Читать книгу Home Girl - Alex Wheatle - Страница 9

chapter five

A New Collection

I didn’t roll out of bed till Pablo, Sharyna, and Tony had all left the house. When I heard Tony’s truck drive away, I pulled the curtains open. The morning sun forced me to scrunch up my eyes. I looked out into the back garden and heard this annoying bird tweet-a-tweeting nearby. There was a mini-size goal toward the back of the garden beside the shed. An orange ball sat in the corner of the net. A neatly shaved rectangle of grass was surrounded on three sides by flowers and plants. The steps from the back door led to a small pond shaped like the number eight. Very neat. Louise said Prickhead’s a landscape gardener or something. At least he’s top-rated at his nine-to-five. I couldn’t even remember what was at the back of my old flat—never landed a toe out there.

I checked out the DVDs that I had jacked from Tony’s bedroom that were scattered on the floor. I picked them all up, sat down on my bed, and went through them. The Shawshank Redemption, The Magnificent Seven, The Sting, Some Like It Hot, Saturday Night Fever, Sarafina!, Babylon, Burning an Illusion. Monkey on ropes, hasn’t he got anything from this side of the millennium?

I decided to look for Colleen. Carrying the DVDs, I went out into the hallway. I skipped downstairs and heard the sound of a washing machine. The noise came from the basement.

I opened the creaking door and went down a short flight of steps. I could sniff dried mud, grass, oil, and washing powder. The air felt damp. I remembered something from my past. It chilled my blood cells. You don’t have to go in there again, Naomi. It was Dad’s voice. I can see it’s traumatizing you. If you want, I can fill a bowl with warm water for you and you can have your wash in your bedroom. You can always have your wash in there if you like.

I shook my head and the memory bubble burst.

One side of the basement floor had a world of machine and gardening tools stacked in it. I spotted a broken wheelbarrow in a corner.

Colleen was busy separating the colors from the whites when she noticed me. She was wearing her red, gold, and green headscarf. Pink monster-faced slippers snoogled her feet.

“Oh, you scared me,” Colleen chuckled. “Do you want your breakfast now?”

“I’ll make it,” I replied.

Colleen glanced at the DVDs in my hands. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah, better than the night before.”

“What would you like for your breakfast?”

“I’d like bacon and scrambled eggs.”

“Gimme a couple of secs and I’ll put—”

“I can make it myself,” I cut her flow.

“I’m sure you can.”

“I always cooked breakfast for Dad,” I said. “That’s if there was any breakfast to fry.” I turned to climb upstairs. “I almost forgot.” I handed over the DVDs. “Here, you can have ’em back. There’s nothing there that’ll tickle my like cells. It’s all ancient . . . Sorry for last night.”

“Thank you, Naomi. The reason why—”

Before Colleen could finish her sentence, I had turned around and made my way up the stairs. I didn’t wanna offend but I wasn’t up for a lecture at that time of the morning. And I was well peckish.

Scrambled eggs and three strips of bacon later, Colleen joined me at the kitchen table. I glanced at her before adding more brown sauce to my plate. A tall glass of Coke sat beside me.

“Thanks again for returning the DVDs,” Colleen said. “And apologizing. I was going to say that the reason why we don’t allow Sharyna to have a DVD player in her room is because having a DVD player is another distraction for her. It’s hard enough to get her to switch her TV off at night.”

“You’ve got a DVD player in your room,” I reasoned. “It’s one of them Blu-ray ones an’ all. And Pablo hasn’t even got a TV.”

“Me and Tony don’t have to do any homework,” said Colleen. “And we aren’t learning to read. When we first fostered kids they had everything they wanted in their rooms. Games, TVs, the lot. But you learn with experience.”

“They slapped on my door,” I said. “I was just trying to show ’em that we’re mates. I didn’t want ’em to be scared of me . . . sometimes I get that.”

Colleen nodded once. “I understand,” she said.

“It’s good that we’re chiming on that one,” I said.

“It’s just that I don’t think they’ve seen anything like—” Colleen stuttered “—what you showed them yesterday evening. Sharyna had a bad night.”

“But Pablo loved it,” I defended myself. “His cheeks were having a chuckle party.”

“I don’t think he did like it, Naomi. Sometimes kids at his age pretend to like things.”

