— No I’m not. Look, thanks. For standing up for me and that.
Nathan looked at him, holding his ribs as they walked.
— I wasn’t standing up for you, he was a dick. Sometimes you just have to jump in.
Ryan smiled. Nathan frowned.
— Don’t start getting all bummy on me again.
— Sorry. Come on, I’ll get us a hot dog from that stall place. I’ve got two quid.
Nathan looked at him and shook his head.
— I want chips with it.
Ameliah stares at the small metal box attached to the wall. Two square buttons show the house is split into two flats. The card next to the bottom button reads ‘Roberts’. The top button’s card has been taken out. Ameliah stares at the plastic rectangle where the name should be.
She digs her hands into the pockets of Heather’s thin blue hoody, noticing how similar its colour is to the front door, and feels happy she chose to wear it. A bus moves past on the street behind her. She turns, watching the airbrushed woman on its large side advert smile as she floats along.
Ameliah pulls out her phone and looks at the screen. She pushes the select button with her thumb to open the new message. Her lips mouth the words as she reads.
— Film starts 1.30. Ring me straight after OK? Hx
She puts her finger on the top button and pushes. There’s no sound. She steps back, looking up at the upper bay window. The net curtains are gone and through the glass she can see the end of an empty bookshelf high on one wall.
She presses the button again, keeping her eyes on the window, looking for any signs that he’s in. She steps forward to knock on the door just as it opens.
Joe is wearing a dark green dressing gown. His hair is even messier than usual. Ameliah looks down at his hairy calves and long feet. She feels a wave of embarrassment wash over her.
— Sorry. Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.
Joe rubs his eyes with the palms of his hands then stretches his mouth and face.
— No. It’s fine. Bit of a surprise but fine.
He rolls his neck to either side and yawns.
— I should go, this is a bad time.
Ameliah steps back. Joe sniffs and shakes his head.
— No, I mean don’t go. Does your nan know you’re here?
His voice sounds like he’s reading from a script. Ameliah shakes her head then looks over her shoulder along the road. A string of cars wait at the traffic lights.
— Come in.
He steps aside as she walks past him then leans out and looks both ways before closing the door.
The room is bigger than she’d imagined. The exposed floorboards have been stained deep brown. Boxes and bags are everywhere and Ameliah pictures the spare room at Nan’s house.
A high empty bookshelf runs along the full length of the wall to the right. Halfway along the wall a deep bookcase holds large academic-looking books and stacks of vinyl records. Next to the bookcase an old dark wooden table is folded into a semi-circle and Ameliah can see a turntable, two different stereos and a machine that looks like a large cassette tape with no edges. She thinks about the old cassette player back on her bedside table as she notices tapes and CDs stacked and scattered on the table and the floor.
Joe sticks his head round the door behind her.
— I’m just gonna jump in the shower. Have a seat if you like.
He looks round the room.
— Sorry about the mess, not properly moved in yet, all a bit of a rush. I can’t find the remote, but the telly works.
He points to a large flat-screen in the far corner on a low cabinet. Ameliah nods.
Joe disappears. She steps into the room, taking care not to tread on anything. She sees two large sports bags full of clothes on the floor in front of an old fireplace and a set of dumb-bells with heavy weights on each end. DVDs and books are stacked in small piles like Stonehenge.
Her eyes are drawn back to the table with the tapes.
She sits down on the low battered leather sofa and feels herself sink into it. The sound of the shower kicks in from down the hall and for a second she panics and thinks about leaving.
— What are you doing?
She stares at her reflection in the dark matt screen of the TV, watching her mouth speak the words. To her left, through the window, she can see the tops of cars moving past. Across the street the houses look further away than they did from the pavement.
She thinks she hears Joe singing, his muffled voice moving up and down, and for a second she pictures his face, his hair darker from the water and flat against his head, his dark eyes. She shakes her head and pulls a face.
— Seriously, what are you doing?
She reaches for the memory of Mom’s funeral. Dad’s dark suit, looking past him out through the kitchen door, Joe standing there, his face torn between angry and confused—
— That’s better.
He walks in barefoot, wearing light jeans and a white T-shirt clearly often washed with darks. He rubs his wet hair with a small lime-green towel.
— It’s a bit of a bomb site, right? It always surprises me how much crap I’ve actually got.
He looks at her sharply.
— Sorry, I mean stuff.
Ameliah looks up at him.
— I’m thirteen, Joe, I can handle crap.
Joe smiles.
— Yeah, course, sorry.
— How old are you?
Joe looks at her, taken back. Ameliah shrugs
— I’m just curious. I mean you dress funny.
Joe looks down at himself.
— Funny?
— You know, young.
He looks at his feet then at her.
— How old do you think I am?
Ameliah’s eyes narrow as she looks him up and down. Joe stands up straight.
— Come on, don’t hold back.
He holds his arms out straight. Ameliah shakes her head.
— I dunno. Forget it.
She looks over at the old table. Joe follows her eyes.
— Why are you here?
Ameliah feels the stab of nerves in her chest. She looks at him sheepishly. He shakes his head.
