Chapter 6: The Group Chat
by M. ClaireThe group chat goes off at 11:47 on a Tuesday morning. I know the exact time because I’m in English and Mr Keane is talking about unreliable narrators, and I’ve got my phone on silent in my blazer pocket, buzzing like it’s trying to escape.
Sienna:
omg my bday is saturday
we HAVE to do something
like actual something not just hanging round town
Three dots. More typing.
dinner?? like proper dinner out
MyLahore or something??
my mum said she’d drive us there and back
The replies come fast. Aisha sends a string of party emojis. Rukhsana says yesss I’ve been craving their lamb chops. Someone — I think it’s Josh from sixth form, who Sienna’s been adding to everything lately — says I’m in.
I’m grinning at my blazer pocket like a proper weirdo. Mr Keane’s saying something about how every narrator has an agenda and I’m thinking yeah mate, Sienna’s agenda is lamb karahi and honestly I respect it.
The chat keeps buzzing through the rest of the lesson. Aisha suggests matching outfits, which Rukhsana shuts down immediately. Josh asks if there’s a dress code and then answers his own question with nvm ill just wear whatever. Kai — who nobody invited but who has somehow appeared in the chat like a cat that smells tuna — says smart casual means whatever I was already wearing. Rukhsana sends a crying-laughing emoji. Sienna sends seventeen hearts. I’m biting the inside of my cheek trying not to laugh in the middle of a PowerPoint about The Great Gatsby.
Nobody’s done the maths yet.
I lock my phone and put it face-down on the desk.
MyLahore.
I’ve been there once, with Nani and Mum and Yus, two years ago for Eid. It was proper nice. Sharing platters, naan the size of a table, the kind of meal where everyone reaches across everyone else and nobody asks permission. The bill was — I don’t know what the bill was. I was fourteen. I wasn’t paying attention.
I’m paying attention now. And the good bit is over.
I open the menu on my phone during break. I sit on the wall outside the science block, one earbud in, scrolling through the prices like they’re a maths paper.
Starters: £5-£8. Mains: £10-£14. Drinks: £3-£4. And MyLahore is the kind of place where you order sharing platters, which means the bill gets split, which means it doesn’t matter that I’d order the cheapest thing because I’ll be paying for Rukhsana’s lamb chops and Josh’s extra garlic naan.
I do the maths. If six of us go — and it’s already looking like six — and we split the bill, and someone orders dessert, and we cover Sienna’s share because it’s her birthday, I’m looking at eighteen to twenty-two quid. Call it twenty.
Twenty quid.
My Life pot has eighty-five in it for the whole pay period. Twenty quid is nearly a quarter of it. Three hours at work. Two weeks of packed lunches. And the gap between making it to the end of the month and not making it — that’s what twenty quid is.
I close the menu. Put my phone in my pocket. Look at the science block wall for a bit.
The group chat keeps going. All afternoon. By the time I get home, the plan is basically set. Saturday evening, MyLahore, seven o’clock. Sienna’s mum will drive. Everyone’s in.
Everyone except me, who has said nothing.
Not nothing exactly. I’ve reacted to three messages with a thumbs up. I sent a heart-eyes emoji when Sienna posted a picture of the lamb karahi. I’ve basically said yes without saying yes. It’s a skill, apparently.
Mum’s in the kitchen when I get in. She’s doing that thing where she stands at the counter and stares at her phone like she’s waiting for it to apologise for something. Twelve hours a week. That text is still sat in her phone.
‘All right, Mum?’
‘Hm? Yeah. Fine. Khana’s on the stove.’
I eat. Yus eats. Mum picks at hers. The flat does its evening thing — radiator ticking, someone’s telly through the wall, the fox probably gearing up for its nine o’clock performance.
I wash up because it’s my turn and also because standing at the sink with my hands in warm water gives me something to do while my brain does what it always does.
