Patrice Lawrence
Jackson was locked up. Locked up, man. His mum said if he took one step out the house she was going to beat him with an axe. Man, that boy was full of excuses. A few years ago, when his mum was working nights down the hospital, he would climb out his bedroom window to meet us. But he got to fifteen and all that fried chicken had set up home around his belly. He couldn’t do escapology no more. And his mum stopped working nights when her sister went back to Jamaica.
I had plans for that night. Big plans. Two-man plans. And I had even sorted out precautions. For a couple of quid, Jane Tyzack would write a note from anyone’s mum. The ones that I had in my pocket gave me and Jackson official permission to stay over at Heidi Barden’s, signed Mrs Barden. (Heidi’s mum couldn’t write it herself, because she was visiting her sister in Brighton.) Heidi told me she was going to have her mate with her too. Like I said, big plans. And if anybody checked, our documentation was bang in order.
So I was sitting on the wall outside the flats, feeling kind of let down, wondering if I should just forget it and go home. But my brother Lucan was back at our place, taking over my room. We’d end up in a fight. And Markie had been banged up again, so Mum wasn’t in no happy mood either. Anyway, it was the first week of the summer holidays. Why should I go home?
And then I saw Connor. Me and Jackson have been hanging around together since before I can remember. Same primary school, same class, and his mum and my mum worked together for a bit before Jackson’s mum got into fostering. It was funny. I didn’t see my brothers from week to week, but at least I knew who they were. Jackson had a different crowd in his house every month. Jackson would come home from his paper round and find some strange kid pulling his best Levi’s out the laundry basket. My brothers take drugs, rob shops and run a pirate radio station. But we respect each other’s jeans.
Connor had been one of Jackson’s ‘brothers’ for a couple of months, but I don’t remember seeing him at Jackson’s house. He was in and out of the area, and sometimes he would hang with us for a bit. He was a quiet one, but maybe with me and Jackson around he didn’t have much of a chance to get a word in, even if he wanted to. And he was the only half-Turkish, half-Irish kid I knew, so that probably gave him enough to think about. But Connor was up for it. He said he hadn’t had a bunk-up for three months. I nodded and hoped he didn’t ask me my last time back.
Heidi lived about a mile away, in a small house near a late-night grocer. Heidi was sort of fattish and gingerish, and seemed welcoming. (When I was twelve, I found Markie’s old Charlie’s Angels poster and it kind of set my standards. But I’d given up being fussy a long time ago.) Heidi’s mate Jeannie was skinnier and looked sort of Indian. Or Jewish. Or Greek. A bit like Connor really. And a bit like my brother Jonah. The girls were sitting on the doorstep, drinking Coke, when we got there. It looked like they had been playing at hairdressers. Heidi’s hair was gelled and squished into two flat plaits running down the back of her head, like banks at the side of a railway. Jeannie’s was sort of slicked and stuck down like one of those swimming caps they wear in the Olympics. They both looked terrifying.
‘You look terrific,’ I said.
Connor just stared. The girls stared back. They had been expecting Jackson. I had told Connor to buy a toothbrush on the way. He had forgotten to put it in his pocket and was holding it towards them like a microphone.
‘Is that for me?’ asked Jeannie sourly.
Connor made a sort of snuffling noise and looked vaguely down the street.
‘Are you two gonna come in, then?’ demanded Heidi.
Heidi and Jeannie were wearing these denim shorts. Which were short. Me and Connor bundled through the door after them.
Heidi’s place was hot, man. Like someone had lit the cooker and left it on all night. The curtains were drawn. It smelt like they had never been opened. I think Heidi’s mum worried that her sofa might fade or something. Connor asked about the garden at the back, but Heidi said that it was all overgrown and her mum only used it to empty the kitten’s litter tray. Jeannie grabbed the sofa, and me and Connor perched on the floor, trying to forget about the bits sticking to our trousers. Heidi fetched some of those Toytown tins of lager and put on some soft reggae-type music. Jonah used to play that stuff at the radio station before he converted to rave.
We all got talking. Well, I talked. The girls sipped their beer and listened. Suddenly, Heidi sat back and sighed.
‘God, it’s hot in here,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you take off your shirts?’
‘Just open a window,’ said Connor. Was he stupid? Or just not as desperate as me?
