invited Kane to the party”.

The room filled with silence, an overwhelming feeling of fear consumed every part of my body, my heart started pounding, and my palms started sweating. Nai looked towards her bedroom door as if she was planning a quick escape but then looks at me as if she wants to hug me for reassurance.

Kane is my ex-long-term boyfriend. Incredibly tall, medium built dark-skinned man; very handsome, with the cheekiest of smiles. He has a charm like no other. A charm he used to get away with beating me to a pulp. We were together for five years. We met at university. I thought I'd be stuck with him forever. The physical abuse was accompanied by mental abuse; I felt trapped in my mind and relationship. He gave me two broken ribs, a fractured arm, bit off a piece from both my ears and gave me three black eyes before I got the courage to leave him. I never went to the police. I was scared that he would come after me. He was also obsessed with money; I think that was what attracted him to me in the first place. It was love that kept me, but fear of death that drove me away.

I wish I handed him over to the police so they could through him into a dark, cold cell for him to rot. I’ve even dreamed of attending his funeral and burning the casket. It's taken me years to rebuild my confidence and self-esteem, and I'm still not myself. I sometimes struggle to accept my beauty because of the many faults he didn’t hesitate to point out. He made maintaining a healthy relationship seem like a chore I couldn’t complete. I am still very much broken, but I don’t let people know or see this. I don’t like to appear weak. I don’t want him to know he won. No one knows the full extent of the violence, not even Nai.

“Why would Staci invite someone who beat up her best friend’s sister?” I asked angrily. Nai shrugged, “she said he has changed, I dunno. Something about being saved or something. He attends church every Wednesday and Sunday”.

“The devil was also once an angel. Now, look at where the fuck he is. I’m gonna get ready.” I stormed off to my room. I was not going to let Kane ruin my night.

*

We finished getting ready around eleven-thirty. I looked and felt great. The baby-pink top complimented my medium toned skin fairly well, and the Perspex heels highlighted my fresh pedicure. I neatly slicked back my hair into a high, curly ponytail and topped off my outfit with various gold jewellery. My lip gloss was truly ‘popping’; I was ready to turn a few heads.

As we made our way downstairs to our Uber, Nai suggested we buy a few drinks at the nearest convenience store. I was also feeling lucky; “I’ll get some tequila; I might also get a scratch card too”. Nai looked at me puzzled. “Why do you need a scratch card? Mum will just give you the money if you ask”, which was true. I just felt lucky that night. Maybe I should dress up more often?

“I just feel lucky tonight, plus, it’s only five quid. Not like I’ll be out of pocket.” I winked at her whilst I linked our arms together, making our way to our ride.

*

“Oh, my fucking days.” My eyes must be deceiving me. “What is it? You okay?” Nai asks as she rushes towards me. We stood outside our local convenience store, we had just bought our drinks, and our Uber was waiting for us. Stood as still as a statue, I gawked at the scratch card that I had just purchased. Nai snatches the card out of my hand and stares at it, confused. “I don’t even understand this. All I see is…erm...three twenty thousand pounds…two one hundred pounds…erm, where are the instructions on this thing?”

She turns the card over to quickly skim the instructions; her eyes widen when she comes to the realisation. “No way did you just- TWENTY, FUCKING THOUSAND POUNDS?”, her mouth drops open, she starts waving the card around “I want twenty per cent!”. She must be insane. I snatched the card back from her. “SHHH. Plus, why do you need twenty per cent when you can, just ask mum for it?” I mock her. She playfully sticks her tongue out at me.

I was still in shock. “I can’t believe I have just won twenty thousand pounds. What the –". “You won what?”, a deep husky, yet familiar voice suddenly interrupts me. Nai and I look up at the same time. My heart and mouth drop simultaneously. Kane.

“She won twenty thou-“, “Shut up Naimah”. I interrupt her as she tries to boast. “Come on. Our Uber is waiting,” I say whilst I usher her to the car. “Imani, do you have a minute, please?” Kane asks as he tries to reach out to touch my shoulder. As a reflex, I jolt backwards. He looked shocked at my reaction. Are all abusers this naive?

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scar-“, “Your minute was up a long time ago Kane”. I interrupt. He doesn't look surprised. “I..I..Just want to say I’m so-“, “Sorry? Keep your apology, Kane”. I gave him a dirty look and hurried Nai and me into the back seats.

She notices my mood change. “See, I told you. He's all saved and shit. Look at him trying to apologise. He can never hurt you anymore.” She pecks me on my left cheek for reassurance. I wished a peck was all it took for my worries to fade away. I took one last glance outside whilst we drove off, but he had already left.

*

“You are going to tell me why your sister’s, body, was found in the Thames.” That's my mum asking whilst her eyes bulging, veins ready to burst, fists clenched. I’ve never seen a black women’s skin turn this red before.

My vision is slightly blurred. I can’t remember what happened last night; or how I got back to our apartment. I’m still in last night’s clothes, but I’m soaked in puke and blood. I have a large gaping hole in the side of my top. I'm not sure whom the blood belongs too. Do I really want to know?

I don't remember losing Naimah. I don't remember anything from last night. I can't - I gasp.

“The…th…scratch card. Where is my scratch card?” I pat myself down to try to locate the card. My mum steps back and looks at me in disgust. “Your...your sister has JUST BEEN FOUND DEAD AND ALL YOU CARE ABOUT IS A SCRATCH CARD?!”.

“No, no, no…I won twenty thousand on a scratch card. That is all I remember. But only me and Naimah knew about it, we di-." Kane. Kane overheard us. Could he have done this? I don't remember seeing him at the party, and he is not hard to miss.

“What is it? What do you remember?” my mum asks frantically. “You know what? I want you to write down what happened.” I nod. Talking is the last thing I want to do. My head is throbbing, yet I can't remember drinking. Was I spiked?

My mum pulls out a small notepad from her handbag; it’s black with rounded edges and an elastic closure. Its soft cover glistens when it hits the light. She opens the notebook; a black bookmark ribbon hangs loosely between the pages. She glares at me. “I want you to write what you remember. I want names, locations and timings. There’s a small pocket at the back; print out pictures of people and receipts and place them there.

“The police won’t do much. They will class it as an overdose and accident. I have to handle this myself.” She hands over the notebook. “I’ll be back. The police will be here soon, so make yourself decent.”

I nod. As mum walks towards the door, she turns back to me. “It was meant to be you in that river!”.