by Peter Akinti
'Do you ever visit his grave?' she said.
'I used to go every month. But it's been ages.'
'I don't remember where he was buried.'
'Just behind Forest Gate, in Manor Park. There's only one cemetery.'
'Will you take me sometime?'
'Sure.'
She kissed my cheek and leaned against me. 'When I was little Dad used to read to me from the books he had bought for you.'
I turned my head. Belinda seemed oblivious to how much it hurt me to hear her say that.
Bell carried the sheets and blankets and I took the pillows. Meina and I discarded our shoes and socks and lay either side of Bell. 'Let's make it cosy,' she said linking her arms and worming her legs between ours. 'You guys should come in the spring. I'd like that. We sleep with all the windows down and you can smell fresh flowers and hear the waves. That's when I sleep best.'
The three of us slept together, breathing against each other's necks in a heap under the dining table.
I woke late, tangled in a mesh of arms and legs. The day started beautifully; the house was so quiet I woke to the morning calls of seabirds. The sun stung my eyes as it cast a steady beam through the window of the room. Meina said it was by far the best thing about not being in Somalia – the quiet mornings. When I tried to imagine what it was like for her I couldn't. But that morning when I looked at them both still sleeping I felt happy. I should have known the day would turn out badly.
At breakfast Pat scowled at Bell who was wearing a bright red dress with a brown leather jacket. Meina had borrowed clothes from her and wore long black boots and a white sweater dress. She had spent the morning braiding Bell's hair. I told them they looked glamorous, older, like women. Perhaps it was the red lipstick.
We met up with Belinda's on–off boyfriend, Kimi – the boy with the blond curls – who Meina and I had seen briefly the previous night. I felt a bit strange when we met and did that bumping-shoulder bro thing. Kimi kissed Meina on both cheeks. She told me she didn't like the smell he carried of cigarettes. When she asked I told her I thought Kimi looked different.
'Last night he looked like the nerd who would have a frog in his pocket; today he turns up in vintage Pumas, and a James Baldwin T-shirt. He's all right with me.'
I couldn't work out how Kimi got to be with Bell. I didn't think there was anything especially sexy about him but they looked happy. He looked like someone who would be a killer Scrabble player or who knew all the answers to a crossword, like he had lots of cool stuff in his mind.
'I like the way you put yourself together,' I told him and I meant it.
'I call him Greenie,' said Bell and she kissed Kimi on the mouth. 'He always had boogers falling out of his nose at school but he was the only one who was nice to me when I first arrived. Said to me: "I don't think you're a nigger," in this cute little voice.' Bell laughed and kissed him again.
We went to a place called the Riverside. Despite its name, it was by the roadside in the basement of an office building. It was sparse and laid-back with a sign offering Wi-Fi on a snaking bar top, bare bricks and fake bookshelves here and there. Years of cigarette smoke had given the place a grey pallor; and it was filled with black-and-white shots of Jack the Ripper's London. It felt like one of those modern pubs that try too hard to look traditional, like in the Docklands, all wrong, but Bell said they served the best cheesecake.
Meina sat opposite Bell, huddled with me in a red velvet booth with deep pink cushions under a picture of the Kray twins. Greenie said it was sacrilegious to play dance mixes of Nina Simone and Billie Holiday on a too-loud sound system. The place had a heavy, delicious smell of home-made cake but it was claustrophobic, like we were in a laundry. A butch white girl with green hair cut in a Mohican, skinny black jeans and red DMs came to take our orders. The cakes had poncey names like 'Gladiator', 'Matrix' and 'Heat' and even a chocolate one called 'Mean Sweet'.
Greenie and I worked our way through a four-layered carrot cake ('Sin City'), and Meina and Bell ate a strawberry cheesecake with two big scoops of cherry Häagen-Dazs – the Dolly Parton. The sun came out and Greenie suggested we hire bikes from a shop where his mate worked.
'It's only twenty minutes' walk,' he said. 'You know, Bell, up by Longrock. It's nice out; we can give them a tour.'
'No, Greenie,' said Bell. 'I've been on one of your tours. Let's get the bikes but we should just mess around, nothing boring.'
Greenie looked at me and I nodded.
