Читать книгу I Predict a Riot - Catherine Bruton - Страница 11

SCENE 6: BEHIND THE FISH FACTORY

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Next to Coronation Road Station, between the fish factory and a derelict house that looks like a squat, is an abandoned patch of yard. I found it the summer before last when my mum and dad were arguing all the time and I needed somewhere to escape to. But I’d never taken anyone else there before.

We clambered through the hole in the corrugated-iron fence and into the overgrown backyard. It was right behind the station platform and we could hear the announcer going on about some delayed train in a tinny, bored voice. There were so many pigeons roosting up in the netting under the arches that the brickwork was almost completely painted in white pigeon poo, and the stench of fish from the factory was mixed with the smell of old wee and diesel and oil.

But there was an old sofa there, and I’d dragged some other stuff in too: a couple of pots which I’d planted pansies and daisies in, a camping table with only three legs and some faded bunting left over from the Olympics. Tokes looked around him and grinned like I’d just brought him into some kind of palace or something. ‘Cool!’ he said.

‘You like it?’ I asked shyly.

He looked at me and smiled his big smile – all white teeth and twinkly eyes. A proper hero’s smile. ‘I love it!’

‘You’ll be able to stay out of trouble here,’ I said. ‘And they’ll never find us.’

He looked up, alarmed, and his voice was sharp, like I’d pressed on a place that hurt. ‘Who won’t find us?’

‘Um . . . Shiv and his gang – the Starfish,’ I stammered. ‘That’s all I meant. I . . .’

‘Oh.’ Tokes seemed to relax. ‘Them.’ And the way he said it, I wondered who he thought I was talking about. ‘I reckon they always track you down in the end,’ he said, flopping down on the sofa and looking upwards towards the platform. ‘How’d you find this place anyway?’

‘I have a lot of spare time,’ I said with a shrug. ‘And I need somewhere no one else knows about.’

‘Because of your mum and dad?’

I could feel the weird clicky feeling in my throat that I get when I have to think about what happened, but luckily there was no time to answer because I could hear the sound of a train overhead. ‘Duck!’ I yelled, grabbing an old umbrella from behind the sofa. ‘It sounds like a through train.’

‘What?’ said Tokes as I slid on the sofa next to him and pulled the umbrella over both our heads.

‘You’ll see!’

I was pressed up so tight against Tokes I could smell a faint tang of sweat and toothpaste. As the train went thundering through the station above us, suddenly all the pigeons up in the arches started flying about and making a load of noise, and splats of poo fell all around us.

‘The trains make the pigeons poop,’ I yelled.

‘Like poo rain!’ he shouted over the clamour of the train and we both laughed.

‘Does that happen often?’ asked Tokes, grinning from ear to ear once the train had passed.

‘About every ten minutes,’ I said.

He laughed. ‘This is one weird place to hang out, film girl!’

I shoved the umbrella down the back of the sofa.

‘So you want to tell me about your mum?’ he asked.

I wasn’t expecting that.

‘I mean, it must be kind of weird having a mum who’s in the government or whatever,’ he said. ‘It’s sort of cool though.’

‘It’s not cool at all.’

‘Why? I mean, she gets to make the law. She can change stuff – make things better. That’s good, right?’

I bit my lip and tried to explain. ‘I think she cares more about “society” than her own family.’

Tokes didn’t say anything, but I could feel his eyes watching me.

‘And she only pretends to care about that stuff anyway. All that really matters to her is her career.’ I wasn’t sure why I was telling him this, and my voice came out a bit funny as I spoke. ‘That’s why they split up. My mum and dad.’

‘Because of her job?’

‘Because she puts her career ahead of everything else,’ I said. I remember hearing Dad say that, saying he’d had enough of coming in second place to Downing Street. That was the day he walked out. My funny, brilliant, kind dad who left because of her.

‘So it was your dad who left?’ Tokes said.

‘Last year.’

‘And you figure that’s your mum’s fault?’

I nodded.

Tokes glanced up. He had the questioning look in his eyes again. ‘You ever talk to her about it?’ he asked.

I shrugged. ‘No point.’

Tokes nodded, then after a second he said, ‘You should put it in your film then – maybe.’

‘Maybe,’ I said, although I couldn’t imagine what my mum would do if I said stuff about her in my film and then it won the competition and got shown on TV – which was part of the prize.

‘You miss your dad?’ Tokes asked.

‘Lots.’ I looked up. ‘He’s funny. And he doesn’t nag. He gets me. She doesn’t.’

