‘What is your name?’ he asked the boy. The words were slow again, melodic, heavy.
‘Emmanuel.’
‘Emmanuel, I’m Karl.’ And the eyes drilled into his again, wide open. Brain working overtime.
‘I’m from London. Do you know where London is?’
‘UK,’ the boy answered without hesitation. A bit of duh, like, everyone and their granny knows that. Karl chuckled.
‘You are very strong.’
The boy, who might’ve been ten but looked younger because he was so slender, so small, lit up when Karl slipped him a couple of notes. His head did a three-sixty-degree quick rotation, wary of catching madam’s watchful eye. When the coast seemed clear – madam stood on the dusty footpath, chatting to a passer-by – he slid the money into his front pocket. Karl smiled. Emmanuel looked away, shy, struggling to control a grin.
‘Thank you sah.’
Karl pretended he was tipping his hat and turned around.
‘You are very welcome.’ And towards the entrance he shouted, ‘Please, madam. I want to pay.’
* * *
The bus driver announced they wouldn’t be going any further.
‘Diversion. Either get off here or go all the way to Dalston.’
Abu drew attention as he marched from the end of the bus to the front. The driver hadn’t even bothered to open at the back. Sure no one with a bit of a brain would get off here. Not now. People looked. He put on his best London massive swag, drawing disapproving looks from the law-abiding citizens from both sides of the bus. All were watching Abu. Most shook their heads. One friendly looking social-worker type tried to stop him.
‘Come on mate, you don’t want to get mixed up in that.’
Abu grabbed the railing. He was angry with the country but it didn’t boil the same way other things did. His neighbourhood. The wannabes who thought they could make his and Karl’s life shit as if they weren’t as left out from the regeneration. As if there was some shiny future dangling in front of them they could reach for. As if they were not all going to be left behind, pushed out eventually, out of the area, out of opportunities. He was proper vex with Karl. With adults around him. They were worse than the shit he could get in the world at large. They were supposed to have his back. Care. Not dump him in some box where he could hold still, meaning suffocate, until someone remembered that he too had things going on. Thoughts. Needs. Loyalty was circular. It never ended. It wasn’t supposed to get unauthorised holidays.
Granny lady a couple of seats in front added her five pence to the social worker’s wisdom.
‘You people are a disgrace.’
He had heard that so many times it made him laugh. Sometimes it was said out loud, like here. Most of the time it was the stare. You. People. A threat. Hateful looks are a given if you walk around like me, Abu thought. You need to try a lot harder if you want to get my attention.
Social-worker type could see his moment slip through fast.
‘No need for negative generalisations like that, Mrs. You people? That is completely uncalled for.’
He should meet up with Godfrey, Abu thought.
‘Call me a racist all you want but I’m talking about those out on the streets.’
Abu watched her mouth open. So many creases around the lips it was extra skin mini-waves. Where else were they supposed to be? Did she ever think about that? It was called demand and supply, as far as he was concerned. Or in other words: exceeding expectations. You get what you ask for.
‘You don’t even know where I’m going or what I’m doing.’
‘Are you getting off or what? I’m off otherwise.’
He could see the bus driver looking at him in the mirror. Social-worker type reached out his hand.
‘Come on mate—’
‘Whatever. Ain’t like you pay my rent, innit.’
His knees popped outward as he bounced down the stairs. Own that shit, he thought. You just jealous you ain’t got no youth left in you.
Off the bus, on to the street. The bus drove off, people staring, granny looking like she wanted to swear. Socialworker type looked sad. The streets ahead were deserted. Voices sounding from nearby but Abu couldn’t see anyone. The street abandoned, like for real. He moved on and now there were noises like scratching and glass breaking. Around a bend the first person appeared, and all that hush was over. Abu couldn’t be sure, boy or girl, not that he cared.
Other people followed. Scattered figures hopped towards the other end of the street without any worry or hurry. Without any sort of pressure whatsoever. When Abu entered Mare Street he saw a couple of youths lift a bin out of its black plastic casing. The top had burned out, the plastic still sweltering, stinking like hell. The two young men were now hurling the metal container from inside the bin, their faces reddened and sweaty. It landed a couple of metres away from Abu, who was looking around for a familiar face.
‘Oi, watch it, if you don’t want to get hurt. The streets are safe but not safe, dyouknowatimean?’
It was one with the low-hanging tracksuit bottoms. A pair of washed-out navy briefs with a grey elastic band showed his round bum cheeks, the bottoms lingering at the lower end of his backside.
‘You just coming? Feel free. Very free. The police can’t do shit now, you get me.’
Abu nodded and walked on slowly. He had no business getting involved with them, and no interest. One of his new mates had said something about trainers. About shops that were open cuz we ain’t got nofink from the bloody credit crunch, innit. Did Abu care about that sort of shit? Not so much. It was just like with Karl, with his people; you gave your all but you were put on hold. On a loop. No one was actually going to answer. So lately he had been forming his own opinions.
‘They do say it’s a recession now, not just a credit crunch. And a bad one at that.’
But of course no one had really cared for his all of a sudden deep analysis.