'I haven't been on a bicycle for years,' Meina said.
We walked down a narrow, sloping lane with a row of small shops where locals, tourists, students, backpackers and surfers sat at the open tables of restaurants, cafes and pubs. It seemed a lot longer than twenty minutes. Finally, we found ourselves walking along a wide sandy beach where the rocks were slippery and covered with glistening seaweed.
The shop was a low brick building with bikes lined up on the wall outside. Greenie's mate Michael agreed to let us have the bikes as long as we were back before his boss came to close up at six.
'No worries,' said Greenie.
'Where you headed?' asked Michael.
'Not sure yet. Probably along the Mount, show them Marazion, Paul and Mousehole. Don't worry, we'll have 'em back on time.'
We took off along a dedicated cycle track, down a path above a sandy bay where surfers in wetsuits huddled in a pack waiting for waves. It felt good to be outside, cycling around places where nobody would have heard of my brothers or me. I shut out all sound, everything became absolutely silent and I could hear my heart pounding, felt the blood rushing around my body and the tensing and relaxing of my calf muscles. Suddenly I was pedalling faster and faster. Greenie thought I was trying to race so he lowered his head and pedalled to catch up with me. I couldn't stop myself. I remembered how much I used to love cycling around West Ham Park on Saturday mornings while my father sat on a bench reading the football in the Sun.
'Don't go anywhere I can't see you.'
'All right, Dad,' I'd say and then I'd be off like a rocket.
Later, as the sun cast golden light on the clear water we walked the bikes to a chip shop Bell and Greenie liked. We ordered plaice and chips and I sat by the window, trying to listen to the sound of the water through the maddening cries of the gulls. A fisherman stood in his boat, working deftly with thick rope in his hands, and clusters of black and brown seaweed floated on the edge of the shore. I rested my head on my arms, looking out at the horizon.
I noticed everything. In silence I tried to find something ugly, some flaw in the scene. I had always loved the sunset but it hadn't fully registered as out of the ordinary until then.
'It's breathtaking,' I said. I thought of Ashvin and had to fight to stop my tears.
Eventually we took the bikes back and went along the beach again.
'Greenie,' I said, 'what do you think of James Baldwin?'
Greenie stood, stuck out his chest and pointed to his T-shirt. 'James Baldwin is the dog's nuts,' he shouted out to the Atlantic and his voice echoed all around the cliff (the dog's nuts . . . dog's nuts . . . nuts).
'But do you know anything about his personal life?' I asked when he'd calmed down.
'You mean about him being queer?'
'Yeah. Don't you feel funny wearing his shirt?'
'Fuck no, this here's my coolest shirt. This one and my Van Morrison. Why? You like Baldwin?'
'I love Baldwin. I mean, he's my favourite but I thought you had to be gay to like him.'
Greenie and Bell laughed. I walked away.
Meina caught up with me. 'You can like who you want. It really doesn't matter about them being gay or not,' she said.
'Yeah? In Leytonstone a guy got stabbed for asking someone for a light in a weird voice.'
'So what? You can't live in constant fear of what stupid people think.'
She reached out for my hand and we walked back towards the others.
'Do you believe in real love?' I asked.
&n
bsp; 'I don't know. I'm sure my parents loved each other.'
'Have you ever been in love before?'
'Definitely not,' said Meina and Bell must have heard.
'How do you think love feels?' she asked.
'You don't know?' said Greenie, puzzled. He shook his head, lit a spliff and after a few puffs he passed it to Bell.
I watched her inhale deeply.
'Greenie,' I said, 'I like you and all, but don't give that shit to my sister ever again.'
My heart thudded. At first I thought Bell was about to start an argument. Greenie looked like he was about to say something but thought better of it. Bell tightened her lips and I saw her search my eyes. She gave me a sort of sullen look, blowing thick smoke into my face and I watched it rise between us like a slow dance. But it seemed as if she recognised something.
'Easy, brother,' she said.
'I'm serious,' I said.
It was silent for a while.
'In my village they say love is a pain without remedy,' Meina said. 'We have annual rituals where virgins paint their eyes, gird their hips with love beads and wear white silk and then they carry the pain of their lovers in ceremonial jars and they go to the river and pour out the pain. Where I come from they say the water trembles because of the pain of love.'
