I asked Jit about Jason on the way home. We were walking up Evington Road, past a load of takeaway shops and my stomach was rumbling as the smell of food wafted around the street.
‘I ain’t gonna do nuttin’,’ Jit told me. ‘What can I do?’
‘You didn’t have to get involved,’ I told him.
‘What? And leave my best mate to get picked on – I’d rather get beaten up,’ replied Jit.
I was going to say something, but the way Jit had said what he did made me feel proud to have him as my friend. I told him that I would talk to Gussie for him.
‘Straighten it out. If you like . . .’ I said to him.
Jit shrugged. ‘Ain’t worth it. If Gussie batters Jason then we’ll just get more grief from him. Best just leave it. He’ll get his, bro. He’s not gonna be bigger than us for the rest of his life, is he?’
‘I don’t even know why he picks on us,’ I said. ‘I mean it ain’t like we ask for it.’
Jit grinned. ‘Apart from the last time, when I shoved him,’ he said.
‘Yeah well – thanks for that. You saved me there.’
We crossed a side street and walked past a grocer’s. There was an old man, a local homeless bloke, standing outside the shop. He had grey hair that was matted into dirty dreadlocks and he stank. As the people entering and leaving the shop tried to ignore him, he held out a wooden stick like it was a sword and pretended to fight someone.
‘Mash yuh up!’ he was shouting at no one.
We walked past quickly so that he wouldn’t try to talk to us like he normally did. We called him MC Nutty, although I had no idea what his real name was.
‘How much we make on the games?’ Jit asked me.
‘Give me a moment and I’ll do you a profit and loss sheet,’ I said.
I stopped and opened my bag, counting my stash. There had been thirty in there in the morning and now there were nineteen. Not bad for one day.
‘We sold eleven – that’s over a hundred quid,’ I told him.
Jit’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.
‘That’s some good dough,’ he said.
‘Still gotta give Gussie his money out of that,’ I reminded him.
‘So what’s that make then?’ he asked.
‘Three quid a game – work it out.’
We walked on, both of us quiet as our brains tried to do the maths. It was like a contest to see who would come up with the figures first and I was confident that I’d win. Too confident though.
‘One hundred and thirty-two total,’ I said. ‘So about forty quid for us.’
‘Nah,’ said Jit, correcting me. ‘It’s ninety-nine for Gussie and thirty-three for us.’
I looked at him in amazement. Jit hated maths and never paid attention in school. Maybe I’d found another way to teach him, I thought, as I dreamed up my own teach yourself maths text book, one that would make me loads of money.
‘. . . So that’s sixteen-fifty each,’ he concluded.
‘Yeah – I’ll double-check it at home but I think you’re right,’ I said.
Jit stopped at the end of his street and looked at me.
‘Any chance you can let me have a fiver?’ he asked.
‘Yeah – later. I’ll bring it round,’ I replied, not getting what he meant.
‘I meant now, bro,’ he said, looking embarrassed.
‘Oh – right . . . yeah, no worries,’ I said.
Jit waited for a moment before explaining. ‘It’s just that my mum is workin’ late and she ain’t left me no dinner,’ he said.
‘That’s cool, bro. You don’t have to explain,’ I told him.
‘So I need some dough to get some chips or summat,’ he continued. ‘And I ain’t got no bus fare for the mornin’.’
And then he just stopped, like he’d realized what he’d said and didn’t like it. I pulled out some money and gave it to him. It was a tenner.
‘There you go, brother,’ I said. ‘Although you could always eat round at mine . . . Mum would love it. She’s always complaining that I don’t bring me mates home.’
‘Maybe another night,’ said Jit, pocketing the money. ‘I’ll check you tomorrow.’
‘I was gonna bring the rest round later,’ I said to him.
‘I gotta do some stuff for me mum,’ said Jit, as he turned to leave.
I was going to say something but I left it and watched him walk off up the street. I knew something was up with him, but I didn’t want to be all girlie and ask him about it. I knew that he’d tell me soon enough. Instead I headed home and wondered whether I should have charged fifteen pounds for the games instead.
Gussie was waiting when I got in and asked for his money before I’d had a chance to sit down.
‘Hol’ yer horses, bro, I ain’t even got me jacket off yet,’ I protested.
‘Just hand me my money, Dean, and stop with yer nonsense.’
‘Let me sort out my stuff first,’ I said, not wanting Gussie to see that I had more money than I was supposed to have.
I took off my jacket and headed up two flights of stairs to my room, locking the door when I got in. I counted out the money quickly, hiding the rest of mine and Jit’s, and then I took Gussie’s cut downstairs.
‘Cool,’ he said, as he counted it. ‘Them things goin’ like hot cakes.’
‘Yeah,’ I agreed. ‘Should get rid of the rest by the end of the week. You gettin’ any more?’
‘Yeah, man – as many as you need. Got something even better for you soon,’ he told me.
I looked at him and raised an eyebrow.
‘What?’ I asked.
‘Mobiles, bro. Nuff of dem . . .’
I found the remote for the telly and turned it on, sitting down but ignoring the screen. ‘How much?’ I asked him.
‘Dunno yet,’ Gussie told me. ‘My mate, Raj, is getting them. Top of the range too.’
‘Raj owns that phone shop on East Park Road don’t he?’
