by Kit de Waal
Then all of a sudden they both scuttle into the living room and stand in front of the TV.
“Where’s that?” says Maureen.
Leon wasn’t paying attention so he doesn’t speak.
“Hold on,” says Sylvia. “If it’s a news flash it will be on ITV as well.”
Maureen changes the channel and the news flash is on the other one too.
“. . . area of high deprivation. Most recent reports tell of fires burning in streets and clashes between police and gangs of youths following the death in custody of a local man from the Union Road area. What began as a peaceful demonstration outside Springfield Road police station has escalated into running battles between police and rioters with several police officers and civilians being taken to the hospital. Witnesses have reported looting and damage to several shops in the area and additional police officers are being sent in from forces throughout the region. We will keep you updated throughout the night.”
36
It smells like bonfire night. There’s a feeling in the air like when something exciting is going to happen. Something exciting has already happened. Leon has done a brave thing. He’s a burglar. He’s James Bond. He’s climbed out of his window so quietly that he couldn’t believe it himself. It was difficult dragging the backpack out but he did it in the end.
He scuttles around the side of the bungalow and unchains his bike from the drainpipe by the back gate. He pushes it through the path that leads between the houses, crouching down beside it like it’s moving all on its own. The pack is really heavy and it drags him down but as soon as he gets out on the street he can straighten up. He pushes hard up the hill away from Sylvia and Maureen. They won’t notice for ages because they’re watching the news on the TV. Even when they do notice, they won’t care anyway.
He is sweating but he keeps going. His face feels funny and his lips feel swollen from crying. He thinks of Maureen going into his room in the morning and how she will cry like when they lost Jake. She’ll run and tell Sylvia and they’ll start crying together because it will be too late. His throat hurts now and he has to drag his sleeve across his eyes to see where he’s going. If anyone sees him they will think it’s the smoke that’s making him cry.
There are lots of people standing on street corners and someone shouts at him to stop but he pays no attention. He’s never heard so many police sirens. It sounds like a film or a TV show and even though Leon wants to see where the fire is, he’s got to be careful because he has a long, long way to go to get to Dovedale Road and then all the way back to his halfway house and then all the way to Bristol. Two hours the social worker said but that was in her car. He’s got a map in his bag and, including the money he just took out of Maureen’s purse, he’s got more than twenty-three pounds.
Usually when he thinks about seeing Jake he feels happy. But for some reason he’s crying and he wonders if Jake will remember him. Babies change a lot when they start to grow up. How will he know what Jake looks like and how will he get into the house where they are keeping him? At least he’s got the nail file from Crazy Rose.
He looks behind him at how far he has come from Sylvia and Maureen. He will put the heaviest stuff in his shed at the allotment and then only take the most important things to Dovedale Road: some candy for himself, baby food for Jake, his money, his map, and the photograph.
When he’s got Jake, if anyone stops him and says, “Where are you taking that baby?” Leon will show them the photograph to prove that it’s his brother. When your brother is white it can be difficult to believe that you’re related. He hopes Jake can walk on his own because, if not, Leon will have to carry him. He wonders if Jake will fit in the backpack. He’s seen some of the African women carrying their babies on their backs, so it can be done. It makes him feel better to think he has a backup plan if he can’t steal a baby buggy or if Jake can’t walk or if he’s too heavy to carry in his arms or on his bike.
Finding Carol might be more difficult but he’ll deal with that problem when it comes. If there’s one thing he’s certain of, it’s that his mom wants to see Jake again. He imagines her face when he knocks on her door and holds Jake in front of him. She’ll burst into tears and pick him up, hold him close to her chest, and say, “My baby, my baby,” and she’ll probably crumple down like she did before but this time it will be out of happiness and Leon is strong enough to help her up all on his own. Every social worker he’s ever had has told him that his mom loves her children but she just can’t manage. Well, all that is going to change. Leon has learned a thing or two since he was nine. He’s been shopping at a big supermarket with Sylvia, picked out the cheapest and best food, and put it in the cart. He’s learned how much things cost and how to take them cleverly when you haven’t got enough money.