Twenty quid. I don’t have twenty quid. I mean, I have twenty quid — it’s in the Life pot — but spending it means the rest of the month is tighter than it already is. And the household contribution goes to Mum on Friday. Fifty quid. Non-negotiable. So after Friday, the Life pot drops to thirty-five, and if I take twenty out for dinner, that leaves fifteen for the rest of the pay period. Fifteen quid for everything that isn’t Needs.
And Eid’s in a couple of weeks. The aunties will come round and there’ll be Eidi money — maybe twenty quid, maybe fifty, depends who shows up. I can’t budget for it because I don’t know the number, and budgeting for money you might not get is how you end up spending money you definitely don’t have.
Bas. I need to stop doing this. Standing at the sink doing ceiling maths at six in the evening.
I could say I’m busy. Working. Family stuff. Mum needs me. Any of those would work. Sienna wouldn’t question it. She’d be hurt, probably — it’s her birthday — but she’d say dw its fine x and mean it mostly.
Or I could go. Put it on the card. Eat before and order a starter and a water. Pretend I’m not hungry. Tell everyone I had a late lunch.
Or I could —
I turn off the tap. Dry my hands. Pick up my phone.
I don’t type anything. Not yet.
Wednesday. The chat is still going. Sienna’s sent the menu link three times. Aisha’s planning her outfit. Rukhsana says she’s going to eat the entire bread basket.
Kai messages at lunch. Not in the group chat — in the main one, the smaller one. Me, Sienna, Kai, and sometimes Aisha.
bruv guess what
won 60 quid last night
arsenal 2-1 I called it
[screenshot of a betting slip: £10 accumulator, Arsenal to win and both teams to score, £60.40 return]
Sienna sends fire emojis. Aisha says how do you even do that.
Kai:
its easy if you know football
my brothers app innit
hes a gooner so now im a gooner
just gotta read the form
I look at the screenshot. £10 stake. £60 return. That’s six times his money. That’s my entire dinner dilemma solved three times over. For doing nothing. For knowing football.
Except.
Not something I’d say. Not to Kai, not to anyone. But I grew up in Nani’s house. I know what this is.
Thursday. I’m running out of time.
The group chat is confirming numbers. Sienna’s mum needs a headcount for the car. Six of us.
maya u in? x
Sienna. Direct message. Not the group.
I type yeah course and then delete it. I type might have work sorry and delete that too. I type can I call u and stare at it and delete it and put my phone on my bed and lie face-down on the sofa bed for about ninety seconds.
This is pathetic. It’s twenty quid. It’s dinner. It’s not a kidney.
But twenty quid is twenty quid, and I know exactly what twenty quid means because I’ve spent the last two months learning what every pound means, and that knowledge doesn’t switch off just because it’s your best mate’s birthday. I can’t unknow what every pound costs.
I pick up my phone.
can i be honest about something
Three dots from Sienna. Then:
obviously?? whats wrong
r u ok
I type it fast before I lose my nerve.
MyLahore is really nice but im proper skint rn
like properly cant do it
its not that i dont want to come
i really want to come
i just cant afford it rn
Send. Send. Send. Send.
I put the phone down. Pick it up. Put it down. My heart’s doing something stupid. This shouldn’t feel like a big deal. It’s a text. It’s the truth. People say the truth all the time.
Except they don’t. Not about money. About anything else — yeah, sure. Feelings, relationships, that your haircut looks a bit off, that you’ve had a rubbish day. But money? The actual number in your account? Nobody talks about that. Not the actual number.
The typing dots go on for a long time. Sienna’s composing something. Then she stops. Then starts again. Then:
maya u should have just said
honestly i dont care where we go
its about everyone being there not the place
what about nandos? or we could just do smth at mine?
id rather u came than ate at a fancy place without u
I read it three times. My eyes are doing a thing and I refuse to acknowledge it.
are u sure
i dont wanna ruin ur birthdayshut up ur not ruining anything
im gonna message the chat
nandos still nice and way cheaper
plus u can get that halloumi wrap u always get lol
I laugh. Actually laugh. Sitting on the sofa bed in my uniform with my phone in my hands and my heart still going too fast.
ur the best u know that
i know 💅
but also
can i tell u smthyeah course
The dots again. Longer this time.
my parents had a massive row last night
like proper screaming
about money
i think the credit card bill came
my mum was crying and my dad was saying they cant keep spending like this
and i just sat in my room with my airpods in pretending i couldnt hear
I sit up. Slowly.
sienna thats horrible im sorry
its fine
its not fine but its fine u know
i dont even know what we can actually afford
like my dad drives a nice car and we have the house but idk
is any of it real??
