Читать книгу I Predict a Riot - Catherine Bruton - Страница 10

So that’s how the three of us ended up walking up Coronation Road on a boiling-hot day in August. Tokes went striding ahead like he was already regretting saying Pea could come, while Little Pea skipped along at my side.

‘Nice hairdo,’ he said, smirking. ‘Same purple rinse as my granny!’

I felt the colour rising in my cheeks.

‘Like the boots too,’ he said. ‘You do dem yourself ?’

‘Did you do your trainers yourself too?’ I muttered, nodding down at his fake Nikes.

‘Ooh, the white film chick got attitude!’ he said, clicking his fingers excitedly.

I looked at him and he looked at me and he held my gaze, his eyes sparkling with mischief. Then he giggled. ‘You know I got what it takes to be a film star, dontcha? Even if alien boy don’t recognise my star quality yet.’

‘Maybe,’ I said.

Pea did a little hop like I’d just told him he’d won an Oscar. ‘You jus’ wait, gran’ma!’

Tokes turned round, caught my eye and then frowned at Little Pea. He looked worried, but he didn’t say anything.

Coronation Road is the main artery running through that part of London and it’s where all the parallel universes collide. There are Ghanaian groceries selling plantains and mealiepap and tiny smelly fish; Caribbean meat stalls with goats’ heads on the wall and ox tongues on giant platters of ice, blood swilling out over the pavement. There are Asian silk shops and tiny Japanese booths selling every type of international calling card. There are pound shops and pawnbrokers; wig shops with windows full of rainbow-coloured hair extensions and skin-lightening creams; nail bars with jewel-encrusted talons – rows and rows of them, glimmering on display. And in among all these are the chain stores, struggling for air, not so high and mighty here. The only thing the shops have in common, my dad said, is that they all have the grumpiest, most unhelpful shop assistants you’ve ever come across in your life. We used to laugh about that all the time. My dad always used to be able to make me laugh – it’s the thing I miss most since he’s gone.

And anything can happen on Coronation Road. People deal drugs in broad daylight, sell knock-off videos, braid hair, cure toothache, piss, pray, break up, make up. I heard one couple got married there once, outside Fry-days Fish and Chip Bar, and that a baby was born on the floor of Beyoncé Hair and Beauty. I even heard that the Queen and her sister visited when they were little girls, and half the road got bombed to rubble in the Blitz. Basically, Coronation Road is like a film set with a million storylines and that’s why I love it more than any other place on earth.

‘So what you gonna call your film, huh?’ Pea squeaked excitedly. ‘I was thinkin’ mebbe Stars of the Starfish ? Whatcha think?’

‘I don’t really know yet,’ I muttered.

‘Me, I born an’ bred on da Starfish Estate, innit,’ Pea went on, nodding towards the square mile of tower blocks behind the library at the other end of Coronation Road. ‘Cut me in half, you find “Starfish” written down da middle of me like a stick of rock. Not like Mr T here,’ he chirped. ‘He got another hood tattooed on his blood, I reckon.’

Tokes didn’t turn round, but I could see the muscles in the back of his neck tensing.

‘Chill out, man,’ said Little Pea who seemed to be enjoying Tokes’s unease. ‘Jus’ makin’ small talk, innit.’ Then he turned to me and winked. ‘No need to tell me where you live, Hollywood, cos everyone know that.’

Tokes turned at that and walked backwards, like he felt he needed to keep an eye on Pea, like he didn’t trust him not to stab him in the back. ‘Why?’ he demanded. ‘How you know where she lives?’

Little Pea smirked and let out a loud laugh that was too big for his tiny body. ‘No way!’ I felt my cheeks hotter than ever as Pea’s face lit up with a delighted grin. ‘You tellin’ me he don’t even know ’bout your mamma?’

I glared at him, but I knew there was no point; he was bursting to tell and there was nothing I could do to stop him.

‘She dittn’t tell you her mamma is bessie mates with da Prime Minister?’ Pea squeaked on, his tongue flicking in and out of his mouth.

Tokes was still looking at me, but I just stared down at my boots, wishing I could disappear into the cherry-red faces.

‘She probably BFFs with Her Majesty da Queen too,’ said Pea. ‘Am I right?’

Tokes was still looking at me. ‘Is he serious?’

‘Sort of,’ I muttered. ‘She’s an MP.’

‘Dat mean Member of Par-lia-ment!’ Pea announced.

‘I know what it means,’ said Tokes, giving him a look. Then he turned back to me and said, ‘That’s pretty cool.’

‘It is so not cool!’ I muttered quickly.

‘She bit touchy ’bout it, I thinkin’,’ said Pea. ‘Mebbe dat why she makin’ a film ’bout how rubbish it is in her mamma’s hood. It a party political broadcast to make her mamma look bad!’

‘That’s not what I’m doing!’ I said, but I could feel my face flushing because he was right, in a way.

‘If you say so, girlfrien’!’ said Pea with a jerky hand gesture. ‘Don’t take a spy to figure out you an’ your mamma don’t exactly got da mother-daughter love t’ing nailed.’

Tokes was still walking backwards and he was staring at me in a confused sort of way. Pea had a massive grin on his face.

‘I hate my mum,’ I said quietly.

