Home Girl

by Alex Wheatle

  My Mad Killer Driller DVD wasn’t getting much love.

  “Oh,” Louise replied. “I should’ve confiscated them from her. Unfortunately, her friends seem to have a liking for them.”

  “She got a bit upset when Tony took it away,” said Colleen. “She went off to our room and took a load of our DVDs, but she gave them back this morning and apologized. So it’s all been sorted.”

  “Good,” said Louise.

  “Coffee?” offered Colleen.

  “That’ll be great. Where is she?”

  Monkey on bubbles. They’re so fricking polite it’s a wonder they don’t wipe each other’s asses.

  “In the front room,” Colleen said.

  I switched off the TV, bounced in front of Louise in the hallway, and hot-toed to the kitchen. I clicked on the kettle. “Coffee, Louise?”

  Louise didn’t answer. She also forgot to sit down. Instead, she stood very still, hands on hips, and scoped my hair.

  “What’s your ratings?” I asked, twirling my thumb and forefinger around a braid.

  “It’s . . . nice, Naomi.”

  “Colleen did it for me. It diversifies my shoulders neatly.”

  “Yes . . . it’s definitely different,” said Louise. She finally parked her butt.

  “Biscuits?” offered Colleen.

  “Not today,” said Louise. She studied my plaits like Tarzan was swinging through them. “I don’t want to spoil my lunch.”

  “TGIs?” I suggested.

  I might as well try it, she can only say no.

  “Let’s not go there again,” replied Louise. “Too expensive.”

  The Duchess of Cheapo strikes again. I’m gonna give her a Duchess of Cheapo hat when it’s her birthday.

  “Kim’s social worker took her there.”

  “I’m not Kim’s social worker.”

  “No, you’re not!” I raised my voice. “She’s not a tight-arse. Her purse gets to come up for air now and again.”

  “Hmmm?” said Louise. “I’m not generous?”

  “If you were, we’d be scorching rubber to TGIs.”

  Dunno what Colleen thinks about our banter. She’s standing there with her arms folded. But hey-de-ho, that’s how Louise and me chit the chat.

  “There’s no satisfying you, is there?” Louise went on.

  “There would be if you took me to TGIs,” I giggled.

  I made Louise her coffee. One sugar and not too much milk. She took a sip and glanced at my hair again. I didn’t think she wanted it to be my passport pic.

  “So where’re you taking me then?” I wanted to know. She took a custard cream before giving me an answer.

  “Monk’s Orchard.”

  “Monk’s Orchard? What you taking me there for? It’s full of foreign nannies, cats with glammed-up collars, and little old ladies with little skinny dogs.”

  “There’s a lovely café there,” Louise said. “Friar’s Tuck.”

  I pulled a face. “Friar’s Tuck? I’m not having my lunch in a church canteen. Those church bruvs are the numero uno of prick fiddlers. The reason why they wear those long baggy black garms is to hide their erect—”

  “Swearing, Naomi,” Colleen blocked my flow.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  “It’s not in the church, Naomi,” Louise said. “It’s just off High Street. They do nice desserts too.”

  I thought about it. Louise snatched another look at my braids. “All right,” I agreed. “But if any of those little graybacks give me a dirty look then don’t blame me if I boot away their walking sticks and make a salami outta their skinny hounds.”

  I swear I heard Colleen giggle, but when I looked at her she’d straightened up her face.

  “I’m sure they won’t say anything,” said Louise.

  * * *

  An hour later, we pulled up on a quiet street in Monk’s Orchard and headed for Friar’s Tuck. A fat brown cat lazying on a windowsill scoped me. It was a small café with only eight tables. It was mostly filled by graybacks sinking teas, nibbling cakes, and filling in crosswords. We took our seats by the window and I picked up a menu. I looked at it for five minutes. “I’ll have the chicken and mushroom pie, mushy peas, chips, and an extra-large Coke.”

  Louise took her jacket off, placed it on the chair beside her, and studied my hair again. “Whose idea was the new hairstyle?” she wanted to know. “Was it yours?”

  “Yeah, Colleen finished it this morning.”

  “So neither she nor Tony suggested it?”

