by Alex Wheatle
I found Colleen in the kitchen making sandwiches. She wore a baby blue–colored dressing gown and a red, gold, and green headscarf. “Morning, darling,” she greeted. “Sleep well?”
“No,” I replied.
“Maybe you will on your second night. Always difficult to get comfy in a new bed.”
She wasn’t wrong. I tried to count all the beds I’d crashed in since they’d taken my ass into care.
I was distracted by the magnet souvenirs stuck on the fridge door. There was a Rastafarian sleeping in a hammock. He had a fat rocket in his gob. There was a sombrero-wearing man with a cheek-tickler mustache, Barack Obama getting all cozy with his wife and a smiling skinny camel from Tunisia. Where’s that? I wondered what magnets Dad would have on his fridge if he didn’t have his drink issues.
“I wanna coffee,” I said.
“Just let me finish the sandwiches for everyone’s lunch and I’ll be with you.”
“I can make it myself,” I offered. “I’m not a special-needs case.”
“The coffee and sugar are in the cupboard.”
I filled the kettle and put two teaspoons of coffee and three teaspoons of sugar in an I Love Washington DC mug. After pouring in the hot water, I stared at Colleen for a long second. She watched my every move. I then fetched the milk from the fridge, poured a little into my mug, and stirred it. Colleen’s spotlight pissed me off. The coffee spilled onto the table. “Sorry,” I said. “But you’re gonna have to fling me some trust. I can do stuff myself. I looked after my dad for the longest time. The only thing I didn’t do for him was wipe his ass.”
Colleen reached for a cloth in the sink and cleaned the spillage. “That’s all right,” she smiled.
I sat down, tasted my coffee, and decided to put another teaspoon of sugar in it. “Why do you wanna look after someone else’s kids?” I asked.
Placing the sandwiches, apples, and juice boxes into two containers, Colleen replied, “I . . . I couldn’t have a family myself so I—”
“Your thing wasn’t working?” I cropped her flow. “I knew a woman like that who adopted this four-year-old kid in my old unit. Her thing didn’t work. She didn’t wanna talk about it when my mate, Kim, dared me to ask her. Is it because the man wrecks it when he does his thing?”
“Er, not quite,” said Colleen. I’m sure she blushed. “Some women cannot have children because of health reasons.”
“My mum didn’t have that issue with me,” I said. “She had me, innit. Obviously. I remember a social worker saying she shouldn’t think about having any more though.”
“Oh? Is that so?”
“Yeah. Mum got pregnant by the guy living in the spare room. Foreign, he was. He had his skills. He’d help me with my math and fixed the pipe beneath the kitchen sink. Sometimes he’d fling us a few notes to help top up the gas meter. I couldn’t pronounce his name so Mum told me to call him Rafi. He used to make me coffee when Mum was out of it. Strong, his coffee was. I had to put nuff sugar in it. He didn’t like it when Dad paid a visit—nuff swearing and mauling. That’s when the social services placed my ass on the at-risk register.”
“I see,” nodded Colleen.
“Things were kinda going all right until Mum lost Rafi’s baby,” I continued. “She tried again but had to have an abortion. Rafi didn’t love that. He raged at her in his funny tongue and sacked her cos of it. It sent her off-key. Don’t think she ever regained her dumplings after that. She used to spend nuff time in the bathroom to think things over. You read my file so you know what happened next.”
Colleen nodded. She had stopped what she was doing and stood still. She paid the fullest attention. Did I spill too much? Oh what the lardy ho. It’s all in my file anyway.
“Have you got the chocolate biscuits yet?” I changed the subject. “Chocolate digestives, bourbons, or fingers are my fave. Oh, and marshmallows with the liccle dose of strawberry inside.”
“Tea cakes,” said Colleen.
“Yep, that’s right. Love ’em. Have you had any abortions? Do they hurt?”
Colleen looked at me all weird and then swallowed spit. “Er, no. Haven’t got the biscuits yet either. Haven’t had a chance to get out of the house yet. Maybe you can come with me?”
“Can you get that strawberry yogurt that has that strawberry dip in it? Tastes wicked on chocolate biscuits.”
