“You think so, eh?” Zawadi said in her usual manner when speaking to Deborah. “This big Black woman’s actually got something worth saying?”
Deborah flushed. She said, “I didn’t intend . . . I’m so sorry. Was I racist without intending to be? I only meant—”
Zawadi cut in with a laugh, saying to Narissa, “Yeah. Right. She does.”
“I . . . what?”
“Apologise. Say ‘sorry’ for everything. No need. I don’t need to be besties with you to know you ’t least mean well.” She gestured at the photographs. “These’re good for what they’re going to be used for. I’m not saying there’s no Black photographer couldn’t have done the same, but these’re good. I c’n see that.”
Deborah knew how reluctant was the other woman’s praise. She couldn’t blame her. For the truth was that she’d trod ignorantly into Zawadi’s world with her camera, her tripod, and her good intentions when she could easily have insisted the job go to a Black photographer. But she hadn’t done that, had she, because she’d instantly seen that out of this particular spate of employment could come another photography book like London Voices. She hadn’t considered the cost.
The three of them left together once Dominque Shaw had expressed her pleasure with the outcome of their work. They would meet again once the booklet was assembled and the film was ready to be shown. They would meet another time when both projects were presented to the head teachers whose schools would receive the booklets as well as see the film.
They were outside and about to go their separate ways when Deborah’s mobile rang. She saw who it was, said to the two others that she must take the call, and bade them farewell. She stepped back inside Sanctuary Buildings to receive the call, saying, “Tommy?”
“Where are you?” he asked.
“Great Smith Street,” she said.
“Are you free?”
“Yes. I’ve just left a meeting at the Department for Education. Why?”
She heard him say to someone, “She’s just in Great Smith Street. You’ll find her at the Department for Education,” before he returned to her with, “We have a photograph you took, a picture of Tani Bankole. Winston brought it from the boy’s mother this morning.”
“Right,” she said. “I took a photo for his mum.”
“Where?”
“In Deptford.”
“It looks like you’re inside someone’s home.”
“We were. I’d already taken a photograph of the woman who lives there. You saw it, Tommy. Remember? She and her husband have a large collection of African art.”
“Ah. The cluttered background. Of course.”
“Don’t please bury me in praise,” Deborah said. “It makes me blush.”
“Oh. Sorry. You’re right. Apologies.”
“Anyway, I took Tani and Simisola to see the collection. It was meant to be a break from being in Chelsea? Tani especially seemed to need one. I don’t think I’d had ten words out of him at that point.”
“Her name?”
“She’s called Leylo. Her husband is Yasir. I’m not sure of their surname.” He said to someone with him, “Leylo and Yasir. She doesn’t know the surname. Check the list.”
She said, “The list? Tommy, what’s going on?”
“She and her husband have a sculpture—we can see it in the picture of Tani—that could well be the one we’re looking for. Have you the address?”
“I don’t know it off the top of my head. I’d need to get to my GPS. It overlooks Pepys Park, though, the building they live in. I can tell you that much. D’you need a closer look at it? Would you like me to fetch it?”
“Nkata will do it.” Again he spoke to someone else and then when he was with her again, “Since the woman knows you, will you accompany him, Deborah?”
“Of course. Shall we do it now?”
“He’ll be there directly. He’s on his way. What do you know about the couple who have the sculpture? Barbara’s just indicated that they’re not on the list of people who purchased editions of it from the gallery, if indeed it’s the same sculpture we’ve been trying to find. How did you come to know the woman and her husband?”
“Through the project I’m doing for the Department for Education.”
“Through Orchid House, then?”
“No, no. This was something quite different. It had its genesis at Orchid House. I was taking photos at a clinic on the Isle of Dogs and Leylo and her husband were there. She’s an FGM victim, and she was going to have reconstructive—”