  “No, it was my idea. Different, innit? Kim’s gonna die with jealousy. She’s always wanted to have her hair done like black chicks. Nats is lucky, she’s black and she can do her own hair. Once, me and Kim skipped school and went to one of those hair salons in Ashburton. You know, the ones where the hairdressers rent a seat for the day. We wanted to get plaits then but Kim pussied out on going inside. I would’ve breezed in though.”

  “It looks good on black girls but . . .”

  “But what? Doesn’t it look sweet on me? Sharyna loved it to the max. And Pablo. Aren’t you gonna order?”

  “Er, yes, but you shouldn’t lose your identity, Naomi.”

  “Identity? Didn’t know I had one. What’s my identity then?”

  Louise fidgeted in her seat. “Well, er,” she stuttered. “The point is, Naomi, is that if you adopt another race’s identity, you might start losing your own. The council has all sorts of rules about not allowing emergency foster parents to influence the cultural identity of the children they look after.”

  “Not allowing the what?” I asked. “Don’t know what you’re on about with all that cultural thing-a-me-jig. I just wanna look presentable and on point. Aren’t you always telling me I must take pride in my appearance?”

  “Yes I am, Naomi, but—”

  “But what?”

  Louise sucked in a long breath. “You might lose something of yourself, the real Naomi Brisset,” she said. “For example, would you expect a black boy who doesn’t know anything about Scotland to wear a kilt?”

  “What’s a kilt? It’s not a tartan condom, is it? I think you’re losing your dumplings in your casserole, Louise. The real Naomi Brisset wants plaits like Solange Knowles and Alicia Keys. Don’t you think they look gorgylicious? Kim and Nats do.”

  “Yes, they’re very attractive.”

  “Then why are you munching your knickers about my braids? If we get a good summer this year I’m gonna try and get myself a decent tan. I’d love to look like Rita Ora.”

  “Rita Ora hasn’t got a tan, Naomi.”

  “You sure? Looks like she’s got one to me. Either that or she sleeps on a kick-ass sunbed in her bedroom.”

  A waitress came over and took our order. Louise went for a boring salad. What’s the friggin’ point of wheeling all the way to Monk’s Orchard for a salad? I made sure I ordered the most expensive dessert—something called a tire-mousse. Her purse needed a shakedown.

  “A new foster family I know are returning from their holiday on Saturday,” Louise said. “The Hamiltons. I thought you might be a good match with them. They’ve got a daughter who’s nineteen years of age. She’s at university. She could be a good influence on you.”

  “I dunno about that one,” I said. “I wanna see how it rolls with Colleen. She’s on point. Did you know she was in care too?”

  “Yes, I do know. But what about Tony? Are you getting along with him?”

  “I’m not gonna lie on that one,” I replied. “He can be a bit of a prickhead. He loves to do his man-of-the-house thing. He reminds me a bit of Rafi. Rafi would try and lock down rules on my ass. But I’m not too bothered about Tony and I don’t think he’s a prick fiddler. He kept his ass downstairs when I had my shower. And I like Sharyna and Pablo. I can look after them. Maybe they’ll ask me to babysit if they go on holiday somewhere? Where do these Hamilton peeps live?”

  “Spenge-on-Leaf,” Louise said. “Lovely house.”

  “Spenge-on-Leaf,” I repeat
ed. “Isn’t that where the first-class peeps live? Kim told me she went out with a bruv from there once. She reckoned he was twenty—”

  “Don’t believe everything Kim tells you,” Louise said.

  “Are you calling her a liar?”

  “Er, not . . . Anyway, the Hamiltons live near the top of a hill. They’ve got a lovely view.”

  “A lovely view. If I wanna lovely view I’ll look at postcards.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “There was this kid in the home from Swee Lanka. Neat black curly hair he had. His house was by the beach, or the way he went on about it, it was more like a hut—he had to go outside to take a dump. Quiet he was. You wouldn’t believe the shit he’s been through. His lovely view didn’t do him much good. In fact, his lovely view murked his liccle cousin. He showed me a pic of her—she had—”

  “That’s different,” Louise chopped my flow again.

  “These Hamilton peeps? What do they do?”