‘If we open a window,’ said Heidi smoothly, ‘we can’t play the music loud.’
‘Are you shy?’ Jeannie was looking at us with this kind of sneer on her face. I was glad that she was Connor’s. She was sharp-looking, man, with these ridgy type of knees that could grate a guy’s ribs.
‘Fresh air’s healthy.’ Connor headed towards the window.
I grabbed him and pulled him out of the door.
‘What are you playing at?’ Connor was vexed. ‘Pulling me around like some kind of pussy.’
‘No, man. What are you playing at?’
Connor waggled his armpit towards me.
‘My shirt’s all stuck to me. And it stinks in there. What’s wrong with opening the window?’
I took a deep breath. Like I said, these were two-man plans, and if I came down too heavy, Connor would split. And I couldn’t take on both them girls by myself. No way.
‘Connor,’ I said. My voice sounded like the maths teacher when she was cutting up circles on the blackboard. I never understood what she was doing, but I didn’t feel bad for not understanding. ‘Man, it needs to be hot so that they can make their excuses.’
‘For what?’
I sighed in my head. But then, I suppose, Connor had been moving from house to house since he was six. He never did nothing without asking questions.
‘They need excuses to take their tops off. We go first, and then… well, you know. We talked about it on the way down.’
‘But you didn’t say I was getting the bony, moany one.’
‘You want the fat ginger one? Fine! Fine! Now, let’s take off our shirts out here and get back inside before we don’t get nothing at all.’
The girls were chatting when we returned. They stopped when they saw us.
‘Feeling a bit faint, were you?’ asked Jeannie.
I couldn’t look Connor in the eye. If I did, she would be mine.
I don’t know what I expected to happen next. Maybe the girls would take off their tops and we would play strip poker. Or strip snap would do. Or Heidi would lead me upstairs and, well… Well, that isn’t what happened. There was a knock at the door.
‘Your mum?’ I tried to sound cool, but Heidi’s mum was famous for beating up a copper when she was eight months pregnant. I didn’t fancy my chances against her, even if she did get round to reading the note Jane Tyzack had written on her behalf.
‘Mum doesn’t knock at her own door.’ She went to the door. She sounded a bit nervous.
‘Didn’t want to meet Heidi’s mum, then?’ asked Jeannie, with this annoying smile.
Connor was about to answer and he had this rough frown on his face. I was ready to jump in between them, but didn’t get a chance. A mad, loud scream came from the hallway. We all stared at each other. Even Jeannie looked as if she was about to wet herself. This wasn’t a girl’s scream, or a scared scream. This was the scream that a killer makes before he drills through your heart. For one split second I thought about jumping out the sitting-room window and running down the street. But it was too late.
There were two of them, in balaclavas, with bats and sticks. Only two of them, but it was like they could fill Wembley. Me and Connor sat there stunned. I think Jeannie thought we would defend her honour, but I would have gladly offered her up if it meant we would be saved. With her sour face and sharp elbows, we could have used her for a weapon. But they ordered her out the room and she scuttled away, looking scornfully back at us.
‘Right, you little bastards! Get on the floor! Face down!’ The biggest one pointed to the floor with his bat, just in case we got lost on the way down.
‘What the fuck…’ Connor started to protest.
‘Did I say talk, Paki? Did I say talk?’
This was the other one, who was a bit fatter and had a creepy, slightly familiar voice. He reached to grab Connor by the collar. Then he noticed that Connor wasn’t wearing no shirt. He didn’t look up for no skin-to-skin contact. He lifted his bat above Connor’s head.
Connor carried on. ‘And I ain’t no Pak –’
The bat came down hard. I closed my eyes and heard the thwack.
‘You cracked the frame, man!’ said the tall one, sounding a bit worried.
I opened my eyes. Connor was in one piece, but the sofa looked all wonky.
‘We’ll blame it on the Paki,’ said the fat one.
This time Connor stayed quiet. They tied our hands behind our backs with this washing-line-type stuff and jammed rags in our mouths. They didn’t blindfold us. But me and Connor wouldn’t look at each other. You don’t want to see your mate scared shitless, because that way you don’t have to lie about it afterwards. Where was Heidi? Had she gone to phone the Old Bill?