‘You see him much?’

‘No. He’s in New York now. He sends me stuff all the time and we Skype sometimes.’ I pushed to the back of my mind the thought that we hadn’t spoken for over two weeks. ‘I’m going to go over there soon, he says. We don’t have a date yet, but . . .’

‘But it’s not the same?’

I nodded. Nothing was the same since my dad left.

Tokes’s forehead wrinkled. ‘That’s something we got in common then.’

‘What? Your dad is abroad too?’

‘Sort of.’ He didn’t look up when he said that, just changed the subject. ‘So we gonna make this film or what?’

I tugged my camera out of my pocket, nervous suddenly. ‘I should probably interview you,’ I muttered.

‘Me?’

‘It’s just you’re sort of the main character now,’ I murmured shyly. ‘You know, like the hero. Because of what happened in the park.’

‘Don’t be dumb,’ he laughed, then his face was serious suddenly. ‘I’m the opposite of a hero – trust me.’

‘The way I see it, you’re the hero, Shiv is the villain and Little Pea is the funny man,’ I said. ‘It all kind of fits.’

‘And what does that make you?’ he asked, squinting at me in the sunlight.

I shrugged. ‘The geeky weirdo, I suppose.’

‘She usually turns out to be the star in the end,’ he said with a smile. ‘Doesn’t she?’

‘Not in my case.’

Tokes gave me another of his funny looks then he shook his head and scuffed his feet against the rubbly ground, sending up clouds of dust. ‘And you’re really gonna let Pea be in the film?’

‘He’s good to watch,’ I said.

‘Yeah, but why does he want to be in it?’ said Tokes. ‘A kid like that doesn’t do anything unless there’s something in it for him.’

‘Maybe he just likes performing.’

‘Maybe,’ said Tokes, unconvinced. He glanced up at the pigeons in the netting. ‘Anyway, we’ve got no choice now, because if we don’t let him be in it he’ll try to mess it up for us.’

‘Really?’

He nodded. ‘Yeah. And if he is in it he’ll probably try to sabotage it anyway! So either way he’s bad news.’

I glanced at Tokes again when he said ‘sabotage’. I liked the way he used words.

‘I know kids like him,’ he said. ‘Magnets for trouble. Can’t help it. They ruin all the good stuff that happens to them.’

‘Maybe he wants a fresh start,’ I said.

‘Maybe,’ said Tokes, but his eyes were clouded with doubt.

‘Well, maybe he just wants to be friends. It doesn’t seem like he has any. Except Shiv and the Starfish Gang.’

‘And they’re not the kind of friends a kid like that needs,’ said Tokes. ‘Believe me, I know.’

I wanted to ask him how he knew, but he had the faraway look in his eyes again.

‘So can I interview you?’ I said instead.

His eyes came back to me and he gave me a look, then said, ‘OK. Fine. I’ll try to be heroic!’

So I pressed a button and the camera beeped into record mode. It looked good: the skinny kid with the sunshine face, sitting on the ripped-up old sofa, with the graffiti and the corrugated iron and the pansies in pots behind him. There was a shaft of dusty sunlight spilling down from the platform above, drawing lines of light through his fuzzy Afro hair.

I waited for him to say something, but he didn’t.

‘So, um, tell me about yourself,’ I said, putting on a voice like one of those chat-show hosts. ‘Er, what are your hobbies?’

‘I like football,’ he said, uncomfortable suddenly now that the gaze of the lens was turned on him. So I turned the camera down to focus on his feet. His wrecked Vans fitted in with the broken rubble and rubbish scattered all around the den. In the scorching heat the bits of broken glass glowed and looked like they were ready to combust. I moved round in an arc then brought the camera back to focus on his face again.

‘Anything else?’

‘Books,’ he said, still self-conscious. ‘I like reading.’

‘What sort of books?’

‘All sorts,’ he said. ‘Whatever I can get my hands on. My English teacher, Miss Kayacan, she –’ He hesitated like he’d said something he shouldn’t, but then he went on. ‘Anyway, she reckoned I should read some of the classics. Said I should go to the library over the holidays. Only . . .’ He stopped again. ‘Only you saw what happened there because you were following me.’ He shrugged and looked right at the camera.

‘What else?’ I asked.

‘I like school. I want to get a good education.’ He was more serious now, looking down at the rubble, not at the camera. ‘For my mum, you know? She reckons education gives you choices in life. That’s why we moved –’ He broke off again. It was like he was monitoring everything he said.