  “Tim, Mr. Hamilton, is an architect. His work takes him all over the country and beyond. His wife Susan does voluntary work at the youth club on South Smeckenham Road. She’s very experienced at working with kids of all ages. She’s been an emergency foster carer for nearly a year now.”

  “What’s an architect?” I asked.

  “People who design buildings.”

  “Design buildings? They must be white, right? I’ve never seen any black people draw buildings—not even on TV.”

  “Er, yeah, they are white. The Goldings are brilliant for the short term but don’t you think it would be more appropriate to be with your own kind for the long term?”

  “Depends if they’re on point,” I said. “Architect and a youth worker? Don’t sound cool to me.”

  “Then, Miss Brisset,” Louise chuckled, “what’s cool to you?”

  I thought about it. The waitress returned with our lunch.

  “Thank you,” smiled Louise.

  Grabbing my Coke, I sank half of my glass before answering. “Why can’t you put me with interesting peeps? And I don’t give a fruck what color they are. Grime DJs, wrestlers, clowns, actors, singers, dancehall queens . . . or that woman whose balloon popped on Big Brother the other day. She needs looking after.”

  “You need looking after, Naomi.”

  “I can look after myself!” I raised my voice. I attacked my chicken and mushroom pie. “Wasn’t I doing that before you lot came into my life giving me all your boring rules and sending me to live in nuff postcodes?”

  Shaking her head, Louise picked at her salad.

  * * *

  When Louise had finished her meal, she leaned in closer to me and dropped her voice to a whisper. “You know what time of year this is, don’t you?”

  “Course. It’s April. I haven’t lost all my dumplings, Louise. You gonna get me another Coke?”

  “No, you’ve had enough. When you get to my age you’ll have no teeth left.”

  “Then I’ve got a long, long wait, innit.”

  “Naomi! Try and be serious for once. You know what I’m talking about.”

  I thought of Mum. The bathroom in our old flat booted an entry into my mind. It was horrible. I didn’t wanna chit the chat about her. It made me feel on the down-low.

  “It’s been nearly four years,” I said. “Seems like it all happened just yesterday.”

  Louise put on her top-rated social worker concerned look. “Don’t you want to do anything to remember her by?”

  “What can I do?” I raised my tones. “She’s dead. We burned her. I can’t bring flowers to a . . . what d’you call it? It looks like an old jug.”

  “An urn,” Louise helped me out.

  “I can’t bring flowers to an urn, can I? That’s just wrong. I still can’t believe that Mum’s ashes could fit in there. I mean, with my mum’s size, she woulda never made the cut of Ashburton’s Next Top Model.”

  Louise covered her mouth to block her chuckles but I wasn’t trying to be funny.

  “I can’t work you out, Louise,” I said. “Didn’t you used to tell me to try and forget about what happened to my mum and think about my future? Now you’re telling me I gotta remember her. Make up your freaking mind! You’re aching my brain!”

  “I just thought you might want to do—”

  “No, I don’t. Carpet-bomb that. I don’t wanna remember her.”

  I didn’t mean it like that. I think of her every day. But cos I think of her 24-7, I have to relive the way she died. It was all red.

  “Okay, I get your point,” Louise said. She reached out and squeezed my shoulder. She still had her nine-week-course social worker expression on. “Is Colleen serving you food that you like?”

  “Yeah, we went shopping yesterday. Tried some black people food as well. It fills you up. I had this hard banana thing and this hard potato thing.”

  “Did they give you a choice? Or ask what you wanted?”

  “Yeah, Colleen’s on point. She bought my cottage pies and my mash. She bought me some beads to put in my hair as well. She didn’t have enough time to put them in today.”

  Louise examined my hair once more. “She did, did she?”

  “Can’t have it plain,” I said. “I have to glam it up with something. Gonna have ’em in before I roll back to school.”

  “Is that a good idea?”

  “Trust me, when Kim sees it she’s gonna want a repeat of that one. But who’s gonna do it for her? She don’t live with black people, I do! Nats might do it for her though. Nats will do anything for her.”

  Louise shook her head. She sipped her glass of water and gave me a hard look. “Now, Miss Brisset,” she said. “Mr. Holman. Did he really harass you?”