Pablo hot-toed into the kitchen wearing his black school trousers and purple-colored school top. A blue Nike bag that hung from his shoulders kissed his knees. His shoelaces were untied, his belt flapped, and his shirt cuffs were unbuttoned. Too cute. Colleen shook her head and smiled. “What am I going do with you? Come here.”
I bust a laugh. “I’ll do it,” I offered.
Slightly uncertain, Pablo swapped glances with Colleen as I tied his laces, secured his belt, adjusted the strap of his backpack, and buttoned his cuffs. He gave me a top-ranking smile. “Thank you. What’s your name again?”
“Naomi.”
“Thank you, Nomi.”
He ran out again. “Hold on, Pablo,” chuckled Colleen. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
Pablo turned around. He game-showed a grin and returned to the kitchen. Colleen handed him his packed lunch. “You’d forget your feet if your ankles weren’t attached to them! Have a good day. Don’t kick the tree in the playground and don’t make faces at the dog at the end of the road.”
Pablo laughed and hyper-toed along the hallway. “Sharyna! I’m ready. You told me to be ready but you’re not ready!”
“Coming!”
I sipped my coffee. I wondered what it would’ve been like if I had a liccle sis or bruv to look after.
“When I was in the juniors I had to make Dad’s packed lunch before I went to school,” I said. “I had to wake him up and tell him where I left it. If I swear a lot you have to blame my paps—every morning he’d bruise the air with his Cs and Fs. Then he’d go straight to the bog. He might as well have taken his bed in there. Sometimes I had to piss in the sink. And when I came back from school I had to clean up the bog cos Dad was usually sick in it. And when I asked him for the funds so I could buy Domestos, did he give me it? No!”
“Not . . . nice,” said Colleen. She had her sympathy face on.
I heard footsteps stomping down the stairs. Tony wore blue overalls over a black T-shirt. His thick gray socks had holes in them. A stumpy pencil was wedged between his left ear and head. “Morning, Naomi,” he greeted. “Morning, Colleen. Sandwiches ready?”
I side-eyed Tony. He kissed Colleen on the cheek. I couldn’t remember my dad or Rafi ever doing that to Mum in the morning. “Not quite,” Colleen replied. “Apple or orange?”
“Both,” Tony answered. He sat opposite me. “And how was your night?”
“Not too blessed,” I said. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“That’s kinda natural with all the excitement of moving to a new home.”
“Excitement?” I repeated. “Are you on something? This isn’t my home. Haven’t had a proper home since . . . This is just somewhere I’ll be resting my bones for a week and maybe a bit. This time next year you’ll forget who I am. I haven’t got a diddly where I’ll be by then. But I’m used to it.”
Tony swapped glances with Colleen. “We’ll both do what we can to make this place a home for you, Naomi, for as long as you’re here.”
I thought about Dad again. Then I placed my mug on the table, bit my top lip, and crossed my arms.
“I’ve gotta get going,” said Tony. “You two have a good day.”
I side-eyed him as he disappeared. I knew he was trying to be on point but Kim’s warnings swirled around in my head.
“Sharyna!” Tony called.
A minute later, I heard the front door closing. Tony’s pickup truck pulled away. I peered into my coffee mug. “Does sex with him hurt?” I asked.
Placing a frying pan on the stove, Colleen blushed again. “Er, erm. When, er . . . when you’re in a loving relationship, sex should n
ever hurt.”
“My friend Kim says it hurts. Take that frucking thing outta me, she said to the last boyfriend she had.”
“Language, Naomi.”
“Sorry,” I said.
“Perhaps . . . perhaps your friend Kim wasn’t in a loving relationship?”
Social wanker and sex educational class speak.
“Lost count of the amount of bruvs Kim’s had,” I said. “I don’t think she loved any of ’em. She’s got a girlfriend now. Can I have sausages as well as eggs? Oh, and baked beans if you got ’em.”
“Of course.”
“You gonna do my hair today?”
“Yes, after we go to the supermarket.”
“When did you first have sex?”
“Are these appropriate questions to ask an adult?” Colleen placed her hands on her hips and locked her eyes on me. “I know you’ve had experiences that a fourteen-year-old girl shouldn’t have to go through, but you’re still fourteen.”