It was dusk and all seemed quiet. I watched Meina as the sun glowed on her face. 'You're beautiful,' I said. I took a deep breath and kissed her hands and throat. I watched a bird float carefree in the darkening sky and realised then that I could search for the rest of my life but might never find what I had in my grasp right then.
When it got dark Greenie tried but failed to get us into the club night at the Turk's Head. I heard Bell telling Meina it was the oldest pub in Penzance. But we couldn't get in because the doorman refused to believe us when we lied and said we were twenty-one.
'I've got whisky at home,' said Bell and so we headed back to Trevescan Place.
Mr Bloom's silver Jag was outside Bell's house when we got back. Pat sat huddled at the dining table with Mr Bloom and Inspector Whittaker, they both looked tired and drained. They all stood when we entered noisily. I noticed Pat's eyes were red and puffy, her hair was still damp from a shower and she fumbled with the waistband of her yellow bathrobe. I noticed mascara on her sleeves. She stared straight ahead.
I couldn't work out what was wrong. Then I felt afraid. My palms were sweating. Bad things always happened to people like me, I thought.
'Mum? What is it?' What's wrong?' said Bell.
I let go of Meina's hand when Inspector Whittaker took a deep breath. It was like a slow-motion scene in a movie.
'Sit down, please,' he said, nodding at me
I sat straight away. My stomach clenched.
'I'm sorry but I have very sad and difficult information for you today. There has been a tragic accident. Your brothers are dead.' He paused, shifting on his feet. I have been instructed to drive you back to London where your mother is waiting to be with you at this time. When you get back to London if you want to discuss this you may do so with a special police counsellor in the family crisis intervention team.'
I wasn't sure if I had heard him at first. The good-cop bit didn't suit Whittaker. His speech was rushed and sounded scripted. At first I thought he was joking but then I wondered why he was looking at me like we were friends.
'Which one?' I asked.
'All of them, James. They're all dead.'
'Oh Jesus,' said Bell.
I gasped and cupped my mouth. Then I laughed and stood up. Meina made the mistake of trying to touch me but I pushed her away. Everything slowed. There was an awful quiet.
'All of them? How?'
Whittaker's voice was low, strained and slightly rhythmical. 'Your oldest brother shot them all dead and then turned the gun on himself in the early hours of this morning. He had apparently stopped taking his antidepressant medication.'
'Poor James,' said Pat. 'You poor, poor dear.'
I felt heat rising in my chest, I couldn't breathe. Larry Bloom put his arms around Meina. I recognised the bewildered look spread across her face. 'It's true,' Bloom said turning to me. 'I'm so sorry, truly I am.'
'Your mother's asking for you. She wants you back,' said the inspector.
'Shit, shit, shit,' said Greenie, wringing his hands.
I bowed my head. I couldn't distinguish the voices in my ears. Something inside told me it was true – I'd known all along that something bad was going to happen. Later Meina said she heard me whisper, 'God is so cruel, so cold-blooded,' but I can't remember saying that. My knees gave way. I stumbled, punched the wall and made a spitting noise that hurt the back of my throat. Then I screamed.
SEVENTEEN
JAMES
THIRTY MINUTES LATER WE were in Mr Bloom's car. I had always loved driving long distances, but on this journey I stared out of the window not really taking anything in, blind and deaf with a dull ache in my chest. Memories flashed past – small things, like my brothers all dressed up as clowns on my fifth birthday. I was exhausted. Meina told me my neck was bleeding and that I would make myself ill if I didn't stop crying. I told her to leave me alone.
I could feel the veins bursting at my temples and the swelling in my neck growing. I covered my face with my arms.
'It doesn't make any sense,' I said. 'It's all shit, everything's just shit.'
'It'll get better,' Meina whispered, 'I promise.'
I was surprised her touch still had an effect on me. I felt disconnected from everything else. The grief – at one point I thought I would vomit. Grief sucked all the air out of the car. I kept touching my neck, half expecting the wound to burst open. I remembered being up on the roof, wanting to die. Whittaker and Bloom kept exchanging glances. Bloom spoke once, 'James,' he said, 'I know it's difficult but –' My glare broke him off. Inspector Whittaker regarded me nervously and he blushed. I curled up in the back seat close to the door with my back to Meina.