— That came out wrong, sorry. What I meant was, I mean, I’m glad you came.
— I remembered you.
His face turns serious. She pictures him in a brown suit, too small for his body.
— I saw you at the funeral. You were outside, by the back door, with my dad.
Joe shifts his weight nervously.
— What did you see?
He looks at her and for a second she can see his face much younger, a boy waiting to be told off.
— You were wearing a brown suit.
Joe smiles nervously.
— Yeah.
— It didn’t fit.
— It was a friend’s. I still don’t have one.
— Were you and Dad arguing?
Joe’s eyes shift, looking round the room. He rubs the back of his neck with the towel.
— What did you hear?
Ameliah shakes her head.
— Nothing.
— Nothing?
— No. I can’t remember.
Joe stares at her.
— You look so much like her.
Outside the window, a grey articulated lorry waits at the traffic lights. Ameliah looks out at its panelled trailer. She touches the side of her face.
— Yeah.
The lorry lets out a blast of air as its wheels roll into life again. Ameliah jumps as the towel hits the sofa next to her. Joe claps his hands together.
— What music you into?
His body springs into action like he got an electric shock. He rubs his hands together as he moves to the old table. Ameliah tries to think. Joe looks back at her, his eyes dancing.
— Well?
Ameliah shrugs. He narrows his eyes.
— Come on, it’s a pretty straightforward question, anything. Gimme a song.
He starts to rifle through tapes, knocking cases on to the floor in his excitement. Ameliah thinks about Mom’s tapes.
— Nirvana?
Joe freezes. He looks at her.
— Nirvana?
His face is serious. Ameliah shrugs again.
— My mom liked them. I found some of her old tapes.
Joe stares at the tapes on the table. Ameliah leans forward.
— Did you know my mom?
He looks at her.
— Yeah. I did.
He slots a cassette into the older-looking silver stereo, presses play and starts rummaging through bags, looking for something. The sound starts and Ameliah is suddenly aware of speakers behind her in the corner, to her left next to the TV, as well as more over by the table. She wonders why someone would set up their sound system before unpacking their clothes. She pictures the spare room back at Nan’s, the boxes and bags, as what sounds like a heartbeat comes out from the speakers.
— What’s funny?
Joe hops backwards and sits down on a black beanbag, pulling on a dark grey sock.
Ameliah feels the sound vibrating up through her feet and realises that she’s smiling. She straightens her face.
— Nothing.
She stares at the tall dark speaker next to the TV, hearing what sounds like people going over the edge of a roller coaster. The screams cut into drums and a low guitar. Joe smiles and sighs.
— Perfect. Man, this album got me through a lot.
Ameliah watches him roll back into the beanbag, kicking his feet into the air. She notices that his socks are odd. One dark grey, one white.
— What is it?
She looks back at the speaker. Joe rocks forward.
— Pink Floyd. Dark Side of The Moon. My old man used to love it.
— Who’s Pink Floyd?
Joe looks at her.
— They’re a band, I mean they were a band. Pioneers.
He closes his eyes, listening to the music. Ameliah stares at a small stack of DVDs.
— You don’t like it?
Ameliah shrugs. Joe nods.
— Course. It is pretty old. I mean I couldn’t stand it when I was your age. I got lots of other stuff.
He stands up and moves to the old table. Ameliah reads the name John Wayne on the spine of one of the DVDs.
— My nan loves him.
— What’s that?
Joe ejects the tape and the music cuts off.
— My nan, John Wayne, she loves him. We watched one of his films the other night cos I’d never seen one.
— What?
He looks confused.
— Are you kidding?
— Not you as well.
She rolls her eyes and leans back into the sofa.
— But he’s John Wayne, although his real name was Marilyn, or Mavis or something.
Joe holds up an old record sleeve, inspecting it like a precious coin.
— Ah, Busta.
He eases out the black vinyl circle and spins it over with his palms, lowering it down on to the turntable. Ameliah hears the crackle from the speakers and thinks about the tape with the voice. The kick and snare jump out of the speakers and Ameliah feels the thump of the bass in her chest. She looks at Joe, now nodding his head with his eyes closed.
He mouths along as the deep voice roars the opening syllables.
Ameliah smiles as she recognises the song. She remembers it blasting from the stereo downstairs, loud enough for Dad to hear it while he washed the dishes. She feels warm.
— More like it for ya?
Joe bounces over, moving past her to the window, staring out.
Ameliah remembers Dad coming towards her, his arms stretched out in front of him, his hands covered in bubbles as he pretended to attack her in time to the beat.
— Woohah!
She feels her head itching to nod and remembers Dad’s face, his bubble beard wobbling as he pulled a monster face.
— Don’t fight it, Am! Woohah!
Joe looks nervously towards the speaker as the man’s voice says a word Ameliah doesn’t remember being in the song. Joe glances at her.
— Whoops. Dirty version.
He jogs back to the turntable and cuts it off.
— I’m not doing very well, am I?
Ameliah feels the phone vibrate in her pocket. Joe slides the record back into its sleeve.
— Are you hungry?
