My Name Is Leon

by Kit de Waal

  Leon kneels down and gently tickles the soil in around the hole so the seedling looks like it’s always been there.

  “You got it, Star. You really got it. Now pour on a bit more water. Don’t drown it.”

  “Why have you put it by the bamboo sticks? Will they grow as well?”

  “No, no,” says Tufty, “these plants need support. They need to hold on to something strong while they’re growing. They curl round the bamboo and then, couple of months’ time, we get some beans.” Tufty straightens up. “We got a lot to plant out. Look, I’ll put them in the hole, you do the watering.”

  So, Leon follows Tufty from plant to plant, watering all around the bottom of the bamboo canes. He goes back to the water barrel and does the same thing again until it’s all done. When they walk back to the shed, Tufty’s friends are still talking. Castro is standing up, waving his arms and pointing to the street.

  “You don’t see what the police is doing to black people? Stop and search? You don’t listen to the news, Johnson?”

  Leon feels sorry for Mr. Johnson because he keeps trying to talk but Castro is too loud. Mr. Johnson speaks softly but Leon knows he’s angry.

  “Don’t bite the hand that feeds you, Castro,” he says. “Work with the hands God gave you.” He looks at Leon and slowly closes his eyes. “Nobody listens anymore.” Then Mr. Johnson puts his hands in his pockets and walks away.

  Tufty holds his trowel in the air.

  “Easy, easy. Keep it quiet, quiet. I’m already on a warning.”

  No one says anything for a few minutes and then Tufty claps his hands.

  “You all going to Rialto Dance on Saturday? They give me a spot, so listen, let me try out my new poem.”

  They all shuffle round in their seats until they’re facing him. He plucks a yellow flower from the ground and holds it up. He picks off one petal and then another and as he speaks he does all the actions, making everybody laugh.

  “I call this ‘Conspiracy.’ ”

  She love me.

  She love me not.

  She love me.

  She love me not.

  So me take up me records and me good Dutch pot.

  I step out quick before she changes her mind

  And I walk with a swagger, never looking behind.

  My mother say nothing when I go back home

  But she work me hard, bend my fingers to the bone.

  “Get up, Tufty, and wash the floor.

  Open the window.

  Close the door.

  Carry my bag from the shop to the house.

  Lay a fire for morning.

  Lay a trap for the mouse.

  Chop wood, wash dishes,

  Peel yam, catch fishes.”

  And when I am sleeping she come in my room,

  And wake me up to give me the broom.

  Weeks I don’t sit, months I don’t rest,

  I dream of my girl, my angel, my best,

  So I crawl back begging to the girl I did leave,

  “Save me from Mommy!”

  I cry and I plead.

  She loves me, yes, and I know for a fact

  That she plan with my mother to get me back.

  All his friends are laughing except Castro. Tufty waves his hand. “Wait, I got one more verse.”

  “Fucking girls! That’s all you got on your mind, Tufty?”

  Tufty smiles and holds his arms out. “Come on, Castro, man, chill out.”

  Leon watches Castro walk away, swinging his arms, kicking a stone all along the path.

  21

  Leon hates his new school. Because Leon missed a lot of school when he lived with Carol, the teachers keep saying he has to catch up but Leon is good at reading and writing and sums, and anyway, all the lessons are boring. The new school by Sylvia’s house is even worse than the other ones and so is his teacher. He doesn’t care about the Victorians and writing stories, he doesn’t like it when they have to draw pictures about planets and stars, and he doesn’t like school trips when they won’t let you go to the toilet. And there are two boys in his class who have the same birthday and they both went to see the Jackson Five and they keep talking about it. At lunchtime, sometimes Leon plays soccer and sometimes he sits with Martin from the year below. Martin hasn’t got any other friends and he lives with a foster carer too. Sometimes Martin gets into trouble for fighting. He always wins.