  I took my time to reply. He never got jiggy with me but I didn’t love the way he scoped me. Something definitely wrong with him. He needs more counseling than I do.

  I dodged Louise’s glare. “Can I have another Coke?”

  “Not before you tell me what happened with Mr. Holman. The truth, Naomi. And not Kim’s version of it.”

  I met Louise’s eyes. She had a really, really look going on.

  “He was . . . trying to be too nice,” I replied. “It was getting on my nerves. I’m goggleboxing, he sits beside me and asks, Are you all right? I get up to go to the bog, Are you all right? I make myself a bacon sandwich and he comes in the kitchen, Are you all right? I bounce upstairs to my room and he asks, Are you all right? I’m sure he was watching me sleep and he’s there whispering, Are you all right? He was doing my brain in. I was thinking about clonging him with that Nutra Bullet thing they’ve got. I just wanted him to leave me the fruck alone and go to the hospital where he can ask if people are all right all freaking day! And she was just too weird.”

  “Did he at any time spy on you or make you feel uncomfortable in a different way?”

  I side-eyed my empty glass. “Not really,” I admitted. “He was a proper Dr. Strange though. Didn’t want to stay there. Not with them.”

  Louise now had her Blue Bloods face on. “What was wrong with Mrs. Holman?”

  “Just didn’t like her.”

  “There must be a reason, Naomi. You can’t dislike people just because you think they’re weird.”

  I crossed my arms. I need to Great Escape this convo.

  “So do I have to write a report?” asked Louise.

  I found my napkin on the table and wiped my mouth. “Not really. If that’s what rocks your fanny you can go ahead, but I don’t really give a long squiddly. As long as I don’t have to go back.”

  “Hmmm. You could have caused Mr. Holman a lot of trouble.”

  “But I didn’t . . . One more Coke before I go?”

  “No, I have to do another visit after I take you back.”

  “Duchess Cheapo!”

  “Thinking of your teeth, Naomi.”

  chapter six

  The PRU

  No mad drama happened over the weekend. I spent most of my time chilling with the kids. Sharyna loved the The
Karate Kid but it was a bit tame for me. I wasn’t loving going back to school on Monday and it came way too fast.

  I made sure I was the one to tie Pablo’s laces before he left the house. I was garmed in my black jeans, black polo-neck sweater, and my sky-blue Adidas sneakers snoogled my toes. I joined Sharyna and Pablo in Colleen’s ride. “Thanks, Nomi,” said Pablo. He sat beside me in the back and smiled at me. He had two missing front teeth. Too cute. If I was eighteen he’d be the designer kid I’d like to adopt. I don’t want all that drama trying to get pregnant like Mum had. Bomb that. You wanna get ’em young before they have too many issues. I grinned back at him.

  “Seat belts on,” ordered Colleen. She switched on the ignition and the world’s most boring radio station played something that the graybacks in Monk’s Orchard might’ve twirled their walking sticks to. I made a mental note to grime-ucate Colleen on the radio station issue.

  It only took Colleen ten minutes to arrive at Sharyna and Pablo’s school. Sharyna checked her hair in the rearview mirror and kissed her mum on the cheek before climbing out of the car. Pablo had cutey-toed through the school gates before his sister had stepped on the pavement.

  “Have you got his bag?” asked Colleen.

  “Yeah,” Sharyna replied. “I’ll drop it off with his teacher.”

  “Thanks, Sharyna.”

  “Bye, Mum, bye, Naomi.”

  “Bye, Sharyna,” I called out.

  “He does that every day,” laughed Colleen as she pulled away. “A couple of weeks ago, he left his right shoe in the car. None of us realized until I picked him up. He thought he lost it at school but it was in the back of the car. That’s Pablo.”

  I chuckled and fiddled with one of my braids. I’m not gonna lie, the nerve ends inside my belly were pillow-fighting each other.

  “You okay, Naomi?” Colleen asked. “You’ve been quiet all morning.”

  “Thinking about how boring school’s gonna be,” I lied.

  “I’m sure it won’t be that bad.”

  Social worker speak.

  “It’s gonna be zombies-rule-the-world bad,” I said. “Anyway, at least I’ll link with Kim and Nats again. Haven’t seen ’em for nearly two weeks.”