Me and Connor were marched out the back door and into the garden. It didn’t smell of cat shit. It smelt of smoke. Heidi only had a bit of a garden. The rest of it was shared with a couple of other houses and some flats. There was a bonfire.
‘Hang on, mate,’ said the fat one. ‘I left the petrol in the car.’
He trotted back to the house. Me and Connor were pushed towards the fire. They had it all prepared – two posts sticking out of the ground and a pile of sticks beside. All they had to do was tie us to the poles, scatter the sticks, a splash of petrol, a stray spark. I knew the scene well. I had helped three of my cousin’s Sindy dolls go that way in my Temple of Doom phase. But this weren’t no plastic that was going to be burnt. My mouth was gagged. There was only one way for my dinner to come out.
The fat one came back waving the petrol can. They tied us tight, tight, man, facing the fire. We could hear them behind us, singing like we were their football team.
‘What are we going to do? Burn ’em! Burn ’em! What are we going to do? Burn ’em on the fire!’
‘Which one are we going to do first?’ hissed the fat one.
‘Eenie, meanie, minie, moe,’ sang the tall one, ‘catch a Paki by the toe. The Paki. Do the Paki first.’
The fat one threw some sticks around Connor and splattered on petrol.
‘Anything to say, Paki?’
The tall one undid Connor’s gag and pushed his navy, woollen face right up to Connor’s. Connor shrieked back, not an angry shriek, but a kind of desperate one.
‘I ain’t no Paki! I’m Irish!’ He turned and looked me full in the face. ‘Him, his brother’s black! Proper black!’
Even without a gag, the words couldn’t have come out of me. I stared back at Connor – and then one cool thought went through my mind. Peter denied Jesus three times and got the keys to heaven. A shit-scared, skinny white kid from Hackney ain’t gonna trouble God’s time.
‘True?’ asked the fat one. ‘Your brother’s a Paki too?’
I shook my head like it would break off my neck. God might forgive me. But would Jonah?
‘Looks like you’re lying,’ growled the tall one.
He took a lighter out of his pocket. It was a red lighter and you knew that he had got that one and another nine cheap at Kingsland Waste. He flicked it on. Then he let the flame die.
‘They know we can’t do anything here. There’s too many witnesses. I think we should take them for a ride instead.’
‘Yeah, ride,’ echoed the fat one. I could feel him rubbing his hands in excitement. ‘What about Whipps Cross? If anybody hears the screaming, they’ll think it’s coming from the hospital.’
They untied us from the poles and marched us back through the house. No sign of Heidi. Or the Old Bill. An ancient Austin Marina was parked at the front of the house, with its boot gaping open. The fat one grabbed the back of my neck and pushed me down so my nose was on the rim of the garden wall. I once saw Jackson’s dad down a can of Tennent’s Super in one and scrunch up the can. That was my body, all pushed together and empty. Connor’s nose was parked next to mine. The fat one leant down until his face was between ours.
‘Good luck,’ he whispered.
I caught a glimpse of his ginger hair as he stood up. Then there was silence. And the silence went on. And on, until a car engine started up.
I could hear some poor sod buggering up Family Fortunes on a neighbour’s telly. Uh-aaaah! I could hear buses creak to a halt at the stop at the end of the road and the conductor ringing for the driver to pull off. I could hear Connor’s heavy breathing next to mine. We looked around. The road was empty. Connor jumped up, grabbing me by both shoulders, shaking me like wet washing.
‘You denied your brother!’ he screamed. ‘You denied your fucking brother!’
I still had my gag on, so I couldn’t answer back. But he’d denied his own father! Irish, he said. Irish! Maybe it wasn’t the same. I had shared a room with Jonah since I was three. He had taught me how to steal lead from the Mission roof and where to get the best prices. But Connor, well, I suppose it was an accident that his dad was Turkish. On another day, he might be African or Greek. Connor’s mum wasn’t a racist.
I undid my gag – just an old piece of sweaty-looking rag – and threw it into the gutter. Without saying anything, we went back into the house. The girls had reappeared in the front room. The music was much louder than before. Heidi was holding this spindly, crooked spliff.
I tried to smile at her. ‘Your brother’s still got the Marina, then?’
She didn’t say nothing, just handed Connor the spliff. I reached for my rucksack and went to the bathroom to change.
