‘Yes. Marcus, Aazim and some of the others said Kash was not being democratic and was behaving like some kind of totalitarian dictator.’ Olive veers off her point to add, ‘Oh, Anila, I was so ashamed, I didn’t even know what they meant – I had to go home and look it up in the dictionary but I’m still not completely sure. Honestly, they didn’t teach us very much at that bloody school we went to. It was like they wrote us off before we even started just because we didn’t pass our Eleven-Plusses.’
‘What is your point, Olive?’
‘Well, I know you fell out with him too. We all saw you slap him one at the march. There was some gossip that you fancied him and stuff and that’s why you stopped coming but I think it was something else. I know you probably don’t want to talk about it and it’s ages ago now anyway but that isn’t the reason I am phoning. Some of us met up at the Acapulco the other day and we all agreed you were one of the best members, reliable and that. You are great at organising and at talking. Some people said maybe you should take Kash’s place as the sort of spokesperson.’
‘Who said that? They must be bloody daft,’ says Anila. ‘Who was there, at the Acapulco?’ She wants to know if it is Marcus who has said these complimentary things about her.
‘Oh, there were a few of us,’ Olive replies. ‘We want to carry on but be more sort of balanced so it’s not just one or two blokes telling everyone else what to do. The fellas who came to the Acapulco agree – they want that too. There is talk that there might be more riots before Christmas. People are really pissed off with the police and SUS and all that, especially the black kids and then our dads are all out of work, plus the NF are supposed to be marching again in a few weeks, in the new year, so we need to get organised.’
‘Maybe we should try and get something in the Handsworth Times about it,’ says Anila. ‘Like about why everyone should be opposed to them coming to an area like this full of different kinds of people living side by side, and how they are just coming to cause trouble when we all get on alright really. That the real problems are boredom and not having jobs and stuff.’
‘That is a great idea, Anila. Will you do it – like write it and send it to them?’
‘I could do. I am pissed off about it all, it’s just that I have had a lot on with starting college and the Bomb Peck stuff that my mom is doing.’
‘Will you come to the next meeting then? Go on say you will. We haven’t set a date yet so we can do it for whenever you are free. We don’t have The Shoe anymore, it’s getting pulled down so it could be at St Silas’, not far for you to go. Tell you what, if you come to the next meeting we can get some of our lot to help your mom with her project thing.’
‘Will he be there?’
‘What, Kash? Nah, he’s off next week. I don’t think we’ll be seeing much of him anymore.’
‘What about Marcus?’
‘Oh yes, he’ll be there. He is sort of the leader now, although he won’t say he is. You haven’t had a ruck with him too have you?’
‘No,’ says Anila, ‘nothing like that. I just wanted to know who was still involved that’s all.’
‘Who was that on the phone?’ asks Kavi when Anila returns to the living-room.
‘No-one,’ replies Anila.
‘Well you were ages considering it was no-one,’ continues Kavi, still watching the television as he speaks, ‘so I ate your anda stuff – it was stone cold so I thought you wouldn’t want it.’
‘You’re a greedy bastard, you are Kavi,’ Kamela says from across the room.
As Anila gets ready for bed she says to Kamela, ‘I think I am going to the next Handsworth Youth Movement meeting.’
‘What?’ Kamela shouts over the voice of John Peel chatting through the transistor radio.
Anila repeats her intention a bit louder and Kamela sits up from her horizontal reading position.
‘You are not!’
‘I am. He won’t be there though. He’s leaving Brum and going to Bradford to live or something so hopefully I will never have to see him again.’
‘What? Really? Since I gave him a bollocking from the number sixteen?’
‘No, don’t be daft. It’s been planned for a while apparently.’ Anila pauses and after a few moments says, ‘Hey Kam, will you come with me? To the meeting I mean. Will you?’
‘Yeah okay,’ Kamela says, ‘if you want me to. Turn the big light off, will you? And turn the radio up a bit, I love this song.’
Chapter 36
On the morning of 10 July, Usha walks from room to room in the Church Street house opening the windows and curtains to let in the fresh air and bright sunshine of the new day. It is only 8am and she has already swept and mopped the floors, cleaned the bathroom and dusted the mantelpiece, picture rails and door frames. When she has put away the dusters and other cleaning tools, she stretches her arm down the back of the settee and pulls up the framed school photograph of the children. It was taken the year Billy joined Lozells Primary School, the same year Nina was preparing to leave it – it is the only formal portrait of all the children together. Usha dusts the frame, gently kisses the face of each child, wipes the glass and places the photo back on the hook above the settee where it used to hang. She fiddles with the positioning until it exactly fills the pale square exposed by its temporary absence, and then she places a garland of fresh marigolds around the frame. She stands back, a foot or two away from the settee, to regard the image for a few moments before heading to the kitchen and switching on the kettle.
‘Amrit phoned from the factory yesterday,’ Usha says to Brenda a couple of hours later as they sit over tea and toast in the kitchen, waiting for the children to wake up.
‘What did he say – are they looking for men?’