More social worker speak.

“Horror films never bothered me,” I said. “Been watching ’em since I was six. Mum used to go down to the Woodside market and get ’em for a pound fifty each. Later on, when Dad was out of it and I couldn’t go to school cos I had to look after him, I’d spend the afternoon watching ’em. Then at the unit, Kim knew this Korean bruv who sold DVDs. He wanted five pounds each but Kim would only give him three. She hustles good like that.”

“Not every kid’s like you, Naomi. Many will get nightmares.”

“I’m not a kid!”

Shouldn’t have raised my voice. Louise is always going on about it.

I dropped my tone. “Did Sharyna have a proper nightmare?”

“No, but it took her a long time to get to sleep,” said Colleen. “I had to read something to her.”

“She should’ve said something. I would’ve turned it off.”

“She’s not going to say anything, Naomi. She wants you to think she’s cool.”

I couldn’t argue with that. Why wouldn’t Sharyna wanna be cool like moi?

I sank the last of my Coke. Colleen watched me lick my lips and place the glass down on the table. “What time is Louise coming to pick you up?” she asked.

“About twelve,” I replied. “She’s taking me out to lunch. Been asking her for months to take me out to that TGI place in Cranerley but she’s not busting out her purse on that one. Don’t tell her I said so but Louise is the Duchess of Cheapo. Kim’s social worker took her to TGIs and Nats’s social worker took her to a Harvester when she kissed fifteen. I ghetto it out with Louise on McD’s or Zubaretti’s Fish and Chips off Ashburton High Street.”

“Do you want me to finish your hair before you go?”

“Course . . . I mean, yes please! Don’t wanna go out looking like a reject from Pirates of the Caribbean.”

“Okay. Get your shower and I’ll be ready for you.”

I washed up the frying pan, plate, and glass, and dried them too. I stacked everything back in the cupboards as Colleen watched me. “Thank you, Naomi,” she said.

* * *

The local TV news was just finishing its lunchtime shift. Another gangland murking in Crongton. Some fifteen-year-old bruv nicknamed Joe Grine was found punctured in the Crongton stream near Gulley Wood. Monkey on a nail bed, Ashburton is toxic but wouldn’t like to live in Crongton with all that warring going on.

I grabbed the TV remote control and surfed the music channels. Too many commercials. The doorbell rang. Colleen went to answer it.

I heard Louise from the hallway. I thumbed the volume down and pricked up my ears so I could tune in to their convo. “Sorry I’m a bit late,” Louise said. “I had a bit of paperwork to catch up with. Everything all right? Any problems?”

I couldn’t help but bust a giggle. I covered my mouth.

“Er, yes,” Colleen admitted. “We had a bit of an issue about Naomi’s choice of DVDs. She invited Pablo and Sharyna to watch one with her.”

My Mad Killer Driller DVD wasn’t getting much love.

“Oh,” Louise replied. “I should’ve confiscated them from her. Unfortunately, her friends seem to have a liking for them.”

“She got a bit upset when Tony took it away,” said Colleen. “She went off to our room and took a load of our DVDs, but she gave them back this morning and apologized. So it’s all been sorted.”

“Good,” said Louise.

“Coffee?” offered Colleen.

“That’ll be great. Where is she?”

Monkey on bubbles. They’re so fricking polite it’s a wonder they don’t wipe each other’s asses.

“In the front room,” Colleen said.

I switched off the TV, bounced in front of Louise in the hallway, and hot-toed to the kitchen. I clicked on the kettle. “Coffee, Louise?”

Louise didn’t answer. She also forgot to sit down. Instead, she stood very still, hands on hips, and scoped my hair.

“What’s your ratings?” I asked, twirling my thumb and forefinger around a braid.

“It’s . . . nice, Naomi.”

“Colleen did it for me. It diversifies my shoulders neatly.”

“Yes . . . it’s definitely different,” said Louise. She finally parked her butt.

“Biscuits?” offered Colleen.

“Not today,” said Louise. She studied my plaits like Tarzan was swinging through them. “I don’t want to spoil my lunch.”

“TGIs?” I suggested.

I might as well try it, she can only say no.

“Let’s not go there again,” replied Louise. “Too expensive.”