  Sylvia had to come to his new school on Friday to see the headmistress and his new teacher. Leon couldn’t listen at the door, because the school secretary was watching him. He had to sit still with nothing to do while the three voices in the next room talked about him. He knew what they were saying but he still wanted to hear. Eventually, the door opened and he went inside. Teachers are like social workers, with lots of different pretend voices and smiles. The head teacher coughed and picked up a piece of paper.

  “First of all, Leon, we want you to know that Woodlands Junior School is an inclusive school. We want all our pupils to succeed.”

  She waited for him to say yes.

  “This is great work, Leon.”

  She held up a picture he had drawn in art. It was a picture of Jake when he was grown up, looking like Bo Duke from The Dukes of Hazzard. He had yellow hair and he was standing by a red car and he had a gun.

  “We can all see how hard you’ve worked on this picture. So we can see that when you want to, you can put a lot of effort into your schoolwork. This picture proves it. But, Leon, you have to work hard in all your lessons. Don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “We’ve spoken about this before but, this time, I want you to make a special effort, a really, really big effort, to pay attention in class. Yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “And no swearing.”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, Miss,” said the head teacher. “Yes, Miss, or Yes, Mrs. Smith, or Yes, Mrs. Percival.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Percival.”

  “And no interrupting to go to the toilet all the time. You go once at the beginning of the morning and then again at break time. Yes?”

  “But what if I want to go in the middle of the lesson?”

  Sylvia shook her head. “Just hold it, Leon, like everyone else does. Put a knot in it till break time. That’s what the teacher is saying. Or go before the lesson starts.”

  “Yes, Miss Sylvia,” said Leon. He saw both the teachers look at each other when Sylvia started talking. They don’t like her either.

  Then his teacher started talking about effort and behavior with a voice she kept specially for when parents and other teachers were around. All the time he was watching her twisting her wedding ring around and around on her finger because they both knew that Leon wasn’t going to get any stars on his chart.

  On the way home, Sylvia looked in the window of a television shop. She said that one of the televisions had a remote control so you could turn the television off while you were still sitting down. Like magic. If Leon had a remote control he would lie in bed and turn Sylvia off, click, and the teachers off, click, and the social workers off, click, click, click. Then he would crush the remote control with a big hammer so they could never come on again.

  22

  At last. Leon has a whole week off school for half term. He goes to the allotment but Tufty isn’t there, so he goes up and down the hill to see if he’s getting faster. If he goes fast enough he gets a kind of fluttering, happy feeling in his stomach, like he’s a superhero, like he doesn’t have to stop at the top of the hill but could just ride straight over the cars and the roofs and the telegraph poles and fly away, across the city, looking down into all the gardens at all the children and all the babies and see where Jake is and Jake would wave and Leon would shout, “I can see you, Jake! I can see you!”

  But always he rides home, parks his bik
e in the garden, and takes his backpack off.

  Leon can hear the women’s voices before he opens the back door. It sounds like a party. It must be Maureen. She’s back. He runs into the living room. There are lots of women standing up with mugs of coffee and cigarettes and some sitting down with cakes and rolls, all talking at the same time just like Tufty’s friends. But no Maureen. They keep saying she’s coming out of the hospital soon but they aren’t telling the truth.

  Leon looks at each woman in turn but they don’t even notice him. One of them is talking with her mouth full of cake; she has too many rings on her fingers and a crease in her neck. She throws her head back and laughs and he can see all the mashed-up cake in a creamy smudge on her tongue. Maureen wouldn’t like her. If she was here, she would say “Shut your cakehole” or “Manners, please.”

  Sylvia sees him come in and ushers him back into the kitchen.

  “Ham sandwich, milk, doughnut, and then off to your room.”

  Leon sits and begins to eat.

  “This is what I think, Sylv,” says the fat woman. “We can’t trust the weather. Even in July. It could piss it down for all we know.”

  The other women are nodding, saying, “That’s right.”