I sit there for a while. Because I’ve spent months assuming Sienna’s financial picture was simple — she has money, I don’t, that’s the gap. But maybe the gap isn’t what I thought. Maybe her family’s spending looks like safety but sounds like screaming at midnight.
i didnt know
yeah nobody does
im good at pretending lolsame tbh
lol yeah we’re both proper good at pretending
anyway nandos saturday?
and maybe dont tell the others about my parents thingobviously not
and yeah nandos is perfect
ill be there x💕
I close the chat. Lie back on the sofa bed.
Saturday. Nando’s.
It’s actually really nice. Not MyLahore nice — the chairs are plastic and the music’s too loud. Josh can’t figure out the ordering tablet. Sunset’s not for another twenty minutes so I sit there with a glass of water while everyone else orders. When my phone buzzes with the athan I break fast quietly — a date from the little bag in my pocket, a sip of water — and then I order the halloumi wrap I’ve been thinking about since Thursday.
But everyone’s here and Sienna’s laughing and Aisha’s got her a card that’s proper embarrassing and Rukhsana made brownies that she brings out at the end in a Tupperware with a candle stuck in the top one. We sing happy birthday badly. Sienna goes red. Josh films it on his phone and Sienna threatens to kill him if he posts it.
‘The brownie’s better than the actual food,’ Josh says, reaching for a second one. Nobody disagrees.
Darius is a few tables over with his mates. He clocks me and nods. I nod back. We don’t do big greetings outside of work — it would be weird, like seeing a teacher in Tesco. But when I go up to order refills, he’s at the counter.
‘All right?’ he says.
‘Yeah. Sienna’s birthday.’
‘Nice.’ He looks back at his table. ‘I’ve not been out like this in months, to be honest. Properly locked myself in. Had to get the money sorted, you know? But yeah. It’s good to actually do something.’
He picks up his drink. Goes back. One sentence about his debt situation, dropped like it’s nothing, and then he’s gone.
I order the refills and go back to the table.
Kai shows up late. New trainers. Nike Air Max, the ones with the blue sole. I don’t know what they cost but I know it’s more than sixty quid.
‘Nice trainers,’ Aisha says.
Kai grins. ‘Cheers. Treat myself, innit. Been a good week.’
A good week. As in, the sixty-quid-on-Arsenal week. He’s wearing his winnings on his feet. Or that’s what he wants us to think.
The trainers. The screenshot. The sixty quid. I keep wondering what it would look like if you wrote it all down — every fiver he put in, every tenner, every acca that didn’t come off.
I don’t know what the number would be. But I don’t think Kai knows either.
He catches me looking. ‘What?’
‘Nothing.’ I pick up my Coke. ‘Nice trainers.’
‘Told you. Easy money.’
I sip my Coke and say nothing. I see the wins. I see where the losses should be. And the gap is bigger than the wins.
I think.
I’m not sure yet.
I ask to be dropped at the end of the road. I always do.
The fox screams. I let myself in.
I’m in bed when the phone buzzes one more time. Sienna.
tonight was actually perfect btw
better than mylahore tbh
everyone was there and thats what matters
thanks for being honest maya
it means more than u think x
I read it twice. Three times. Then I put my phone on the floor, pull the blanket up, and close my eyes.
I said it. The actual thing. And she’s still here.
Theek hai. Tomorrow’s a new day. Inshallah, a cheap one.
The fox agrees. Or maybe it doesn’t. Hard to tell with foxes.