He stared at the people running, like a diversity ad gone wrong. Most were young, or almost young. Not all though. Young, old, all types of cultures and shades of skin. Even some posh people in-between. It didn’t get more inclusive than this, did it?
A man with hair that had stopped growing in the front carted a boxed flat-screen TV on a shopping trolley. There were more boxes, smaller ones. It looked like a collection of electrical gadgets, the TV sticking out well into the air, the printing announcing its sixty-inch HD beauty. He grinned when he made it past Abu, the little wheels clattering as it dragged along the tar.
‘Yu’aright?’
Abu nodded. He lifted his hood over his head and tucked his chin under the collar, undecided. What was he supposed to do? Where to go?
A woman with a sleeveless top and a tight bun that left a razor-sharp fringe covering her eyebrows was chatting on her phone, her arms full with bags of clothing, the mobile tucked between shoulder and ear.
‘Might as well innit. Not gonna happen again any time soon.’
She was pulling a holdall behind her, the long handle tied around her hand. Once she passed, Abu could see the shoes and boots, and an expensive looking hair dryer.
His trousers started to buzz. Probably his new mates. He couldn’t move. There was more smoke. Crashing noises, glass splintering around him. Behind him, a few older-looking men, well older to Abu, had kicked in a betting shop. The back and forth of people on a mission. A unified mission. What I get is mine. For all the crap, all the bull, for all that we don’t and can’t have.
He could hear Karl’s voice, some opinion about how all had gone too far, banks-wise, if Karl still cared to talk about things with him. He heard his own. Talking to Nalini about the slavery trail.
A smile appeared on his face. He lowered the collar so he could breathe better. Nalini. He could see if he could catch her later outside the estate, hanging out with her crew. Now with school break on it was hard to find a minute alone with her. She was either helping her mother, minding her younger siblings, or with her friends. They no lon
ger had an urgent project, a unifying mission of their own. He remembered telling his new mates about Mary Prince when he strolled home from the university library. They cracked up when his words had stumbled over each other in disbelief about how close up slavery was. Right under their noses, or feet, to be precise. He didn’t know why he had bothered to share it. They caught him off-guard. It was a Karl thing, the making connections. He’d have got it. They walked on that day, laughing because he was useless to them in that state. Yeah whatever. If you want to impress a girl, cool, but spare us the details.
Shuffling feet came closer. Abu turned.
‘Here you are. We’re on the other side. Someone just turned a car over, about to light it. You’re just in time. One big fucking bonfire.’
One of his new posse. He’d probably watched Abu deep in thoughts again. He was losing his reputation. All brainy and thoughtful. Like a bit too much.
‘Hi. Cool man.’
He was looking for words. Abu the man himself, lost for what to say. Shit, what next? They already had an uncomfortable bond that he would prefer to erase. But it seemed that nowadays no one gave him any options.
‘I’m starving, mate. Might catch up with you in a minute. Didn’t even realise I haven’t had anything since yesterday’s lunch. I’m feeling kind of weak man.’
‘There’s a chicken place right there.’
He pointed to where a group of three was looking in their direction. They were standing in front of an overturned car.
‘Don’t know man. Feeling faint. Might be better to sit down somewhere, like proper. I’ll catch up with you though. Just text me the stats.’
‘Who said you can’t sit? All you do is get your order and bob’s your uncle.’
He pulled on Abu’s sleeve. The other three waved for them to come over already. A couple of other passersby stopped. When they arrived at the car he could see the takeaway behind it. The small crowd that the three from the posse had held back until our mate joins us greeted them with a round of cheers.
‘I told you it was him.’
The large window front was smashed and both pavement and chicken place were covered in glass. Someone had used a fire extinguisher to break the counter. Another person was helping himself to the food behind it, taking his time to choose. The appliances were all turned on and the smell of warm, used oil was filling the air. It must have been a recent conquest, the shop.
‘Hurry up, we ain’t got all day,’ his mate said. He had joined the others. One had a bottle of barbecue lighting fluid in his hands.
‘You know what, I’ll have something after. Don’t want to rush it. Maybe I’ll just leave you to it.’
‘Why? You here now. Not like we’re going to hang around to wait for the cops.’
He covered the front panel of the car with fluid and lit a match. Then he circled around adding more. Someone else distributed more lit matches and it was now lighting up evenly. Abu’s eyes widened. He was speechless. Karl would have been all sinking inside the gut. Nothing would have come out of his mate’s mouth. All his processing and shit would have been bam!, full halt. Forget mind the gap; try mind bloody life.
Abu’s knees jerked his trembling legs. Everyone already branded him a coward. No need to stand here, shaking. His pupils widened as if sucking in the whole Hyundai, complete with flames that licked the carcass. How did he get himself into this? They stood quietly, in awe, although you couldn’t really bank this under achievements.
Like any bonfire there was the usual staring into the dancing flames, the thoughts wavering along, moving here and there, transfixed. Only it was full daylight. The burning car made a hell of a heat. It cracked and sizzled and attracted more people. One guy stopped and looked at it close, then at the people gathered. He looked in their quiet faces for attention. Said, ‘Run everyone. That thing is going to explode.’