Looking after Jake won’t be a problem; it never was. Looking after Carol can be tricky and if he’d done a better job in the past, he wouldn’t be in this position now, pedaling hard with a heavy bag all the way to the allotments when it’s getting dark and when he’s a bit scared. He was stupid to go and see Tina and ask her for some money. It was her fault that his mom went into the hospital and that was what started everything going wrong. That’s a mistake he won’t make again. Twenty-three pounds is a lot of money. It can last two people and a baby for weeks if they all stay together.
He gets off the bike at the entrance to the allotment. He expected the gate to be locked, that he’d have to wheel around and climb over the brick wall. He even brought his bike lock just in case but the gates are wide open and one of them is hanging off its hinges.
He goes slowly. He can hear voices, shouting and swearing. He stops. Maureen might have noticed that he’s left home and she might call the police. If she does, they will be looking for him and it might be better to just go back. The sound of the men swearing at each other makes him want to get back on the bike and climb back through Sylvia’s window but if he isn’t brave and if he turns back at the first sign of trouble he’ll never get to Bristol. And anyway, as he gets closer he can hear it’s Tufty and Mr. Devlin and they have always hated each other. It’s just them arguing as usual. It doesn’t mean anything bad’s going to happen.
He has to make sure they don’t see him. He can just make out their shapes, standing in front of Mr. Devlin’s brick shed. Mr. Devlin’s flashlight is pointing at the ground but Tufty’s light dances everywhere, the beam making wild shapes in the air. Leon wheels his bike slowly along the far path behind Mr. and Mrs. Atwal’s plot. As usual, Tufty is doing all the talking but Mr. Devlin seems to say just as much with fewer words.
“Is that so?” he says. “Show the government? Is that so?”
Tufty is shouting and Leon knows he will be pointing his finger, right up close to Mr. Devlin’s face.
“That’s what you do, isn’t it? You and your IRA. It’s a protest. Get it? A protest. Except we don’t bomb people in their beds like you Irish people.”
“Oh, every Irishman is a terrorist, is that what you’re saying?”
“You sit in your shed half-drunk, talking to yourself. You don’t know what’s going on in the world.”
“Is that so?”
“You think it’s funny? Why you smiling? You think it’s funny that the police kill black people?”
“Don’t be so fucking—”
“What? Don’t be so fucking what? You don’t believe me? There’s hundreds of people on the street tonight. You know why? The police killed a black man last night, someone I knew. Yeah, my friend. Castro, man. They took him to the police station for some bullshit reason and kicked him to death. Castro, they killed him.”
“Listen—”
“Yeah, so don’t laugh when you’re talking to me. Don’t laugh.”
“I am not fucking laughing.”
Leon can hear the drink in Mr. Devlin’s voice. “I’m sorry about your friend,” he continues, “but that doesn’t mean
they should be running through here like this. Look at this place.”
Leon stands still. He can see now that the flower beds have been trampled. The water barrels have been pushed over and the lines between the plots aren’t straight anymore.
“You ever been angry?” says Tufty. “I don’t mean you run out of whiskey and the shops are shut. I mean down in your belly. You ever been angry in your balls?”
There is a long silence. Tufty and Mr. Devlin must be staring at each other, waiting for each other to blink. Leon stands still too because it is so quiet and he is so close that they might hear him. He hopes that whoever made the mess in the allotments hasn’t been near his shed.
“Of course I’ve been angry.”
“Yeah? Anybody make you into a slave? Put you in chains?”
“Oh, for pity’s sake,” says Mr. Devlin, “a history lesson now. Fix the gate with me, can’t you? The gate. You’re acting like a child.”
“Who you think you’re talking to?”
“Well, don’t make excuses for them then. They’re savages.”