‘Actually, he wanted to ask me if I would like to work in the office part-time. The secretary is having a baby and he seemed to know I could do touch-typing and shorthand.’
‘Bloody hell, bab, that’s bostin. I know plenty of people who would love that job – or any job actually. I hope you said yes.’
‘I said yes – I think they have only thought of me because of all the things that happened with Mukesh last year. I think they feel pity for me but we can’t afford to have pride these days. I have to do whatever I can and this is a blessing. I haven’t told Mukesh yet.’
‘How is Mukesh since he got out of All Saints?’ Brenda asks.
‘He is a bit better,’ Usha replies. ‘He gets up and gets dressed more often.’
‘Oh that is great,’ says Brenda. ‘They do seem to work wonders up there.’
‘Yes, but half the time it is like he isn’t really here, if you know what I mean.’
‘Not really, bab.’
‘He is quieter… different.’ Usha says.
‘Well maybe he is calming down a bit. Time is a healer and all that. Perhaps he’ll go down the job centre or maybe even go back to Hardiman’s. If you’re there you can try and convince them – and they have a new manager now – Bedford has moved on, I heard. A promotion to the Northfield site or something.’
‘Maybe,’ Usha says, unconvinced. Then she adds, ‘Today it is exactly two years since Billy died. I’m not sure Mukesh even knows what month it is.’
‘Oh blimey. I didn’t realise. I am sorry Usha. Are you doing something?’
‘Doing something? You mean at the temple? No, I don’t think so. This is a private thing.’
‘Maybe we could all walk down to the Bomb Peck if your kids ever get up. We could plant some flowers or something. I’ve got some pansy seeds left over. It might be too late – in the year I mean – but it would be a nice thing to do with the children and as it’s Sunday they are probably all around aren’t they? What do you think?’
When Brenda has gone home and the flowers for Billy have been planted at the Bomb Peck, Usha looks for Mukesh in the house. She finds him sitting in f
ront of the photo of the children in the living-room. He reeks strongly of tobacco and faintly of whisky and when Usha speaks he sighs at the disruption and continues to stare blankly into the distance.
‘I want to go home,’ he says after a short while.
‘You are home,’ Usha says and Mukesh shakes his head.
‘This has never been my home. Handsworth is no good to me. I don’t belong here, I don’t belong anywhere. I was destroyed before I came here and this place has made it worse.’
‘Mukesh,’ Usha says, ‘we are your home – me and the children. Can’t you see that?’
‘You will all leave me one day,’ Mukesh says and he takes a swig of his whisky straight from the bottle. ‘Go away, Usha.’
Usha calls the children downstairs to eat the beans on toast she has made for their tea. Nina, back from university for the summer holidays, hands out the plates of food to Kamela, Anila and Kavi as they all squeeze in around the kitchen table waiting to be fed.
‘Don’t finish all the tomato sauce,’ says Kavi, grabbing the bottle from Anila.
‘Sod off, Kavi,’ his sister replies grabbing the bottle back.
‘Give it here, you git.’
‘Bog off, Kavi, you always take too much and I want some too. Give it here after you’ve finished, Anila.’
A glass of orange squash gets knocked over in the scuffle.
‘Grow up you lot,’ Nina says as she looks for a tea-towel to mop up the spillage.
Usha leaves the children to their bickering and walks out into the garden. The late afternoon air is fresh and warm, but the ground is still muddy from the rainfall the night before. Usha smooths down the folds of the sari she wears and lifts up the bottom edges so they don’t get spoiled by the mud. She makes her way to the far end of the garden where she knows there is an old stool, and where she won’t be able to hear the noises from the kitchen or smell the tobacco odours which are strong enough to drift down the hallway and seep into the rest of the ground floor of the house. Usha wipes the moisture off the stool with the train of her sari and sits down. She listens to the sounds of children playing in the gardens around her: the thuds of balls being thrown at walls and the whoops after goals are scored between makeshift goal posts. In the distance there is the scream of a siren, perhaps a police car or perhaps an ambulance.
Acknowledgements
For support along the way thank you to: Dr Sue Roe, University of Sussex, Eva Lewin at Spread The Word, Chris Taylor at New Writing South, Karen Costelloe for her unwavering belief and Cynthia Rogerson via The Literary Consultancy, who will be unaware of how her feedback spurred me on.
Thank you to Selwyn Brown and David Hinds of Steel Pulse for the use of lyrics from the brilliant Handsworth Revolution, and to Dr. Vanley Burke for his evocative photograph of Lozells Road.
Special thanks to Kevin Duffy for his energy and enthusiasm in making this and other books happen, and to the whole of the Bluemoose team, in particular, Hetha Duffy and my editor, Leonora Rustamova.
Love and gratitude to my mother, Brij Bala Duggal, my late father, Sarbjit Duggal, my siblings, Parveen, Shine, Simon, Diamond and Peter, and my extended family – Duggals, Traynors and others. Thank you also to my friends for their invaluable encouragement and support. Finally, to Joe, of course, and to our children, Ruben, Milan and Varsha.
The Handsworth Times Page 23