Checked that all started moving then he turned quickly into the next side road. Abu had noticed that the man’s hands were empty; he wasn’t carrying anything. He might have been on his way home from work. He picked up pace.
The tar hit back at his trainers, very you see now asshole? But I’m still here for you. Run back home if you have any sense. He could hear his mates breathing next to him.
‘Run, run. That thing is not safe.’
Houses, cars, people, the odd tree, the odd shop, the odd bar, the odd bus stop, the odd junction peeled off the sides of his eyes. He could smell his breath, stinking of fear. Why had they put it on fire if they wanted to whimper like children now? It hadn’t been his idea. He wanted to leave. He hadn’t wanted to be part of any of this. Rep or cred whatever. Trying to be rough. Bad.
Boom! And one single sound splintered into a cascade of others. A shower of noise. The car, gone. Abu was unfit for this sort of running. From Hackney back to King’s Cross. Back to Karl, back to his gentle sense-making, his reasoning and know too damn much to leave him alone like this.
Abu ran and ran and his sides hurt, his head felt like exploding, his insides were burning. All the while he thought: Now I get you bruv. When you can’t think no more, that’s the best. When there is nothing else to do or understand, you have to run, as fast as possible. As far as possible. Even if it brings you back home.
He made a left into a side street.
‘Let’s go this way,’ he heard a fear-sweating wannabe shout after him. ‘I know a shortcut.’
But Abu knew another solution that had nothing to do with fake friendships and crappy choices. Shortcuts? Whatever. He ducked underneath a crappier fence and ran behind the building it surrounded. There was a little pathway leading back the direction he came from but parallel to it, a couple of streets in-between.
He took off his hoodie and shoved it in the nearest rubbish bin. He looked around. He came out in a small residential street. Nothing was going on here. He couldn’t even hear the shouting and noise that had been pumping just ten minutes ago. All seemed like a quiet workday. No one outside. Probably an all-young-professionals road. He fell into a slower jog.
Fast he had done. Now he only had to cover some distance.
19
* * *
How to reach another.
Priorities … Is it
the same as being on time?
‘So what do you think?’
Karl was scratching off a sticker from the plywood wall in the Internet cafe. He seemed to be getting very familiar with the small cubicle that had the phone inside.
‘Karl, London is burning, bruv. Do you pay any attention?’
‘I told you not to go.’
‘Easy for you to speak, Mr. Leggingitallovertheworld. I had no choice, man. They’re on my case. I’ve been trying to tell you that. ‘
‘You have people on your case anyway. What’s different?’
Was Karl actually interested? Or was this just a bit of half-hearted yes I hear you thrown his way?
‘You.’
Karl’s eyes followed Emmanuel, who sat on a low stool in front of the Internet cafe, polishing large men’s shoes madam had placed in front of him. His bare feet were covered in red dust. His legs ashy again.
‘I’m gonna be back much faster than you want me to. Trust.’
‘Are you listening or what?’
‘What are you on about?’
Emmanuel’s brush slowed down every time madam was out of eye contact. Karl smiled. What was the point of overextending yourself? Smart boy.
‘I’m trying to talk to you but you ain’t got no time for me, bruv.’
‘What’s the problem?’
‘You, man. You are the problem. Everyone is on my case about you. On top I can’t even walk down the street without someone pushing into me, giving me shit.’
‘Come on, it’s not like this is against you or anything.’
Abu was quiet. Karl could hear him chewing his lip, shuffling from one leg to the other.
‘Abu?’
‘What?’
‘What’s up?’
> ‘Nothing. Forget it.’
‘Did something happen?’
Emmanuel was now showing off to Karl. The shoe was long sparkling but his lids moved up and down, secretively, checking: was Karl looking?
‘I miss you man. With or without you I’m getting stick for sticking with you.’
‘Tell me.’
‘It’s nothing.’
‘It doesn’t sound like it.’
Abu was still heaving, as if he’d run up the stairs, two steps at a time.
‘It’s just, I don’t know. You think I can choose or not. To do the right thing. Sometimes it comes out really bad instead.’
‘What the fuck happened, Abu?’
‘Someone got hurt.’
‘What do you mean, “someone got hurt”? I thought none of you were caught?’
‘Before the riots.’
‘Can you speak now, geez, how much invitation do you need?’
‘They were teasing me. Funny, just at that spot on Leigh Street. They were younger, not the usual bunch.’
‘What did they do to you?’
‘Nothing. That’s the thing. They gave me some lip; I gave some back. But …’
‘What?’
‘The woman …’
‘Which woman?’
‘From when I visited your mother. She had a friend over. She was really friendly. Talked a lot.’
‘Like non-stop, no pause?’
‘Major.’
‘Must be Pat. She’s great but never shuts up. What about her?’
‘I don’t know why but she saw me and them, she was just coming out of the corner store there and told them to leave me alone. If they didn’t stop harassing me she’d call the police. They just thought, what is this old cow doing here? That’s what they said. Punched her. Maybe normally that would’ve been nothing but they must have caught her in funny way, maybe the angle, you get me. She just collapsed and looked at me with big eyes. They clocked that she knew me and made a runner.’
‘What did you do?’
When We Speak of Nothing Page 16