“Savages? You calling black people savages? You fucking—”
Leon hears the scuffle but can’t see it. Both men are grunting and gasping, the flashlight beams skimming across Leon’s chest like a laser. Leon wheels his bike slowly until he is level with Mr. Devlin’s shed. He’s about to move when he hears Mr. Devlin cry out as he lands on the ground.
“Yeah,” says Tufty. “I’d rather be savage than a pervert. You think I ain’t seen your pictures and your dolls? You think we ain’t all seen what you got in there? All of us in this whole allotment. We all know about you.”
“You bastard!”
Mr. Devlin must have got up off the ground and charged at Tufty because all of a sudden both men slam into the wall of Mr. Devlin’s shed. A flashlight drops to the ground. If Leon can get the light then he won’t be so afraid to walk deeper into the allotment on his own. If he can get near the light, he will switch it off and hide with it until they have finished.
But they keep pushing and shoving each other and shouting.
“I seen you with that boy that comes in here. Making friends with him. Getting him to like you. You going to take his photo now? Is that it?”
“You shut your filthy mouth.”
“I seen you giving him things. Presents. I seen him go inside.”
“I’ve never—
“You got no wife. You got no children—”
“Wife?” screams Mr. Devlin. “My wife? How dare you?”
Leon stares into the darkness. He can see the shape of the two men standing like black scarecrows against the purple sky. He can hear them panting, feels the current between them that raises the hairs on his arm and fires the beats in his chest.
“Yeah,” continues Tufty, “you got no woman but you got pictures of little boys all over the place, eh? Pictures not enough now? Is that it? You want a piece of the real thing?”
“You’ve got a filthy mouth, you black bastard.”
The smack that Mr. Devlin gets doesn’t stop him speaking.
“You’re a dirty-minded fucker. I’ll show you.”
Leon leans his bike against Mr. Devlin’s shed, crouches down, runs for a few steps, then goes slowly toward them. He drops down onto his belly. He crawls forward on his elbows like he’s seen in the war films. Feels around for the flashlight. He grips something but it’s soft and squishy. He gasps and pulls his hand back, wipes it on the grass. He feels around on the ground but can’t find anything. He hunches down behind the water barrel. Suddenly, Mr. Devlin dashes into his shed.
“Come in here!” he shouts. “Come on! I dare you! I’ll shut your mouth for you. Come on. Bring your filthy mind with you.”
Tufty stands at the door of the shed. He shines the light full on and Leon can see clearly now. He can see Mr. Devlin through the window acting like he’s gone mad. All his nice things are falling off the shelf and smashing onto the ground. He is staggering and bawling. Tufty takes a step back.
“You’re crazy, man. I ain’t got time for this.”
“No, no, no. Not crazy. I’m a pervert. That’s what you said. A pervert. I’ll show you. Come on, come and see the monster.”
Mr. Devlin begins throwing things down. Leon knows what he’s looking for. He has it in his backpack.
“Where is he? Gabriel! Where is he? Where’s he gone?”
Leon can hear all Mr. Devlin’s favorite things breaking on the floor of his shed and him breaking as well.
“My baby, my son, where are you?”
“Fucking hell, man. Calm down,” says Tufty. He steps into the shed and, as soon as he’s gone, Leon runs. He can’t see where he’s going but he runs. He runs with the pack banging against his back, with the baby’s wooden head inside, bouncing up and down. He falls and falls, and by the time he gets to the shed his back is wet with sweat.
It’s dark in his halfway house. The air is too hot and too sticky to fit down Leon’s throat. He throws the backpack on the floor and drops to his knees. He pulls his T-shirt up over his head. It’s as sticky as tape on his skin. His scalp is itching, his back is itching, his feet in his sneakers are burning and damp, his chest is thumping so hard it might break open, his heart will jump out and he will be dead and then Maureen will look for him and be sorry and his mom will cry because she never loved him as much as she loved Jake and when he has a funeral everybody will say they are sorry for not being nice to him and he won’t care because he will be dead.