So I took a deep breath before I asked, ‘So, um, are you going to tell me where you were before then?’

He didn’t jump down my throat this time. ‘Are you gonna put this in the film?’

‘I don’t have to,’ I said.

He looked up at the arches then back at the camera. ‘It’s nowhere really. Just some place in North London, like Pea said.’

‘So why did you move to Coronation Road?’

He sighed then stared hard at me, his face screwed up. Then he seemed to make up his mind about something. ‘Can you keep a secret?’ he asked.

I nodded. ‘I don’t have anyone to tell secrets to.’

He grinned but still looked uncertain. ‘OK, well, if I tell you this, you have to swear to keep it between me and you.’ He looked dead serious as he said, ‘Promise?’

I nodded quickly.

‘And you can’t film it either,’ he said.

‘OK.’ I switched off my camera and waited for him to go on.

‘So, my dad,’ he said quietly, looking down at his Vans, his face seemed younger suddenly. ‘The thing is that he was in with the wrong crowd. My mum was worried I’d get dragged in too.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s hard to explain,’ he said, a concentrated expression on his face. ‘But basically stuff happened and one day my mum packed up and we left.’

‘What did your dad say?’

‘He didn’t know,’ said Tokes quickly. ‘We went in the middle of the night so he wouldn’t be able to follow us.’

I didn’t know what to say so I just kept quiet, let him keep talking.

‘My dad’s not a bad man,’ he said, looking up at me now like it was important to him that I believed this. ‘When I was a kid, he taught me how to do keepie-uppies, and how to do wheelies on my bike and all that stuff – he even helped me with my homework when he could, even though he wasn’t too hot on school himself. And he treated my mum good too.’

‘Why did she leave him then?’

I thought of my dad saying, ‘When you’re older, you’ll understand why I’m going, Maggie.’ I wondered if it was the same for Tokes.

He shook his head. ‘I don’t even know why I’m telling you all this,’ he said.

‘You don’t have to if you don’t want to,’ I said.

‘I kind of do,’ he admitted. ‘It’s sort of a relief to tell someone about it, you know?’

I nodded because I knew exactly how it felt to have secrets eating away at your insides. And maybe that’s why he told me, because he could tell I got it – sort of.

‘OK, so it’s hard to explain. My dad was in this gang. A bit like the Starfish, I suppose.’ He hesitated. ‘He wanted to get out, make a new start. But once you’re into all that it’s hard to break free.’

‘Right,’ I said quietly.

‘My mum didn’t want that for me.’ He looked like there was a kind of weight on him as he spoke, pressing on his shoulders. ‘She gave up everything so I could make something of my life. Which is why I can’t let her down.’

I wished I’d still been filming then, so I could have zoomed in on his eyes, focused on the bitter black colour in them as he spoke.

‘Do you miss him?’ I said eventually. ‘Your dad?’

He nodded. ‘Yeah. He was cool. Funny. Kind.’

I thought of my own dad then: how he could always make me laugh; how he got me in a way my mum never did.

‘Every time I hear some black man’s been shot or in hospital I always think it could be him.’ Tokes’s brow was furrowed and he had that ‘Do you understand?’ look in his eyes, so I nodded even though I didn’t understand. Not that bit. Not really.

‘You know what the average life expectancy is for a black man involved in gang culture?’ he said suddenly.

I shook my head.

‘Twenty-eight,’ he said. Then he looked down again. ‘My dad’s thirty-two already. He’s been running with the gang since he was fifteen, so he’s already pushed his luck, right?’

I imagined filming figures. A two and an eight. Maybe cut out of newspaper or on somebody’s front door: 28.

‘He’s not a bad person, my dad,’ Tokes said again, like he really wanted to make sure I got it. ‘He just got in with the wrong crowd. Like Pea, I suppose.’

‘So do you think he’ll come looking for you?’

Tokes nodded his head. ‘Probably. It’s not really such a big city. He’s gonna find us sooner or later, isn’t he?’

I looked at him through the viewfinder. His pebble eyes were dark and thoughtful.

‘What’ll happen then?’

Tokes face puckered, like he was holding something inside. ‘I don’t know.’

‘And that’s why you want to stay away from Shiv and the Starfish Gang,’ I said.

He looked up and caught my eye, his face clearing as he said, ‘I’ve got to stay out of trouble. Otherwise my mum’s done all this for nothing.’

I remember him saying that, as clear as if I had it on camera.

Just as if he knew what would happen all along.

I Predict a Riot

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