Being Me

by Pete Kalu

  MC and Cakes come running up. MC’s annoyed that we’ve opened the wallet before she caught up with us. She grabs it off us.

  Ten minutes later, we’re in a Fruit Slurp Bar, sipping smoothies. Mikaela is drooling over a Coconut and Mango Medley. MC grabs her in a hold that is part head lock, part friendly neck massage and says: ‘So Mikaela, does it “feel so wrong” now?’

  Mikaela smiles. And for the first time ever, I see a glint of pure evil rise in her eyes. I think, ohmygod I’ve created a monster.

  Cakes says we should stop robbing for the day cos we’ve got so much already. I agree, but MC says let’s do Kendals. It’s a massive department store on the rich side of the city centre and it could have been designed by shoplifters – full of lifts, stairs and escalators, eight exits, rubbish cameras and bored staff. Plus it’s stuffed with the most expensive brands on earth. It has a restaurant at the top where you get a free cream cake if you have a receipt above ten pounds. We finish our smoothies and pour out into Market Street, heading for Kendals.

  There’s a silver statue guy in the middle of the street with a crowd around him. He’s frozen on one leg in a sitting angle that means he should fall down but he doesn’t. He’s got a stiff scarf around his neck sticking out sideways like he’s piloting an open-top airplane except we can’t see the plane. People walk round him, staring. Nobody can figure out how he stays in the position he’s in. There’s gasps when he moves a hand to thank someone who drops money in his bowler hat on the ground. Cakes drops him a pound. He nods then freezes again.

  Further up, there’s a beat box kid in a back-to-front cap, four break dancers doing rubbish moves on lino and an artist copying a photo of Mona Lisa onto the pavement. After Mona Lisa we come across the white faced, statue-on-a-box-in-a-white-bed-sheet guy we saw on the bus. He’s rubbish compared with the airplane guy. I giggle with Cakes. MC Banshee whispers to Mikaela, then saunters up to him. I can tell from MC’s swagger she’s going to do something. Mikaela’s right behind her.

  Me and Cakes are chewing pretzels, hanging back.

  Suddenly MC rushes at him and pushes him off his box. Mikaela ducks down and scoops coins out of his money plate. They both leg it, laughing. The statue man hitches up his bed-sheet and gives chase but he trips up and goes sprawling. The crowd laughs at him. Me and Cakes walk past. Our pretzels are rammed right into the back of our mouths so we don’t laugh. He’s swearing in a foreign language.

  Mikaela agrees to be the turnstile in Kendals. We sail up and down the escalators and stairs for a bit, to show her the ropes.

  Perfume is tough in Kendals because the perfume stalls all have their own commissioned sellers watching eagle-eyed as you go past. All the women on the perfume stalls have pouty lips and botox eyebrows. Mrs Richards would be appalled. We spray a few testers on each other till they get jumpy with us, thinking we’re timewasters. It’s great seeing their faces when MC Banshee says, ‘Do you take European money?’

  Then she buys an expensive small bottle of perfume in the store with a roll of Euros. She opens the packaging there and then and starts spraying all of us with it. Suddenly the perfume sellers love us. We waltz away from their plastic, pouty smiles.

  The fifth floor sells electronic goods. Cakes wants an iPod. We could buy it, but she wants to lift it.

  Cakes and Mikaela go up to one end of the counter. The shop assistant takes out the tray of iPods. That’s the cue for me and MC to saunter up to the other end. Cakes tries a bit of hair twirling and batting of her eyes but it doesn’t distract the shop assistant. MC does a loud ‘excuse me’. The shop assistant is torn. He looks over at MC then he looks back at Cakes. Cakes has already taken an iPod from the tray when he turned to look over at MC. Cakes sticks her bottom lip out and frowns like she’s saying she doesn’t like any of the iPods. The assistant shoves the tray back under the glass without counting the iPods, and scoots over to MC Banshee and me.

  MC does good Geek and she asks lots of questions about digital radios. I look around as MC is chatting this rubbish to see if there are any store detectives following Cakes and Mikaela, who are on the move towards the stairs. If there are, I’ll text them to dump the stuff in the toilets. It all looks good though, just grannies and granddads gawping at big screen TVs and a few Anoraks on Playstation consoles. I nudge MC. She makes excuses to the assistant and we take a couple of escalators down, making sure no-one’s trailing us. Then we meet up with Cakes and Mikaela in Kitchenware.