“Louise is always telling me to talk about these issues in a grown-up way,” I said. I wasn’t lying.
She dropped two thick sausages into the frying pan. Good. I like ’em fat.
“Louise told you that, did she?”
“Yeah, she did,” I replied. I put on Louise’s voice: “There’s nothing wrong with talking about sex if you’re mature about it.”
Colleen half grinned. “Okay,” she said.
“Well, spill then.”
Colleen took in a breath. “I was far too young,” she said. “Fourteen.”
“Fourteen,” I said. “Are you sure you never had an abortion? Anyway, that’s not the youngest I’ve heard. I know a girl who got spermed at thirteen. Connie Richards. Right little prick-sponge she was. She’d fruck a guy—”
“Language, Naomi.”
“And it was her fault for getting spermed,” I carried on. “She told me she wanted a baby. She wanted something to look after. Her social worker shoulda given her a bunny rabbit or something. Felt sorry for her in a way though. Her mum was always out and she was forever looking after her baby sis. The bruv she’d done it with was manky-looking—they’d never have him on Love Island. He had little volcanoes around his mouth and you could’ve deep fried dinosaur wings in his greasy hair. Dunno how she slurped tongues with him. I’m gonna get myself a bruv when I’m fifteen and he’s not gonna look like that. No way, José. I’m not that desperate.”
Colleen turned over the sausages. I thought I spotted a quarter smile spreading from her lips. “Fourteen . . . is very young to know what you want,” she said.
“What were you on when you were fourteen?” I asked.
Rinsing her hands before joining me at the table, Colleen sighed. “I was living in a children’s home,” she revealed.
“No jokes?”
Colleen nodded. “My dad didn’t stay around. My mum couldn’t cope. You know, that kinda story.”
“Left you on the steps of the town hall, did she? Happened to my mate Bridget. She’s always going on about it. It really messed her up, like if a boy she fancies doesn’t look at her she wants to kill herself. Stupid cow! Bit of a loudmouth EastEnder mama she is. I mean, how the fruck can she remember being left on the steps of the Ashburton town hall when she’s only seven months old?”
“I wasn’t left anywhere.”
“Then what happened?” I wanted to know.
“I was six when I went to the children’s home,” Colleen said. She full-stopped and scoped me hard. I think she was working out if she could trust me with her personals. I smiled like a clown at a kid’s fifth birthday party.
It worked.
“Mum got me up early that day,” Colleen continued. “She put me in the bath and washed my hair. She blow-dried it and plaited my hair into little China bumps. She dressed me in my church clothes—a yellow dress, white socks, and pink sandals. God, I loved that yellow dress. I looked as innocent as a choir girl.”
“Yellow dress, white socks, and pink sandals,” I repeated. “I bet the prick fiddlers were watching ya. And there’s a lot of ’em in church—it’s where they chill. Kim’s always warning me about ’em. She told me they’re usually people you know, uncles and older cousins and all that. If he buys you sweets, he really wants treats. Kim’s always saying that.”
Colleen gave me one of those Naomi hasn’t got all the cucumbers in her salad look. She went on: “To this day, I don’t know why, but Mum ordered a taxi. We were only going half a mile to the social worker’s offices. We could’ve walked. She had these one-p and two-p coins in a whiskey bottle. She took them all out, arranged them in little see-through bags, and put them in her handbag. She paid the cab fare with them. I’ll never forget the white gloves my mum was wearing that day. She got them in the market and she would wash them like they were the queen’s knickers. Mum and her white gloves. Lord have mercy.”
“I would’ve spent the money from the whiskey bottle on makeup and stepped,” I cut in. “Kim says mascara makes my eyes smolder.”
“Makeup isn’t the only thing to make a young girl beautiful,” Colleen said. “What’s inside is more important.”
“But peeps can’t see your insides, can they?”
* * *
After I washed up my stuff and wiped the kitchen table clean, Colleen drove me to the supermarket. I didn’t like the old-school music she played in her ride but I kept my gums on hold. When I get to know her better I’ll educate her in all things grime.