‘Yeah – so what?’ asked my brother.
‘So why can’t he sell them there?’ I said to him.
It made perfect sense to me. What was the point in having the shop if you gave other people phones to sell?
‘Extra stock – off the books and that, you get me?’ Gussie said. ‘My man needs to get rid so I’m buying the excess.’
‘Still don’t get it,’ I admitted.
‘All you need to get is the dough for the phones. You’ll make a load on them,’ promised Gussie.
I was about to say something else but I stopped when I realized that he was right. I wouldn’t be making small change out of them. But then again, I thought, would anyone at school have the money to buy phones in the first place? Gussie stood up and told me he was off to see a mate.
‘You comin’ back for dinner?’
‘Nah – tell mum I’ll get summat in town,’ he said. ‘I gotta do a shift with Dad at eight, anyways.’
‘Good,’ I said. ‘Means more food for me, Mr Rotund.’
‘You what?’ he said, looking puzzled.
‘Nuttin’, bro. Get a dictionary,’ I replied.
‘What – and end up like you? No thanks.’
He walked out and left me to think about who I’d try to sell the mobiles to. My gramps walked in as I was thinking and farted real loud. It sounded like he had thunder in his pants and the smell was like something that had died.
‘Gramps!’ I said, laughing. ‘Tha’s nasty, man.’
‘A nuh nuttin’. Betta fe get it out than keep it in,’ he replied, sitting down to watch the telly with me. Not even a second thought to the nuclear fart he had just ripped – nasty!
After my dinner, I walked to Grace’s house. She had called to say that her and Hannah were in her basement, going over stuff for the school paper. I said that I’d come over, but when she asked me to call for Jit I told her that he was busy.
‘Oh right,’ she’d replied, sounding disappointed.
‘What – I’m not good enough on my own?’ I teased.
‘Yeah!’ she said quickly. ‘I just hoped that Jit would come round too.’
‘You’ll have to forget about snogging him for one night,’ I told her.
‘Stinky git,’ she said.
When I got to her house, her mum let me in and asked me how I was.
‘Haven’t seen you for a few days,’ she said.
‘I’ve been busy, Mrs Parkhurst,’ I said, in my best accent, trying to impress.
‘Homework?’ she asked, smiling at me.
‘Yes – and other stuff, er . . . things,’ I replied.
‘Well I’d better let you get downstairs what with the deadline for the paper looming.’
‘OK.’
I headed down the stairs, hearing a White Stripes song playing.
‘Elvis is in da building!’ I said as I walked in.
‘Greetings, Elvis – tell me, does Heaven have reality TV?’ asked Hannah.
‘Eh?’
‘Reality TV,’ she repeated.
‘What about it, you loony tunes?’ I said.
‘ ’Cos if it does, do the losers have to go to hell?’
I just looked at her and shook my head. ‘You need to get out more, Sister Aitch. Thirteen and with a head full of nonsense already . . .’
‘Oh hello, Grace – thanks for inviting me round – think I’ll ignore you though and pretend like you’re not even here!’ said Grace.
‘Easy, Sister Gee – didn’t see you there,’ I joked.
‘There’ll be trouble, my lad,’ she said, imitating Mr Black.
‘Oh, be firm with me,’ I begged. ‘Firm but fair!’
‘Will you both shut up,’ said Hannah.
I stuck my tongue out at her and went and racked up the balls on Grace’s pool table, ready to play a game.
‘Who’s first for a beatin’?’ I said.
‘We asked you round to help with the paper,’ said Grace.
‘What’s wrong with Imi and Suky?’ I asked. ‘They’re the editors.’
‘Imi’s at some family do and Suky has got some homework to do,’ replied Hannah.
‘So you sent for the substitute?’ I asked.
‘No – you’re supposed to be helping us too,’ said Grace.
Hannah shook her head and walked over to me, grabbing the pool cue from my hand.
‘From what I remember, Dean, it’s your fault that we have to do this anyway,’ she said, menacingly.
‘Easy, sister . . . no need to get violent,’ I said with a grin.
Hannah poked me in the chest and then cracked into a smile.
‘I tell you what – it’s only ’cos I’ve known you since we were three that I don’t stick this cue where the sun don’t shine!’
‘Anyone like a drink?’ Grace’s dad interrupted from the foot of the stairs.
Hannah went bright red.
‘Can I have a juice please, Dad,’ said Grace.
‘Yeah, me too,’ I said. ‘Please.’
‘And what about you, Hannah? Once you’ve finished putting that cue where the sun doesn’t shine,’ grinned Mr Parkhurst.
‘Can I have a coffee?’ asked Hannah, grinning back.
Grace’s dad suddenly got all excited.
‘Ah coffee! Good choice, Hannah, only I’ve just this morning acquired—’ he began.
‘You’re in for it now,’ said Grace. ‘He got a new toy this morning – a coffee machine – and now he’s going to bore us all silly with how it works and we’ll never get this work done.’
I thought about the coffee machine at my dad’s bar. ‘Has it got one of them steamy thingys?’ I asked.
‘Sure has,’ said Mr Parkhurst.
‘Cool!’ said Hannah.
‘I’ll show you how it works if you like,’ said Mr Parkhurst.
Grace let out a moan and then started calling everything she could see, the pens, the paper, the pool table, everything, stinky bums.