Ameliah shakes her head as she clicks open the message.
— I’m fine thanks.
She reads Heather’s words.
— Hows it goin? Hx
Joe looks round the room.
— Yeah, it’s gonna take me a while to get this place nice.
— Why America?
Joe looks at her.
— You mean why was I there?
— Yeah.
— University. At first. Then my doctorate, then work, then, well, I just stayed.
— Aren’t you married?
Joe’s face hardens, then he smiles.
— Jeez, you don’t hold back, do you?
Ameliah bites her bottom lip.
— Sorry.
— It’s fine.
He looks down at his hands.
— No, I’m not married. Came close but, you know, I’m, let’s say my people skills still need a bit of work.
— What do you do?
Ameliah looks up at him. Joe looks back, straightening the back of his hair with his palm.
— I’m a scientist, like your dad.
— What kind of science?
— Erm, it’s physics basically.
— Mechanics?
Joe looks at her, his eyes wide.
— You know about mechanics?
Ameliah shakes her head.
— Not really, I just saw books.
Joe nods.
— My field is nanoscience really.
Ameliah’s eyes narrow.
— What’s that?
Joe holds up his hand, squeezing the tip of his thumb and index finger together.
— Really, really, really small stuff.
— And you’re a professor?
Joe breathes out.
— Yeah, but I don’t teach. I’m pretty much completely research. Hence, no suit.
He smiles and wrinkles his nose.
— Besides, like I said, my people skills. I’ve never really been a people person, you know?
He stares into space. Ameliah slips the phone back into her pocket.
— Yeah. Did you know his brother?
Joe’s face freezes. Ameliah sits up.
— Stepbrother I mean. Nathan.
Joe looks down.
— Yeah, I knew him.
— What was he like?
Joe stares, like he’s receiving messages from a hidden earpiece.
— Look, Ameliah …
Ameliah feels the phone vibrating in her pocket again. Joe carries on.
— See the thing is, about your dad …
The phone carries on buzzing. Ameliah takes it out and sees Heather’s name. She smiles awkwardly.
— Sorry, it’s my friend, I just need to answer. Hello.
Joe stares into space as she speaks to Heather.
— Yeah, not long. I’m leaving in a sec. I’ll be there, OK, OK, bye.
She ends the call.
— Sorry. I should go, we’re watching a film. What were you going to say?
Joe breathes deeply.
— Yeah, course. No problem, don’t worry, there’s plenty of time. You sure you don’t want something to eat? I think there might be some cold pizza in the fridge.
Ameliah stands up.
— No thanks.
She moves towards the door. Joe goes to the table and starts to rummage around.
— See you later, Joe.
The words feel awkward coming out of her mouth and she regrets saying them.
— Wait! You wanna hear something cool?
&
nbsp; He turns to her, holding out a tape, his face excited. Ameliah reads the words ‘Hip Hop’ in thick black felt tip inside the bright orange zigzags of an explosion.
— Your dad made it for me before college.
He opens the cassette box and slides out the tape, handing her the case. Ameliah watches him move back to the stereo. She holds the empty case tightly in two hands, biting her lip. Joe presses fast forward and the sound of the whirring tape kicks in. Ameliah watches the back of his head shake as he watches the stereo.
— He was trying to get me into hip hop. I didn’t like it at first, can you believe that? He made tapes all the time. He even had a tape journal.
— Journal?
Ameliah looks at the cassette sleeve through the plastic; the explosion has layers of yellow and red and obviously took some time to colour in. Joe clicks stop on the tape and turns to her.
— Yeah, like his thoughts and stuff. I think it started as a way to get over his mom.
He presses play and warm drums kick out from the speakers. Ameliah pictures younger Dad in the photograph from the spare room as the drums start to fade out. She looks at Joe.
— What is it?
Joe holds up a finger.
— Wait, it’s coming.
The song finishes and the speakers hum with the sound of recorded silence. Ameliah smiles at how warm the sound of old things makes her feel then—
— Hello?
She stares at the speaker. The hum of the tape.
— Hello? Is this thing even still working?
It’s a boy’s voice, a bit older than her. She feels her heart beating as she looks at Joe. Joe smiles. The voice carries on.
— It’s me. I guess you’ve listened to the whole tape now. I mean if you got this far and you’re hearing me then you must have, stupid. Man, I can’t believe this thing still works. What you think? You feeling it?
Ameliah shuffles up, getting closer to the speaker, her skin tingling.
— I hope so. In fact, you know what? If you’re not into it, there must be something wrong with you cos that’s basically the best hip-hop collection I’ve ever heard, every track is wicked. How much time have I got before it cuts off?
Ameliah holds her breath as she listens.
— I can’t see it. Anyway, if you don’t like it you can always give it to someone and say you made it, that’s probably what you’re gonna do anyway.
Ameliah feels a word move up along her throat.
— Dad?
She feels Joe standing next to her as the voice sighs.
— So that’s it. Your hip hop collection 1997. No need to thank me, I know you won’t. With any luck you won’t even find this till you’re unpacking. Take it easy, and I’ll see you when I come visit.
Tape Page 15