I tried to regain my composure as I walked down the stairs. Away from the stink of paint and prison furniture, I felt a bit more human, and would have been fine if I hadn’t tripped over something lying across the bottom step.
Naomi. The lairy girl from outside.
I caught her arm with my foot, knocking a packet out of her hand, its contents spilling across the wooden floor.
‘Jesus Christ,’ she yelled, leaping to her feet. ‘Watch where you’re going, will you?’
‘Sorry,’ I moaned, dropping to my knees to collect what I’d spilt. Talk about a way to make friends. ‘I didn’t see you.’
‘Yeah, it’s hard, innit? Noticing people sat on a step …’ Her words were thick with sarcasm and aggression. ‘People often mistake me for a floorboard.’
I pointed my blushing cheeks towards the floor, lighting the area I had to search. As soon as I was down there, I knew what it was I was looking for, because I could smell it.
Tobacco. Instantly I was home with Dad and the speed of the thought knocked tears to my eyes. Grimacing, I pushed the memory away. The last thing I should do now was show emotion, to anyone, never mind Naomi, who was still sucking her teeth in disgust.
‘Don’t miss any of it. That was a full packet. If there’s any missing or covered in crap, it’ll cost you a new pouch.’
‘It’s fine,’ I replied, relieved. ‘There’s only a bit on the floor.’ I passed it up to her while still on my knees, not daring to look her in the eye.
Naomi exhaled dramatically. ‘You were lucky. Others have had a slap for a lot less.’
Her cigarette papers had skidded across the polished floor too. I leapt to my feet and retrieved them for her. Braver this time, I dared to see how she was looking, whether a slap was on the way.
She didn’t look especially angry. She had one of those faces that slope down naturally, so everything, even the most neutral expression, had something of a scowl about it. Even her hair was angry, a series of tight rolls falling past her shoulders.
She took the papers from me and fell back on to the step. There was no suggestion of a thank you, but she managed something that wasn’t a threat.
‘I don’t know why I bother with these things. They ain’t a patch on Marly Lights.’
She laid a cigarette paper on her lap and dropped a clump of tobacco on top of it. Her fingers shook slightly as she tried to spread it the length of the skin, her forehead creased with the exertion of not dropping it all over the floor again.
‘Don’t know why I bother with it. Struggling to get it rolled is worse than the cravings in the first place.’
A small laugh passed my lips. I couldn’t help it. She was funny, so serious. More serious even than me.
‘Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. If I wasn’t paying for everything I busted up round here, I’d still be affording my Marlies, or at least Mayfairs. Anything except this …’
She chucked the tobacco and papers back across the floor, before slumping, head in hands. Collecting the pieces, I sat on the step beside her, silent as she was.
I don’t know if I did it out of habit or to please her, but either way I couldn’t help myself. It seemed like the natural thing to do. It was what I always did when I saw Dad’s tobacco – I rolled it. And within a minute I was prodding her gently with my finger, a cigarette the best peace offering I could manage.
She looked confused, like she didn’t recognize what I was holding, then the scowl softened long enough for her to say cheers.
‘Nice work,’ she breathed, taking the smoke in and holding it deep in her lungs. ‘You a smoker, then?’
‘Not exactly.’ I didn’t want to get on to the subject of Dad with anyone. Not yet, not ever.
‘Well, you’ve got the tools. You can stick around. You’re already coming in handy.’
I pulled a paper from the case and set about rolling another. I might as well make a pile for her to enjoy.
Not that it pleased her. ‘Listen, if you want one, you ask, yeah? I’m up for looking after you if you help me out, but there is such a thing as manners, you know?’
I tried to answer back, tell her it wasn’t for me, but she cut me off mid-sentence.
‘Look, it’s fine. I’ll let you have it this time. But next time, you and me’ll have words, you hear?’
The cigarette sat in my hand. I didn’t know what to do with it. If I tried to tell her again that it was for her it would sound lame. I went to put it behind my ear like Dad used to do, but as I raised my hand to my head, she sparked a lighter in my face.
The flame danced in front of me long enough for her to get riled again.
‘Come on. Don’t be wasting my petrol as well.’
It didn’t leave me with a lot of options. I put the cigarette in my mouth and leaned in towards the flame.
The smoke rolled around my mouth and I held it there, hoping it looked like I was doing it properly.
Naomi stared at me like I was a freak.
‘What are you doing? It’s not a cigar, you know.’
I smiled pathetically, before breathing in again, pulling the smoke into my lungs.
It hurt. Hurt as I drew it in and stung as I pushed it out. I blew as hard as I could, trying to get the smoke as far away as possible, as if it would limit the damage it was doing. I felt my face turn green as I tasted the heat in my throat.
‘You all right?’ She didn’t exactly look concerned.
‘Yeah, fine. I’m just not used to smoking without a filter.’
‘You should’ve said. I’ve got some in my pocket. That’ll teach you to nick my baccy without asking, eh?’
We sat in silence for a few minutes, but I could feel her eyes on me, checking me out, my clothes, my hair, my way of smoking. She wasn’t exactly being subtle about it and it left me no choice but to keep puffing away. I was too scared to grind it out beneath my foot before it was all gone.
‘So,’ she barked, ‘what are you in for?’
Her directness derailed me slightly, so I shrugged and blew smoke out, as if dismissing the question. Implying that the answer wasn’t important.
But it obviously was to her.
‘Well?’
‘Don’t know really. There’s some stuff they’ve told me I need to work out.’
She sniggered. ‘Duh, well, obviously. They gave that line to all of us. I mean, what stuff? What you in for?’
It was weird the way she spoke about the place, making it sound like prison, and for a second I thought I was talking to Morgan Freeman in The Shawshank Redemption. Except I couldn’t see the same happy ending heading my way. Couldn’t see Naomi taking me under her wing the way the characters do in the film. But I knew I had to say something that might put her off asking anything else. So I gave her the blunt truth.
‘I’m here because my dad’s dead.’
The words physically hurt and I knew if I’d said that to any of the kids at school then it would’ve been enough to make them back off. But this wasn’t school and she wasn’t a friend. Her interest had been pricked.
‘Bummer. What happened?’
‘Car crash.’ Surely that was enough?
‘So why aren’t you home with your mum?’
Unbelievable.
‘She’s dead as well.’
‘Brothers?’
I shook my head.
‘Sisters? Uncles? Aunties?’
‘Nope.’
She sucked her teeth again. ‘Yep, that’ll screw your head up good and proper.’
‘Thanks for your encouragement!’ This conversation wasn’t doing anything for my confidence.
‘No problem. And don’t worry. By the sound of things you should fit in just fine. Everyone else is a fruitloop as well. Me included.’
With that she pushed herself up and ground the cigarette end under her foot. She didn’t bother to pick it up as she walked away, though she did turn back to add, ‘Oh, and no need to thank me for the smoke. I’ll come see you later. You can roll me some more.’
The silence that followed was a relief, although for some ridiculous reason I didn’t stub my fag out as well.
I sat and stared at it, thought about the ridiculousness of the whole conversation, and the fact that I’d ended up smoking at all. It tasted foul and stank as well, but I lifted it back to my mouth anyway. What harm was it going to do? The situation couldn’t get any worse and, in some weird way, smoking made me feel closer to Dad.
So I sucked hard, feeling my lungs recoil at the shock, before exhaling and inhaling again.
Maybe this was all I was worth? And if that was the case, smoking suited me.