It started with continual trouble from minicab drivers. They would pull over and ask if she wanted to have some fun. One of them showed up later on her doorstep and asked her out. She turned him down; he left with reasonably good grace.
Last night the same driver showed up to take her to friends in Queens Park. She refused to go with him. "Look I'm just here for the fare," he said, affronted. They ended up driving across London in brooding silence. Parked outside her friend's flat, he said, "There. All safe and sound." Then he said, "And listen you half-caste bitch just cause you've got some white in you doesn't make you any better than anyone else."
That's all. It was enough.
She spent the evening the bathroom looking at her face. She had always seen it in her face, but thought her mother would have told her if it were true. Why wouldn't her mother tell her? It doesn't make any difference, it shouldn't make any difference. And yet it does, and yet it always does.
Car 2 map