  “So I think we make two plans. The community center if it’s raining, and if not, we block off the road and have a street party.”

  “Ooh, I can’t wait.”

  “I think you need a license.”

  “What about the traffic?”

  “A disaster if it rains.”

  “Exciting, isn’t it?”

  “The council have got an information pack.”

  “Tables and chairs.”

  They all start talking and it gets too noisy, so Sylvia holds up her hands.

  “Pen and paper, pen and paper.”

  She opens the drawer in her sideboard and then sits down again with a pad and a pen.

  “Barbara, you said you could run up some bunting?”

  “Yes,” says a woman from the sofa. “I’m going to put a pink D for ‘Diana’ on a red triangle and a pale blue C for ‘Charles’ on a navy triangle and in between white triangles with hearts on them.”

  They all say “Aaah” at the same time.

  Sylvia writes it down.

  “Maxine, Union Jack hats. Sheila, where’s Sheila? There you are. Pasting tables, six of. Ann to call the council. Rose, you said you could lay your hands on some chairs. What else?” Sylvia points the pen. “Yes, Sue, you said savories.”

  Sue’s eating, so she speaks out of one corner of her mouth. “Sausage rolls and quiche.”

  Sylvia writes it down and keeps giving people jobs until she has to turn the page over.

  Leon finishes his lunch but stays where he is because there are too many people between him and the hallway. Someone passes round a magazine about the Royal Wedding and someone else says she is going to be a beautiful princess.

  “A queen, you mean,” says Sylvia and they all say, “Yes, a queen,” and it goes quiet in the room until Sylvia stands up.

  “We’ve got a lot to do. Next meeting at . . .”

  “Mine,” says Sue and they all get up with their handbags and magazines and bits of pastry and cake. Sylvia’s list is still on the sofa. Leon can see it from where he sits in the kitchen. Her pen is falling between the cushions on the sofa and he hopes the ink will leak out and leave a stain. There is a jumbled-up mess at the front door as they all start to leave at the same time. Leon slips off his chair, skirts the sofa, picks up the paper, tucks it in his pocket, and tries to slip past. But they see him. Some pat his head or cheek and say “Bless him” or “Little love.”

  He goes to his room and sits on the bed. He reads Sylvia’s list. Food, names, food, names, food, names. He folds the paper in half and in half until it’s a heavy little square that will fit in his pencil case.

  Because there’s no school, Sylvia lets him stay up to watch the ten o’clock news. It’s always boring and Leon doesn’t really listen but at least he’s not in bed. When Lady Diana comes on, Sylvia always turns up the volume.

  “Look at that dress,” she says. “Red. It’s a brave blonde that wears red.”

  Suddenly, she jerks forward and covers her mouth.

  “Oh my God! Carpenter Road!”

  She runs to the window and pulls the curtains apart. She opens the door and looks up and down the road. Leon follows her. There are other people on the street with their arms folded, clustering together in little knots, walking up and down. An ambulance rushes past and then a fire engine, then a police car. Then another police car but this one stops and people walk over to it.

  Leon stands on Sylvia’s doorstep. There is the smell of a bonfire in the air and a hushed, exciting feeling. He knows where Sylvia’s purse is. He backs away from the door and opens her bag. Her purse has a clasp at the top that he eases apart. There is a ten-pound note and some coins. He is quiet and silent and looks at the note and thinks what it would be like to have it. He would get on a train and find his mom. He would make a taxi take him there. And then they would both go and get Jake. He would buy some more cream soda for Tufty. He takes it out and feels it, soft and crinkly in his hands. He could fold it up with Sylvia’s list and put it in his pencil case or inside his pillowcase. He stares at the ten-pound note then puts it back. He takes a twenty-pence piece and two tens. He leaves lots of other coins in the purse so she won’t notice. He doesn’t want them to jingle together in his pocket, so he clutches them in his hand, tight. He goes back to the door just as Sylvia is coming back in.