The Duchess of Cheapo strikes again. I’m gonna give her a Duchess of Cheapo hat when it’s her birthday.

“Kim’s social worker took her there.”

“I’m not Kim’s social worker.”

“No, you’re not!” I raised my voice. “She’s not a tight-arse. Her purse gets to come up for air now and again.”

“Hmmm?” said Louise. “I’m not generous?”

“If you were, we’d be scorching rubber to TGIs.”

Dunno what Colleen thinks about our banter. She’s standing there with her arms folded. But hey-de-ho, that’s how Louise and me chit the chat.

“There’s no satisfying you, is there?” Louise went on.

“There would be if you took me to TGIs,” I giggled.

I made Louise her coffee. One sugar and not too much milk. She took a sip and glanced at my hair again. I didn’t think she wanted it to be my passport pic.

“So where’re you taking me then?” I wanted to know. She took a custard cream before giving me an answer.

“Monk’s Orchard.”

“Monk’s Orchard? What you taking me there for? It’s full of foreign nannies, cats with glammed-up collars, and little old ladies with little skinny dogs.”

“There’s a lovely café there,” Louise said. “Friar’s Tuck.”

I pulled a face. “Friar’s Tuck? I’m not having my lunch in a church canteen. Those church bruvs are the numero uno of prick fiddlers. The reason why they wear those long baggy black garms is to hide their erect—”

“Swearing, Naomi,” Colleen blocked my flow.

“Sorry,” I said.

“It’s not in the church, Naomi,” Louise said. “It’s just off High Street. They do nice desserts too.”

I thought about it. Louise snatched another look at my braids. “All right,” I agreed. “But if any of those little graybacks give me a dirty look then don’t blame me if I boot away their walking sticks and make a salami outta their skinny hounds.”

I swear I heard Colleen giggle, but when I looked at her she’d straightened up her face.

“I’m sure they won’t say anything,” said Louise.

* * *

An hour later, we pulled up on a quiet street in Monk’s Orchard and headed for Friar’s Tuck. A fat brown cat lazying on a windowsill scoped me. It was a small café with only eight tables. It was mostly filled by graybacks sinking teas, nibbling cakes, and filling in crosswords. We took our seats by the window and I picked up a menu. I looked at it for five minutes. “I’ll have the chicken and mushroom pie, mushy peas, chips, and an extra-large Coke.”

Louise took her jacket off, placed it on the chair beside her, and studied my hair again. “Whose idea was the new hairstyle?” she wanted to know. “Was it yours?”

“Yeah, Colleen finished it this morning.”

“So neither she nor Tony suggested it?”

“No, it was my idea. Different, innit? Kim’s gonna die with jealousy. She’s always wanted to have her hair done like black chicks. Nats is lucky, she’s black and she can do her own hair. Once, me and Kim skipped school and went to one of those hair salons in Ashburton. You know, the ones where the hairdressers rent a seat for the day. We wanted to get plaits then but Kim pussied out on going inside. I would’ve breezed in though.”

“It looks good on black girls but . . .”

“But what? Doesn’t it look sweet on me? Sharyna loved it to the max. And Pablo. Aren’t you gonna order?”

“Er, yes, but you shouldn’t lose your identity, Naomi.”

“Identity? Didn’t know I had one. What’s my identity then?”

Louise fidgeted in her seat. “Well, er,” she stuttered. “The point is, Naomi, is that if you adopt another race’s identity, you might start losing your own. The council has all sorts of rules about not allowing emergency foster parents to influence the cultural identity of the children they look after.”

“Not allowing the what?” I asked. “Don’t know what you’re on about with all that cultural thing-a-me-jig. I just wanna look presentable and on point. Aren’t you always telling me I must take pride in my appearance?”

“Yes I am, Naomi, but—”

“But what?”

Louise sucked in a long breath. “You might lose something of yourself, the real Naomi Brisset,” she said. “For example, would you expect a black boy who doesn’t know anything about Scotland to wear a kilt?”

“What’s a kilt? It’s not a tartan condom, is it? I think you’re losing your dumplings in your casserole, Louise. The real Naomi Brisset wants plaits like Solange Knowles and Alicia Keys. Don’t you think they look gorgylicious? Kim and Nats do.”