He looks out of the dirty window toward Mr. Devlin’s shed. His shouting is almost drowned by the sirens but Leon can still hear him and Leon wonders what Tufty is doing, if he’s still trying to calm him down or if they are arguing or maybe Tufty has gone home. Something scuttles at his feet. A scratch. Leon notices how dark the shed is. Creatures and spiders might live in here, rats, black moths, mice, animals, people, ghosts. A rasp of wind hisses on the broken glass. Anyone could be in the shed with him and he wouldn’t be able to see. They could grab him and attack him like in his nightmares. Kill him. Eat him. Tear him apart. Leon bursts back out of the shed and the door bangs shut behind him. Twice.
Everything goes quiet. Mr. Devlin and Tufty have suddenly gone quiet. They must have heard the door bang. If there is a monster in the shed, it’s stopped moving. His money, his pack, his T-shirt, his address on Dovedale Road, he left them all inside with whatever made the scratching noise. Leon remembers when his dad was crying after the funeral, the look on his face. “I got no one, I got no one. I got no one.” Leon feels sorry for his dad. He thought his dad was being a girl, crying and leaving the tears on his face for people to see. If only it was his dad making the noise in the shed. They could go and get Jake together. But his dad didn’t like Jake even before he was born and if he wasn’t always in prison then his mom wouldn’t have decided to love Jake’s dad instead and she wouldn’t have had Jake and he wouldn’t have said horrible things to her and made her cry and then everything would be like it was.
Fire engines and police cars are wailing in the blackness but Leon can hear something coming close, soft and careful. He can hear footsteps and whispering and the only thing he can do is to creep back inside the shed. Castro is dead, he heard Tufty say. But what if Castro has climbed out of his grave and it’s him that’s roaming around the allotments? He hears feet on the stones. Deep voices, hoarse and quick.
They’re coming to get him. It’s the police who took Castro away. Killed him. Kicked him to death. They’ve come back. They’ve come for him. Leon pulls the door open. Crawls in. Crouches down in a corner, his sticky back against the rough plank walls.
They’re right outside. He can hear them breathing. Whispering. In the gloom, he can just see his backpack. He reaches his hand out. The door flies open.
37
It’s Tufty and Mr. Devlin. They shine their flashlights
inside, all over like searchlights, and then the beams land on him.
“Fucking hell!” says Tufty. “What you doing, Star?”
“Ah, him!” says Mr. Devlin.
Tufty holds him by the upper arm and pulls him up onto his feet.
“What you doing in here?”
Leon looks away from the harsh light. He can see that his pack has burst open and Mr. Devlin’s baby’s head has fallen out. It sits on the floor looking out at Mr. Devlin like it’s alive.
Mr. Devlin picks it up, holds it against his heart.
“You? You took him,” he says. “When did you take him? Why?”
Tufty is still holding Leon’s arm.
“He’s my son!” shouts Mr. Devlin. “You stole him. He’s all I have.”
“What you doing, Star? You don’t do them things, you don’t take other people’s things, man.”
Mr. Devlin has the head cradled in his arms like the rest of the baby is still attached.
“How would you like it if someone took something from you?” he says. “Something precious. One of your toys.”
“Yeah,” says Tufty. “Come on, tell the man you’re sorry.”
Leon looks at Tufty and Mr. Devlin. Their faces look strange in the flashlight beams. They are devils. They are social workers and doctors and Carol’s boyfriends and his dad when he went to prison and the teachers at school that make him catch up and the owner of the candy shop and the man in the sports car and Tina and her boyfriend and Earring with his pen and fat policemen that trample on flowers and Crazy Rose and Sue’s mouth full of cake and dead Castro. Every face he has ever seen starts crowding into the shed. He can hear them breathing, thinking about what they will do with him in the long term and the short term, making scratching sounds on paper and whispering about how to get rid of him so they can get a dog. Leon pulls away from Tufty.