  “Carpenter Road,” she says. “They’re running around breaking windows and robbing on Carpenter Road. Carpenter Road. Would you believe it? There’s police down there by the dozen. There’s two shops on fire. It’s like Beirut, by all accounts.”

  She sits on the settee and lights a cigarette.

  “Too bloody close for comfort.”

  Leon says nothing and she turns to look at him.

  “It’s all right, love. Don’t worry. Come here.”

  She holds both of his fists in her hands. Leon feels the coins digging into his palm.

  “You pay no attention. There’s nothing happening on this street. We’re safe here. Now you go along to bed.”

  Leon pulls his hands away quickly and goes to his room. He tucks the coins in his school shoes and puts them under the bed. He smells the tang of metal on his hands.

  23

  Leon’s got a new Batman T-shirt and new white sneakers with black laces. If he wears them to the allotment they might get dirty but if he doesn’t wear them no one will see them. Sylvia wants him to wear shorts because it’s June but the only ones that he likes are the denim ones that Tufty has.

  “Can I cut these up?” he says, showing her his jeans.

  Sylvia squints her eyes.

  “What?”

  “I’ve seen other boys with cut-up shorts. Can I do it?”

  Sylvia holds the jeans against him.

  “Bit too tall for them anyway, aren’t you? Hang on.”

  She takes the scissors from the kitchen drawer and cuts the legs off. She folds the ends over and makes them look neat but Leon will unroll them as soon as he gets outside.

  “That suit you?” she says, holding them up.

  He dashes to his room and puts them on. Now that he’s got his Batman T-shirt, his white sneakers, and his Tufty shorts, he looks really old, maybe even fifteen.

  “Ooh, get you,” says Sylvia and watches him open the back door and get on his bike.

  “What’s their names then, these friends of yours?”

  “Who?” says Leon.

  “These kids from the park. Why don’t you get them to call for you?”

  Leon shrugs and squeezes the brakes.

  “I could bring you a picnic if you like.”


  Leon opens the gate to the entry.

  “Bet you’d rather have your nails dipped in acid,” she says as he pushes off. “Don’t be late!”

  He can hear that she’s smiling.

  Leon has forty pence in his pocket and stops at the paper shop. It’s not like the paper shop where Maureen used to live, because that only sold papers and sweets and cigarettes. It’s a paper shop with toilet rolls and tins of custard and soap powder and cabbages out on the pavement and if Sylvia runs out of anything she sends Leon to get it from the paper shop.

  Sometimes it’s an old Pakistani man who serves and sometimes it’s a young one. The young one never looks up from the newspaper but the old man sometimes follows Leon around and asks him what he’s looking for.

  “Can I have a Curly Wurly, please?” he asks because all the chocolate and sweets are kept high up near the till.

  The old man puts out his hand for the money.

  “And some Toffos,” says Leon.

  “Twenty pence,” says the man.

  Leon doesn’t like it when he has to pay first but he gives the man the money and the man gives him his sweets. Then he carries on looking at Leon like he hasn’t paid.

  “Did you see my window?” asks the man.

  “No,” says Leon. Then he notices that there is a big piece of cardboard in the bottom half of the glass door.

  “You didn’t see what happened? People running around smashing up shops and throwing stones. Why are you doing this?”

  “I didn’t,” says Leon and he pushes his bike out of the shop. Leon only throws stones over by the fence at the allotment when he’s helping Tufty dig his garden, so the Pakistani man is wrong.

  It is just possible to eat the Curly Wurly and ride his bike at the same time. Curly Wurlys are very chewy and last ages but they also melt if you hold them too hard or if you put them in your pocket, so you have to eat them quickly.

  He gets off his bike at the gate and wheels it past Mr. Devlin. Mr. Devlin’s made a wigwam with bamboo canes just like Tufty’s and he’s standing next to it with a packet of seeds in his hand. He is swaying from side to side and when he sees Leon he calls him over.