  Cakes looks calm. Mikaela’s eyes are swishing like windscreen wipers.

  Anyone followed you?’ asks MC.

  They shake their heads.

  ‘Anyone watching us now?’ MC scratches her cheek as she says this, turns and picks up a frying pan. She examines it, glancing around in the pan’s reflection for cameras and people.

  ‘Who’s she?’ MC says, under her breath.

  There’s an old biddy in pearls and a fur coat, looking at sieves.

  ‘I seen her before,’ says Mikaela, ‘I think she’s shoplifting herself actually. She’s really shifty.’

  MC Banshee pauses. We glance over. Sure enough, the old biddy drops an egg timer into her pocket.

  MC Banshee’s eyes are screaming with laughter, but she gets it under control.

  ‘Let’s do this,’ she says.

  Both me and MC make to take the iPod off Mikaela. That way if they are onto us they can’t be sure who has it. From a distance it just looks like three girls in a huddle, greeting one another. I’ve got it but MC peels away from Mikaela and takes the escalator for the Dior exit. She’s doing the show run. It flushes out anybody who’s been following us. We wait. Nothing happens. I examine a couple of pans. Mikaela peels off. Then Cakes. I’m on my own. Ninety seconds later, I take the stairs for the Hermes scarves exit. The iPod is snug in the back of my trouser waistband.

  There’s something about that moment before you go through an exit door when you’re shoplifting that is the biggest thrill. You’ve checked the tag is off. No scruffy guys in jeans are waiting at the Exit doors. No Uniforms are lurking. Still, your senses tingle. It’s the moment. You can always, at this point, back down, retrace your steps, pretend you’ve forgotten something and go back, dump the goods. Or you can panic and suddenly make a run for it. That might blow your cover, but if they’re on to you, it might give you an edge. Decisions. You’re in the zone. Maybe they’ve installed a new security system this day, or got some new theft alert stuff hidden in what you’re robbing. A shoplifter, like a striker, has to keep her head, accept the pressure, but never forget the goal. Shoot. Score. Lift.

  I’m through the detector panels and no alarm. I’m three steps away from the double Exit doors. They swing either way. Yet something’s not right. It’s the old lady with pearls. She’s coming up fast. Why is she wearing a fur coat on a hot day? Maybe she’s rich and wants to show off. She’s got stubble. Stubble? I put a sprint on but she charges me to the floor. I kick her off me, helped by a shopping couple who think she’s an old lady who’s tripped over. I’m through the double doors. I glance back. Her wig’s off now. Crew cut haircut. It’s a man. Jeez. I step it up. I’m outside, running across the store’s front. Then bang!

  It’s the white-face statue man. He holds onto me like his life depends on it. I kick at him but his white sheet tangles my legs. Now the bloke in pearls has caught up and wallops me from the side. I’m down and they’re sitting on me. I wriggle but they’ve got me down good. I try and lose the iPod from my waistband as they drag me to my feet, but I can’t reach it. The crew cut has been joined by one of his mates with a walkie-talkie. They say thanks to the statue man who is kicking me in the ribs. He spits on me. They thank him again and show they understand by miming thumping me and spitting on me, then wave him away. He spits on me one last time.

  I’m allowed to my feet. They’ve got me tight by the arms and haul me back towards the store. I see Mikaela. She’s standing on the pavement by the corner of the store, hand over her mouth. MC’s ri
ght behind her, leaning on Cakes. They’re all watching. Why don’t they help me?

  CHAPTER 13

  THE DESPERADO OF DEEPEST CHEADLE

  The store detectives drags me into a small room. It’s got a desk, plastic chairs and no windows. They let go of my arms, push me into a chair and block the door by leaning against it. They don’t say anything.

  Which is kind of weird.

  There’s a knock. A woman comes in.

  ‘We are detaining you because we have reasonable grounds to believe you attempted an act of theft of an iPod,’ the woman says. She is burly, with blonde hair and a jaw that wobbles from side to side as she talks. She’s standing above me and little drops of spit land in my face as she talks, so I look down.