‘Told you!’ said Pea. ‘An’ what I hear, your dad not around no more neither. I right?’

‘My dad’s cool,’ I muttered. ‘My mum drove him away.’

‘See! Da Pea know everyt’ing!’ said Pea excitedly.

Tokes looked like he was about to ask me something, but then Pea stopped suddenly. We were outside Choudhary’s Electrical Store. The sign said: TVs, stereos, PCs and electrical. Sales and upgrades.

The Choudharys who own the store lived down the road from us and were probably the only friendly shopkeepers in the whole of Coronation Road. They were also the only people I’d really got to know – until I met Tokes that is. There was a power cut on the street once and my mum wasn’t around so I knocked on loads of the neighbours’ doors to see if they had any candles and the Choudharys were the only ones who were home. When they found out I was on my own, they invited me in and Mrs Choudhary gave me sweet honey cake while Mr Choudhary talked to me about Islam and high-definition cameras. He showed me how to use his old Super 8 camera and admitted that he used to be a bit of an amateur film-maker himself.

‘In my younger days I fancied myself the next Hitchcock!’ he said, laughing through his big furry moustache and offering me more sticky cake.

I remember that their front room smelt of incense and paprika and happiness. There was an old grandma who sat in an armchair by the window and didn’t say much, just nodded and smiled, and an assortment of daughters and sisters and aunts who came and went while I was there – all smiling, all dressed in beautiful, glimmering silks.

And then, right at the end, their son – the one I can see behind the counter now – came in. His name was Ishmael and he looked a bit like a Bollywood heart-throb, even though his hair was going a bit thin on top. He wasn’t very old, early twenties maybe, and I remember he was wearing cricket whites with big grass stains on the knees. When he offered me his hand to shake, I blushed and all the words in my head disappeared. Then the lights came back on and I realised I was still holding his hand and staring up into his dark black Bollywood eyes. Later he walked me back to our house and my heart was beating so fast as I said thank you that the words came out all in the wrong order.

Mr Choudhary and I have sort of become friends since then. I pop into the shop most days when I’m at home and we discuss the latest cameras he’s got in stock. Once Mr Choudhary showed me a film of Ishmael playing cricket. I can still see him, arm raised, red ball in hand, running towards the camera, looking right at me. ‘Like a young Shoaib Akhtar,’ his father said. ‘Only with less hair.’

Ishmael always says hello to me very politely and occasionally he tries to chat to me, but I always go red and can’t look at him properly. Something about his eyes makes my knees go weak and my stomach all wobbly.

Anyway, Pea had stopped outside the shop and his face was pressed up against the grille. My stomach did a little flip when I saw Ishmael behind the counter and I could feel my ears going red and hoped the others hadn’t noticed. But Pea wasn’t even looking at me. He and Tokes were staring at the TV screens in the window. They were all showing images of hooded figures being herded into police vans. The headline beneath said, Rival gangs fight on Starfish Estate. Gang member rushed to hospital in a critical condition.

Pea’s eyes were glued to the screens and a slow grin had spread across his face. ‘See – Shiv’s cousin Pats made da news! He like totes famous now, innit!’

Then another headline ran across the bottom of the screen: Family of injured youth claims he was beaten up by police.

‘Seriously?’ said Tokes, turning to Pea, whose eyes were bright with excitement.

‘What did I tell you?’ Pea hissed under his breath. ‘World War Three!’

‘Did you know about this?’ said Tokes. ‘Is this what you told Shiv? That the police hurt Pats?’

Pea looked up and grinned, but I never got to hear his answer because just then a blast of music sounded from his pocket and he pulled out a vivid pink, jewel-encrusted phone from his grubby jeans and flicked it open.

‘Yeah?’ he said into the handset. ‘Yeah, I seen it . . . Good, innit? You what? Now? OK. OK – I said OK, all right, innit.’

Then he flicked the phone shut and I caught the look in his eyes – they reminded me of old Mrs Choudhary’s, clouded and almost unseeing. But he grinned at me and Tokes and said, ‘’S been a blast, but I gotta shoot. Guess I see ya around – if you still alive that is.’

Then he turned and legged it back up Coronation Road towards the station, nearly slipping on a bucket of icy water spilling out of the butcher’s, before crashing into an old lady with a shopping trolley.

‘Keep filmin’, Hollywood,’ he called as me and Tokes stood watching him skedaddle. ‘Things gonna kick off big time in this hood, I tellin’ you!’

Then he dodged into an alleyway and was gone.

‘He’s mental that kid,’ said Tokes. ‘And he’s gonna get himself killed one day if he keeps hanging out with the Starfish Gang,’ he added, a worried look in his eyes.

‘Maybe he’ll get us killed too,’ I said, self-conscious again suddenly now it was just the two of us.

‘He’s gonna try his best, that’s for sure,’ said Tokes. His face broke into another sunny grin. ‘In the meantime, do you want to, you know, hang out with me for a bit?’ he asked. ‘Maybe we could, um, do some stuff for your film. If you want to.’

It was funny how he said that. Funny in the way things are when you look back on them after other stuff has happened. If I’d known how things were going to turn out, would I have walked away? Anyway, I didn’t. I just shrugged and said, ‘OK. If you want.’

‘Cool,’ he said. ‘Where do you want to go?’