That should have been it. You talk to your mates about how you know a girl’s up for it and when she really isn’t. When you go to a bird’s house and you get kidnapped and nearly cremated, it’s odds on that she doesn’t want anything to do with you. But me and Connor – we went back into the house. We were fifteen. The girls were wearing hotpants. It wasn’t just our feet leading the way.
Round about midnight, things started to chill out again.
‘We’re out of beer and Rizlas,’ announced Heidi.
Things weren’t chilled enough to survive without either. So the four of us set out for the late-night store. We got the skins, but the guy would only sell cans to regulars after hours. And since none of us looked eighteen, there was no chance. Connor could have given it a go, but he wasn’t in no mood to cooperate. As we were standing outside the store, working on our alcohol dilemma, a green car pulled up beside us. Jeannie and Heidi had changed out of their hotpants, so it couldn’t have been that. And anyway, there was a couple of brasses old enough to be Heidi’s granny glaring into minicabs at the end of the street. Maybe the geezers were looking to flog a car stereo. I turned to Heidi. She was bricking it, man.
‘Uncle Benny,’ she squeaked, and went running off down the road, with Jeannie close behind.
Uncle Benny got out the car. He was a short, mean-looking geezer with slicked-back hair and a pissed-off expression. And then the guy sitting next to him got out the car. He was a tall, mean-looking geezer with a wide chest and a pissed-off look. He was also carrying a jemmy. I felt the breeze as Connor went hacking past me, with me overtaking him, like Roadrunner on speed.
It was a sick chase really. It wasn’t our manor, so we only had a hazy idea of what estates to cut through and what were dead ends. But every time we came to a corner, we knew that Uncle Benny and his jemmy friend would be there. We scaled walls, trampled gardens, scraped over fences and skidded along pathways, which in some strange, lopsided circle led us back to Heidi’s road.
Heidi was waiting there with my rucksack.
‘Where the fuck have you been?’ She pushed the bag into my arms and hurried back towards her house.
‘Getting away from your psychopathic family!’ I yelled after her. What right did she have to be pissed off? All we needed was to be raped by hillbillies to end a perfect night.
Heidi stopped and turned back. She was standing underneath a dodgy streetlight, the bulb going on and off like it was having a tantrum.
‘Uncle Benny’s at home. He’s been there for ages. I told him that me and Jeannie had just gone out for more Coke and we met you two there.’ She stared at me, with that light blinking on and off her face. ‘My uncle and my brother are waiting for me at home. I would hate them to come out looking. Have a good night.’
I wanted to hug her. But she would think that I was still gunning for a snog. Sometimes even a gobby sod like me doesn’t know what to say.
I couldn’t go home. My mum didn’t expect me. She would let me in, but I didn’t want to explain. Lucan had probably nabbed my bed anyway. Connor’s foster mum locked the door at midnight. We had nowhere to go.
We started wandering back to my area. Maybe my aunt would let us in.
‘What’s that?’ It was the first words Connor had said to me in over an hour. ‘Across the road there.’
‘Doctor’s. They alarm it straight to the Old Bill because of all the junkies breaking in and nicking the prescriptions. I think it was the doctor there who…’
‘No, next to it. Behind that wall.’
We could just about make out a sheet of corrugated metal on wooden stilts.
‘What do you think I am? Fuckin’ Zebedee or something?’ I started to walk away.
‘I ain’t spending the night on the road.’
Connor eyed the opponent. He’s tall and slim. A bit like those guys they have waving their arms around in the front of Top of the Pops. Me, I’m short. Wall-scaling isn’t my thing. Not unless I’ve got a car stereo tucked under my arm to boost my motivation. Connor took one big run, a foot on the wall and he was on top with his hand stretched out to me. I took a deep breath, hoping the extra air would swell up my sparse muscles. I launched myself towards the wall, closing my eyes as I hit the concrete. Luckily Connor’s were open, and he grabbed my hand and pulled me on top. We landed on the other side together.
It wasn’t the plan, spending the night trying to get comfortable on polythene and gravel, under nothing but a piece of tin. But it wasn’t cold. It didn’t rain. And we had plenty of time to try and sort out the details, cause we knew that when we told the tale to Jackson, somehow we had to come out looking good.