  ‘I now need to formally ask your permission to search you. If you refuse, we will detain you here until the police arrive and you will be searched anyway, possibly strip-searched. Do I have your permission to search?’

  I feel along the back of my trousers, take out the iPod and hand it to her.

  ‘One up to the old lady then!’ Pearls Guy says, making a fist and shaking it to the ceiling.

  ‘Wait till the end of the day, Playstation Kid is gonna race up the board,’ says his skinnier mate. I notice now that Pearls Guy’s mate does look a bit like one of the Anoraks who were playing on the consoles in Entertainment.

  Pearls Guy gets on his mobile to what sounds like the police.

  The woman says, ‘I’m back out, then.’

  ‘No,’ they both go, ‘it’s a female, you have to stay on.’

  ‘Does it matter?’ the woman says. ‘It’s all on camera.’ Her eyes tip upwards. I notice the little black dome in the top corner of the room. They don’t ask me any more questions but all three of them stay in the room with me.

  Playstation Kid goes, and then Pearls Guy and the woman talk about how to clip dogs’ toenails and whether the Canary Islands is any good as a holiday destination. Pearls Guy leans on the door as they chat.

  What-ifs and whys tumble around in my mind. What if Mikaela hadn’t missed Pearls Guy when she was turnstiling? What if MC and Mikaela hadn’t wound up Statue Man? (How did Statue Man even get there?) Why did he grab me when he didn’t before? What if all three of them, instead of watching as I got flattened outside the store, had actually helped me?

  There’s a knock on the door. A policeman in uniform comes in.

  ‘Only one then?’ he says, looking disappointed.

  ‘It’s all on camera,’ Pearls Guy replies. ‘We’ll bung you a tape.’

  I’m numb when the cop pulls me up off my seat. I’m led through the Perfume concessions, which has the Pouty Ladies all tutting, through the front exit doors into the crowds and along the side of Kendals to a police van.

  This is all a mistake, I say to myself to keep cool, it’s a scene we’re shooting for a Hollywood movie, I’m not a thief, I’m a film star.

  The cop swings the van doors open. He pushes me up and in. Two sets of metal doors slam shut behind me. The van smells of flowers and sick.

  It isn’t long before we stop and I’m in a procession stepping out of the van into the grounds of some high-walled police station courtyard. I’m numb. I hadn’t noticed anyone else get inside the van. I’m led, fourth in line, to a Reception. For a moment I think about giving a false name and address, but it seems pointless so I give them what they ask for. They take my possessions which I have to sign a form about. The policeman behind the big Reception desk gives me a friendly smile, which is weird. He says lots of things to me that I don’t listen to. Then he says:

  ‘Welcome to Bootle Street Hotel. Don’t look so worried, you’ll be out soon. We’re not putting you in cells as it is my judgement you are a minor and pose no risk to yourself or others.’

  I feel myself wanting to wee.

  I’m led down a corridor and into a room where there’s lots of other people at desks though no-one’s in uniform. I’m shown to a seat in front of a desk with a telephone and computer on it and I sit there wondering what next. The room is hot. Eventually a man comes and slides behind the desk.

  ‘Adele,’ he says, ‘You were caught red handed with let’s see ... an iPod. You don’t deny that, do you?’

  I shrug.

  ‘I’ll make this as painless as possible for you,’ he continues. ‘We’ve checked the databases and you have no other arrests to your name, nothing. It might not be the first time you’ve done this, but it’s the first time you’ve been caught. Am I right?’

  I say nothing again. His tie has some kind of ketchup stain on it. His desk phone starts ringing.

  ‘If it is your first time, here’s how it works. We won’t seek prosecution. The store will allow that, it’s the understanding we have with them, but only if you admit what you did.’

  The phone stops.

  ‘Can I go now then?’ I ask.

  ‘No you can’t,’ he says.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘We can’t just release you. You’re a minor.’ He sighs. ‘We have a major terrorist alert on and here I am wasting time with you.’

  The phone starts again.

  ‘OK, what we need to do now is phone Mum or Dad to come and collect you.’

  He’s got my phone already. I watch him scrolling through till he finds what he’s looking for. He gets there.