“Yes, they’re very attractive.”

“Then why are you munching your knickers about my braids? If we get a good summer this year I’m gonna try and get myself a decent tan. I’d love to look like Rita Ora.”

“Rita Ora hasn’t got a tan, Naomi.”

“You sure? Looks like she’s got one to me. Either that or she sleeps on a kick-ass sunbed in her bedroom.”

A waitress came over and took our order. Louise went for a boring salad. What’s the friggin’ point of wheeling all the way to Monk’s Orchard for a salad? I made sure I ordered the most expensive dessert—something called a tire-mousse. Her purse needed a shakedown.

“A new foster family I know are returning from their holiday on Saturday,” Louise said. “The Hamiltons. I thought you might be a good match with them. They’ve got a daughter who’s nineteen years of age. She’s at university. She could be a good influence on you.”

“I dunno about that one,” I said. “I wanna see how it rolls with Colleen. She’s on point. Did you know she was in care too?”

“Yes, I do know. But what about Tony? Are you getting along with him?”

“I’m not gonna lie on that one,” I replied. “He can be a bit of a prickhead. He loves to do his man-of-the-house thing. He reminds me a bit of Rafi. Rafi would try and lock down rules on my ass. But I’m not too bothered about Tony and I don’t think he’s a prick fiddler. He kept his ass downstairs when I had my shower. And I like Sharyna and Pablo. I can look after them. Maybe they’ll ask me to babysit if they go on holiday somewhere? Where do these Hamilton peeps live?”

“Spenge-on-Leaf,” Louise said. “Lovely house.”

“Spenge-on-Leaf,” I repeated. “Isn’t that where the first-class peeps live? Kim told me she went out with a bruv from there once. She reckoned he was twenty—”

“Don’t believe everything Kim tells you,” Louise said.

“Are you calling her a liar?”

“Er, not . . . Anyway, the Hamiltons live near the top of a hill. They’ve got a lovely view.”

“A lovely view. If I wanna lovely view I’ll look at postcards.”

“Hmmm.”

“There was this kid in the home from Swee Lanka. Neat black curly hair he had. His house was by the beach, or the way he went on about it, it was more like a hut—he had to go outside to take a dump. Quiet he was. You wouldn’t believe the shit he’s been through. His lovely view didn’t do him much good. In fact, his lovely view murked his liccle cousin. He showed me a pic of her—she had—”

“That’s different,” Louise chopped my flow again.

“These Hamilton peeps? What do they do?”

“Tim, Mr. Hamilton, is an architect. His work takes him all over the country and beyond. His wife Susan does voluntary work at the youth club on South Smeckenham Road. She’s very experienced at working with kids of all ages. She’s been an emergency foster carer for nearly a year now.”

“What’s an architect?” I asked.

“People who design buildings.”

“Design buildings? They must be white, right? I’ve never seen any black people draw buildings—not even on TV.”

“Er, yeah, they are white. The Goldings are brilliant for the short term but don’t you think it would be more appropriate to be with your own kind for the long term?”

“Depends if they’re on point,” I said. “Architect and a youth worker? Don’t sound cool to me.”

“Then, Miss Brisset,” Louise chuckled, “what’s cool to you?”

I thought about it. The waitress returned with our lunch.

“Thank you,” smiled Louise.

Grabbing my Coke, I sank half of my glass before answering. “Why can’t you put me with interesting peeps? And I don’t give a fruck what color they are. Grime DJs, wrestlers, clowns, actors, singers, dancehall queens . . . or that woman whose balloon popped on Big Brother the other day. She needs looking after.”

“You need looking after, Naomi.”

“I can look after myself!” I raised my voice. I attacked my chicken and mushroom pie. “Wasn’t I doing that before you lot came into my life giving me all your boring rules and sending me to live in nuff postcodes?”

Shaking her head, Louise picked at her salad.

* * *

When Louise had finished her meal, she leaned in closer to me and dropped her voice to a whisper. “You know what time of year this is, don’t you?”

“Course. It’s April. I haven’t lost all my dumplings, Louise. You gonna get me another Coke?”

“No, you’ve had enough. When you get to my age you’ll have no teeth left.”

“Then I’ve got a long, long wait, innit.”

