Читать книгу She Wore Red Trainers - Na'ima B. Robert - Страница 16

11

I woke up thinking about her. Again.

As I made wudu, I looked at myself in the mirror, trying to see whether anything had changed. My lower jaw was covered with a light fuzz of hair and it made me look older, more serious. Did she like serious guys? Did she like beards? Judging by her brother, I thought it was safe to assume that she probably didn’t mind them, even if she wasn’t necessarily a fan. I puffed myself up and looked at my body critically. I had put on a bit of weight, what with all the takeaways we had been eating. It was time to get back into shape. At least basketball would help.

After Fajr, I slipped off my thobe and hit the floor to do some push ups. I was soon out of breath and, quite frankly, disgusted with myself. I had really let myself go. It was time to take back some control of my life, time to get in shape and get my mind focussed on the future. But even as those thoughts ran through my mind, I could feel the adrenalin running out of me.

I missed my mum.

I just did.

And, if I was honest with myself, I was crushing on a girl who was as unattainable as the stars, and almost as distant. She probably didn’t even know I existed.

The summer stretched ahead of me, like a life sentence, and, at the end of it, there was uni. I sighed. The prospect of studying Law had started losing its appeal last year after Mum died and I got over the initial sadness. Ever since then, the dream of being a hot shot lawyer had seemed less and less attractive. But what were my alternatives? And what would Dad say if I dared tell him that I didn’t want to study Law? He would hit the roof, for sure.

I slumped back against my bed and let sadness wash over me again.

I missed Mum. I missed having her there to talk to anytime and about anything. She would have known what to do, she would have known what to tell Dad.

Just as the tears welled up, my phone vibrated: a message. I checked the screen. It was a message from Usamah. ‘Wanna go skateboarding this morning? Bring your bros.’

And even though I couldn’t skateboard to save my life, even though I associated skateboarding with long-haired white dudes from the States, it was just the distraction I needed.

***

The skate park in Brixton was small and scruffy. Low-rise estates surrounded it on all sides and the litter and graffiti on the pavement just added to the gritty, urban ambience. I was determined to keep an open mind but I could see that Umar was seriously unimpressed. Jamal stuck close by me and just stared.

But, as usual, Usamah was in his element. He knew some of the other guys there and, in no time at all, he had introduced us and managed to persuade his friends to lend us their skateboards and give us an introductory lesson. I felt quite silly, wobbling along on wheels but I could see that Jamal was getting the hang of it.

‘This is fun!’ he called out as he sailed past me for the third time. ‘You need to copy me, Ali!’

I was just about to shout out and tell him what a great job he was doing when I heard some raised voices behind me.

‘What you sayin’, blud?’

I turned around to see Umar literally surrounded by a group of young guys with bandanas and expensive trainers. They all had scowls on their faces. Umar did too, but I could tell that he was completely out of his depth. ‘Oi, what’s going on?’

The boys turned to face me as I hurried over to where they were all gathered.

‘What’s it got to do with you, man?’

‘He’s my brother, that’s what.’

One of them laughed, covering his gold tipped teeth with his fist. ‘Hear dat lickle posh bwoi!’

Another snarled, ‘Tell your brother to watch himself, yeah? He don’t belong here down these sides. Down here we hurt mans, y’get me? Especially if they’ve got attitude like this one.’ He jerked his head over at Umar who stood there, his hands in his pockets, his eyes blazing. I needed to get him out of there.

‘C’mon, Umar,’ I muttered, leading him away. ‘Let’s go…’ I ignored the insults they flung after us. Umar was shaking next to me, determined not to catch my eye.

When I told Usamah what had happened, he shook his head. ‘I don’t know what’s happening to these kids, man. They crazy down here… reminds me of the Bronx, for real. Come on, guys, let’s beat it. We can go get something to eat up on the hight street.’

We left the skate park under a cloud, the fun of trying, failing and finally mastering the skateboards now forgotten.

As we left, I looked back and saw that the group of boys were still there, sprawled across the low wall on the side of the skate park. Every one of them was staring hard at Umar as he walked away. I felt a shiver run through me. I didn’t think we would be coming back any time soon.

***

On the way home on the bus, I told Usamah about my dread of the long summer ahead with nothing constructive to do until A Level results came out.

‘Yo, they need some extra hands down at the Islamic centre,’ he said. ‘I figure you might want to help out, what with you having so much time on your hands and all. You too, Umar. You’re welcome to come on board if you like.’

I was speechless. Not only had I not expected Usamah to be the ‘community type’, but I had never envisaged myself in that setting: youth work. In the suburbs of Hertfordshire and the halls of St Peter’s, community work was something you did after a long plane journey, in Africa or South America, just like the school we had worked for in Mexico. But now that we were living in South London, not quite ghetto but close enough, the need for youth programmes was clear: without them, kids were on the streets, getting up to no good.

Umar glanced over at Usamah. ‘Don’t look at me,’ he said shortly. ‘I’ve got better things to do than hang out with a bunch of losers.’ And he turned to stare out of the window again. Usamah looked over at me and shrugged his shoulders.

’I’ve never really thought about it, to tell you the truth,’ I admitted, embarrassed by Umar’s lack of manners. ‘I’m not sure that I’m cut out for that kind of thing…’

‘All you need is time, and you got plenty of that! And anyway, I bet you got mad skills from all those years in that fancy school of yours, what did they teach you, riding, fencing, ballroom dancing…’

I laughed. ‘OK, OK, I’ll help in any way I can. Just don’t expect me to be a group leader or anything. I’ve never done anything like this before. And the boys… they may not take to me, you know?’

‘Too posh, huh?’ Usamah was clearly amused by my discomfort. ‘Nah, you’ll be fine, akh. Just relax. You can help Brother Omar out with his group and maybe go on the trips with them. You think you can handle that?’

I nodded, swallowing hard. Yes, I was pretty sure I could handle that.