'Don't wake him whatever you do,' said Mr Bloom a few minutes later when Meina draped a blanket over me. He thought I couldn't hear. She used a corner of the wool to wipe my face. Slowly my anger dissolved into a whimper and then I must have fallen asleep.
I don't know how long I slept, but the closer we got to east London the more restless I became and eventually was fully awake again.
Whittaker had put on some music during the journey, the same thing over and over, a demented opera version of a tune I recognised from a Toyota advert or something.
'Enough . . . no more with the screaming bitches,' said Mr Bloom at some point.
'The screaming bitch you are referring to is Adelina Patti, my friend.'
Bloom leaned over and switched CDs for Sarah Vaughan singing 'It Never Entered My Mind'.
'Inspector Whittaker, can I ask you something?' I said.
'Anything,' he said, watching me in the rear-view.
There were hundreds of dead bugs on the far edges of the windscreen. The inspector's phone vibrated. It hadn't stopped buzzing the whole way. Everyone wanted him.
'What I want to ask is at what point do you guys separate a black life from a white one?'
He gave me a quick glance and shrugged. 'It's not as simple as that . . .' he said and Mr Bloom turned up the music ('Once you warned me that if you scorned me I'd sing the maiden's prayer again').
'Inspector Whittaker?'
'What?'
'You got a lot of connections in the Met?'
'Some. What do you need?'
'Well, if anything ever happens to me could you maybe make sure Trident don't get the case?'
Mr Bloom laughed. 'You're a cheeky little bugger, aren't you?'
'I don't know what you're laughing for, you worked there too,' said Whittaker.
While Bloom parked the car Meina, the inspector and I walked to my mother's boyfriend's front door. I had been sitting for so long I could hardly straighten my legs. There were white men everywhere, policemen. One with a pot belly stood guarding the
front door. Meina held my hand but I couldn't even look at her. There was nothing left now . . . this time I wouldn't mess it up. It was just the matter of finding the space.
'I'll stay here,' said Mr Bloom.
The temperature had plummeted and the wind cut straight through my jeans. The night air was choking with that curious sickening odour blown up from Beckton. Beckton. Site of the largest sewage works in the UK. The smell up there wasn't exactly like shit but it was something very close. There was also a distinct smell of burning rubber. I saw Meina fixed on an old tyre burning in the road.
'That's the kids,' I said. 'Lookouts. They burn tyres when the police are about.'
Shadows of thick evergreens broke up the sky, their forms almost humanlike, branches cutting up a strange bluish light from the moon. My boots scuffed across the black pavement, broken glass crunched under my feet.
'How are you doing?' asked Inspector Whittaker when we reached the flat. His skin was pasty. He had changed in a service station. He wore a blue jumper and one of those wax Barbour jackets only civil servants, bankers and off-duty policemen wear. To me he looked a bit lost outside the comfort of his suit. I could tell he was good at his job but I thought perhaps he didn't like it. He was frowning.
'I'm all right,' I said. 'Did you actually see their bodies?'
'Yes, son. Regrettably I did. But you won't be able to see them. Not for a long while yet.' He looked strained.
The smell of rubber was everywhere. I locked my fingers and put my hands on my head. 'How can they all be dead?'
Meina cried when I said that. I could feel she was suffering. Her eyes were on me as she sobbed. Everything slowed down and I couldn't make myself stand up. I just sat there.
'Get up, son. Pull yourself together, you have to be strong for your mother,' said Inspector Whittaker. He helped me to my feet.
'I'm OK,' I said.
I could tell Whittaker was hesitating about something. An irritating thought that must have been troubling him for a while.
'I want to say something before you go in,' he said. 'Now would be a good time to put an end to the family business, wouldn't you say? You'll be under an enormous pressure to keep it going but I'm just saying we could call it quits, right here, right now.' He looked at me for a moment and sighed. '"A man is strong before he is moral." I think it was Faulkner who said that. Think about it, James. If you agree, I can close the files. I won't come after you for anything, if you know what I mean?'