“Naomi! Try and be serious for once. You know what I’m talking about.”

I thought of Mum. The bathroom in our old flat booted an entry into my mind. It was horrible. I didn’t wanna chit the chat about her. It made me feel on the down-low.

“It’s been nearly four years,” I said. “Seems like it all happened just yesterday.”

Louise put on her top-rated social worker concerned look. “Don’t you want to do anything to remember her by?”

“What can I do?” I raised my tones. “She’s dead. We burned her. I can’t bring flowers to a . . . what d’you call it? It looks like an old jug.”

“An urn,” Louise helped me out.

“I can’t bring flowers to an urn, can I? That’s just wrong. I still can’t believe that Mum’s ashes could fit in there. I mean, with my mum’s size, she woulda never made the cut of Ashburton’s Next Top Model.”

Louise covered her mouth to block her chuckles but I wasn’t trying to be funny.

“I can’t work you out, Louise,” I said. “Didn’t you used to tell me to try and forget about what happened to my mum and think about my future? Now you’re telling me I gotta remember her. Make up your freaking mind! You’re aching my brain!”

“I just thought you might want to do—”

“No, I don’t. Carpet-bomb that. I don’t wanna remember her.”

I didn’t mean it like that. I think of her every day. But cos I think of her 24-7, I have to relive the way she died. It was all red.

“Okay, I get your point,” Louise said. She reached out and squeezed my shoulder. She still had her nine-week-course social worker expression on. “Is Colleen serving you food that you like?”

“Yeah, we went shopping yesterday. Tried some black people food as well. It fills you up. I had this hard banana thing and this hard potato thing.”

“Did they give you a choice? Or ask what you wanted?”

“Yeah, Colleen’s on point. She bought my cottage pies and my mash. She bought me some beads to put in my hair as well. She didn’t have enough time to put them in today.”

Louise examined my hair once more. “She did, did she?”

“Can’t have it plain,” I said. “I have to glam it up with something. Gonna have ’em in before I roll back to school.”

“Is that a good idea?”

“Trust me, when Kim sees it she’s gonna want a repeat of that one. But who’s gonna do it for her? She don’t live with black people, I do! Nats might do it for her though. Nats will do anything for her.”

Louise shook her head. She sipped her glass of water and gave me a hard look. “Now, Miss Brisset,” she said. “Mr. Holman. Did he really harass you?”

I took my time to reply. He never got jiggy with me but I didn’t love the way he scoped me. Something definitely wrong with him. He needs more counseling than I do.

I dodged Louise’s glare. “Can I have another Coke?”

“Not before you tell me what happened with Mr. Holman. The truth, Naomi. And not Kim’s version of it.”

I met Louise’s eyes. She had a really, really look going on.

“He was . . . trying to be too nice,” I replied. “It was getting on my nerves. I’m goggleboxing, he sits beside me and asks, Are you all right? I get up to go to the bog, Are you all right? I make myself a bacon sandwich and he comes in the kitchen, Are you all right? I bounce upstairs to my room and he asks, Are you all right? I’m sure he was watching me sleep and he’s there whispering, Are you all right? He was doing my brain in. I was thinking about clonging him with that Nutra Bullet thing they’ve got. I just wanted him to leave me the fruck alone and go to the hospital where he can ask if people are all right all freaking day! And she was just too weird.”

“Did he at any time spy on you or make you feel uncomfortable in a different way?”

I side-eyed my empty glass. “Not really,” I admitted. “He was a proper Dr. Strange though. Didn’t want to stay there. Not with them.”

Louise now had her Blue Bloods face on. “What was wrong with Mrs. Holman?”

“Just didn’t like her.”

“There must be a reason, Naomi. You can’t dislike people just because you think they’re weird.”

I crossed my arms. I need to Great Escape this convo.

“So do I have to write a report?” asked Louise.

I found my napkin on the table and wiped my mouth. “Not really. If that’s what rocks your fanny you can go ahead, but I don’t really give a long squiddly. As long as I don’t have to go back.”

“Hmmm. You could have caused Mr. Holman a lot of trouble.”

“But I didn’t . . . One more Coke before I go?”

“No, I have to do another visit after I take you back.”

“Duchess Cheapo!”

“Thinking of your teeth, Naomi.”