I did most of the shopping, picking out yogurts, biscuits, crumpets, microwave meals, and fizzy drinks. I didn’t wanna be rude but I gave funny looks at the ackee, black-eyed peas, and red kidney beans tins that Colleen collected. Following lunch at a Chinese restaurant where I oinked out with spring rolls and special fried rice, Colleen hot-wheeled me home and started braiding my hair in front of the TV in the lounge. I watched a music channel.
“Looking forward to going back to school on Monday?” Colleen asked.
“No, I’m not,” I replied. “And it’s not a school. It’s a Pupils Referral Unit for kids who’ve been expelled or have issues—that’s how they talk. We don’t have problems, we have issues. Sometimes there are more staff there than kids. Doesn’t stop the fist-offs though.”
“Why don’t you like your, er, unit?”
“Most of the other girls don’t like me.” I wasn’t lying.
“Can’t believe that’s true,” Colleen said.
More social wanker speak.
“It is!” I raised my voice. “The only two who chat to me are Kim and Nats. Kim’s mum had issues with drugs you get from the chemist. You know, those pills to help you when your balloon’s about to pop and those ones that help you sleep. They frucked her up big-time. If it was Monday, she’d think it was Saturday.”
“Language, Naomi.”
“Sorry . . . and Nats was raped by the son of her dad’s girlfriend.”
I felt Colleen’s fingers stiffen. She full-stopped for the longest time. “That’s terrible,” she said.
“Yeah. And what’s more, Nats’s family didn’t believe her. They’re corner-of-the-curb dickheads.”
“Swearing, Naomi.”
“Sorry.”
“Sometimes people cannot help the way they behave,” Colleen said. “Circumstances and background have a lot to do with it.”
“I haven’t got any issues or circum-whatsits,” I said. “I’m normal.”
“Of course you are,” Colleen said.
“D’you think bruvs will like my braids? I bet Kim’s gonna be jealous. It’ll kill her if peeps looked at me more than her.”
“They shouldn’t be interested in you just because of your hairstyle, Naomi.”
“The black girls in my unit take it double serious. Always talking about hair, they are. I think Nats wears a wig or some kind of . . . what d’you call it?”
“Extensions?” suggested Colleen.
“They call it a weave but it looks like a wig thing to me,” I said. “It came off
in a fist-off once—some new girl was cussing off Kim at the unit. Nats went cadazy. It was a shock to me cos before that Nats was as quiet as a ballet dancer’s tiptoe.”
“Quiet ones bottle it all in,” Colleen said.
“They took us swimming last year but none of the black girls went. They were shitting themselves about the chlorine polluting their hair. In fact, the only time you can split Nats and Kim up is when her key worker takes her out to get her hair done.”
“I was no different when I was young,” Colleen said. “I obsessed about having the biggest Afro—”
“Hold on a sec,” I blocked her flow.
I hot-toed into the hallway and looked at myself in the mirror hanging from the wall. I lifted one of my braids and twirled it around my index finger. Too cool. I busted out a grin before skipping back to the lounge. “Double thanks for this,” I said. “You’re a legend. How long will it take to finish it?”
“Another couple of hours or so. I think it looks cute.”
“It does,” I smiled. “Bruvs will love it. Wish I had longer legs though, and my tits could be bigger. They’re not as big as Kim’s, which is weird cos she’s skinnier than me. Anyway, by the time I kiss fifteen they’ll have ripened a bit and I’ll be able to get myself a decent bruv—someone who’s oil-slick and acne free.”
Two and a half hours later, Colleen had almost completed my hair. The sound of a key crunching in the front door was a cue for Colleen to relax her fingers. “That’s Tony dropping off Sharyna and Pablo,” she said. “He’s picking up some stuff for his work but he’ll be home soon. I better get the dinner on. Can I finish up later?”
I nodded. “Thanks again.”
Sharyna and Pablo bounced into the lounge. “Uniform off,” Colleen ordered. “Get out your homework if you have any.”
Ignoring their mum, Sharyna and Pablo checked out my hair. “Cool,” said Sharyna. “It looks great.”
Goodness flowed though me.