  ‘Who’s it to be then, Mum or Dad?’

  I shrug. I can’t tell whether he’s trying to be nice or teasing me. He has wonky teeth. He dials a number. There’s no answer and it cuts out quickly. That’s Mum’s phone, she’s always switched off. He rings another number. It rings for an eternity. Dad doesn’t like answerphone messages. He says too many people can hack into them.

  The policeman scratches his nose. He knows they’re the right numbers because I haven’t had the chance to mess with my phone.

  ‘Why don’t they pick up?’ he asks.

  ‘Probably switched off.’

  ‘Mmm. We can drive you home. Unless you know of another responsible adult who might pick you up? Help us out, we’re a bit busy here, Adele.’

  ‘My boyfriend’s mum,’ I say.

  He grimaces. ‘We need your parents or someone acting as a parent – a guardian. It has to be a responsible adult, else we have to drive you home ourselves, or find a Youth Justice worker. On a Saturday.’

  As he says that, someone calls out in the office and asks, ‘Dave, you wrapped that up yet?’

  ‘Ring her and see,’ I say.

  He walks away to the far corner of the office and phones Marcus’s mum. It’s a long call. His face shifts from frowning, to puzzled, to amused, then loops all the way back to frowning again. Eventually, he comes back to the desk and nods. ‘She’s acceptable,’ is all he says.

  Eight minutes later Mrs Adenuga is in the police station office and rushing up to me. ‘Adele! What have you got yourself into?’

  I fling my arms around her, take a few deep breaths and let the only tear I shed in that police station escape. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Adenuga,’ I mumble. It’s all I can manage.

  ‘Shh. There, there.’

  The policeman butts in. He’s restless. ‘Now, you don’t deny you stole the iPod?’

  ‘I took it out of the shop,’ I say. What I am not saying is that I lifted it. I didn’t. That was Cakes.

  ‘We can look at the footage,’ he says.

  ‘OK, I took it,’ I say. What difference does it make?

  He’s happy now. He clicks his mouse a few times, then looks up again. Adele, because it’s a first offence and you admit that you did it, I’m allowed to issue you with a youth caution. That means we keep a record and if you are ever caught shoplifting again, we can charge you. Be advised.’

  As he is talking, he’s typing. A printer whirrs somewhere under his desk.

  He ducks down and scoops up some paper. It’s got the police logo on it at the top.

  ‘Sign here,’ he says. ‘And here.’

  As I’m signing, he reads fro
m his computer screen. ‘You may get an Acceptable Behaviour Contract and a Youth Engagement Officer may check up on how you’re doing. You are now banned from Kendals. Understand?’

  I nod.

  The cop has Mrs Adenuga sign a piece of paper. As she signs, she says, ‘David isn’t it? Are you happy with the windows here, David? Why aren’t they open? It’s tropical in this office.’

  ‘They’re all jammed. Half of them rotten as well,’ he replies.

  She gives him a card. ‘Get this to the right person. Ask them to give me a call. You’ll get a great price. None of you need to be sweating in here any longer.’

  The policeman laughs. They chat for a bit more, then he looks over to me. ‘Adele, we don’t want to see you again, understood?’

  I nod. I think he actually means it.

  ‘Thank you, Officer, it’s much appreciated,’ says Mrs Adenuga. ‘I’m so sorry about my niece.’

  I catch her eyes. She looks back at me like, don’t say a word.

  The cop weaves us through various other offices back to Reception where we sign out and they hand me the rest of my stuff back.

  On the open street, breathing free air once more, tears spill out of me. I feel Mrs Adenuga stroking my face.

  ‘I’m so ashamed,’ I say to her. Mrs Adenuga leads me the rest of the way to the car. It has a parking ticket on the windscreen. She sees it and makes sucking noises. Marcus is in the front passenger seat. My heart flips.

  Marcus makes to get out of the car but his mum is already pushing me into the rear. She rips the parking ticket off the window, stabs the key in the ignition and the car lurches off. Marcus sneaks a hand back towards me. I take it and for a minute there’s silence in the car as me and Marcus hold hands and his mum drives. The parking ticket plastic wrapper flutters on the dashboard.